In Love and War (19 page)

“You were hurt, too,” she whispered, her hands shaking as she reached out to him.

He shrugged.
“Just a bullet in my thigh. I was lucky it wasn’t a torso or head shot, or worse, the second bomb could have blown. Had that gone off next to me, like the one under Ali, I wouldn’t be here at all.”

“Just a bullet,” she whispered and stepped into his arms, pulling his head down to her shoulder. They held each other for a long time, Dylan’s trousers pooled around his ankles, Ariela still completely dressed. She finally stepped away. “Lie down. I’ll be right with you.”

He did as she’d ordered. Stepping free of his pants, he slipped between the sheets and watched her undress. Dylan opened the blankets and she moved into his arms and snuggled close. Without speaking of it, they both seemed to feel this wasn’t the time for a passionate reunion. Instead, they fell asleep, comforted by the arms that held them.

**
*

Dylan gasped
aloud, waking them both sometime after two a.m. Ariela stroked his chest and kissed his cheek, murmuring softly to reassure him she was there. He ran his hand down her arm and over her breast, scooping the weight into his hand. Ariela didn’t know whether to discourage him, or let him carry her where he needed to go, where
she
needed to go. When Dylan slipped down to draw on her breast with his lips, his tongue, suckling rhythmically, she gave up debating with herself.

They let all the tenderness, all their love
, flow freely between them. Their grateful hands explored each other. She was careful to keep her right leg from touching his wound as he moved up over her and buried himself inside her, one heady inch at a time. He stilled, holding her in his arms, their loins locked just as tight as their embrace.

His lashes were wet when he whispered, “I never expected to see you
, or hold you, again.”

Ariela cried at that herself and pulled Dylan’s face down so she could cover him with kisses. “I was afraid I’d lost you
too. My world was crumbling around me with you gone. I wanted to help, but I didn’t even know how.”

“I know.” He kissed her tenderly. “I’m so sorry that I put you through that.”

Dylan gave himself to her, body and soul. Ariela’s heart absorbed it all and transmitted it right back to him, the love they felt coiling around their hearts like a bandage of security. Every thrust went worlds beyond the physical pleasure they felt. There was no Ariela, no Dylan. There was simply this—the absolute perfection of being together.

They loved as if they had all the time in the world. Neither understood exactly where this patience came from
, nor was there any urgency to move things along. Ariela seemed genuinely startled when she suddenly seized in Dylan’s arms. He held on as she took flight and finally surrendered himself.

**
*

When Ariela peeled open her eyelids the next morning, she found Dylan sitting on the edge of the mattress, holding a glass of orange juice for her.

“You’re up already?”

“What can I say? I think just being here with you is what helped me finally get the rest I needed.”

She sat up. “I’m glad. Is that for me?”

“It is.” He handed her the juice.

She was right in the middle of drinking when he caressed her breast, startling her so badly she inhaled some pulp.

“Dylan! I was drinking. God, give a girl some warning
.”

“
Sorry about that—impulse.” His smile was fleeting. “Come on. I made breakfast.”

“You did?
That’s a first.”

“I
decided I didn’t want to send the woman I love off to work without a hot meal.”

She groaned.
“Work. That’s right. I have to go to work.”

“And so do
I.” He lifted the glass out of her hand.

Then it hit her. Ariela caught him by the arm and yanked him back.
“You just said you love me.”

Dylan gave her a strange look. “Yes,” he said slowly.

“That’s the first time you’ve said that to me.”

He pondered
a moment, chuckling to himself. “You’re right.” Then he dipped his chin and stared her straight in the eyes.

She gave him an innocent smile.
“Waiting for something?”

“Coward.”

“I love you too.” Once it was out, she felt a little shy with him.

“There it is.” He caressed her cheek, a tender look in his eyes. “Now if you don’t get your pretty little bottom out of bed, I’m going to climb back in with you, and we’ll never leave the house today.”

“Promise?”

“Ariela.”

“Okay, I’m getting up
,” she grumbled.

“I’ll go pour you a cup of coffee,
after
I get one of these.” He bent down and kissed her good morning.

