Forget Me Not (21 page)

She should have listened to Leila, who had her best interest at heart.

G
abe stared at the fragments of light that moved from opposite sides of his ceiling and came into a starburst at the center. A car was passing along the street below him—the eleventh car that night. He held his breath until the sound of the motor faded into the distance. It was just another car, not a would-be assassin coming to hunt him down.

He hadn't slept a wink as yet. In a fit of rebellion he'd ground up his sleeping pills—symbols of his ineptitude—in the kitchen disposal. Christ, he couldn't even sleep when he wanted to! Next he would have trouble pissing on demand.

He punched up his pillow and shifted onto his side. If he didn't have so many thoughts ricocheting through his brain, he'd sleep just fine, he assured himself. His reunion with the XO tonight had set off all kinds of strange memories. They flitted through his mind, shadowy images accompanied by shards of remembered pain. None of it made any sense.

Or did it? Maybe Miller had had something to do with his supposed death in the warehouse a year ago. That would explain the dark foreboding that had risen up in him at the sight of his XO. That would explain Miller's nervousness. Or was there another reason Miller had been less than thrilled to see him?

Gabe hadn't missed the downward sweep of the man's eyes as he ogled Helen's cleavage. Nor was he immune to the tension that had arced between the XO and his wife.

Had Helen and Miller started something? Were they having an affair? If so, then it had definitely gone sour, given the veiled dislike in Helen's eyes. But Miller was clearly still intrigued. Had he wanted Helen badly enough to eliminate his own teammate?

Gabe ground the heel of his palm into his aching right eye and willed his blood pressure to subside. It wouldn't do him any good to lie here simmering. He'd confront Helen in the morning, let her explain that burning look in Miller's eyes.

At least his men were in port. That meant he could contact them tomorrow, arrange for a meeting. Then he'd get their insights about the night he disappeared.

God damn it, he couldn't stand so many loose ends, trailing into dark, mysterious corners! If he could only recollect that night, then he would know whether someone had turned on him.

With a whispered curse, Gabe swung his feet to the floor. He wasn't going to fall asleep, not with such weighty thoughts circuiting his brain.

The only thing that would comfort him now was Helen.

He gave a groan, dropping his face into his hands. She would be lying in her bed right now, her limbs soft and pliant with sleep. All he had to do was to cruise down the hall and slip into her bed. He had reason to guess he would encounter a minimum 'of resistance.
I need you. I need you,
she'd whispered in the car.

And while those words had filled him with triumph, they'd left him yearning for more. He'd wondered if it was really him she wanted or the warrior in the picture in his top drawer?
That
man wasn't pocked with ugly scars or cursed with a mind devoid of memories.
That
man didn't suffer illogical fears that someone was out to get him.

It'd almost killed him to do it, but he'd severed the kiss, admitting to her that it wasn't enough. He wanted his wife to open her heart to him the way Mallory had. So far, Helen hadn't given the slightest indication that she'd changed her mind about their future together. In fact, she'd made a point to tell him that spending time with him was Dr. Terrien's idea, not hers.

Her kisses tonight had been hot enough to sear his soul, but what he wanted even more was the promise of tomorrow. He wanted forever, and as far as he could tell, Helen was still thinking along the lines of one more time, for old times' sake.

Still, he couldn't fault her for withholding her heart. From what he could gather, he'd strung her along in the past, encouraging her love when he needed it, ignoring her otherwise. It would take time for her to realize that her heart was safe with him this time. He just hoped he had the willpower to cling to his resolve. His desire for Helen was eating him alive.

He lifted his head from his hands, and the computer monitor winked at him coyly.

It seemed to be taunting him, harboring some sort of seem. But what? He'd spent the other night discovering that the world was as much of a mess as it had always been. The computer hadn't told him anything he didn't already know.

A dull thud brought his head around. Gabe froze, waiting to identify the noise outside before dismissing it.

Nothing. Other than the distant pounding of the surf, it was utterly quiet So quiet, in fact, that even the insects were mute on this mid-August evening. It was the kind of quiet Gabe held in suspicion.

A scuffling sound reached his ears—the sound of someone running across sand.

