Military Grade Mistletoe
Military Grade Mistletoe
Julie Miller
Master Sergeant Harry Lockheart was the only survivor of the IED that killed his team – but he believes his actual recovery is down to Daisy Gunderson's kind letters.So now that he's finally met the woman of his dreams, he's not about to let a stalker destroy their dreams for the future.
She saved his life when everything was hopeless. He’s determined to return the favor.
Not even Master Sergeant Harry Lockhart’s military expertise could stop the IED that killed his team and left him injured. Only Daisy Gunderson—a pen pal he’d never met—and her kind letters helped him survive. But Daisy in the flesh is the surly Marine’s polar opposite. She’s outgoing, talkative and putting his military training on high alert. A stalker named Secret Santa is targeting the kindhearted teacher…and the pranks are growing deadly.
In Daisy, Harry’s finally found the safe haven he needs. And he’ll be damned if anyone is going to take her from him.
The Precinct
Daisy was in a deep, blank sleep when she startled awake to a man’s hand clamped over her mouth. (#u24867251-8052-5487-9e00-c5bcbc2bafa4)
Her muffled scream quickly fell silent when Harry’s face hovered into focus above hers. He pressed a finger to his lips in the universal sign of shushing and didn’t remove his hand until she nodded her understanding to remain quiet.
Something was wrong. Even in her nearsighted haze, she could see Harry was strapping on his gun again. She pulled the sheet around her and sat up as he handed her the brown glasses they’d left in the living room.
She slipped them on, hoping that bringing clarity to his grim expression would give her understanding. “What is it?” she whispered softly. She heard one of the dogs growling from the foot of the bed, and all the beautiful aftermath of making love and sleeping contentedly in his arms vanished in a clutch of fear. “Harry?”
He pushed her phone into her hands. “Call 9-1-1. There’s someone outside.”
That was when Daisy jumped at the pop, pop, pop of tiny explosions and shattering glass out on the back deck.
Military Grade Mistletoe
Julie Miller
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JULIE MILLER is an award-winning USA TODAY bestselling author of breathtaking romantic suspense—with a National Readers’ Choice Award and a Daphne du Maurier Award, among other prizes. She has also earned an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. For a complete list of her books, monthly newsletter and more, go to www.juliemiller.org (http://www.juliemiller.org).
In honor of the seventy-fifth anniversary of Camp Pendleton, home of the 1st Marine Battalion.
My dad and brother were both once stationed there.
For the real Muffy. Yes, that dog is a he. And yes, he’s in charge. Just ask him.
Contents
Cover (#u16e68ef1-441b-5bd6-a55b-f7fd100cc9fb)
Back Cover Text (#uc0cee8ad-5a82-587f-8f37-fc68744ce22c)
Introduction (#ubcc6d527-5501-58b1-9e16-3f3252fe3f52)
Title Page (#ueef387a2-a31b-5630-b873-0ae6a6bea681)
About the Author (#ufb0410e4-478a-5f94-a93a-d9530a0f4c08)
Dedication (#uc7ecf38f-f52f-5e60-8520-336d014dc76d)
Prologue (#u59b57f27-5c88-5f96-a2d7-558f8745c90a)
Chapter One (#ub53fadd8-b799-5a6c-83a6-b8fe04290ceb)
Chapter Two (#ued9dfb73-05b3-5344-8008-ed63b4120bc9)
Chapter Three (#u1162c178-4060-50d6-8d3f-5aa75d5eeffe)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#u24867251-8052-5487-9e00-c5bcbc2bafa4)
“You’re not the first Marine this has happened to.”
But it was the first time it had happened to him. Master Sergeant Harry Lockhart didn’t fail. When he was given a mission, he got the job done. No matter what it cost him. But this? All the doctors, all the physical training and rehab, all the therapy—hell, he’d talked about things nobody knew about him, and it had gutted him worse than that last firefight that had sent him stateside in the first place—and they were still going to give him the boot?
Harry didn’t know who he was going to be if he couldn’t be part of the Corps, anymore.
His given name was Henry Lockhart Jr., but nobody called him by his daddy’s name unless he or she outranked him or wanted a fist in his face. Henry Sr. was serving time in a prison in Jefferson City, Missouri for a variety of crimes, the worst of which was being a lousy excuse for a father. Between Henry’s drinking, neglect and natural affinity for violence, it was a miracle Harry and his older sister, Hope, had survived to adulthood. Hope wouldn’t have done that, even, if at the ripe old age of nine, Harry hadn’t picked up his daddy’s gun and shot one of the dogs that had attacked her when she tried to leave the house to get him food so he wouldn’t starve.
A muscle ticked beside his right eye as a different memory tried to assert itself. But, with a mental fist, he shoved that particular nightmare into the tar pit of buried images from all the wars he’d fought, determined to keep it there.
“How many years have you been in the Corps?” The doctor was talking again.
If Dr. Biro hadn’t also been a lieutenant colonel, Harry might have blown him off. But Biro was not only in charge of his fitness assessments, he was a decent guy who didn’t deserve his disrespect. Harry met his superior’s gaze across the office desk. “Seventeen, sir.”
Biro nodded. “A career man.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hope was the only family he’d ever had, the only person he’d ever trusted, until he’d enlisted in the United States Marine Corps the day after he’d graduated from high school. The Corps had whipped his rebellious butt into shape, given him a home with regular meals on most days, introduced him to the best friends he had in the world and given him a reason to wake up every day and live his life.
Now his sister was married and had her own family. So he’d really, really like to keep the one he’d found. His physical wounds from that last deployment had left their mark on his stiff, misshapen face, but the scars were a sign that those had healed. He knew it was the mental wounds the lieutenant colonel was worried about.
Not for the first time in his life, Harry was going to have to prove himself worthy. He was going to have to earn someone else’s unshakable trust in him again.
He was going to have to relearn how to trust himself.
Do this. That was Harry’s motto. He couldn’t lose the only home he had left. He scrubbed his fingers over the bristly cut of his regulation short hair. “You said I was improving.”
“You are.”
The medical brass seemed to like it when he talked, so he tried again. “I’ve done everything you asked of me these past four months.”
Biro grinned. “I wish all my patients were as dedicated to following my orders as you. Physically, you could handle light duty, maybe even a training assignment.”
“But...? Tell me the truth, Doc.” Was he washed out of the Corps or not?
The lieutenant colonel leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t smiling now. “You need to get your head on straight or we can’t use you.”
“You’re not comfortable sending me out in the field?”
“I’d be doing you a disservice if I did.” Biro leaned forward again, propping the elbows of his crisply pressed lab coat on the desktop. “At the risk of oversimplifying everything you’ve gone through—something broke inside you. I believe it’s healing, but the scar is still new and I don’t want you to rip it open again.”
“I appreciate the honest answer.” Harry did some mental calculations on how long he’d have to play this game before he could come in for his next assessment and change the doctor’s prognosis. “So, peace and quiet, huh? Normalcy?”
The lieutenant colonel didn’t understand how far away from normal civilian life was for Harry. The jarheads he served with didn’t care where he’d come from or how rough his altered face looked, as long as he did his job. But on the outside, expectations were different, and he was ill-equipped to handle them.
“That’s my prescription.”
“And I don’t need pills on the outside? I just need a shrink?”
Lt. Col. Biro opened a folder and pulled a pen from his chest pocket. “That’s my recommendation. If you can’t sleep, or the mood swings become unbearable, call me. Otherwise, take the time off. Relax. Give yourself a few weeks to reconnect with civilian life. Enjoy the holidays. Get yourself a Christmas tree and eat too many sweets. Kiss a pretty girl and watch football all New Year’s Day. Whatever you like to do to celebrate.” Relax and celebrate sounded like daunting tasks for a man who didn’t have much experience with the examples on the good doctor’s list. “If you still want to after that, make an appointment with my office in January and we’ll reevaluate your fitness to serve. Or, if you decide the clean break is what you need, I’ll have your honorable medical discharge waiting for you. It’s not like you haven’t earned it.”
Harry stood, clasping his utility cover, the Corps’ term for a canvas uniform hat, between his hands. “I’ll be back, sir.”
The lieutenant colonel nodded before signing off on his medical leave papers and dismissing him. “You’re from Kansas City, Missouri, right?” Harry nodded. “You might have snow there this time of year.”
What was Biro going to prescribe now? Building a snowman to get in touch with the inner child Harry had never had the chance to be? “Sir?”
“My best buddy from basic training was from KC. I’ve always enjoyed my visits. I’ll have my aide give you some recommendations for therapists you can see there.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Harry’s cover fit snugly over his head as he pulled the bill down and hiked outside into the sunny Southern California weather. He drove to the base housing he shared with two other Non-commissioned Officers, or NCOs, slammed the door on his truck and hurried inside before he cussed up a blue streak that would have all of Camp Pendleton talking by sundown.
Thankfully, his bunk mates were both on duty so he had the house to himself. But that empty echo of the door closing behind him was a curse as much as it was a blessing. Damn, he missed the way his best friend used to greet him.
The remembered thunder of deadly fireworks and images of blood and destruction seared him from the inside out, leaving him with beads of sweat on his forehead and his hands clutched into fists.
Hell. The doc was right. His head wasn’t on straight.
Using some of the calming techniques Lt. Col. Biro had taught him, Harry breathed in deeply through his nose and out through his mouth. Then he grabbed the pull-up bar hanging in his bedroom doorway and did ten quick reps until he felt the burn in his biceps, triceps and shoulders, and the anger that had flared behind his eyes receded.
He took the pull-up bar off the door frame and tossed it onto the bed beside the duffel bag he’d already packed that morning, having known he was either shipping out or going home by the time the medical team was done with him today.
You need to get your head on straight or we can’t use you.
The lieutenant colonel’s blunt words made the tiny, impersonal bedroom swim around him. Squeezing his eyes shut against the dizzying, unsettled feeling he hadn’t felt since he was a little boy wondering if he was going to eat that day, Harry sank onto the edge of the mattress. He needed to find that happy place inside him. He needed to feel the holidays and the hope they inspired. He needed to find a way to push aside the nightmares and the anger and learn how to cope again. Or else the brass wouldn’t let him be a Marine anymore.
On instinct, he opened his duffel bag and pulled out a bulky, crumpled manila envelope that held the lifeline to sanity that had gotten him through that last hellish deployment and the long days in the hospital and physical therapy which had followed. He brushed his fingers over the torn envelope flap before sliding his thumb underneath and peeking inside. Now here was a little bit of sunshine. He pulled out a homemade angel ornament that had been a gift to him last Christmas. Then he studied the stack of cards and letters that were battered and smudged from travel and rereading. Words from a compassionate oracle who understood him better than he knew himself. His stiff jaw relaxed with the tremor of a smile that couldn’t quite form on his lips.
Harry hadn’t been this uncertain since he was that starving little boy with a black eye and clothes that didn’t fit. He didn’t need a shrink. He needed the Corps. But he’d need a miracle to make that happen. He needed the angel from all these cards and letters to work her magic on him again.
None of them were recent, but that didn’t matter. The effect on him was always the same. He opened the very first letter and started to read.
Dear MSgt. Lockhart...
Chapter One (#u24867251-8052-5487-9e00-c5bcbc2bafa4)
Dear Daisy,
Merry Christmas from your Secret Santa.
Daisy Gunderson stared at the gift tag, dotted with sparkles of glitzy snow, in the top right drawer of her desk and wondered who hated her enough to wage this terror campaign against her. This should be the happiest time of year for her, with the holidays and her winter break from school coming soon. Either somebody thought this sick parade of presents left on her desk or in her mailbox in the faculty work room was a clever idea for a joke, or that person intentionally wanted to ruin Christmas for her.
Typically, she made a big deal of the holidays, as evidenced by the greenery and ornaments decorating her classroom, and the hand-carved menorah and colorful Kwanzaa mat she had on display that had been gifts from former students. But the red glass candy dish filled with rat poison, the decapitated elf ornament and the X-rated card that had nothing to do with holiday greetings hidden away in her drawer were disturbing signs that not everyone shared the same reverence for celebrating this time of year.
The gifts were an eerie reminder of the tragic mistake she’d made three years ago that had cost her so dearly. But Brock was locked up in a prison cell, and would be until her roots turned gray. Daisy had already called the prison to confirm Brock Jantzen hadn’t escaped or been accidentally released. These gifts couldn’t be his handiwork. Men in prison who’d tried to kill their ex-girlfriends didn’t get to send them cards and presents, right?
Daisy inhaled and let the long exhale flutter her lips. Of course not. These gifts had nothing to do with Brock. Or losing her father. Or even losing her mother, in a way. They had nothing to do with the scars on her chest and belly or her missing spleen.
Deciding that her thinking made it so, Daisy adjusted her purple-framed eyeglasses at her temples, spared a glance for the lone student muttering at the laptop on his desk, then looked up at the clock on the wall to wonder how much longer it was going to take Angelo to finish his essay before they could both go home for the day. Since she’d promised to give the teenager all the time he needed to complete his work, Daisy closed the drawer, picked up her pen and went back to grading papers.