**
*

The table was set when Ariela joined Dylan in the kitchen. He removed the covers he’d set over both plates and put them in the sink. “Dig in.”

“Aw, scrambled eggs and toast.” Thinking back, she realized he might very well be the first man to ever fix her breakfast. It made the morning, and her lover, all the more special to her.

“Since I don’t know how you like your eggs, I thought this was the safest bet.”

“As long as I don’t have to cook them myself, I’m not picky. How do you like your eggs?” She took her first bite and sighed. They were perfect, light and buttery with just a dash of salt and pepper.

“Anyway I can get ’em.” He winked at her. “I make a mean deviled egg.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me? You’re a man of many talents.”

After breakfast, Ariela still felt uneasy about leaving
him alone his first day back, but when she offered to call Jean and make an excuse, he was firm.

“No. I really do have things to take care of myself. I’d like to bring you to work, though. It’ll give me an excuse to pick you up later.”

“Okay,” Ariela said slowly. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end again. Why did she doubt him all of a sudden? What else was he keeping from her? Did she have to put a suicide watch on him? People did not simply bounce back after an ordeal like his, not to mention losing three of his friends in the bargain. The last thing she wanted to do was leave him alone now.

Unaware of her thoughts,
Dylan picked the keys off the counter. “All set?”

She went, but not willingly.

Chapter 18

When Dylan got back to the house
after dropping Ariela at work, he poured himself one more cup of coffee then shut off the machine. Nothing in life was easy, especially the most important things. He glared at the condolence card he’d just tossed on the counter. There was no way that piece of shit was gonna cut it. It was pathetically inadequate.

He turned to the window and watched the preschoolers playing in the fenced yard across the street. They were loud and rambunctious today. Not a job he’d ever choose. The thought made him smile, briefly, before he picked up his phone and made a call to his resource connection at the paper.

“Hey Dana,” he said, relieved when he got through. “It’s Dylan Bond…Yeah, I made it back. Say, can you find an address for an Abdulla Ali Hadad? He’s somewhere in Canada, maybe Toronto. I can’t be sure…Mm-hmm. You have my number, right? ...Okay, I’ll let you get to it... No, he left Iraq in two-thousand four. I’m not sure if he took a direct route there…Mm-hmm. He’s an academic. He could be connected with one of the universities…Thanks a lot. I appreciate it.”

Dylan was typing out his notes twenty minutes later when the phone rang.

“Yeah, this is Dylan…Right. That was fast…No kidding, a fellowship? …Great, I’m writing it down…Thanks, Dana, you’re amazing. I appreciate it. Bye.”

He
rubbed his eyes long and hard, pushing deep into the corners with his fingers. He wasn’t ready to make that condolence call, but it had to be done.

Looking at the number he
’d taken down, he dialed Ali’s father. He was sent to voice mail. Taking a deep breath, he waited for the beep. “Dr. Hadad. My name is Dylan Bond. I was working with your son when he was killed. I’m very sorry. If you’d like to talk more with me, here’s my number.” He rattled it off then hung up, feeling empty and responsible.

Anger welled up inside of him. He needed to lash out. It was time to make things uncomfortable for one of the men pulling strings from a comfortable distance while making sizable profits from the sacrifice of others. No one should be getting rich off this godforsaken mess. Dylan wasn
’t ready to release the evidence on profiteering yet, but he had something else. Something guaranteed to make the bastard sweat.

Energized at the thought of the confrontation to come, Dylan made one more call, tapping his fingers impatiently on his desk. Max jumped up when Dylan did, eager to go along.

“Sorry pal. I’ve got an errand to run.”

He shut down his work and pushed back from the desk. Snatching his keys off the counter, Dylan ran to intercept Max before he blocked the door. The dog beat him anyway, and he had to wrestle the
golden retriever back.

“Sorry, boy.
Just me this time. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Dylan slipped out, with a very disappointed animal staring at him through the window as he left.

*
**

Once you start antagonizing a U.S. senator, there’s going to be a response. Dylan expected it. It didn’t worry him. He had other avenues up his sleeve now that he was banned from the senator’s offices. One phone call to his old source and he knew where the politician would be eating lunch today. He had access to the senator’s itinerary too, i
f he was interested.