He rose and crossed to the window, flattening himself against the wall. A peek through the blinds revealed a figure melting into black.

Someone was out there.

My nemesis,
he thought, wondering at the same time if he was just hallucinating. After all, every car that had gone by earlier had been an ordinary car.

By why take the risk with his wife and daughter sleeping in the rooms next door?

Feeling faintly foolish, Gabe moved to his dresser to don a black T-shirt and jeans, clothing meant to disguise him in the dark. He slipped out of the study and drifted down the pitch-black hallway, the hair at his nape prickling.

He missed the weight of his Heckler and Koch MP5 submachine gun, sitting heavy in the crook of his arm. What the hell had happened to it? he wondered.

A faint creaking noise propelled him toward the great room, where bars of moonlight slanted over the lumpy furniture. Given the wraparound deck and many windows, this room was most vulnerable to penetration.

He went down on hands and knees and crept through the shadows. Anyone peering through the horizontal blinds would have difficulty seeing him, but he'd see them at once, silhouetted by the moonlight.

He ran straight into the wet nose of his yellow Lab. Priscilla popped up from her doggy throw, completely oblivious to the noises outside. She mumped her tail at Gabe, ready to play even at this late hour.

"Stay," he said firmly, praying she'd recall the command from their daily training sessions. "No barking!"

Eager to please, Priscilla held as still as her quivering body allowed.

"Good dog." Patting her head, he repeated the command and crept to the window behind the couch, his exit portal. Coming to his feet, he eased open the latches. The window slid upward with a squeak that was muffled by the roar of the sea. He unhooked the screen and placed it by his feet. Then he stuck his head out.

The balcony at the back of the house seemed deserted. He couldn't hear anything over the crashing surf. He suffered the dampening suspicion that he was crazy.

Gesturing to the dog one more time, he eased his torso out of the window. In two fluid movements, he stepped onto the balcony rail and up onto the roof, praying the shingles held. Praying the dog wouldn't start barking.

The rough tar gripped his bare feet, giving him good traction despite the buffeting wind. As he followed the edge of the overhang around the back of the house, crawling like a crab, the moon slipped behind a sheet of clouds, so that he had to feel his way.

Whispers.
Gabe froze, his ears pricked to the sounds directly below him. His heart beat faster. At least he wasn't crazy. There were two men under the overhang, maybe three. Cautiously, he eased himself onto his stomach and peered over the edge.

Roger. Two tangos, dressed in desert camouflage. There was just enough light upon their shoulders for Gabe to make out the weapons they carried: MP5s, .45-caliber pistols, and a Gerber blade. One of them wore a radio headpiece. He tapped on the mike once—a signal to go ahead.

Who the hell?
Gabe wondered. The men were obviously professionals. They carried American weapons.

A third man melted out of the shadows of the front deck to join them, and Gabe's adrenaline surged. How many more were there? Even with the element of surprise, he'd have trouble taking on three trained fighters.

The third man cradled a box in his arms. He set it down and opened it.
Explosives,
was Gabe's first thought.

Sure enough, the man straightened with a roll in his hand—electrical tape most likely. He moved closer to the house, underneath Gabe and out of his line of vision. But Gabe could hear him, stringing something along the length of the wall.

His mind worked at full speed, calculating his odds. So much depended on whether there were others. Should he jump these guys or wait for them to leave? Maybe they'd be content with rigging the house and then they'd split.

But what if the explosives were set to go off right away? Would he have time to disarm them or just grab Mallory and Helen and get the hell out?

The second and third man moved to help the first. They bent down by the box, then went to work on the rails Gabe had recently sanded. With quick, precise movements, the men unrolled their tape. Or was it really tape? It fluttered in the wind like party ribbons.

Just then, the moon sailed out of its hiding place, and Gabe recognized the hawklike profile of Vincent DeInnocentis, junior enlisted man in his platoon.

Reality burst over him, evaporating his crazy suspicions like the hot sun drying a damp sidewalk. "Oh, fuck me," he groaned, putting his forehead to a tar-covered shingle. He couldn't believe he'd been so badly taken. His buddies were back, and they were papering his house in welcome. That was all. No skulking terrorists. No explosives. Jesus, to think what was going on in his mind!