But her thoughts drifted to the small stack of letters she’d locked away in a keepsake box under her bed at home. Letters from a Marine overseas. Short, stilted and impersonal at first. Then longer, angrier, sadder. Master Sergeant Harry Lockhart yearned for quiet and routine just as much as he longed to complete the job he’d been sent to the Middle East to accomplish. She could tell he loved serving his country. That he loved the military dog he worked with, Tango. That he grieved the young men and native soldiers he’d trained and lost. She’d grieved right along with him when he’d written to say that Tango had been killed. Those letters had been part of a class writing project she’d initiated last year, with help from a friend at church, Hope Taylor, who had connected Daisy to her brother and his unit. She’d give anything to hear from Harry Lockhart again, even one of his short missives about the heat or the sand in his bunk. But sadly, those letters had stopped coming months ago. She hoped the unthinkable hadn’t happened to her Marine. More likely, he’d simply tired of the friendship after the class had ended and those students had stopped writing the servicemen and women with whom they’d been pen pals.
Now the only notes she received depicted graphic sexual acts and violence. All under the guise of a friendly game of Secret Santa.
She’d reported the gifts to her principal, and he’d made a general announcement about the appropriateness of everyone’s anonymous gifts at the last staff meeting. And, she’d alerted the building police officer, who promised to keep an eye on her room and try to figure out when the gifts were being left for her. But, short of canceling the faculty party and gift exchange, and ruining everyone else’s Christmas fun, there was little more she could do besides staying alert, and doing a little sleuthing of her own to try and figure out who was sending them. Daisy wondered if the wretched gifts might even be coming from someone who hadn’t drawn her name in the annual gift swap—a disgruntled student, perhaps. Or maybe there was someone else in her life who thought this terror campaign was a cute way to squash her determination to make the most of every holiday celebration.
If that was the case, she refused to give in and take down one tiny piece of tinsel or play her Mannheim Steamroller music any less often. She already had enough reasons to mourn and resent the holidays. The Scrooges didn’t get to win. If grief, abandonment and solitude couldn’t keep her from saying Merry Christmas every chance she got, then a few morbid trinkets from a disturbed mind weren’t going to make her say, Bah, Humbug, either.
“Finished. Five hundred and two words.” A small laptop plunked down in front of her on her desk. “Before the deadline.”
Daisy smiled up at Angelo Logan, a favorite student with as much talent as he had excuses for not doing his work. She knew no one in his immediate family had gone to college. And since that was a goal of his, she didn’t mind putting in some extra time and pushing him a little harder than some of her other students. She skimmed the screen from the title, The Angel and the Devil, down to the word count at the bottom of the page. “Wow. Two words over the minimum required. Did you break a sweat?”
“You said to be concise.” A grin appeared on his dark face.
“Did you map out why you’re deserving of the scholarship?”
“Yeah. I talked about my home life, about being a twin and about what I can do for my community if I get a journalism degree.”
Daisy arched a skeptical eyebrow. “In five hundred and two words?”
Angelo tucked the tails of his white shirt back beneath his navy blue sweater and returned to his desk to pull on his blue school jacket. “Can I have my phone back now, Ms. G?”
“May I?” she corrected automatically, and looked up to see him roll his deep brown eyes. The standard rule in her class was “No cell phones allowed,” and anytime a student entered her room, he or she had to deposit their phones in the shoe bag hanging beside the door. Getting a phone back meant the student was free to go. Daisy smiled at the seventeen-year-old who looked so put upon by grinchy teachers who held him accountable for procrastinated essays and college application deadlines, when he probably just wanted to take off with his buddies for some Thursday night R & R. “You’re too good a writer to miss this opportunity.” She turned the laptop around. “Email me this draft and I’ll get it edited tonight. I can go over any changes that need to be made with you tomorrow. Then we can send the whole thing off before Monday’s deadline.”
Angelo zipped back to her desk and attached the file to an email. “I’ve got basketball after school tomorrow. I won’t be able to come in. Coach will bench me if I miss practice two days in a row.”
Ah, yes. Coach Riley and the pressure he put on his players, despite the academic focus of Central Prep. “Can you do lunch?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She pointed to the shoe storage bag hanging by the door. “Grab your phone. Have a good night and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
But he didn’t immediately leave. He exhaled a sigh before setting his backpack on the corner of her desk and digging inside. He pulled out a squished plastic bag with a red ribbon tied around the top and shyly dropped a gift of candy on her desk. “Thank you, Ms. G.”
An instinctive alarm sent a shock of electricity through her veins. But then she saw the blush darkening Angelo’s cheeks and realized she couldn’t be paranoid about everything with a gift tag this time of year. Plus, the smushed present didn’t look anything like the carefully prepared gifts she’d received from her Secret Santa. She feigned a smile before genuinely feeling it, and picked up the gift. “Are these your grandmother’s homemade caramels?”
“Yeah. She wanted to thank you for the extra hours you’re putting in on me.”
Daisy untied the bow and pulled open the bag to sniff the creamy brown-sugary goodies. This present was safe. She’d seen it delivered, and there was nothing hinky about the candies wrapped in this modest bag. She could let herself enjoy it. “I love her caramels. She made a special batch without nuts for me?”
The blush faded as the grin returned. “I don’t know why you want to eat them without the pecans, but she remembered that was the way you like them.”
Daisy pulled out one of the individually wrapped caramels and untwisted the waxed paper. “Hey, between her and me, we’re going to get you into college.”
“Yes, ma’am. Um... I wanted to...”
Wondering how long Angelo was going to stand there before he said whatever was making him shift back and forth so nervously, Daisy popped the caramel in her mouth and started to fill the awkward silence. “These are the yummiest—”
She almost choked on the chewy treat when a sharp knock rapped on her door. “’Lo. You coming or what?” Although the baggy jeans and sideways ball cap were a vastly different look than the school uniform Angelo still wore, Albert Logan shared his twin brother’s face. “Just because you got in trouble with the teacher doesn’t mean I have to be late.”
“I’m not in trouble,” Angelo insisted.
“I don’t care. I just know I have to drive your sorry ass home before I meet the guys.”
“Granny’s going to kill you if you skip dinner again.”
“She ain’t killed me yet.” Albert jerked his head down the hallway toward the exit. “Move it.”
“Hey, Albert.” Daisy stood and offered a friendly greeting.
“Hey, Ms. G.”
Despite looking alike, the two brothers couldn’t be more different. “You know, my offer to stay after school and work with students who need extra help extends to you, too.”
“I ain’t in your class no more.”
“You aren’t anymore,” she corrected. “I’m here with Angelo. I could easily tutor you, too. Get your grades back up so you can be on the basketball team again.”
“Whatever.” He turned down her repeated offer to help him raise his D’s and F’s into acceptable grades and pointed to his brother. “My car leaves in five. Be in it or walk home.”
Although she was already plotting different arguments to convince Albert to get the help he needed, Daisy trained her smile on Angelo while he zipped his backpack and hurried to grab his phone. “Be sure to thank your grandmother for the caramels.”
“Bye.”
Once the teens had left her room, the silence of an empty school long after classes had ended closed in on her. Shaking off the instant sensation of loneliness before it could take hold of her, Daisy packed up her pink leather shoulder bag. She jotted a note to Bernie Riley, the boys’ basketball coach, asking him to have a chat with his former player to encourage Albert to take her, or someone else, up on the tutoring offer. Without sports to keep him interested in school, she feared he’d wind up dropping out without a diploma. Then she grabbed her scarf and wrapped it around the neckline of her tunic sweater and pulled her coat from the closet before shutting off the lights and locking the door.
She’d make one quick stop at the faculty lounge to drop off the note, then head out. Besides hurrying home to let out her three dogs to do their business, she needed to get the place tidied up before showing the upstairs suite to the potential renter who’d answered her ad in the paper. Her friend Hope’s husband was a KCPD cop, and he’d done a routine search on the guy and a couple of other tenant prospects to ensure they didn’t have a criminal record or pose any obvious threat to her.
Having the dogs with her eased her concerns about living alone. But with the advent of the creepy cards and gifts, she’d decided that having a man on the premises, preferably an older one who reminded her of the security her father had once provided, would scare away whoever was threatening her. Besides, one of the hazards of living alone in the two-story 1920s Colonial her parents and grandparents had once lived in was that she was spending a small fortune renovating it. With taxes due at the end of the year and her savings already tapped out, thanks to the new HVAC system and roof she’d been forced to install, she could use the extra income of a tenant to get through the expense of the holidays.
Her steps slowed on the hallway tiles as her imagination surged ahead of her logic. Of course, the idea that her tenant might wind up being a serial killer, or even the sicko who was sending her that crap, was more than a little unsettling.
But no, Officer Pike Taylor had vetted this guy, so he couldn’t be a danger to her. She sifted her fingers into the wavy layers of her hair and shook it off her shoulders. “Stop imagining the worst, Daisy Lou, and go home.”
Her stop in the faculty lounge and work room revealed that she wasn’t the only staff member working late this evening. “Hey, Eddie.”
Daisy dropped her bag onto the chair beside one of the school’s science teachers. It hit the seat with a thunk and Eddie Bosch laughed. “Taking a little work home tonight?”
“Just some papers to grade. And my laptop.” Plus all the items a woman would keep in her purse, along with a few emergency snacks, a stash of dog treats and an extra pair of shoes in case the knee-high boots she wore got too wet with the snow outside and she needed to change before her feet froze. Daisy shook her head as her friend in the loose tie and pullover sweater grinned. “I guess I carry my life in there, don’t I?”
“Well, you won’t have to go to the gym and work out if you keep lifting that thing.” He closed the laptop he’d been working on and pointed a warning finger at her. “Now about that chiropractor bill you’ll be getting...”
“Ha, ha.” Squeezing his shoulder at the teasing remark, she circled around him and went to the wall of cubbies that served as the staff’s mailboxes and searched the alphabetized labels for Bernie Riley’s name.
She was glad Eddie had gotten to the point where he could joke with her. When they’d first started at Central Prep together, he’d had a sadness about him he wore like a shroud. He’d been new to Kansas City, had moved there for a fresh start after losing his fiancée to a long illness. Daisy had made it her personal mission to cheer him up and make him feel welcome. Now, he often made it feel like she was working with the teasing big brother she, as an only child, had never had.
But the comfortable camaraderie quickly ebbed as her gaze landed on her mailbox. She backed away when she saw the corner of a red envelope lying there.
Daisy startled at the hand that settled between her shoulder blades. “Don’t worry.” Eddie reached around her to pull the red envelope from her box and hold it out to her. “It’s the teacher appreciation gift from the school board. A gift card to your favorite coffee shop. We all got one.”
Taking the envelope, she clutched it to her chest, nodding her thanks. Eddie and a few other teachers were close enough friends that she’d shared some of the weird messages she’d been receiving. They’d all agreed that none of the staff could be responsible, and were now on the lookout for any signs of a disturbed student who might be sending the gifts. She appreciated that Eddie and the others were protective of her.
He pointed to other red envelopes still sitting in the mailboxes of teachers who’d already gone home, to confirm his explanation. “It’s nice that they remember us each year. Although I’d trade gourmet coffee for a bump in salary if it’d do us any good.”
Daisy agreed. “I hear ya.”
He nodded toward the paper in her hand. “Is Riley giving you grief about keeping Angelo out of practice again?”
During basketball season, Bernie Riley gave everyone grief. “I think we’ve reached a mutual understanding.”
“You mean, you’ve agreed to do things his way.”
“Bernie and I both have the students’ best interests at heart. He let Angelo stay with me today, and I’ll adjust my schedule tomorrow.” She held up her message about Angelo’s brother. “Actually, I’m hoping he’ll help me with Albert.”
“Albert doesn’t have half the brains Angelo does.”
She was surprised to hear the insult. “Maybe we just haven’t found the right way to motivate him yet.”
“Uh-huh.” Eddie pulled away and opened his satchel to stow his laptop. “Deliver your note and I’ll walk you out.” He nodded to the window overlooking the parking lot and the orange glow of the street lamps creating pockets of light in the murky evening air. “I hate how early the sun goes down this time of year.”
Smile, Daisy Lou. Don’t let anyone bring you down.
“Me, too.” Daisy stuffed the note into Coach Riley’s cubby and put on her insulated coat and gloves while Eddie pulled on a stocking cap and long wool coat. “Although, I do love it when the sky is clear at night, and the moon reflects off all the snow.” She pulled the hood with its faux fur trim over her head. “In the daylight, the city snow looks dirty, but at night it’s beautiful.”
“You’re a regular Pollyanna, aren’t you,” he accused with a smile, holding the door open for her. “It’s twenty degrees, it’s dark and I’m tired of shoveling my driveway.”
“Scrooge.”
“Nanook.” He followed her out the door and walked her across the nearly empty lot to her car. “Are you expecting a blizzard I don’t know about?”
She fished her keys out of her bag and unlocked the doors. “Fourteen degrees? That’s plenty cold enough for me.”
Eddie swiped his gloved hand across her windshield, clearing a swath through the blowing snow that had gathered there. “Want me to scrape this off for you?”
