Boots on the Ground: Homefront, Book 1 Page 5

  Her stomach clenched with nerves as she realized the significance of this moment. This was her second chance—and almost certainly her last.

  She pushed her lips into a bright smile.

  Don’t mess this up.

  The taut ache in his shoulders eased the instant they stepped into the parking lot, where row after row of pickup trucks gleamed under the pole-mounted lights. The dark, crowded, booze-fueled atmosphere made him jumpy as hell, but Ethan refused to leave, and he and Chance agreed that they weren’t comfortable leaving the captain in there on his own.

  Still, he was wound so tightly that when he saw Laurel stroll in with some accountant-looking guy in a suit, he figured it was a trick of his imagination—not unlike the RPG teams and AK-47-wielding guerrillas he sometimes saw in his peripheral vision. After all, he’d thought about her a lot the last couple of weeks, always with a pang of regret and resigned disappointment. He wasn’t ready for a woman like her—he might never be. It was a hard lesson but an important one.

  But then she walked right past him, and as soon as he got a whiff of that fresh, fruity perfume, he knew she was the real deal.

  It hadn’t taken much time in combat for him to develop a firm belief in fate and a willingness to follow where it led. For the esteemed doctor to waltz into a down-home dive bar seemed to be fate’s version of screaming in his ear.

  Even in the harsh glow of the streetlights she looked gorgeous, her hair drifting loose around her shoulders, her luscious body poured into a patterned dress that matched the blue of her eyes.

  Fate. He took a step closer.

  “Who’s your date?”

  She frowned briefly, as if she’d already forgotten the poor guy existed. “Oh, Peter? He’s a lawyer friend of my brother’s.”

  “Is he boring you?”

  “To tears.”

  Emboldened by the relief of the open space and the two bottles of beer he’d already downed, he put his hands on her waist. Laurel’s body was trim but not skinny. She was taller than average, with full breasts and flared hips, and the robust, vigorous air of a woman unafraid to ask for what she wanted—and that made him harder than the gun on an M1 Abrams tank.

  “What’s boring about him?”

  She ran her hand down the center of his chest, studying each snap on his shirt as she went. “His suit. His car. His season subscription to the Kansas City Ballet. His apparent inability to laugh at my jokes.”

  “Maybe your jokes aren’t funny.”

  “They’re hilarious.”

  “Do you see me laughing?”

  She looked up, and the harsh light illuminated a heartfelt emotion glittering in her eyes that was as soft as it was deep, and it made his throat constrict and his stomach twist. She raised her hand to his face, smoothing her thumb over his cheek.

  “I see you,” she whispered.

  He kissed her.

  There was no tentative exploration, no slow build. Within seconds his tongue was pursuing hers, his mouth led hers in a quickening rhythm, and the hungry pressure of her lips started a fire roaring low in his groin with the speed of a match dropped on a puddle of kerosene.

  She smelled like sunshine and cool spring mornings, and each time their mouths met and parted and met again, he sought the sweet, white-wine-tinged taste of her with renewed vigor. It was the kind of feverish, insatiable, shameless kissing he thought he’d left behind in the backseats and bleachers of his younger days, but any reservation about manners was soundly snuffed by her soft moan as their teeth clicked together in their haste to devour each other.

  His hand moved to her lower back, pulling her closer, and she slid her fingers to the nape of his neck. The material of her dress was silky against his callused fingers, sliding over his skin in a way that reminded him she was not the type of woman he usually picked up in dives like this one, the type who either left before dawn or accused him of being a coldhearted asshole before slamming the door and driving off. Everything about Laurel felt somehow freer and more confident than what he was used to. She kissed with open desire. The hand at his neck was honest in its urging, while the fingers splayed on his cheek said she was ready to follow wherever he wanted to go.

  Which, at this point, was all the way to the bold, bright moon hanging overhead.

  A loud crash resounded behind them, and Grady jerked, every nerve leaping to high alert as he instinctively gathered Laurel to his chest, turning his back to the sound and ducking his head.

