Marrying Daisy Bellamy (24 page)

He cringed, thinking about telling Charlie that things were not going so hot with Daisy. That maybe he and Daisy were going to take a break, a trial separation, one that might become permanent. It was tempting to keep pretending.

Charlie was no dummy, though. The kid could sniff out trouble like a bloodhound.

“Jogging sucks,” he reminded Eddie.

J
ulian sat alone in the briefing room, deep within the confines of the Pentagon. He had only been to the Pentagon one other time. From this perspective, it felt like any other government building, chilly and utilitarian.

His head throbbed. His stomach was in knots. His mind shifted crazily from one disjointed thought to the next. He knew he was still not quite grasping the idea that he was a free man.

There was a writing desk against one wall, with a lamp on it, a pad of paper and a pen. In the center of the room stood a long conference table furnished with a few sweating pitchers of water. He had already swilled several glasses. In captivity, fresh water had been hard to come by.

In captivity.

The clock on the wall read 1647. Seventy-two hours before, he had been a prisoner in Colombia.

He now wore the plainest of civilian clothes—dark slacks that were a tad too short for his long legs. A crisp white shirt. Shoes that pinched a little. He was
clean, though. Showered, shaved and fed in a way he hadn't been in twenty-four months. It felt so damn good. Probably half the world's problems would disappear if people were allowed to eat and shower to their hearts' content.

He got up and paced the room, pausing to read the captions under all the portraits on the walls. This was one of his least favorite aspects of military life—hurry up and wait. No matter what the situation, if the military was involved, you could be sure they'd keep you waiting. During his imprisonment, he'd learned a lot about waiting. One of the reasons he was alive today was attributed to the patience and forbearance he had forced himself to cultivate during those dark, lost months.

An ivory-colored phone without a dial hung on the wall. He was wondering what his chances were of getting an outside line when at last there was a knock at the door, and it opened.

A short, stout officer entered. Her black hair was slicked into a neat bun.

“Holy mother of God,” she said. “Jughead.”

“Sayers?” He laughed with joy and opened his arms.

She fell into them, sturdy as he remembered her. Just as quickly, she stepped back, wearing her bossy face as she checked him out. “Damn. Where the hell have you been, boy?”

“That's a good guess,” he conceded. “I've been in hell.”

Her eyes shone with tears, and the bossy face softened. “I can't believe this. We were
all
in hell, the whole detachment, when we got the news you'd been killed. They said you escaped by faking paralysis.”

“I wasn't faking at first. The docs at Palanquero said
it was probably a spinal cord concussion. Temporary paresis or spinal shock, something like that. Then when I felt myself recovering, I didn't say anything. Figured I needed the element of surprise.”

“How the hell did you keep up the charade for so long?”

“My dad was in a wheelchair. I knew all the drills, and trust me, the guards didn't want to know too much about, er, personal habits. They pretty much left me alone.”

She squeezed his hand. “You're going to be all right,” she said. It was not a question.

“Of course,” he assured her. Yet he was painfully happy to feel her hand in his. In addition to everything else, he'd been entirely deprived of human contact and hadn't until this moment realized how much he'd missed a simple touch.

“I'm sorry about your team,” Sayers added.

Julian nodded, the words frozen in his throat. Until he had walked onto the base at Palanquero, hands in the air, prison garb flapping in tatters around his gaunt form, he had not known the helicopter had gone down at sea and was never recovered. That explained why both he and Ramos had been reported killed, along with the rest of them, and why no rescue unit was ever deployed. He had briefed his commanders about how Ramos had sacrificed himself and had been forced into Gamboa's operation. The mission to defeat the drug lord was still ongoing. The destruction Julian had caused during his escape had turned out to be a huge break for the joint special forces, but he couldn't really take much satisfaction in that, because he was still trying to get his mind around the enormous loss of his comrades.

Rusty and Doc, Truesdale, Simon and José, guys
he'd trained with from the Colombian militia. He hadn't known any of them for long, but their bond was like no other. They'd put their lives in each other's hands, the ultimate act of trust. And now they were all…gone. Never mind that it had happened two years ago. He'd just found out, and the wound was as fresh as yesterday.

“Jughead?” prompted Sayers. “What's going on in that fool head of yours?”

“I feel like a ghost,” he said.

“Go easy on yourself. You're not
that
skinny. Speaking of which, you're going to get the full treatment,” she assured him. “I want you to promise me you'll take full advantage of everything they offer you, not only the physical, but the mental health counseling.”

“No problem,” he said.

She snapped to attention as three men entered the room—an undersecretary of the air force, an official from the State Department and a public affairs officer. Salutes were exchanged.

“At ease,” said Colonel Garland, the undersecretary. “Lieutenant Gastineaux, welcome home.”