“You’re a scholar and a gent, Mr. Bosch.” Daisy thanked him for his gallant offer, but shooed him back to his own car. “The windshield wipers will take care of it. Go get warm. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“See ya. And hey, I didn’t mean to sound flippant earlier. If there’s anything I can do to help you with Albert, let me know.”
“I will. Thanks.” With a smile that no longer felt forced, Daisy climbed inside. Once she had her car started, he waved and trudged away to his own vehicle.
Daisy locked her doors and shivered behind the wheel, waiting for the wipers and defroster to clear her windows. Allowing the engine time to warm up, she crossed her arms and leaned back against the headrest, closing her eyes. She took on a lot this time of year, and she was tired. The stress of dealing with her Secret Santa, and the mental battle not to compare his gifts to the terror campaign Brock had waged against her three years ago, were taking their toll, as well. It was a challenge to get eight hours of uninterrupted sleep when every sound in the old house woke her. She made up for the fatigue by stealing short naps when she could. Like right now. Just a few minutes to rest before...
Daisy’s eyes popped open as a sixth sense nudged her fully awake.
Someone was watching her.
She wiped the condensation off the inside of her window and peered out. Her gaze first went to Eddie’s car. But he was busy brushing the thin layer of snow off the windows and top. His back was to her until he tossed the scraper into the back and climbed in behind the wheel. Then he was on his cell phone, chattering away in an animated conversation as he backed out of his parking space.
She pulled her glasses away from her nose to let the foggy lenses clear before sliding them back into place and scanning the rest of the staff parking lot. There were only four vehicles left. Coach Riley and the girls’ basketball coach had both parked near the gym entrance while they finished with practice. She recognized the truck and van driven by the school custodians, as well.
The uneasy sensation of being watched crept beneath the layers she wore, making her shiver as if a cold finger was running along her spine. But a check of her rearview mirror revealed no one. Not one visible soul. Certainly no one spying on her.
Unless that person was hidden.
Behind one of the Dumpsters. Or around the corner of the building. Or peering out from the shadows of a dark room in the nearly empty school.
“Really?” Daisy smacked the steering wheel and pulled on her seat belt, irritated with the way her tired mind could play tricks on her. Those stupid gifts had spooked her more than she’d realized. “You are perfectly safe,” she reminded herself, shifting the car into gear. Turning on her lights, she drove out of the parking lot. “The bad guys don’t get to win.” If she lived her life like a paranoid mouse, they would win. And she wasn’t about to let that happen. She turned on a radio station playing Christmas music 24/7 and belted out rock anthems and traditional carols all the way home.
Daisy was a little hoarse from the songfest by the time she pulled into the detached garage behind her home. She pushed the remote button, closing the door behind her before unlocking her car and climbing out. Night had fallen, so she flipped the switch to turn on the Christmas lights lining the garage roof and fence, knowing they’d cast enough light to illuminate her path across the sidewalk to the deck and backyard entrance to her home. She smiled when she opened the door and looked out into the fenced-in yard. Beyond the edges of the walkway and deck she’d cleared, the red, green, orange, blue and white lights reflected off the snow like the warm glow of a sunset.
After pulling her hood up over her ears, she shut the door behind her and locked it. The damp bite of wintry air chapped her cheeks and hurried her steps past the gate and up onto the deck where the motion sensor light over the back door popped on, turning a small circle of night into day.
“Daisy? Is that you?”
Startled by the voice in the night, Daisy spun around. Once she’d identified the disembodied voice, she drifted beyond the edge of the light to bring her neighbor to the north into focus. “Good evening, Jeremiah.” Although Jeremiah Finch’s balding head was little more than a balloon-shaped shadow above the hedge on his side of the fence, she recognized his little Chihuahua in a pink and black sweater underneath the hedge where the snow wasn’t as deep. As much as her neighbor loved his little princess, he liked to keep his yard in pristine condition, and would either immediately clean up after the dog, or hook her onto a leash and lead her to the bushes as he had tonight. “I see Suzy is bundled up against the cold. New sweater?”
“Knitted it myself. Are you coming down with a cold?” he asked, no doubt hearing the rasp in her voice.
“I’m fine. Just a little too much singing. And you?”
“I’m well. Suzy and I will be going in now. Good night.”
“Good night.” As formal and shallow as their conversations might be, Mr. Finch had proved himself to be a good neighbor. Besides maintaining a beautiful home, he didn’t mind picking up her mail and watching over her house when she had to leave town. And she often returned the favor.
After he and Suzy had gone inside, Daisy slipped her key into the dead bolt lock.
One sharp, deep bark and the excited sound of yapping dogs told Daisy her furry family already knew she was home. She peeked through the sheers in the window beside the door and saw her beloved trio gathering in the mud room with tails wagging to welcome her before pushing open the door. “Yoo-hoo! Mama’s home.”
Muffy, her little tiger of a Shih Tzu led the charge out the door. A silver-and-white-haired boy cursed with a girl’s name by the elderly owner who had to surrender him when she moved into a nursing facility, Muffy often made up for the insult by being the toughest and loudest guard dog he could be, if not the most ferocious-looking. Patch, her deaf Jack Russell terrier mix, took his cues from the other dogs, and followed right behind the smaller dog, no doubt barking because Muffy was. Both stopped for a friendly greeting and some petting before dashing out into the snowy yard. Patch, especially, loved being outside, leaping from snow bank to snow bank and snuzzling through the drifts as though feeling the cold against his skin made him giddy.
Her senior dog, Caliban, hobbled out the door on three legs. Daisy got the feeling that when her biggest dog stopped for a scratch around the ears, the Belgian Malinois was humoring her rather than seeking her affection. Poor guy. He’d spent a career at KCPD before the cancerous tumor that had led to the amputation of his left front leg forced him into retirement, and then he hadn’t been able to live at his handler’s home because the K-9 officer’s child was allergic. Daisy reached inside the door to grab one of the rope toys that seemed to be the tan-and-black dog’s only joy and tossed it out into the snow. As she watched him trot down the two steps into the yard, Daisy’s heart squeezed in her chest. The experts who claimed that dogs didn’t feel emotions didn’t know Caliban. That dog was sad. He’d lost his job, lost his favorite person, lost his home and routine. When Pike Taylor had asked if she could take the dog for the last year or so he had left, Daisy had willingly opened up her home and her heart. Muffy and Patch had welcomed the older dog, although the two little spitfires made him cranky at times. Caliban had a good home here, but Daisy was still looking for the key to breaking through that reserve of his.
Smiling at the distinct personalities of each of her children, Daisy crossed to the railing to watch her three charges. Muffy was all business, inspecting the perimeter of the yard and trees along the back fence. Caliban was nosing around the gate and garage, avoiding the snow as much as possible. And Patch...
“Patch?” Daisy hiked her purse behind her hip and leaned over the railing. Where had he snuck off to? He wouldn’t answer her summons unless he was looking right at her or following one of the other dogs. “Where did you go?”
Daisy looked down to see the clear impression of man-sized boot prints in the snow. The security light created shadows through the deck railings that had obscured them earlier. But there they were, a messy set of prints circling around the deck to the gas and water meters on the back of the house. She spotted Patch, his muzzle and jowls white with a snowy beard, following the tracks past the meters to the dormant lilac bushes at the corner of the house.
That wasn’t right. Goose bumps pricked across Daisy’s skin. She crossed to the side railing and squinted into the darkness beyond her porch light. Between the blowing snow and the shadows, she couldn’t make out whether the tracks ended at the side of the house or if they continued into Mr. Finch’s yard next door. Or maybe they’d originated from there? Maybe Jeremiah had spotted something that concerned him in the backyard. Still, she couldn’t see the fastidious gentleman climbing over the chain-link fence when there was a perfectly good gate between the house and garage that granted easy access to the yard. It would be hard to tell exactly where the footprints led unless she went out in the knee-deep drifts to look with a flashlight. And as much as Daisy wanted answers, she wasn’t keen on being anywhere alone in the dark.
She swallowed hard, trying to come up with a logical explanation as to why someone would be wandering around her backyard. She’d had the same utility worker from the city for years. He knew his way around her backyard, and didn’t mind the dogs when they were out. Maybe he had a substitute walking his route, someone who didn’t know there was only one gate. Patch spent a lot of time snuffling around in each footprint until he lifted his leg and peed in one. Why were there so many tracks? Had more than one person been in the backyard?
“Muffy? Caliban?” She put her chilled lips together and tried to whistle, but she doubted even a dog could hear the wimpy sound that came out.
Then she spotted Caliban’s white muzzle as he carried his toy back up the steps to dutifully sit beside her. “Good boy.” Had he sensed her fear? Did he just have impeccable timing? “Good, good boy.” Daisy scratched around his ears and rewarded him by pulling on one end of the rope and letting him enjoy a gentle game of tug of war. But the game ended quickly when Caliban released the toy and spun toward the back door. A split second later, Muffy zipped past her, barking like mad. That response could mean only one thing. They’d heard the doorbell at the front of the house. She had a visitor.
Although she was hardly prepped for company, she was more than ready to go inside. She caught Patch’s attention and gave the signal for him to come. He dashed through the doorway in front of her.
The doorbell chimed again while she bolted the back door. The dogs raced ahead of her, yapping and tracking snow across the long, narrow rug and refinished oak of her hallway floor. Patch leaped over the two plastic tubs of Christmas ornaments she’d stacked beside the stairs, waiting for the tree she planned to get this weekend. Daisy hurried after them, dumping her purse on the bottom step of the staircase leading up to the second floor, pulling off her hood and stuffing her gloves into her pockets.
She pushed her way through the semi-circle of barking dogs, put Caliban and Patch into a sit and picked up Muffy, her brave boy who had the most trouble following orders and greeting an unfamiliar visitor. If this was the potential tenant Pike Taylor had okayed for her, she wanted time to explain that her pack of dogs were looking for treats and tummy rubs, not the opportunity to take a bite out of a stranger. Daisy flipped on the Christmas lights over the front porch and made sure the dead bolt was engaged before peering through the window beside the door.
“Wow.” She mouthed the word, fogging up the glass.
The man standing on her front porch was hot, in a rugged sort of way. He stood six feet tall, give or take an inch. He wore a black stocking cap fitted tightly to his head and a beige coat that pulled at his broad shoulders and thick arms. With his hands down at the sides of his jeans and his legs braced apart, he stood there, unmoving. If it wasn’t for the puffs of his warm breath clouding around his gray eyes, she’d have thought him a statue, impervious to the cold. Daisy’s throat went dry at the inverse response of heat that could be nerves, or something decidedly more...aware...that he triggered inside her.
Not the fatherly figure she’d been hoping for. His face was a little too craggy to be handsome. The scars that peeked above the collar of his sweater and crept up his neck to the edge of his mouth and cheek to circle around most of his left eye, coupled with the stern set of his square jaw, added to his harsh look. She was certain Pike wouldn’t send her anyone she wouldn’t be safe with. Still, safe was a relative term. This guy didn’t project calm reassurance so much as he looked as though he could scare off anyone who glanced crosswise at him. Although he would fulfill the purpose of having a tenant, she wasn’t sure she’d be comfortable having a man like him in the house.
Still, if Pike said he was okay, she’d at least interview him.
She startled when his head suddenly tilted and his gaze shifted to her silhouette in the window. He’d caught her staring at him. He didn’t smile, didn’t wave an acknowledgement, didn’t react, period. He simply locked his gaze onto hers until she muttered, “My bad,” and hurried to atone for her rudeness. Muffy whined in her arms, and Daisy unbolted the door and opened it, leaving the steel-framed storm door secured between them.
The rush of heat she’d felt dissipated with the chill that seeped through the glass. “Hi. Are you here about the room to rent? I thought we weren’t meeting until after dinner.”
“Master Sergeant Harry Lockhart, ma’am,” he announced in a deep, clipped voice. “Are you Daisy Gunderson?”
Recognition and relief chased away her trepidation and she smiled. “Master Serg...? Harry? Pen pal Harry?” She plopped Muffy down between the other dogs, then unlatched the storm door and pushed it wide open. “Harry Lockhart! I’m so excited to finally meet you.” The dogs followed her out onto the brick porch and danced around their legs. Daisy threw her arms around Harry’s neck, pressed her body against his rock-hard chest and hugged him tight. “Welcome home!”
Chapter Two (#u24867251-8052-5487-9e00-c5bcbc2bafa4)
Welcome home?
Harry’s vision blurred as something gray and furry darted between his legs. A mix of squeals and barks blended with the deafening boom and shouting voices inside his head, and his nose was suddenly filled with the stench of burnt earth and raw skin.
One moment, the memories were there, but in the next, he blanked them out and focused on the here and now. His body was hyper-aware of the softness wrapped around him like a blanket, and the creamy chill of the woman’s cheek pressed against the side of his neck.
Daisy Gunderson was on her tiptoes hugging him. Bear-hugging him. Giving him a squeeze-the-stuffing-out-of-him kind of hug. What happened to polite introductions and handshakes? This wasn’t the greeting he’d expected. She wasn’t the woman he’d expected.