Not today.

Dylan loitered for ten minutes outside the Ambassador Hotel, waiting while the senator dined inside. When the man’s car pulled up to the curb out front, he straightened and headed over to the double doors. The youngest man in the politician’s entourage, dressed like one of the big boys but clearly not one of them yet, pushed through the door first, holding it wide for the senator and his party to pass through. This was it. Dylan moved to intercept him.

“Hey, Roger!” he called out.

The senator stopped short, his smile crumbling away in icy shards when he saw who it was. His beady stare was hostile as hell, and quite impressive. “That’s Senator Norton to you, Bond, if you have any respect for the office.”

Dylan
gave him a charming smile. “Oh, I have plenty of respect for the office…” He let his words trail off, leaving the implied cut unspoken. One of the senator’s lackeys shoved Dylan back. He gave the man a cool, speculative look. “Do you really want to face assault charges?”

The man sneered.
“Do you want to face harassment?”

“Last I checked we still had freedom of the press in this country. Someone has to keep our representatives in line.”

The senator snapped around and faced him. “Keep away from me, Bond, or I’ll see that you’re covering bake sales next.”

Dylan felt himself grow before their eyes, his small recorder extended toward the blustering man. “Care to clarify your
Hardiman connections senator?” Norton blanched and Dylan pressed his advantage while he had it. “Maybe you could explain why you railroaded a no-bid contract through committee, without disclosing that a certain Mildred A. Copefield, who upped her six-hundred and fifty shares of Hardiman stock to twelve hundred just before the deal went through, is your mother-in-law, and your lovely wife, Beatrice is overseeing her affairs as power-of-attorney? This has turned into a pretty sweet deal for Mildred or, should I say, you? Poor Mildred’s been in a nursing home for over three years because of Alzheimer’s. I understand she can’t even recognize herself in a mirror. Would you care to comment?”

“Go to hell, Bond!” The senator’s face had gone from paper white to tomato red in a heartbeat.

His aides hustled him into the limo and climbed in after him. Abandoned on the sidewalk as the car pulled away, Dylan cracked a smile when one of the men in the back thrust his hand up against the rear window—the gesture violent, the finger unmistakable. Chuckling to himself, he turned and headed in the opposite direction. It was a good day when he got to scare a corrupt politician into watching his back, at least for the short term.

**
*

It was just before noon when Ariela walked back into the office. She headed right for Jean, holding out a set of car keys.
“Thanks for the loan.”

Jean looked up with raised eyebrows.
“You’re back already?”

Flopping into her chair, Ariela stared at her in disbelief.
“He wasn’t there. When I snuck over to check on him, I half expected Dylan would be spiking his coffee with whiskey by now— or worse.”

“
I’d be drunk as a skunk if I went through the hell he did.”

“
I guess he was serious when he said he had things to do today.”

Jean rapped her pen on her desk.
“Any idea where he is?”

Ariela
’s laugh fell flat. “DC.”

“
He drove to Washington, DC?”

She threw up her hands.
“Apparently, his method of coping is to throw himself into his work.”

“
So what now?”

“
I’m here. I might as well get some work done myself.”

Kicking out of her shoes, Ariela turned to her computer.

Jean drifted over a little later as Ariela’s printer was feeding out a diorama of a kitchen with breakfast nook. She looked at the page kicking out of the slot.

“Can you print up the virtual view
next?” she asked, tilting her head to see the layout.

“Already on its way.”

Jean picked up the printout and studied it. “Is this Beverly Campbell’s job?”

“Yep.”

Jean frowned as she tried to figure it out. “Where am I standing here? I’m all turned around.”

Ariela grinned. “You’re not
. The whole kitchen is.”

Jean looked at her. “Say again?”

“Let me show you.”

Ariela pulled the current floor plan
, along with the accompanying photos, from her file and laid them out on the desk for Jean to compare. As understanding began to dawn on Jean’s face, a growing smile of wonder and delight replaced it. Ariela kicked back and crossed her ankles, lazily bouncing her pretty little pump off the ends of her toes while she basked in her own brilliance.

“You’ve completely changed things,” Jean
said in amazement.