“Thank you, sir.” He shook hands with each of them in turn.

They sat at the table for a debriefing, his third in as many days. Paulson, the official from the State Department, ran the meeting.

“Lieutenant Gastineaux, we owe you too much respect to pussyfoot around. You've been part of a deep covert operation, one that is ongoing. Your oath of confidentiality is still in effect.”

“I understand, sir.” What did they think, that he was going to sell his story to the tabloids? What story? His story sucked.

“Excellent, because it's a critical matter.”

“Yes, sir.” Julian tried to figure out what he was getting at.

“We're going to require you to be circumspect, bearing in mind the many lives dependent on your discretion.”

Jeez, how many ways were they going to say this? “Of course.”

“We've prepared a statement for release,” said Rankin, the public affairs officer. “You'll want to familiarize yourself with it.”

Julian went over the few printed paragraphs. The bare facts were all there, although the mission was characterized as a routine training exercise. No mention of the team's mission, Gamboa or the fact that, in making his escape, Julian had taken out the largest cocaine production facility in western Colombia.

“Sounds good to me,” he said.

“And here are your papers outlining a long-term medical leave of absence.”

“I'm being put on leave.” He had not expected that.

“It's necessary. You continue to qualify for all benefits, and—”

“Why am I being put on leave?”

“It's all there in the paperwork. When you've been on a remote and gone MIA, it's standard.”

“Not so sure I'm okay with that, sir.” A leave? For what? In the space of a moment he was forced to realign his life. His future.

“It's necessary,” the undersecretary repeated.

Julian caught Sayers's eye, and despite the passage of time, he could read her like a book. She was telling him to keep his mouth shut, save his arguments for someone who could actually do something about his situation.

“All right. Sure. Whatever,” he said.

“You'll need to sign another confidentiality agreement,
extending the current one. There can be no discussion of the incident at the level of press.”

Julian was quiet. He met Sayers's gaze again. “I really am a ghost, then.”

 

They let Sayers stay with him after the officials left. They probably would've had to pry her off with a crow-bar if they'd refused.

“I need to call my fiancée,” he said, still reeling from the explanation of what had gone on after his disappearance. “God. I can't believe she was told I died.”

“Everyone on the transport died,” Sayers pointed out. “All the families got the call.”

He winced, imagining the pain Daisy had suffered. I'm sorry, baby, he thought. I'm coming home to you now.

“I can't even imagine how she's going to feel,” said Sayers. “But…Jughead? Maybe you should call your next of kin first.”

“My mother?” He shook his head. “She'll get hysterical. Maybe even blab to the press. Why would I call her first?”

“This fiancée—”

“Daisy.” He couldn't believe he was only hours from seeing her again.

“Have you thought about—shoot, Jugs. This is hard. I'm just saying, maybe she's moved on, you know?”

The suggestion was patently ridiculous. Incomprehensible. He was about to tell her so when a cold spike of apprehension lodged in his gut. She'd been told he was dead. He was a fool if he thought she'd still be sitting around, grieving for him. Yes, she loved him, but he could not expect her to spend her days pining after a dead guy. She had a kid to raise. A life to live.

Sayers read the expression on his face. “I'm probably completely off base. What I'd love is for you to fit right back into your life as if you'd never left.”

“And we both know that's not going to happen. I'm still trying to get my mind around the idea that the world considered me dead.” He steepled his fingers together. “One of my favorite scenes in
Huckleberry Finn
was always the one where Tom and Huck attend their own funeral,” he said. “Wonder what mine was like.”

“Total sobfest. We were on our knees, I swear.”

“You went?”

“Hell, yeah, I went. Chipped in fifty bucks for the funeral spray, too. I ought to ask for my money back.”

“I owe you,” he said. “Listen, I'm going to call my brother, Connor. He is the least likely to go into meltdown when he hears from me.”

“Good plan,” she said, handing him a phone.

He dialed the number from memory and listened to the rings. Shit, what if it went to voice mail? What the hell was he going to say to voice mail?
Oh, hey, Con. It's me, Jules. Listen, good news….

“Davis Construction. Connor speaking.”

Julian took a deep breath. “It's me, Julian. It really is. Your brother.”

“What the hell—”

“Just listen, Con, okay? Damn, it's good to hear your voice. There was a huge mistake about my death, man. It was misreported, and…don't freak out.”

He held the phone away from his ear as a loud yell came across the line.

“He's freaking out,” Sayers observed, beaming.

“He's freaking out,” Julian agreed.

After Connor calmed down enough to listen, and Julian convinced him that this was not a hoax, he said,
“I'm not sure how to go about getting the word out. You're the first person I called.”

“So, uh, you haven't spoken to Daisy.”