But when a woman hugged a man like that, it was his natural instinct to wrap his arms around her and...pat her back. He could hear his men ribbing him now, giving him grief over his lousy moves with the ladies the same way he gave them grief about staying sharp and keeping their heads down. He’d been short on this kind of contact for a long time. Months. Years, maybe. The instinctive part of him wanted to tighten his grip around her. A baser part of him wanted to reach down and see if the curves on the bottom half matched the ones flattened against him up top—or whether all that luscious body he felt was just the pillows of her coat squished between them. A different part of him, the part that was still fractured and healing, wanted to bury his nose in the sugar-cookies-and-vanilla scents radiating off her clothes and hair and skin, and let it fill up his head and drive out the nightmares.
Harry did none of those things. Although her scent was as sweet as he’d imagined, nothing else about this meeting was going according to plan. Dogs were barking. She was plastered against him. He patted her back again because he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react to this welcome. After all, he’d never met Daisy in person before.
She started talking before pulling away. “This feels like a reunion between old friends. I just got home myself. A few minutes earlier and you would have missed me. What are you doing here?” She shooed the dogs into the house and grabbed his wrist, pulling him in, as well. “Sorry. I’ll stop talking. Come in out of the cold.”
He watched the little gray-and-white fuzz mop dart back and forth across the area rug in the foyer while the white terrier jumped over him with a yip of excitement when he got too close. Those dogs were wired. They needed a good bit of exercise to take some of that energy out of them.
After locking the thick mahogany door behind her, Daisy pointed to the little one. “Muffy, down.” Muffy? The long-haired one was clearly a dude, but he had to give the little guy credit for flopping down on his belly to pant until he got permission to go nuts again. “I can put them in their kennels if you want, but they’ll mind if you tell them to stay down. Make sure Patch is making eye contact with you and use your hand. He’s deaf. But smart as a whip. Jack Russells usually are. He knows several commands. Patch?”
She demonstrated a universal hand signal. The terrier sat, all right, but so did the Belgian Malinois. Who looked a lot like... That muscle ticked beneath Harry’s right eye as he slammed the door on that memory and focused on the dog with the graying muzzle. Poor old guy had lost a leg. But those deep brown eyes were sharp and focused squarely on him, as if awaiting a command. Maybe the dog recognized another wounded warrior. “Is he a working dog?”
“KCPD-retired,” she answered. “That’s Caliban. He lost his leg to cancer. I inherited him when his handler couldn’t keep him. Sorry about the mess. I’m in the middle of decorating for the holidays.” Daisy was moving down the hallway beside the stairs, which were draped with fake greenery and red bows tied along the railing. She swerved around a couple of plastic tubs and kicked aside little bits of melting snow with her low-heeled boots. “Stick to the runner and it won’t be slippery,” she advised. “Could I get you something hot to drink? Coffee? Cocoa? Are you hungry? I baked a ton of cookies last weekend.”
Did the woman never stop talking? He couldn’t even say hello, much less ask a question or explain the reason he was here. “That’s not necessary.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s cold. I’m cold. I’d be fixing it, anyway.”
Clearly, she expected him to follow her through the house, so Harry pulled the watch cap off his head and stepped out. A parade of curious dogs followed him into a cozy kitchen that opened up to a dining room that appeared to be a storage area for unwanted furniture, more plastic tubs and paint cans.
“Ignore that room. My goal is to clear that out this weekend and finish decorating. I’m hosting my school’s staff Christmas party next weekend.” She shed her coat and scarf and tossed them over a ladder-back chair at an antique cherrywood table. “Have a seat.”
“I wanted to talk about the letters.”
“Sit.” She pulled out a stool at the peninsula counter and patted the seat. “I’d love to talk about the letters you sent. Wish you’d kept writing after the school year ended.” He’d stopped in June because that’s when he... He hadn’t written any letters from the hospital. “You’re the first one of our pen pals I’ve met in person.”
“That was nice of you to keep writing, even after I dropped the ball.” Harry put his leather gloves on the counter, unzipped his coat and settled onto the stool. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that some of those pen pals were never coming home. “I want you to know how much my unit appreciated all the letters you and your class sent them. Even if we, if I, didn’t always respond.”
She was running water now, measuring coffee. “That was one of my more inspired projects. I started it with last year’s composition class. Anything to get them to write. Plus, at Central Prep—the school where I teach—we encourage our students to be involved in the community, to be citizens of the world and aware of others. It seemed like a win-win for both of us, supporting the troops while improving their communication skills. When your sister mentioned your Marine Corps unit at church, looking for Christmas cards to send them last year, I jumped right on it.” She tugged at the hem of her long purple tweed sweater after reaching into the refrigerator for some flavored creamer. As she moved about, Harry noticed that her glasses were purple, too, and so were the streaks of color in her chocolate brown hair. “I always model what I ask my students to do, so I adopted you. I don’t mean adopt you like that—no one would adopt...you’re a grown man. We drew names out of a hat. You were the one that was left, so you lucked out and became my pen pal. It’s nice—no, amazing—to finally meet you in person.” She stopped to take a breath and push a plate of sugar cookies decorated like Christmas trees and reindeer in front of him. “And now I’m rambling. Thank you for your service.”
Now she was rambling? Harry was still replaying all the dialogue in his head to catch everything she’d said. “You’re welcome. I was just doing my job. Thank you for your letters. They meant a lot to me.”
“You’re welcome. And I was just doing my job.” She pulled two turquoise mugs from an upper cabinet while the earthy smell of coffee brewing filled the room. “You’re home on leave for the holidays, I imagine. Are you visiting Hope?”
“I’m staying with my sister and her husband for a few days.”
“How’s their little boy? He’s about two, right?”
“Gideon is...” A little afraid of the growly uncle who was rooming with him for the time being. Or maybe the fact that Harry was a little afraid of holding his energetic nephew without breaking him was what created the awkward tension between them. Who was he kidding? Pretty much every relationship was awkward for him right now. “Yeah, he’s two in a couple of months.”
“And Hope is pregnant with baby number two? That’s good news. Although that apartment over her bridal shop only has two bedrooms, doesn’t it? She and Pike will have to be looking for a bigger place soon.” Daisy filled two mugs and carried them to the counter across from him. Although that bulky knit sweater covered the interesting bits between her neck and thighs, her leggings and boots hinted at earth-mother curves. He was busy filling in with his imagination the shape he couldn’t see, enjoying the mental exercise a little more than he should when she set a fragrant, steaming mug in front of him, and cradled the other between her hands, warming her fingers. “What can I do for you, Master Sergeant?”
Harry dutifully pulled his gaze up to the blue eyes behind her glasses. “Top. You don’t have to call me Master Sergeant every time. Top is the nickname for an NCO of my rank.”
“All right, Top. What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to meet you in person and thank you for your letters.”
“You said that already.” She picked up a red-nosed reindeer cookie and dipped it into her coffee before taking a bite, waiting for him to continue.
Exactly how did a guy broach a subject like I need the woman from those letters to help me regain my sanity? The golden, ethereal one with the soft voice, gentle touch and quiet mien I imagined in my dreams? I need that angel’s healing touch. He definitely didn’t need a woman who talked nonstop, owned a pack of dogs and triggered a lustful curiosity he hadn’t acknowledged for longer than he cared to admit. Harry picked up his mug by the handle, then turned it in his hands, staring down into the dark brew that reminded him of one of the colors of her hair. “Writing your students gave my unit something to do during the slow times. Getting those letters could really... You know, some days were harder than others, and, um...” This wasn’t right. She wasn’t right. Time to abort this crazy ass mission and call one of the shrinks Lt. Col. Biro had recommended for him. Harry set his mug down on the counter with enough force to slosh the coffee over the edge. “Sorry.” He shook the hot liquid off his skin and shot abruptly to his feet. “Now’s not a good time, is it?” While she retrieved a dish cloth to clean up his mess, he grabbed his gloves and headed toward the front door. “Sorry to show up on your doorstep unannounced.”
“You haven’t even touched your coffee.” Harry strode past the trio of dogs who hopped to their feet to follow him. He heard Daisy’s boots on the floor boards behind him. “You must have stopped by for some reason. We have lots to talk about, don’t we? Your dog, Tango? Your friends who were wounded in that IED explosion? Are they okay? Were you hurt? I mean, I can see the scars, so clearly you were, but—”
“That was a different skirmish.”
“You were hurt more than once?” Harry had his cap on, his coat zipped and the front door open when Daisy grabbed his arm with both hands and tugged him to a halt. “Wait.”
Her fingers curled into the sleeve of his coat, tightening their hold on him. Harry glanced down at her white-knuckled grip, frowning at the unexpected urgency in her touch before angling around to face her.
“Please don’t leave.” Her face was tipped up, her eyes searching his as if she was struggling to come up with the right words to say. Odd. Words didn’t seem to be a problem for her. “If you really have to go, I understand. And if you don’t want to talk, that’s okay. But...” She looked back over her shoulder, past the dogs and holiday decorations before she finally let go of his sleeve and shrugged. “Totally unrelated thing, but, before you go, would you do me a favor? I’m not saying you owe me anything. I mean, you barely know me—”
“I know you better than most people.” Correction. He knew the person who’d been his lifeline to normalcy and home and hope. This chatterbox with the wild hair and effusive personality felt like someone different. “After reading your letters, that is. You shared a lot. About your ex, your parents, this house...” He glanced around at the refinished wood and fresh paint of the drafty old Colonial that was far too big for one person—even if she did live with a pack of dogs. “Some of your school stories made me laugh or made me want to wring someone’s neck.”
She took half a step back. “You remember all that?”
He’d memorized nearly every sentence. Laughter. Concerns. Wisdom. Compassion. The Daisy Gunderson he knew had shared her heart.
“I know the men and women I work with,” he clarified. “My sister and her husband... I mean, you’re not the only person I know.”
He couldn’t tell if the pinch at the corners of her mouth and eyes meant she was touched by his confession, or if she felt a little sad to learn how few connections he had outside the Marine Corps. “Thank you. I feel like I know you better than someone I just met a few minutes ago, too. You wrote some touching things that, well, some of them made me cry.”
He made her cry? Harry shifted uncomfortably inside his coat. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. You shared the truth about what was on your mind, what you were feeling. I was honored.” She hugged her arms around her middle. “You made me smile sometimes, too.”
So why wasn’t he seeing that smile? The Daisy in his dreams always smiled. This was not going well. Daisy Gunderson was supposed to have a serene smile and a calm demeanor that made all the crap he had to deal with go away. But just because the real Daisy didn’t fit the ethereal angel he’d imagined, it didn’t mean he should blow her off. “You were going to ask me something?”
“Right.” She shrugged one shoulder. Then she pointed at him, at herself, then back at him. “I’m here by myself and I wondered... Would you...?”
Now she couldn’t come up with words? “Ma’am, I really should be going.”
Her manic energy returned in a burst that faded into breathless hesitation. “One. Don’t call me ma’am. My students call me ma’am, and it’s after hours and I’m off duty. Besides, it makes me feel like I’m old enough to be your mother. And two... I could use a man right now.” Now wasn’t that a suggestive request. The parts of him south of his belt buckle stirred with interest, even as his chest squeezed with anxiety at the possibility she wanted something more than a pen pal, too. “But I don’t have a big brother or a boyfriend or a dad to call and...” She gestured down the hallway toward the back of the house. “Would you check something out for me?”
His disappointment surprised him more than the relief he felt. “You’ve got a problem?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” She tucked a stray lock of hair back into the purple and brown waves behind her ear. “I hope not, but...”
He could change a flat tire for her, or do some heavy lifting or pull something down off a high shelf. He owed the fantasy Daisy from his letters at least that much. But as Harry waited for the details, he read something more troubling than the awkwardness of this conversation in the blue eyes behind her glasses. She was scared.
Seventeen years of military training put him on instant alert.
“Show me.”
Stopping only to put on her coat and order the dogs to stay inside the mudroom, Daisy walked out onto the back deck, and Harry followed. She went to the railing and pointed down into the snow. “Those footprints. Something seems off to me.”
This was about something more than tracks through her backyard. Her cheeks should be turning pink with the dampness chilling the air. Unless the colored lights were playing tricks on him, her skin had gone pale. The buoyant energy that had overwhelmed him earlier had all but disappeared. Seemed he wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.
With a nod, he accepted the simple mission she charged him with and went down into the yard. Stepping farther out into the snow so as not to disturb the suspicious tracks, Harry switched his phone into flashlight mode and made a quick reconnaissance. This was an awful lot of traffic through the yard of a woman who lived alone. And all of these tracks were too big to be Daisy’s. His boots were digging into snow instead of sand, but the hackles at the back of Harry’s neck went up just as they had overseas when he sensed an enemy lurking somewhere beyond his line of sight.
Trusting suspicions he wasn’t sure he was equipped to deal with yet, he retraced his own path a second time, kneeling to inspect some of the deeper tracks. They’d frozen up inside after a bit of melting, meaning they’d been there long before the afternoon sun had reached them. He pushed to his feet and moved closer to the house to confirm that the deepest boot prints were facing the house, a good five feet beyond the gas and water meters. Harry looked up to a window with a shade drawn halfway down and curtains parted a slit to reveal the blackness of the room inside.