  As soon as he realized shrapnel wasn’t about to rain down on them and it was just the back door slamming against the brick wall, he released Laurel and spun in time to see Ethan lurch into the parking lot. Chance followed close on the captain’s heels, and the definite lack of humor in his usually mirthful green eyes broadcast the seriousness of the situation.

  “I think you should go inside,” he murmured to Laurel, but before she could reply, the captain staggered toward them, blocking her exit. Grady held her behind his back with one hand.

  “Sergeant Reid,” Ethan declared, as if it had been years since they’d seen each other rather than minutes.

  “No need for formalities—I’m a civilian now,” he replied with forced joviality, his gaze asking Chance for a clue as to what was happening. Chance inclined his head toward Ethan’s hip, and Grady’s pulse began to pound in his temples.

  Ethan squinted at him. Grady’s jaw tensed.

  “Let me show the doctor here back inside, then I’ll come out and join y’all. Anyone need another drink?” He clamped a hand on her upper arm and tried to usher Laurel toward the door, but in the next second Ethan had drawn his sidearm from his concealed-carry holster. The Beretta gleamed dully under the lamps, and Grady gave Laurel a hard shove in the direction of the door, turning his back on her to block her from Ethan’s view.

  “You don’t need that out here, Cap.” He held up his palms, noting that Chance had moved to stand directly behind Ethan. “We’re back home now. We’re safe.”

  “Safe.” Ethan practically spat the word in disgust. “We’re no safer here than we were in Kunar. The hostiles just wear ties instead of pakols.”

  “Maybe so,” he agreed honestly. “But there’s none of them out here—only me and McKinley. And you know we’ve got your six.”

  “I do. I do know that.” He swayed on his feet. Chance took a step closer, one hand poised to take the gun. Grady held his breath, willing the officer who’d saved his life half a dozen times to drop it so they could all get out of there.

  Without warning, Ethan stiffened into a shooting stance, aimed out into the parking lot and fired.

  Laurel’s subdued shriek was his first clue that she hadn’t sneaked inside as instructed. A quick glance over his shoulder found her pressed up against the wall next to the door, and then everything happened at once—the air hissed out of a tire as one corner of a truck thudded hard onto its hubcap, Chance tackled Ethan at the knees, seized the gun and ejected the clip, and the music pouring out of the bar came to an abrupt, ominous halt.

  Grady scrambled across the pavement to where Ethan lay crumpled on his side, all the fight gone out of him. He looked at Chance over their commanding officer’s limp form. He knew what he had to do.

  “Give me the gun.”

  “What?”

  “I did it. I shot the car.”

  Chance shook his head. “It’s property damage with an unlicensed firearm. You could do time.”

  “It’ll cost him his bars,” Grady hissed. “My military career’s over—I can ride out the charge. He doesn’t deserve to be punished for this.”

  Chance’s stare was flinty but he didn’t argue. Grady could hear hushed, curious voices beginning to build in volume as they approached the back door—there wasn’t much time.

  “We were all drunk, I snuck his weapon and shot the car.” He took the Beretta from Chance, gripped it to ensure his fingerprints were on the trigger, then handed it back. “You pushed me over and took it off me. You copy?”


  “Solid copy.” Chance’s jaw was so tight that every muscle stood out in stark relief. “I got your six, brother. We’ll find a way out of this.”

  “We always do.” He looked back at where Laurel still stood, her eyes round with panic as the wail of an approaching police siren grew louder and louder. In a minute the cops would arrive. They’d probably rough him up, press his face into the asphalt, wrench his arms a little—in his pretty extensive experience, small-town police officers liked to assert themselves when they came up against a man his size, especially a soldier. Then they’d load him into a patrol car and let him stew while they interviewed witnesses, assessed the scene, dropped random things they found on the floor into plastic bags as potential evidence. Finally they’d drive him off, telling him lurid stories about the characters he was about to spend a night alongside in a cell.

  And Laurel would see it all.