“I did.”

She pointed to the new layout. “You moved the doorway and wrapped the cabinets. And look, these weren’t there before.”

“Y
ou’re right.”

Jean looked up at her and smiled. “She’s going to love this.”

Ariela agreed. “And because I shifted the cabinets against the interior walls, both the kitchen and the nook benefit from the natural light coming in through these new windows.”

“They really make the room. I like this little extension off the counter here.” Jean followed it with her finger.

“People spend a good part of their day in their kitchens. It’s one of the most important rooms in a house so it needs to be properly designed and comfortable. Before, this kitchen was a dead end. Now it’s going to be Campbell Central.”

“She’s going to love the extra cabinets
too.”

“I don’t know how she got along without them
.” Ariela admired the design herself, pleased with it.

Jean handed the printout back. “So when are you gonna bring Dylan around
again?”

“Hang out with you and Ron?”

“Well, duh.”

Ariela laughed. “I don’t know. Maybe we should make some plans.”

“How about tonight? Now that he’s back, I’ll probably never get to see you outside of work anymore. You two will be holed up in your little love nest again.”

“
You’ll see us.” Then she realized Jean was probably right. She did tend to spend all her free time with Dylan when he was around.

“
I want to see how he’s doing for myself,” Jean went on. “Not to mention, with the wedding plans underway, we need to talk about a few things ourselves, like our apartment upstairs, living arrangements, etcetera.”

“Oh god, you
’re right.” What was going to happen in two months when Jean and Ron were suddenly expecting to live together? Someone had to move. How had she managed to overlook that fact?

“And what do you think about making Friday a half day?
” Jean broke into her thoughts. “You can help me find a dress.”

Ariela glanced up at her. “I thought you didn’t want big and traditional?”

“I don’t, but I’ll still need a dress. I was thinking of renting one, unless I can’t find what I want. I’d love to find something sleek, like a nineteen-thirties–style, nightclub gown. Picture Constance Bennett or Veronica Lake standing in front of a big band. I want to look as sexy as possible while I still can.”

Ariela’s eyes popped. “What are you saying?”

Jean’s shoulder took a quick little hop. “I think I might be pregnant.”

“Are you kidding me?
How?”

Jean rolled her eyes at the obvious.

“I mean, you’re on the pill, same as me.”

“I wasn’t always good at remembering to take them when I spent the night at Ron’s, and he wasn’t the greatest at reminding me to grab them, either.”

“Does he know yet?”

“I told him.”

“And?”

“He said, ‘Well okay. Call me when you know for sure.’”

Ariela frowned in confusion. “What does that mean?”

Jean toyed with a couple of paperclips, absently hooking them together. “Ron’s taking it in stride. If I am, I am. If not, I eventually will be so what’s the big deal?”

“Huh.” Ariela slowly swiveled side to side in her chair, lost in thought. “How soon will you know?”

“I dropped off a specimen at the doctor’s office this morning. I was hoping to hear from them by now.”

Ariela grinned. “You want it to be positive, don’t you?”

Jean smiled back.
“I kind of do. I just don’t want to deal with morning sickness on my honeymoon.”

Jean’s phone interrupted the conversation, and she broke off to answer it, leaving Ariela
to wait impatiently.

As Jean talked
, she shook her head at Ariela. Bending down, she pulled a file from her drawer and opened it to fabric swatches while conferring with her caller.

Ariela gave her a commiserating smile
after she hung up. “Maybe next call.”

**
*

Dylan was driving back to Lewiston when Dr. Hadad returned his call. He pulled off the highway and parked so they could talk. The forty minute conversation that followed grew organically in a direction he didn
’t expect. A mutual sense of purpose arose between them. When he finally hung up, Dylan was shaking with adrenaline all over again.

Oh god, what had he just committed to? H
e pressed the heels of his hands into his temples, groaning as he made deep circles. He had no choice. This was a debt that demanded payment. He owed Ali—the entire Hadad family.

Dylan felt his precariously balanced life shifting beneath him. His relationship with Ariela,
the story he’d so doggedly pursued, even his very survival weren’t enough to counter the heavy debt on the other side.