Harry glanced up at Daisy, who was watching his every move from the edge of the deck. She was hugging her arms around herself again. Something definitely had her spooked. “That’s not just a case of a new meter reader guy thinking he could get out on that side of the yard, is it?”
“I don’t think so. He’d only have to see that part of the fence once to know there’s no gate over there.” And yet her visitor had walked back and forth multiple times, then stopped here to look inside that window. “What room is this?”
She paused long enough that he looked up at her again. “My bedroom.”
Harry walked straight to the deck, braced one foot on the bottom planks and vaulted over the railing. The snow flinging off his boots hadn’t settled before he’d turned her toward the door to walk her back inside. “You need to call the police. You’ve got a Peeping Tom.”
Chapter Three (#u24867251-8052-5487-9e00-c5bcbc2bafa4)
Harry sat in the darkness of his truck watching Daisy’s light blue Colonial with the dark blue shutters and dozens of Christmas lights, wondering if she was going to give the balding guy at her front door the same kind of hug she’d given him when he’d left a half hour earlier. He already wasn’t a fan of the older gentleman who’d insisted she leave the barking dogs on the other side of the glass storm door and finish their conversation on the brick porch where Daisy was shivering without her coat. If she hugged the guy, then Baldy was definitely going on Harry’s do-not-like list.
Not that he’d handled either her enthusiastic greeting or grateful goodbye terribly well. But something simmered low inside him at the idea that Daisy’s stuffing-squishing hugs were available to anyone who came to her front door.
Finally. The would-be renter handed Daisy a business card and shuffled down the steps. Harry exhaled a deep breath that fogged his window, relieved to see the thoughtless twit depart without a hug. He approved when Daisy crumpled the card in her fist, clearly dismissing the inconsiderate anti-dog man. She huddled against one of the big white pillars at either corner of her porch to watch the rejected tenant drive away.
“Go back inside,” Harry whispered, urging the woman to show a little common sense and get out of the cold night air. But she was scanning up and down the street, searching for something or someone. Was she still worried about those snowy footprints in her backyard?
Harry hunkered down behind the wheel as her gaze swept past his truck. The brief glimpse of fear stamped in the big blue eyes behind those purple glasses when she’d asked for his help had been imprinted on his brain. And since the gray matter upstairs was already a bit of a jigsaw puzzle, he wasn’t quite ready to have any worries about her safety lingering on his conscience. So he’d decided to hang out at least until Baldy left. But Daisy already had one pervert who thought looking through her bedroom window was a fun idea. She probably wouldn’t be assured to know that he was still out here in the darkness, spying on her, too.
After one more scan, she went back into the house, petting the dogs and talking to them before closing the door. The colored Christmas lights winding around the pillars went out, followed by the bright light of the foyer. She must be moving toward the back of the house because a few seconds later, the lights decorating the garage went out, too. From this vantage point, Harry wouldn’t know if she was fixing dinner or changing her clothes or making a path through the mess of projects in her dining room.
Not that it was any of his business how she spent her evenings. Baldy had left her house and it was time for him to go.
Harry started his truck and cranked up the heat, obliquely wondering why he’d felt compelled to sit there in silence, putting up with the cold in lieu of drawing any attention to his presence there. Probably a throwback to night patrols overseas, where stealth often meant the difference between avoiding detection and engaging in a fire fight with the enemy.
But he shouldn’t be thinking like that. Not here in Kansas City. He watched Daisy’s neighbor to the north open his garage and stroll out with a broom to sweep away the snow that had blown onto his front sidewalk. That was a little obsessive, considering the wind would probably blow the dusting of snow back across the walkways by morning. The neighbor waited for a moment at the end of his driveway, turning toward the same revving engine noise that drew Harry’s attention. They both watched from their different vantage points as a car pulled away from the curb and made a skidding U-turn before zipping down the street. Probably a teenager with driving like that. The neighbor shook his head and started back to the garage, but paused as a couple walking in front of his house waved and they all stopped to chat. Yeah, Christmastime in suburbia was a real hotbed for terrorists.
Muttering a curse at his inability to acclimatize to civilian life, Harry pulled out, following the probable teen driver to the stop sign at the corner before they turned in opposite directions. Although this was an older neighborhood, the homes had been well maintained. The sidewalks and driveways had been cleared. Traffic and pedestrians were the norm, not suspicious activity he needed to guard against.
Bouncing over the compacted ruts of snow in the side streets, Harry made his way toward his sister’s loft apartment in downtown Kansas City, avoiding the dregs of rush hour traffic as much as possible. This evening’s visit to Daisy’s house needed to go on his list of dumb ideas he should have reconsidered before taking action. What had he thought was going to happen when he showed up on her doorstep? That the woman who’d sent him all those letters while he’d been overseas and in the hospital, would recognize him? They’d never exchanged pictures. He’d thought that trading news and revealing souls and making him laugh meant that they knew each other. That the same feeling he got when he saw her name at mail call would happen to him again when they met in person. If he was brutally honest, he’d half expected a golden halo to be glowing around her head.
Golden-halo Daisy was supposed to be his link to reality. Seeing her was supposed to ground him. The plan had been to let go of the nightmares he held in check, and suddenly all the scars inside him would heal. He could report back to Lt. Col. Biro and never look back after a dose of Daisy.
So much for foolish miracles.
Daisy Gunderson wasn’t fragile. She wasn’t golden-haired. And she certainly hadn’t been glowing. She was a brunette—a curvy one, if his body’s humming reaction to those impromptu bear hugs were any indication. A brunette with purple streaks in her hair and matching glasses on her nose and a need to chatter that just wouldn’t quit.
And the dogs. He hadn’t expected the dogs. Or the mess. Everything was loud and chaotic, not at all the peaceful sort of mecca he’d envisioned.
The fact that some pervert had been peeking in her bedroom window bothered him, too. He’d foolishly gone to a woman he only knew on paper—a stranger, despite the letters they’d shared—for help. Instead, it looked as if she was the hot mess who needed help.
Harry needed the woman in the letters to help him clear his head and lose the darkness that haunted him.
He didn’t need Daisy Gunderson and her troubles.
He’d done his good deed for her. He’d assuaged his conscience. It was time to move on.
To what? What was a jarhead like him supposed to do for six weeks away from the Corps?
If he was overseas, he’d be doing a perimeter walk of the camp at this time of the evening, making sure his buddies were secure. Even if he was back at Camp Pendleton in Southern California, he’d be doing PT or reading up on the latest equipment regs or putting together a training exercise for the enlisted men he intended to work with again. He was used to having a routine. A sense of purpose. What was he supposed to do here in Kansas City besides twiddle his thumbs, visit a shrink and reassure his sister that she didn’t need to walk on eggshells around him?
He supposed he could find the nearest mall and do some Christmas shopping for Hope, his brother-in-law, Pike, and nephew, Gideon. But even in the late evening there’d be crowds there. Too many people. Too much noise. Too many corners where the imagined enemy inside his head could hide.
Pausing at a stop light, Harry opened the glove compartment where he’d put the list of local therapists Lt. Col. Biro had recommended and read the names and phone numbers. Even before he’d finished reading, he was folding the paper back up and stuffing it inside beside the M9 Beretta service weapon he stored there. He closed the glove compartment with a resolute click and moved on with the flow of traffic.
He’d already made an appointment for tomorrow afternoon. He wasn’t ready for an emergency call to one of them yet. Maybe he should ask his brother-in-law where he could find a local gym that wouldn’t require a long-term commitment. He could lift some weights, run a few miles on a treadmill. That was all he needed, a physical outlet of some kind. A way to burn himself out until he was too tired to have any more thoughts inside his head.
It was almost eight o’clock when Harry pulled into the driveway beside Fairy Tale Bridal, the wedding planner business his sister owned. He pressed the buzzer and announced himself over the intercom before Hope released the lock and he jogged up the stairs to the apartment over the shop where she and Pike lived. He heard her warning Pike’s K-9 partner, Hans, to stay before opening the condominium door. His sister had a quiet beauty that seemed to have blossomed with the confidence she’d found in marriage and motherhood. He was happy to see her soft smile when she welcomed him home.
But that smile disappeared beneath a frown of concern before she shooed the German shepherd into the living area of the open layout and locked the door behind her. “That coat is too small for you. You need to get a new one that fits.”
“Guess I’ve filled out a bit since the last time I needed my winter coat. There’s not much call for them in Southern California or the Middle East.”
Although he’d fully intended to put his own things away, Hope took his coat from him as soon as he’d unzipped it. “You’re later than I thought. Did you get any dinner? I can heat up some meatloaf and potatoes in the microwave.” Seven months pregnant and wearing fuzzy house slippers with the dress she’d worn to work, she shuffled into the kitchen, hanging his coat over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “Would you rather have a sandwich?”
Harry followed her, feeling guilty that, even after all these years, she felt so compelled to take care of him. “I’m good.”
“Did you eat?” she stopped in front of the open refrigerator and turned to face him.
Hope was only a year older than Harry, and he topped her in height, and had outweighed and outmuscled her for years. But she could still peer up at him over the rims of her glasses with those dove-gray eyes and see right into the heart of him, as though the tragic childhood they’d shared had linked them in some all-knowing, twin-like bond. Lying to Hope wasn’t an option.
“No.”
“I wish you’d take better care of yourself. It wasn’t that long ago you were in a hospital fighting for your life. Besides getting winter clothes that fit, you need sleep and good food inside you.” She nudged him into a chair, kissed his cheek and went to work putting together a meatloaf sandwich for him. “You found Daisy’s house okay? What did you think of her?”
Harry pictured a set of deep blue eyes staring up at him above purple glasses, in an expression similar to the pointed look Hope had just given him. Only, he’d had a very different reaction to Daisy’s silent request. Yes, he’d reacted to the fear he’d seen there and taken action like the Marine he was trained to be, but there was something else, equally disconcerting, about the way Daisy had studied him in her near-sighted squint that he couldn’t quite shake.
“She’s a hugger.” Surprised that those were the first words that came out of his mouth, Harry scrubbed his palm across the stubble itching the undamaged skin of his jaw.
But the faint air of dismay in his tone didn’t faze Hope. In fact, something about his comment seemed to amuse her. “I told you she was friendly and outgoing. She approached me that first morning in our adult Sunday School class. I’d still be sitting in the corner, just listening to the discussion if she hadn’t sat down beside me and started a conversation.”
Yep. The woman certainly had a talent for talking.
“There’s Uncle Harry.” Pike Taylor strolled into the living area, carrying their squirmy, wheaten-haired son, Gideon, who was decked out in a fuzzy blue outfit for bedtime. Even out of uniform, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, Pike carried himself with the wary alertness of the Kansas City cop he was. But the tall, lanky man who’d been there to protect his sister from both their abusive father and a serial rapist while Harry had been stationed over in the Heat Locker reminded Harry of an overgrown kid when he set his son down and chased him over to his play area in the living room. Even the dog got into the game, joining in with a loud bark and circling around the toddler, which only made the little boy chortle with glee. That muscle ticked in Harry’s cheek as the urge to smile warred with the images of something darker trying to surface. Gideon lost his balance and plopped onto the extra padding of his diaper before using the German shepherd’s fur to pull himself back onto his pudgy little feet and change directions. “Look out,” Pike warned from his wrestling position on the floor. “He’s been asking for his roommate all evening.”
Gideon toddled over to Harry’s knee, joyfully repeating a phrase that sounded a lot like “Yucky Hair,” which was apparently going to be his nickname for the duration of this visit. Gideon’s little fingers tugged at Harry’s jeans and reached for him, demanding to be picked up. Although Harry was half afraid to hold the stout little tyke, he could feel the expectation radiating off Hope not to deny her son the innocent request. Unwilling to refuse his sister anything that would put a smile on her face, Harry picked up his nephew and set him on his lap. He pushed aside the salt and pepper shakers that Gideon immediately reached for, and let him tug at the buttons of his Henley sweater, instead. Hans lay down close by Harry’s feet, keeping an eye on the little boy as if he didn’t trust Harry with the toddler, either. Harry shifted in his seat, uncomfortable being the center of all this attention. Gideon batted at Harry’s face and he lifted his chin, pulling away from the discomfiting contact. Hell, the dog was better with the child than he was. He needed to distract himself fast, or he was going to end up in a dark place that no one in this room wanted him to visit.
Turning his chair away from the watchful German shepherd, Harry latched onto the first thought that came to mind. “Daisy’s a little scattered, isn’t she?”
Pike tossed a couple of toys into Gideon’s playpen before rising to his feet and crossing to the table. “Scattered? You mean her house? She’s been working on it for three years. I can’t imagine what it’s costing her to redo it from top to bottom like that. Plus, she’s doing a lot of the cosmetic work herself.”
“I meant she rambled from one topic to the next. I had a hard time keeping up.”
“She does live alone,” Pike suggested. “Maybe she was lonesome and wanted to talk to somebody.”
Hope snickered at her husband’s idea. “She’s been at school all day, with hundreds of students. She’s had plenty of people to talk to.”