  He flashed her an encouraging smile as the first of the policemen burst through the door to her right. In less than a second they were on him like pit bulls, and as his forehead scraped against the hard, filthy ground, he thought, At least I’m not boring.

  Chapter Six

  “Seriously, Blake, I owe you about ten million cupcakes.”

  Her older brother smiled, pushing back a strand of the blond hair that was as thick as ever as he approached forty. “Only if you’re buying them. I prefer my baked goods not to resemble hockey pucks.”

  Laurel squinted in the glare of the bright Monday morning sunshine reflecting off the courthouse steps. “I mean it. This guy doesn’t deserve to start civilian life in prison, and you’re going to keep him out of it. What can I do to thank you?”

  “From your account I’m only doing the right thing—which is exactly what he did. But if you’re insisting, why not bring him around so we can meet him? Our street’s having a big block party for Memorial Day. See if he’s available.”

  She shifted uneasily. “Why do you want to meet him?”

  “Because I like to know who’s courting my sister.”

  “What?” She attempted a dismissive laugh. “No, we’re not—”

  “Don’t even start. I can’t say I would’ve pegged him for your type, but as long as you’re happy.” He shrugged.

  “I’ll ask him about the block party. Now go on back to the office. I’ve taken up enough pro bono hours today.”

  “Family discount.” He grinned. “What’re your plans this morning?”

  “I’ll drive over to the jail and give Grady a lift home. I was supposed to be in surgery at eight but it was canceled.”

  “What happened?”

  “Patient died.”

  Blake laughed heartily, slapping her on the back. “Keep up the good work, sis. I’ll see you later.”

  Laurel waved to her brother and had started down the courthouse steps when a blond man in camouflage ACUs jogged toward her, holding up his palm to ask her to stop. She saw the captain’s bars on his uniform before she saw the surname stitched onto the right-hand panel: Fletcher.

  When Ethan halted in front of her, his blue eyes clear and his posture straight, she saw for the first time the man soldiers could follow into battle—and whose career they would protect at their own expense.

  “McKinley finally gave me the full picture this morning, and I came as quickly as I could. I’m not going to lie, I don’t remember a whole lot about what happened, but I can’t let Reid take the fall. Is the hearing over? Where is he?”

  “You’re too late. He’s been charged, and he pled guilty. They’re releasing him on bail.”

  Ethan swore hotly under his breath, his shoulders sagging. As abject despair darkened his expression, Laurel’s dislike for him dissipated ever so slightly.

  “There has to be something I can do. Who can I call? Charges can be dropped, can’t they?”

  The memory of Grady standing so firm and unafraid in front of the judge that morning sent a chill racing through her body, and although she felt like slapping Ethan and shoving him toward the judge’s chambers to take responsibility for what he did, she knew that wasn’t what Grady wanted, and she had to respect that.

  She sighed. “Let him do this—it’s his decision. My brother agreed to take the case, and he’s sure he can get him off with a fine. But you—” she pointed an accusing finger at him, “—need to get help.”

  “I know. Apparently it’s on its way.” His smile was bitter. “They’re bringing in a team from some big-name East Coast university to work with everyone from Echo Company. Supposedly no group of soldiers has engaged in so much daily fighting since World War II. Psychologists are climbing over each other to study us.”

  Laurel had no idea how to reply to that, and luckily she didn’t have to—at that moment Ethan inclined his head to signal his departure.

  “I’ll find a way to fix this with Grady. In the meantime I’m glad he’s got you in his corner. He’ll try to push you out. Don’t let him.”

  He took his leave on that cryptic note, and Laurel shook her head in bewilderment all the way to her car.

  She was so lost in thought that the fifteen-minute drive to the jail seemed more like three. Images flashed as though they were high-speed film reels in her mind—Grady’s calm silence as the police sneered obscenities at him in the parking lot, his subtle wink as their eyes met in the courtroom, the kiss that still burned her lips, still filled her with swelling desire, still stole her breath whenever it reared up in her memory.