He shook his head at how mental he was. At the same time, gratitude swelled in his chest for the men who'd come to welcome him home. He knelt there a moment, bathed in the warm glow of their commitment. Then he decided he might as well have a little fun with them. Anticipation licked over him as he scooted to the roof's edge and positioned himself to drop.

Wait. Wait. Now.

He leapt silently off the roof and took Vinny down with a thud. The two other SEALs whirled, weapons flashing in the darkness. Inside the house, the dog barked once.

Gabe had Vinny pinned to the ground with Vinny's own Gerber blade pressed to his throat.

"It's Jaguar!" the second SEAL said, grabbing his companion before he could leap on top of the pair.

Gabe grinned up at them. "You guys make sorry-assed tangos," he chided, coming to his feet. He handed Vinny back his blade and extended him a hand. "You forgot to secure the roof," he added, pulling up his victim.

"Son of a bitch," DeInnocentis cursed, shoving him in reprisal. Glowering, he looked like a young Al Pacino. "Welcome home, asshole sir," he amended, throwing an arm around Gabe in a hug.

The others stepped forward to do the same. Gabe recognized them both: Teddy "Bear" Brewbaker and the former professional football player, John Luther Lindstrom, known affectionately as Little John. Glimpsing the unabashed tears in both men's eyes, Gabe's relief was so profound that he returned their fierce hugs with all the strength that was in him.

These men were his family. They'd been through hell and back together, more times than he could count. There must have been moments this last year when he thought he'd never see them again. Damn it, his eyes were swimming with tears.

Bear spoke into his headpiece. "Come on up, guys. Jaguar surprised us." Groans of disgust were audible on the other end.

As Luther released him, Gabe took note of the camouflage paint and the rather odiferous BDUs. "You guys came straight from the boat?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes, sir. We docked this afternoon, but the XO gave us a bunch of last-minute checks to run. We sent Vinny out to rustle up some party streamers and balloons. We didn't even get to blow them up!" Luther sounded like a kid who'd been, denied a treat.

"I'll get over it," Gabe promised. He sensed rather than heard three more SEALs jog up the deck stairs. Westy McCaffrey took the lead, followed by a young SEAL Gabe didn't recognize and then Sebastian at the rear.

Westy was the first to reach him. He was the only one who'd found time to trade his camouflage in for a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt. With his hair in a ponytail and tattoo exposed, he looked nothing like the other SEALs, but that was due to his undercover counterterrorist work.

Westy threw his arms around Gabe and rocked him like a baby. "Shit, sir, it's good to see you," he exclaimed. He set Gabe at arm's distance, giving him a once-over with laser-blue eyes that could see straight into a man's heart. What he saw there made him squeeze Gabe's arms in silent sympathy.

In danger of bursting into tears, Gabe focused on Sebastian, who was hanging back, giving the men a moment to reunite. Gabe longed to tell him what he'd learned from Forrester yesterday. In fact, all the men had a right to know. Several of them had witnessed the warehouse exploding. Maybe they could shed insight as to what had happened.

A moment of silence settled over the squad as they stood tee looking at each other. "This is our new man, P03 Rodriguez," Westy spoke up, introducing a cautious, young man of Hispanic origin. "He's our weapons specialist."

"Honored to meet you, sir." Rodriguez gave him a smart salute.

"Thanks, PO3."

The men fell silent again, eying Gabe expectantly, waiting for him to say something. "I saw the XO tonight," he admitted, watching their faces closely.

They shared quick looks. "He came by to see you?" Sebastian took a step forward, closing the circle.

"Not exactly. I was having dinner with my family, and he happened to be at the restaurant."

His news was met with an uncomfortable pause. "Yeah, he, uh, he said he had a heavy date and he'd catch up with you tomorrow," Westy volunteered.

The man couldn't lie to save his life. Gabe gave them all a stem look. "Don't bullshit me, guys," he warned. He turned to the man with the authority to speak for the others. "Master Chief, does the XO have a problem with me being home?"