“Teenagers,” Pike countered. “It’s not the same as talking to an adult.”
Dismissing the explanation with a shake of her head, Hope opened a cabinet to pull out a bag of potato chips. “It’s not exactly like you’re Mr. Conversation, Harry. You’re quiet like I am with new people. Maybe you made her nervous and she was chatting to fill the silence. I do that when my shy genes kick in.”
Not in any universe would he describe Daisy Mega-Hugger as a shy woman. But maybe something about him had made her nervous. The scars that turned his ugly mug into an acquired taste? Not announcing his visit before showing up on her doorstep? Was there something more to those footprints in the snow than she’d let on? The idea of a Peeping Tom had upset her, yes, but now that he considered her reaction, she hadn’t seemed surprised to discover signs of an intruder.
Hope ripped open the bag of chips and crunched one in her mouth before dumping some onto the plate beside his sandwich. “She is one of those women who seems to have a lot of irons in the fire. She’s always volunteering for one thing or another. Daisy has the biggest heart in the world.”
Harry pulled a toddler fist away from the tip of his nose. Was that big heart why she’d even considered giving Mr. Rude a place to live as her tenant? “I actually waited there a little while after I left. She had a guy coming in to talk about renting her upstairs.”
Pike came up behind Hope and reached around her to snatch a chip and pop it into his mouth. “Mr. Friesen is the uncle of one of our receptionists at the precinct. I ran a background check on him for her.”
“He showed up before I got out of there. I waited outside for half an hour to make sure he left without incident.”
Hope’s eyes were wide as she set the plate in front of Harry. “Without incident? That sounds ominous.”
Harry ate a bite before breaking off a morsel of the soft bread for Gideon to chew on, in an effort to distract the toddler from grabbing the whole sandwich. “While I was there, she had me check out some suspicious tracks in her backyard. Looked to me like someone had been casing her house.”
Pike pulled out the chair at the head of the table and sat. “Did you report it to KCPD?”
So, he thought the situation seemed troublesome, too. “I advised her to.”
Hope moved a subtly protective hand to her swollen belly. “You checked out the house for her, didn’t you? Her locks and everything are secure?
“She’s got new windows on the ground floor. Dead bolts on the doors.” But he hadn’t checked any of them to see if they were locked. Surely, the woman had sense enough to... The second bite of his sandwich went stale in his mouth. He should have done that for her, at least.
Pike pulled Hope onto his lap, soothing her concern for their friend. “We’ve had a rash of burglaries across the city. Pretty standard for this time of year. Thieves looking for money or credit cards, or even wrapped presents they can pawn.”
Either coveting his meal or sensing Harry’s increasingly testy mood, Gideon squealed and stabbed at the plate, scattering the pile of chips across the table top. Harry shoved the plate aside and pulled the boy back, scooting the chair across the tile floor. His boot knocked against Hans, sending the dog to his feet with a startled woof.
All at once, the dark place inside his mind erupted with a fiery explosion. He felt the pain tearing through his flesh. He heard the shouts for help, the whimpers of pain.
Harry staggered to his feet. “Platz, Tango,” he ordered, mixing the past and the present inside his head. “Hans, I mean. Platz.” Pike’s well-trained dog instantly obeyed the German command to lie down. Slamming the door on the flashback, Harry thrust Gideon into his frightened sister’s arms and grabbed his coat. “I’m sorry. I need to walk around the block a couple of times. Clear my head.”
“Harry?”
“Let him go, honey.”
An hour later, Harry had come in from the cold, apologized to his sister, finished off the meal she’d saved for him and shut himself inside the bedroom he shared with Gideon.
The flashback had receded to the wasteland of buried images inside his head, although he was still having a hard time settling his thoughts enough to sleep. With Gideon snoring softly from his crib across the darkened room, Harry lay back on the double bed, using the flashlight from his duffel bag to read through the stack of cards and letters that normally soothed him on nights like this.
He grinned through Daisy’s account of catching one of her students licking a potted plant in her classroom because the girl had been curious to find out what the sap oozing from the stalk tasted like. The girl had been perfectly fine, but the spate of dumb jokes that had followed would have given a stand-up comic plenty of material. The story had made his unit laugh to the extent that when any one of them made a boneheaded move, they’d teased the Marine by calling him or her a plant-licker.
Gideon gurgled in his sleep, reminding Harry that he was the interloper here. In another couple of months, Hope and Pike would need this space for Gideon’s new little brother or sister. Although he had every intention of returning to his duties with the Corps by that time, Harry acknowledged another stab of guilt. Maybe Hope wanted to redecorate this room. She had talked about expanding their loft into the shop’s second-floor storage area, but a renovation of that scale wouldn’t happen until after the baby’s birth. Maybe he was in the way here, and Hope was too kind-hearted to say anything. Maybe he could camp out in their condo for just a few days longer, then find himself a quiet place to rent until his penance was over and he could report back to Lt. Col. Biro.
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Julie Miller
Master Sergeant Harry Lockheart was the only survivor of the IED that killed his team – but he believes his actual recovery is down to Daisy Gunderson's kind letters.So now that he's finally met the woman of his dreams, he's not about to let a stalker destroy their dreams for the future.
She saved his life when everything was hopeless. He’s determined to return the favor.
Not even Master Sergeant Harry Lockhart’s military expertise could stop the IED that killed his team and left him injured. Only Daisy Gunderson—a pen pal he’d never met—and her kind letters helped him survive. But Daisy in the flesh is the surly Marine’s polar opposite. She’s outgoing, talkative and putting his military training on high alert. A stalker named Secret Santa is targeting the kindhearted teacher…and the pranks are growing deadly.
In Daisy, Harry’s finally found the safe haven he needs. And he’ll be damned if anyone is going to take her from him.
The Precinct
Daisy was in a deep, blank sleep when she startled awake to a man’s hand clamped over her mouth. (#u24867251-8052-5487-9e00-c5bcbc2bafa4)
Her muffled scream quickly fell silent when Harry’s face hovered into focus above hers. He pressed a finger to his lips in the universal sign of shushing and didn’t remove his hand until she nodded her understanding to remain quiet.
Something was wrong. Even in her nearsighted haze, she could see Harry was strapping on his gun again. She pulled the sheet around her and sat up as he handed her the brown glasses they’d left in the living room.
She slipped them on, hoping that bringing clarity to his grim expression would give her understanding. “What is it?” she whispered softly. She heard one of the dogs growling from the foot of the bed, and all the beautiful aftermath of making love and sleeping contentedly in his arms vanished in a clutch of fear. “Harry?”
He pushed her phone into her hands. “Call 9-1-1. There’s someone outside.”
That was when Daisy jumped at the pop, pop, pop of tiny explosions and shattering glass out on the back deck.
Military Grade Mistletoe
Julie Miller
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JULIE MILLER is an award-winning USA TODAY bestselling author of breathtaking romantic suspense—with a National Readers’ Choice Award and a Daphne du Maurier Award, among other prizes. She has also earned an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. For a complete list of her books, monthly newsletter and more, go to www.juliemiller.org (http://www.juliemiller.org).
In honor of the seventy-fifth anniversary of Camp Pendleton, home of the 1st Marine Battalion.
My dad and brother were both once stationed there.
For the real Muffy. Yes, that dog is a he. And yes, he’s in charge. Just ask him.
Contents
Cover (#u16e68ef1-441b-5bd6-a55b-f7fd100cc9fb)
Back Cover Text (#uc0cee8ad-5a82-587f-8f37-fc68744ce22c)
Introduction (#ubcc6d527-5501-58b1-9e16-3f3252fe3f52)
Title Page (#ueef387a2-a31b-5630-b873-0ae6a6bea681)
About the Author (#ufb0410e4-478a-5f94-a93a-d9530a0f4c08)
Dedication (#uc7ecf38f-f52f-5e60-8520-336d014dc76d)
Prologue (#u59b57f27-5c88-5f96-a2d7-558f8745c90a)
Chapter One (#ub53fadd8-b799-5a6c-83a6-b8fe04290ceb)
Chapter Two (#ued9dfb73-05b3-5344-8008-ed63b4120bc9)
Chapter Three (#u1162c178-4060-50d6-8d3f-5aa75d5eeffe)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#u24867251-8052-5487-9e00-c5bcbc2bafa4)
“You’re not the first Marine this has happened to.”
But it was the first time it had happened to him. Master Sergeant Harry Lockhart didn’t fail. When he was given a mission, he got the job done. No matter what it cost him. But this? All the doctors, all the physical training and rehab, all the therapy—hell, he’d talked about things nobody knew about him, and it had gutted him worse than that last firefight that had sent him stateside in the first place—and they were still going to give him the boot?
Harry didn’t know who he was going to be if he couldn’t be part of the Corps, anymore.
His given name was Henry Lockhart Jr., but nobody called him by his daddy’s name unless he or she outranked him or wanted a fist in his face. Henry Sr. was serving time in a prison in Jefferson City, Missouri for a variety of crimes, the worst of which was being a lousy excuse for a father. Between Henry’s drinking, neglect and natural affinity for violence, it was a miracle Harry and his older sister, Hope, had survived to adulthood. Hope wouldn’t have done that, even, if at the ripe old age of nine, Harry hadn’t picked up his daddy’s gun and shot one of the dogs that had attacked her when she tried to leave the house to get him food so he wouldn’t starve.
A muscle ticked beside his right eye as a different memory tried to assert itself. But, with a mental fist, he shoved that particular nightmare into the tar pit of buried images from all the wars he’d fought, determined to keep it there.
“How many years have you been in the Corps?” The doctor was talking again.
If Dr. Biro hadn’t also been a lieutenant colonel, Harry might have blown him off. But Biro was not only in charge of his fitness assessments, he was a decent guy who didn’t deserve his disrespect. Harry met his superior’s gaze across the office desk. “Seventeen, sir.”
Biro nodded. “A career man.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hope was the only family he’d ever had, the only person he’d ever trusted, until he’d enlisted in the United States Marine Corps the day after he’d graduated from high school. The Corps had whipped his rebellious butt into shape, given him a home with regular meals on most days, introduced him to the best friends he had in the world and given him a reason to wake up every day and live his life.
Now his sister was married and had her own family. So he’d really, really like to keep the one he’d found. His physical wounds from that last deployment had left their mark on his stiff, misshapen face, but the scars were a sign that those had healed. He knew it was the mental wounds the lieutenant colonel was worried about.
Not for the first time in his life, Harry was going to have to prove himself worthy. He was going to have to earn someone else’s unshakable trust in him again.
He was going to have to relearn how to trust himself.
Do this. That was Harry’s motto. He couldn’t lose the only home he had left. He scrubbed his fingers over the bristly cut of his regulation short hair. “You said I was improving.”
“You are.”
The medical brass seemed to like it when he talked, so he tried again. “I’ve done everything you asked of me these past four months.”
Biro grinned. “I wish all my patients were as dedicated to following my orders as you. Physically, you could handle light duty, maybe even a training assignment.”
“But...? Tell me the truth, Doc.” Was he washed out of the Corps or not?
The lieutenant colonel leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t smiling now. “You need to get your head on straight or we can’t use you.”
“You’re not comfortable sending me out in the field?”
“I’d be doing you a disservice if I did.” Biro leaned forward again, propping the elbows of his crisply pressed lab coat on the desktop. “At the risk of oversimplifying everything you’ve gone through—something broke inside you. I believe it’s healing, but the scar is still new and I don’t want you to rip it open again.”
“I appreciate the honest answer.” Harry did some mental calculations on how long he’d have to play this game before he could come in for his next assessment and change the doctor’s prognosis. “So, peace and quiet, huh? Normalcy?”
The lieutenant colonel didn’t understand how far away from normal civilian life was for Harry. The jarheads he served with didn’t care where he’d come from or how rough his altered face looked, as long as he did his job. But on the outside, expectations were different, and he was ill-equipped to handle them.
“That’s my prescription.”
“And I don’t need pills on the outside? I just need a shrink?”
Lt. Col. Biro opened a folder and pulled a pen from his chest pocket. “That’s my recommendation. If you can’t sleep, or the mood swings become unbearable, call me. Otherwise, take the time off. Relax. Give yourself a few weeks to reconnect with civilian life. Enjoy the holidays. Get yourself a Christmas tree and eat too many sweets. Kiss a pretty girl and watch football all New Year’s Day. Whatever you like to do to celebrate.” Relax and celebrate sounded like daunting tasks for a man who didn’t have much experience with the examples on the good doctor’s list. “If you still want to after that, make an appointment with my office in January and we’ll reevaluate your fitness to serve. Or, if you decide the clean break is what you need, I’ll have your honorable medical discharge waiting for you. It’s not like you haven’t earned it.”
Harry stood, clasping his utility cover, the Corps’ term for a canvas uniform hat, between his hands. “I’ll be back, sir.”
The lieutenant colonel nodded before signing off on his medical leave papers and dismissing him. “You’re from Kansas City, Missouri, right?” Harry nodded. “You might have snow there this time of year.”
What was Biro going to prescribe now? Building a snowman to get in touch with the inner child Harry had never had the chance to be? “Sir?”