  She reminded herself to be cautious as she locked her car and walked toward the entrance. She and Grady had gone from zero to sixty in a matter of minutes on Saturday night, and in the harsh light of day he might revert to his insistence that he wasn’t ready for or worthy of her. But the more she considered them, the more Ethan’s words made sense. Her instinct was propelling her toward Grady with more force than she thought possible, and she wouldn’t be deterred again so easily.

  She pushed open the door of the law enforcement center, noting that despite having lived in this town almost her entire life, this was one building she’d never entered. She vaguely recognized the buxom officer at the reception desk—they’d gone to high school together, though Laurel couldn’t remember her name.

  “Laurel Hayes,” her former classmate exclaimed, making Laurel feel even worse at not being able to return the courtesy. “What on earth are you doing here? Are you looking for your brother? Because Blake usually schedules client visits in the afternoons.”

  “I’m picking up Grady Reid. Will he be out soon?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “That soldier with the itchy trigger finger? What do you want with him?”

  Her face heated with indignation. Sometimes she really hated this stupid little town.

  “We have sex occasionally.” She shrugged. “You know how it is, sometimes you need it a little rough—and fresh out of jail is about as rough as you can get.”

  Tammy—that was her name, and she used to smoke under the bleachers—dropped her jaw so fast Laurel expected it to thunk against the desk. She was about to point out that Tammy’s high-school reputation for entertaining their male peers behind the Dairy Queen didn’t exactly give her much room to judge, but she was interrupted by the appearance of a big Texan wearing a bemused smirk.

  “Miss Hayes, what a fine surprise.”

  Although his expression was playful, there were dark shadows under Grady’s eyes. He was wearing the same clothes from Saturday night, and he held a sheaf of papers and a clear plastic bag containing his wallet and cell phone. He looked gaunt and pale with exhaustion, and Laurel’s fingers twitched with the urge to run soothing hands through his dark hair.

  “Ready to go?”

  “Rough and ready, as always.”

  Tammy huffed her disapproval as they headed out into the late-morning sun, with Grady holding the door for Laurel on their way to the parking lot.

  “You didn’t have to drive all the way over here to get me,” he began as they crossed to her convertible. �
�Asking your brother to take the case is more than I can repay already.”

  “Not everything is a transaction.”

  She settled into the driver’s seat, and in a second Grady was beside her. Suddenly the car felt a lot smaller.

  “Chance was the designated driver on Saturday, so my truck’s at home—can you drop me at the municipal building downtown? I can still make the afternoon shift on the road crew.”

  She glanced from his stubbled chin to the weary hand he ran over his forehead. “Have you slept at all since Saturday?”

  “Y’all have a lot of very talkative drunk drivers in this town. If I’d known I wouldn’t see court until Monday, I might’ve let Fletcher take his own heat.”

  “Sorry, no Sunday hearings in this two-star town.” She started the engine. “I saw Ethan at the courthouse. He was trying to claim responsibility, but I told him this was what you wanted.”

  Grady leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. “He’s saved my ass more times than I care to recount, and he’s hurting something fierce right now. It’s the least I can do.”

  Laurel made the diplomatic decision to keep her mouth shut, and for several minutes they drove in silence. It took less than a block for his breathing to become deep and regular, and instead of taking the widening road toward the center of town, she cut down a side street through the residential neighborhood that bordered her own.

  Grady jerked awake when she shut off the engine, and he blinked in confusion. “Where are we?”

  “This is a kidnapping. You can call the police if you want, but since one of the duty sergeants was my junior-year prom date and he’s carried a torch for me ever since, I’m not sure it’ll do you a lot of good.”

  “Jesus, your roots run deep.” He exhaled heavily. “Look, I appreciate the ride, but I really do need to get to work.”

  “You’re asleep on your feet. No self-respecting doctor would clear you to work construction right now.”

  “Then take me home.”

  “So you can jump in your truck and drive out to join the crew? Not a chance.”