It was the “uh” that tipped Julian off. That tiny verbal hesitation spoke volumes. He and his brother had always been straight with one another.

Julian asked, “Is she okay? What's going on?”

“She took it hard when we got the news about you,” Connor explained. “Real hard. Went around like a zombie for months.”

Julian's heart constricted as he imagined Daisy's hurt. And he could imagine it because it was the same hurt he knew he would feel if he ever lost her.

He felt a glimmer of that pain even before Connor finished his explanation. Somehow, Julian already sensed what was coming. He steeled himself.

“About a year ago, she and Logan O'Donnell got married,” Connor told him, the words rushing out fast, as if he wanted to get this over with.

Julian felt everything drain out of him.

“Jules?” Connor said into the silence. “Man, I'm sorry. And I have to be honest, I know this sucks for you, but I'm so damn glad you're alive that I'm still smiling.”

“I need a favor,” Julian said, his mind racing.

“Anything.”

“Go see her in person and tell her. Just, you know, so she's prepared.”

Sayers was watching him with mounting concern.

“I can do that,” Connor said. “Olivia and I will find her right away.”

“Good. Okay.” Julian wanted to call Daisy himself, but he was in an impossible position now. She was married.
Married
. Boundaries were up. Regardless of
how he wanted things to be, he had to respect those boundaries.

“I don't know what's going to happen in the future,” Connor said, “but you're here. You're alive. And I can't wait to see you.”

“Same here.”

“When?”

Julian's gaze flicked to Sayers. She made a gesture as if to say, We're done here.

“Tonight,” Julian said.

“Seriously?”

“Looks that way.” Julian held the phone away from his ear.

“He still freaking out?” asked Sayers.

“Still freaking out,” Julian confirmed.

“W
ell,” Daisy said with a happy smile. “This is a treat. I don't usually get a follow-up visit with my clients.” It was hard to believe she had shot their wedding more than two years ago.

Andrea Hubble and her husband Brian exchanged a look that glowed with fondness. “You did such a beautiful job on our wedding photos that I couldn't think of anyone better to take pictures of our new baby.”

Daisy looked around the sun-drenched porch of their new home, a modest frame house on the lake. The railed porch was hung with a late-blooming vine, its delicate white flowers exuding a beautiful fragrance.

“You don't need an expert to make this little sweetheart look good,” she pointed out.

“I was thinking more about the mom and dad,” Andrea said. “All these night feedings are cutting into my beauty rest, big-time.”

“The three of you are going to look amazing,” Daisy promised. “We'll get started as soon as Zach arrives with the rest of the gear.”

She picked out her favorite lens and scouted around for some good settings—a nice old porch swing, a patch of six-foot hollyhocks, an overgrown meadow sloping down to the lake, a rowboat in the water, tied to the weathered dock.

“How have you been?” she asked the Hubbles. “I mean, apart from the obvious.”

Andrea and Brian exchanged a glance. “It's been…everything. We've gone from newly wedded bliss to the honeymoon-is-over rage, and all the stages in between. We're great, though, right?” She nudged her husband. “Am I right?”

“You're right. And those have become my two favorite words in the English language.”

Daisy was beginning to feel inspired. She loved it when the energy of the subject was so warm and positive. Andrea and Brian leaned in toward each other, regarding their baby son with a pride that shone so brightly, it was palpable.

Andrea leaned sweetly against her husband's shoulder. “It's been a process, and that's not a bad thing. I went from being swept off my feet to loving Brian like a habit, like breathing, if that makes sense.”

“Perfect sense,” Daisy murmured. She should work on that with Logan, yet caught herself wondering why it seemed so impossible to get into the habit of love.

“And it's not cheesy?” Andrea asked.

“The truth is never cheesy,” Daisy assured her. “I'm really happy for the two of you.” The Hubbles seemed to have a rhythm together, subtle, but the camera found it. Daisy wondered if she and Logan had a rhythm. They tended to go their separate ways—he with work and soccer league on the weekends, meetings with his group
and sponsor. And she stayed busy with her own career and with friends and family.

Every couple was different. Andrea and Brian were passionate about each other, and the chemistry flowed from every cell of their bodies. Daisy had seen it while doing their wedding shoot; she sensed now that it was more powerful than ever. And it seemed effortless. Maybe for some couples, love
was
effortless. Others had to work harder at it.

She had never been one to shy from hard work. If that was what it took—and their couples counselor assured them that it did—then she would go the distance.

Checking a sunny corner of the garden with her light meter, she made a mental note to do something nice for Logan today. Fix salmon for dinner, his favorite. Maybe offer to go to the gym with him, if one of her parents was free to watch Charlie.

The last time she'd offered, Logan had declined.

“It's not exactly quality time, doing weight training across the room from each other,” he'd pointed out.