“My best buddy from basic training was from KC. I’ve always enjoyed my visits. I’ll have my aide give you some recommendations for therapists you can see there.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Harry’s cover fit snugly over his head as he pulled the bill down and hiked outside into the sunny Southern California weather. He drove to the base housing he shared with two other Non-commissioned Officers, or NCOs, slammed the door on his truck and hurried inside before he cussed up a blue streak that would have all of Camp Pendleton talking by sundown.
Thankfully, his bunk mates were both on duty so he had the house to himself. But that empty echo of the door closing behind him was a curse as much as it was a blessing. Damn, he missed the way his best friend used to greet him.
The remembered thunder of deadly fireworks and images of blood and destruction seared him from the inside out, leaving him with beads of sweat on his forehead and his hands clutched into fists.
Hell. The doc was right. His head wasn’t on straight.
Using some of the calming techniques Lt. Col. Biro had taught him, Harry breathed in deeply through his nose and out through his mouth. Then he grabbed the pull-up bar hanging in his bedroom doorway and did ten quick reps until he felt the burn in his biceps, triceps and shoulders, and the anger that had flared behind his eyes receded.
He took the pull-up bar off the door frame and tossed it onto the bed beside the duffel bag he’d already packed that morning, having known he was either shipping out or going home by the time the medical team was done with him today.
You need to get your head on straight or we can’t use you.
The lieutenant colonel’s blunt words made the tiny, impersonal bedroom swim around him. Squeezing his eyes shut against the dizzying, unsettled feeling he hadn’t felt since he was a little boy wondering if he was going to eat that day, Harry sank onto the edge of the mattress. He needed to find that happy place inside him. He needed to feel the holidays and the hope they inspired. He needed to find a way to push aside the nightmares and the anger and learn how to cope again. Or else the brass wouldn’t let him be a Marine anymore.
On instinct, he opened his duffel bag and pulled out a bulky, crumpled manila envelope that held the lifeline to sanity that had gotten him through that last hellish deployment and the long days in the hospital and physical therapy which had followed. He brushed his fingers over the torn envelope flap before sliding his thumb underneath and peeking inside. Now here was a little bit of sunshine. He pulled out a homemade angel ornament that had been a gift to him last Christmas. Then he studied the stack of cards and letters that were battered and smudged from travel and rereading. Words from a compassionate oracle who understood him better than he knew himself. His stiff jaw relaxed with the tremor of a smile that couldn’t quite form on his lips.
Harry hadn’t been this uncertain since he was that starving little boy with a black eye and clothes that didn’t fit. He didn’t need a shrink. He needed the Corps. But he’d need a miracle to make that happen. He needed the angel from all these cards and letters to work her magic on him again.
None of them were recent, but that didn’t matter. The effect on him was always the same. He opened the very first letter and started to read.
Dear MSgt. Lockhart...
Chapter One (#u24867251-8052-5487-9e00-c5bcbc2bafa4)
Dear Daisy,
Merry Christmas from your Secret Santa.
Daisy Gunderson stared at the gift tag, dotted with sparkles of glitzy snow, in the top right drawer of her desk and wondered who hated her enough to wage this terror campaign against her. This should be the happiest time of year for her, with the holidays and her winter break from school coming soon. Either somebody thought this sick parade of presents left on her desk or in her mailbox in the faculty work room was a clever idea for a joke, or that person intentionally wanted to ruin Christmas for her.
Typically, she made a big deal of the holidays, as evidenced by the greenery and ornaments decorating her classroom, and the hand-carved menorah and colorful Kwanzaa mat she had on display that had been gifts from former students. But the red glass candy dish filled with rat poison, the decapitated elf ornament and the X-rated card that had nothing to do with holiday greetings hidden away in her drawer were disturbing signs that not everyone shared the same reverence for celebrating this time of year.
The gifts were an eerie reminder of the tragic mistake she’d made three years ago that had cost her so dearly. But Brock was locked up in a prison cell, and would be until her roots turned gray. Daisy had already called the prison to confirm Brock Jantzen hadn’t escaped or been accidentally released. These gifts couldn’t be his handiwork. Men in prison who’d tried to kill their ex-girlfriends didn’t get to send them cards and presents, right?
Daisy inhaled and let the long exhale flutter her lips. Of course not. These gifts had nothing to do with Brock. Or losing her father. Or even losing her mother, in a way. They had nothing to do with the scars on her chest and belly or her missing spleen.
Deciding that her thinking made it so, Daisy adjusted her purple-framed eyeglasses at her temples, spared a glance for the lone student muttering at the laptop on his desk, then looked up at the clock on the wall to wonder how much longer it was going to take Angelo to finish his essay before they could both go home for the day. Since she’d promised to give the teenager all the time he needed to complete his work, Daisy closed the drawer, picked up her pen and went back to grading papers.
But her thoughts drifted to the small stack of letters she’d locked away in a keepsake box under her bed at home. Letters from a Marine overseas. Short, stilted and impersonal at first. Then longer, angrier, sadder. Master Sergeant Harry Lockhart yearned for quiet and routine just as much as he longed to complete the job he’d been sent to the Middle East to accomplish. She could tell he loved serving his country. That he loved the military dog he worked with, Tango. That he grieved the young men and native soldiers he’d trained and lost. She’d grieved right along with him when he’d written to say that Tango had been killed. Those letters had been part of a class writing project she’d initiated last year, with help from a friend at church, Hope Taylor, who had connected Daisy to her brother and his unit. She’d give anything to hear from Harry Lockhart again, even one of his short missives about the heat or the sand in his bunk. But sadly, those letters had stopped coming months ago. She hoped the unthinkable hadn’t happened to her Marine. More likely, he’d simply tired of the friendship after the class had ended and those students had stopped writing the servicemen and women with whom they’d been pen pals.
Now the only notes she received depicted graphic sexual acts and violence. All under the guise of a friendly game of Secret Santa.
She’d reported the gifts to her principal, and he’d made a general announcement about the appropriateness of everyone’s anonymous gifts at the last staff meeting. And, she’d alerted the building police officer, who promised to keep an eye on her room and try to figure out when the gifts were being left for her. But, short of canceling the faculty party and gift exchange, and ruining everyone else’s Christmas fun, there was little more she could do besides staying alert, and doing a little sleuthing of her own to try and figure out who was sending them. Daisy wondered if the wretched gifts might even be coming from someone who hadn’t drawn her name in the annual gift swap—a disgruntled student, perhaps. Or maybe there was someone else in her life who thought this terror campaign was a cute way to squash her determination to make the most of every holiday celebration.
If that was the case, she refused to give in and take down one tiny piece of tinsel or play her Mannheim Steamroller music any less often. She already had enough reasons to mourn and resent the holidays. The Scrooges didn’t get to win. If grief, abandonment and solitude couldn’t keep her from saying Merry Christmas every chance she got, then a few morbid trinkets from a disturbed mind weren’t going to make her say, Bah, Humbug, either.
“Finished. Five hundred and two words.” A small laptop plunked down in front of her on her desk. “Before the deadline.”
Daisy smiled up at Angelo Logan, a favorite student with as much talent as he had excuses for not doing his work. She knew no one in his immediate family had gone to college. And since that was a goal of his, she didn’t mind putting in some extra time and pushing him a little harder than some of her other students. She skimmed the screen from the title, The Angel and the Devil, down to the word count at the bottom of the page. “Wow. Two words over the minimum required. Did you break a sweat?”
“You said to be concise.” A grin appeared on his dark face.
“Did you map out why you’re deserving of the scholarship?”
“Yeah. I talked about my home life, about being a twin and about what I can do for my community if I get a journalism degree.”
Daisy arched a skeptical eyebrow. “In five hundred and two words?”
Angelo tucked the tails of his white shirt back beneath his navy blue sweater and returned to his desk to pull on his blue school jacket. “Can I have my phone back now, Ms. G?”
“May I?” she corrected automatically, and looked up to see him roll his deep brown eyes. The standard rule in her class was “No cell phones allowed,” and anytime a student entered her room, he or she had to deposit their phones in the shoe bag hanging beside the door. Getting a phone back meant the student was free to go. Daisy smiled at the seventeen-year-old who looked so put upon by grinchy teachers who held him accountable for procrastinated essays and college application deadlines, when he probably just wanted to take off with his buddies for some Thursday night R & R. “You’re too good a writer to miss this opportunity.” She turned the laptop around. “Email me this draft and I’ll get it edited tonight. I can go over any changes that need to be made with you tomorrow. Then we can send the whole thing off before Monday’s deadline.”
Angelo zipped back to her desk and attached the file to an email. “I’ve got basketball after school tomorrow. I won’t be able to come in. Coach will bench me if I miss practice two days in a row.”
Ah, yes. Coach Riley and the pressure he put on his players, despite the academic focus of Central Prep. “Can you do lunch?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She pointed to the shoe storage bag hanging by the door. “Grab your phone. Have a good night and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
But he didn’t immediately leave. He exhaled a sigh before setting his backpack on the corner of her desk and digging inside. He pulled out a squished plastic bag with a red ribbon tied around the top and shyly dropped a gift of candy on her desk. “Thank you, Ms. G.”
An instinctive alarm sent a shock of electricity through her veins. But then she saw the blush darkening Angelo’s cheeks and realized she couldn’t be paranoid about everything with a gift tag this time of year. Plus, the smushed present didn’t look anything like the carefully prepared gifts she’d received from her Secret Santa. She feigned a smile before genuinely feeling it, and picked up the gift. “Are these your grandmother’s homemade caramels?”
“Yeah. She wanted to thank you for the extra hours you’re putting in on me.”
Daisy untied the bow and pulled open the bag to sniff the creamy brown-sugary goodies. This present was safe. She’d seen it delivered, and there was nothing hinky about the candies wrapped in this modest bag. She could let herself enjoy it. “I love her caramels. She made a special batch without nuts for me?”
The blush faded as the grin returned. “I don’t know why you want to eat them without the pecans, but she remembered that was the way you like them.”
Daisy pulled out one of the individually wrapped caramels and untwisted the waxed paper. “Hey, between her and me, we’re going to get you into college.”
“Yes, ma’am. Um... I wanted to...”
Wondering how long Angelo was going to stand there before he said whatever was making him shift back and forth so nervously, Daisy popped the caramel in her mouth and started to fill the awkward silence. “These are the yummiest—”
She almost choked on the chewy treat when a sharp knock rapped on her door. “’Lo. You coming or what?” Although the baggy jeans and sideways ball cap were a vastly different look than the school uniform Angelo still wore, Albert Logan shared his twin brother’s face. “Just because you got in trouble with the teacher doesn’t mean I have to be late.”
“I’m not in trouble,” Angelo insisted.
“I don’t care. I just know I have to drive your sorry ass home before I meet the guys.”
“Granny’s going to kill you if you skip dinner again.”
“She ain’t killed me yet.” Albert jerked his head down the hallway toward the exit. “Move it.”
“Hey, Albert.” Daisy stood and offered a friendly greeting.
“Hey, Ms. G.”
Despite looking alike, the two brothers couldn’t be more different. “You know, my offer to stay after school and work with students who need extra help extends to you, too.”
“I ain’t in your class no more.”
“You aren’t anymore,” she corrected. “I’m here with Angelo. I could easily tutor you, too. Get your grades back up so you can be on the basketball team again.”
“Whatever.” He turned down her repeated offer to help him raise his D’s and F’s into acceptable grades and pointed to his brother. “My car leaves in five. Be in it or walk home.”
Although she was already plotting different arguments to convince Albert to get the help he needed, Daisy trained her smile on Angelo while he zipped his backpack and hurried to grab his phone. “Be sure to thank your grandmother for the caramels.”
“Bye.”
Once the teens had left her room, the silence of an empty school long after classes had ended closed in on her. Shaking off the instant sensation of loneliness before it could take hold of her, Daisy packed up her pink leather shoulder bag. She jotted a note to Bernie Riley, the boys’ basketball coach, asking him to have a chat with his former player to encourage Albert to take her, or someone else, up on the tutoring offer. Without sports to keep him interested in school, she feared he’d wind up dropping out without a diploma. Then she grabbed her scarf and wrapped it around the neckline of her tunic sweater and pulled her coat from the closet before shutting off the lights and locking the door.
She’d make one quick stop at the faculty lounge to drop off the note, then head out. Besides hurrying home to let out her three dogs to do their business, she needed to get the place tidied up before showing the upstairs suite to the potential renter who’d answered her ad in the paper. Her friend Hope’s husband was a KCPD cop, and he’d done a routine search on the guy and a couple of other tenant prospects to ensure they didn’t have a criminal record or pose any obvious threat to her.
Having the dogs with her eased her concerns about living alone. But with the advent of the creepy cards and gifts, she’d decided that having a man on the premises, preferably an older one who reminded her of the security her father had once provided, would scare away whoever was threatening her. Besides, one of the hazards of living alone in the two-story 1920s Colonial her parents and grandparents had once lived in was that she was spending a small fortune renovating it. With taxes due at the end of the year and her savings already tapped out, thanks to the new HVAC system and roof she’d been forced to install, she could use the extra income of a tenant to get through the expense of the holidays.