She kept waiting for this awkwardness between them to melt away, but it constantly cropped up, like weeds in a garden. Sometimes she lay awake at night, praying, Please don't let us repeat my parents' mistakes.

And that, of course, begged the question—had her parents been mistaken in trying to stay together as long as they had? Or was their greatest mistake in calling it quits?

She heard the sound of a car door slamming and dragged her thoughts into the present.

“There's Zach,” she said. “We'll get started in a few minutes. Hey, Zach,” she called over her shoulder. “I'm going to need both the strobe and the ambient right away. Could you—” She turned to him and broke off
in surprise. “Hey, Olivia. Connor. What are you guys doing here?”

“Sorry to interrupt you at work,” Olivia said, with an apologetic nod at the Hubbles. “Zach told us we could find you here.”

Daisy made hasty introductions; then Olivia and Connor took her aside. “What's up?” Daisy asked. “Is everything all right?”

“It's Julian,” Connor said.

Even now, the sound of his name, spoken aloud, was like a fist to the solar plexus. “Why would you bring him up?” she asked, hurt and mystified.

Olivia put her arms around Daisy. “It's good news,” she said, “but you might want to sit down.”

Daisy wobbled in confusion, but said, “I'll stand, thanks. Just tell me what's going on.”

“So this is totally freaky, but amazing. I had a call, completely out of the blue,” Connor said. “He's alive, Daisy. He wasn't killed when the helicopter went down. He's been a prisoner in Colombia, and he finally escaped, and he's back.”

Daisy swayed against her cousin as she tried to make sense of the words. They seemed to echo in her head without meaning. Julian…alive. Alive.
Impossible
. She moved her mouth, but no words came out.

“I spoke to him less than an hour ago.”

Daisy choked, managed to summon her voice. “He's…you mean…you're
sure?
”

“He's in Washington and will be here tonight.” Connor's voice shook, and Olivia took his hand.

Daisy broke away from Olivia. She couldn't figure out what to do with herself. She sank down on the grass and wrapped her arms around her knees. Julian. Alive. On his way here.

Tears of disbelief and gratitude spilled down her face, and her breath caught painfully in her chest. She was trembling hard, so hard she couldn't see straight.

“I'm going to tell your clients you'll need to reschedule this shoot.” Connor went over to talk to the Hubbles, and Daisy didn't bother to object. Talk about blowing her concentration.

Olivia sat down cross-legged next to Daisy. “It's so incredible,” she said. “Like a dream come true. Connor's been—he's a mess, ever since that phone call. But a happy mess.”

Julian
. “I still can't believe it.”

“It'll feel more real when we see him in person tonight. He'll be here in time for dinner.” Olivia's voice trembled with wonder. “I know you're happy, but I guess it's super awkward for you. I can't imagine what this must feel like.”

Tonight. How could that be? Daisy had been thinking about going to the gym with Logan and fixing salmon for supper, and…and now this. How could Julian go from being dead one moment to sitting down to dinner the next? With every cell of her body, she wanted to leave the world behind, run to him and fling herself into his arms. But that, of course, was impossible.

“He didn't call me,” she said, a curl of apprehension tightening in her stomach. “My number hasn't changed. Why didn't he call me?”

“Connor did explain to him that you—your circumstances have changed.”

“He told Julian I'm married to Logan, you mean.”

“He couldn't very well have said anything else.”

“I know. I understand. But…oh God. I hate that he found out like this, even though I love it so much that he's still in the world.” Daisy lowered her head to her
arms. With no effort at all, she could conjure up his scent and the way his hands felt on her, the sound of his voice and the taste of his kisses. The jumble of emotions inside her kept growing until it felt like a fountain she couldn't contain. She thought she understood what her life would be, but now this…it changed everything. No, she thought. This desire she had to see him again, to touch him and open her heart to him again had to be a secret.

“This must be such a shock,” Olivia said. “How
are
you doing?”

“Still trying to get my head around this,” Daisy admitted. “And I know this situation is about to get extremely complicated. However, right now I can't feel anything but grateful. I never knew happiness could hurt so much. Oh, God. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say.”

“No one does. This is not exactly the kind of thing that happens every day.” Olivia took out her mobile phone and turned the screen toward Daisy. “Connor made him send a picture.”

Daisy's breath caught. Her heart seemed to leap toward the photo on the palm-size screen. “Julian,” she whispered. “He's so skinny. But…he's smiling.” She'd seen that face in her dreams, night after night. She used to think the dreams came to her because she was not done with the relationship. He had been taken from her with brutal swiftness.

“He has a lot to smile about, wouldn't you say?” Olivia pointed out.

Daisy gazed down at the image. Even now, she recognized that smile. It was the one she used to be able to feel from the crown of her head all the way down to her toes.