Her steps slowed on the hallway tiles as her imagination surged ahead of her logic. Of course, the idea that her tenant might wind up being a serial killer, or even the sicko who was sending her that crap, was more than a little unsettling.
But no, Officer Pike Taylor had vetted this guy, so he couldn’t be a danger to her. She sifted her fingers into the wavy layers of her hair and shook it off her shoulders. “Stop imagining the worst, Daisy Lou, and go home.”
Her stop in the faculty lounge and work room revealed that she wasn’t the only staff member working late this evening. “Hey, Eddie.”
Daisy dropped her bag onto the chair beside one of the school’s science teachers. It hit the seat with a thunk and Eddie Bosch laughed. “Taking a little work home tonight?”
“Just some papers to grade. And my laptop.” Plus all the items a woman would keep in her purse, along with a few emergency snacks, a stash of dog treats and an extra pair of shoes in case the knee-high boots she wore got too wet with the snow outside and she needed to change before her feet froze. Daisy shook her head as her friend in the loose tie and pullover sweater grinned. “I guess I carry my life in there, don’t I?”
“Well, you won’t have to go to the gym and work out if you keep lifting that thing.” He closed the laptop he’d been working on and pointed a warning finger at her. “Now about that chiropractor bill you’ll be getting...”
“Ha, ha.” Squeezing his shoulder at the teasing remark, she circled around him and went to the wall of cubbies that served as the staff’s mailboxes and searched the alphabetized labels for Bernie Riley’s name.
She was glad Eddie had gotten to the point where he could joke with her. When they’d first started at Central Prep together, he’d had a sadness about him he wore like a shroud. He’d been new to Kansas City, had moved there for a fresh start after losing his fiancée to a long illness. Daisy had made it her personal mission to cheer him up and make him feel welcome. Now, he often made it feel like she was working with the teasing big brother she, as an only child, had never had.
But the comfortable camaraderie quickly ebbed as her gaze landed on her mailbox. She backed away when she saw the corner of a red envelope lying there.
Daisy startled at the hand that settled between her shoulder blades. “Don’t worry.” Eddie reached around her to pull the red envelope from her box and hold it out to her. “It’s the teacher appreciation gift from the school board. A gift card to your favorite coffee shop. We all got one.”
Taking the envelope, she clutched it to her chest, nodding her thanks. Eddie and a few other teachers were close enough friends that she’d shared some of the weird messages she’d been receiving. They’d all agreed that none of the staff could be responsible, and were now on the lookout for any signs of a disturbed student who might be sending the gifts. She appreciated that Eddie and the others were protective of her.
He pointed to other red envelopes still sitting in the mailboxes of teachers who’d already gone home, to confirm his explanation. “It’s nice that they remember us each year. Although I’d trade gourmet coffee for a bump in salary if it’d do us any good.”
Daisy agreed. “I hear ya.”
He nodded toward the paper in her hand. “Is Riley giving you grief about keeping Angelo out of practice again?”
During basketball season, Bernie Riley gave everyone grief. “I think we’ve reached a mutual understanding.”
“You mean, you’ve agreed to do things his way.”
“Bernie and I both have the students’ best interests at heart. He let Angelo stay with me today, and I’ll adjust my schedule tomorrow.” She held up her message about Angelo’s brother. “Actually, I’m hoping he’ll help me with Albert.”
“Albert doesn’t have half the brains Angelo does.”
She was surprised to hear the insult. “Maybe we just haven’t found the right way to motivate him yet.”
“Uh-huh.” Eddie pulled away and opened his satchel to stow his laptop. “Deliver your note and I’ll walk you out.” He nodded to the window overlooking the parking lot and the orange glow of the street lamps creating pockets of light in the murky evening air. “I hate how early the sun goes down this time of year.”
Smile, Daisy Lou. Don’t let anyone bring you down.
“Me, too.” Daisy stuffed the note into Coach Riley’s cubby and put on her insulated coat and gloves while Eddie pulled on a stocking cap and long wool coat. “Although, I do love it when the sky is clear at night, and the moon reflects off all the snow.” She pulled the hood with its faux fur trim over her head. “In the daylight, the city snow looks dirty, but at night it’s beautiful.”
“You’re a regular Pollyanna, aren’t you,” he accused with a smile, holding the door open for her. “It’s twenty degrees, it’s dark and I’m tired of shoveling my driveway.”
“Scrooge.”
“Nanook.” He followed her out the door and walked her across the nearly empty lot to her car. “Are you expecting a blizzard I don’t know about?”
She fished her keys out of her bag and unlocked the doors. “Fourteen degrees? That’s plenty cold enough for me.”
Eddie swiped his gloved hand across her windshield, clearing a swath through the blowing snow that had gathered there. “Want me to scrape this off for you?”
“You’re a scholar and a gent, Mr. Bosch.” Daisy thanked him for his gallant offer, but shooed him back to his own car. “The windshield wipers will take care of it. Go get warm. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“See ya. And hey, I didn’t mean to sound flippant earlier. If there’s anything I can do to help you with Albert, let me know.”
“I will. Thanks.” With a smile that no longer felt forced, Daisy climbed inside. Once she had her car started, he waved and trudged away to his own vehicle.
Daisy locked her doors and shivered behind the wheel, waiting for the wipers and defroster to clear her windows. Allowing the engine time to warm up, she crossed her arms and leaned back against the headrest, closing her eyes. She took on a lot this time of year, and she was tired. The stress of dealing with her Secret Santa, and the mental battle not to compare his gifts to the terror campaign Brock had waged against her three years ago, were taking their toll, as well. It was a challenge to get eight hours of uninterrupted sleep when every sound in the old house woke her. She made up for the fatigue by stealing short naps when she could. Like right now. Just a few minutes to rest before...
Daisy’s eyes popped open as a sixth sense nudged her fully awake.
Someone was watching her.
She wiped the condensation off the inside of her window and peered out. Her gaze first went to Eddie’s car. But he was busy brushing the thin layer of snow off the windows and top. His back was to her until he tossed the scraper into the back and climbed in behind the wheel. Then he was on his cell phone, chattering away in an animated conversation as he backed out of his parking space.
She pulled her glasses away from her nose to let the foggy lenses clear before sliding them back into place and scanning the rest of the staff parking lot. There were only four vehicles left. Coach Riley and the girls’ basketball coach had both parked near the gym entrance while they finished with practice. She recognized the truck and van driven by the school custodians, as well.
The uneasy sensation of being watched crept beneath the layers she wore, making her shiver as if a cold finger was running along her spine. But a check of her rearview mirror revealed no one. Not one visible soul. Certainly no one spying on her.
Unless that person was hidden.
Behind one of the Dumpsters. Or around the corner of the building. Or peering out from the shadows of a dark room in the nearly empty school.
“Really?” Daisy smacked the steering wheel and pulled on her seat belt, irritated with the way her tired mind could play tricks on her. Those stupid gifts had spooked her more than she’d realized. “You are perfectly safe,” she reminded herself, shifting the car into gear. Turning on her lights, she drove out of the parking lot. “The bad guys don’t get to win.” If she lived her life like a paranoid mouse, they would win. And she wasn’t about to let that happen. She turned on a radio station playing Christmas music 24/7 and belted out rock anthems and traditional carols all the way home.
Daisy was a little hoarse from the songfest by the time she pulled into the detached garage behind her home. She pushed the remote button, closing the door behind her before unlocking her car and climbing out. Night had fallen, so she flipped the switch to turn on the Christmas lights lining the garage roof and fence, knowing they’d cast enough light to illuminate her path across the sidewalk to the deck and backyard entrance to her home. She smiled when she opened the door and looked out into the fenced-in yard. Beyond the edges of the walkway and deck she’d cleared, the red, green, orange, blue and white lights reflected off the snow like the warm glow of a sunset.
After pulling her hood up over her ears, she shut the door behind her and locked it. The damp bite of wintry air chapped her cheeks and hurried her steps past the gate and up onto the deck where the motion sensor light over the back door popped on, turning a small circle of night into day.
“Daisy? Is that you?”
Startled by the voice in the night, Daisy spun around. Once she’d identified the disembodied voice, she drifted beyond the edge of the light to bring her neighbor to the north into focus. “Good evening, Jeremiah.” Although Jeremiah Finch’s balding head was little more than a balloon-shaped shadow above the hedge on his side of the fence, she recognized his little Chihuahua in a pink and black sweater underneath the hedge where the snow wasn’t as deep. As much as her neighbor loved his little princess, he liked to keep his yard in pristine condition, and would either immediately clean up after the dog, or hook her onto a leash and lead her to the bushes as he had tonight. “I see Suzy is bundled up against the cold. New sweater?”
“Knitted it myself. Are you coming down with a cold?” he asked, no doubt hearing the rasp in her voice.
“I’m fine. Just a little too much singing. And you?”
“I’m well. Suzy and I will be going in now. Good night.”
“Good night.” As formal and shallow as their conversations might be, Mr. Finch had proved himself to be a good neighbor. Besides maintaining a beautiful home, he didn’t mind picking up her mail and watching over her house when she had to leave town. And she often returned the favor.
After he and Suzy had gone inside, Daisy slipped her key into the dead bolt lock.
One sharp, deep bark and the excited sound of yapping dogs told Daisy her furry family already knew she was home. She peeked through the sheers in the window beside the door and saw her beloved trio gathering in the mud room with tails wagging to welcome her before pushing open the door. “Yoo-hoo! Mama’s home.”
Muffy, her little tiger of a Shih Tzu led the charge out the door. A silver-and-white-haired boy cursed with a girl’s name by the elderly owner who had to surrender him when she moved into a nursing facility, Muffy often made up for the insult by being the toughest and loudest guard dog he could be, if not the most ferocious-looking. Patch, her deaf Jack Russell terrier mix, took his cues from the other dogs, and followed right behind the smaller dog, no doubt barking because Muffy was. Both stopped for a friendly greeting and some petting before dashing out into the snowy yard. Patch, especially, loved being outside, leaping from snow bank to snow bank and snuzzling through the drifts as though feeling the cold against his skin made him giddy.
Her senior dog, Caliban, hobbled out the door on three legs. Daisy got the feeling that when her biggest dog stopped for a scratch around the ears, the Belgian Malinois was humoring her rather than seeking her affection. Poor guy. He’d spent a career at KCPD before the cancerous tumor that had led to the amputation of his left front leg forced him into retirement, and then he hadn’t been able to live at his handler’s home because the K-9 officer’s child was allergic. Daisy reached inside the door to grab one of the rope toys that seemed to be the tan-and-black dog’s only joy and tossed it out into the snow. As she watched him trot down the two steps into the yard, Daisy’s heart squeezed in her chest. The experts who claimed that dogs didn’t feel emotions didn’t know Caliban. That dog was sad. He’d lost his job, lost his favorite person, lost his home and routine. When Pike Taylor had asked if she could take the dog for the last year or so he had left, Daisy had willingly opened up her home and her heart. Muffy and Patch had welcomed the older dog, although the two little spitfires made him cranky at times. Caliban had a good home here, but Daisy was still looking for the key to breaking through that reserve of his.
Smiling at the distinct personalities of each of her children, Daisy crossed to the railing to watch her three charges. Muffy was all business, inspecting the perimeter of the yard and trees along the back fence. Caliban was nosing around the gate and garage, avoiding the snow as much as possible. And Patch...
“Patch?” Daisy hiked her purse behind her hip and leaned over the railing. Where had he snuck off to? He wouldn’t answer her summons unless he was looking right at her or following one of the other dogs. “Where did you go?”
Daisy looked down to see the clear impression of man-sized boot prints in the snow. The security light created shadows through the deck railings that had obscured them earlier. But there they were, a messy set of prints circling around the deck to the gas and water meters on the back of the house. She spotted Patch, his muzzle and jowls white with a snowy beard, following the tracks past the meters to the dormant lilac bushes at the corner of the house.
That wasn’t right. Goose bumps pricked across Daisy’s skin. She crossed to the side railing and squinted into the darkness beyond her porch light. Between the blowing snow and the shadows, she couldn’t make out whether the tracks ended at the side of the house or if they continued into Mr. Finch’s yard next door. Or maybe they’d originated from there? Maybe Jeremiah had spotted something that concerned him in the backyard. Still, she couldn’t see the fastidious gentleman climbing over the chain-link fence when there was a perfectly good gate between the house and garage that granted easy access to the yard. It would be hard to tell exactly where the footprints led unless she went out in the knee-deep drifts to look with a flashlight. And as much as Daisy wanted answers, she wasn’t keen on being anywhere alone in the dark.
She swallowed hard, trying to come up with a logical explanation as to why someone would be wandering around her backyard. She’d had the same utility worker from the city for years. He knew his way around her backyard, and didn’t mind the dogs when they were out. Maybe he had a substitute walking his route, someone who didn’t know there was only one gate. Patch spent a lot of time snuffling around in each footprint until he lifted his leg and peed in one. Why were there so many tracks? Had more than one person been in the backyard?
“Muffy? Caliban?” She put her chilled lips together and tried to whistle, but she doubted even a dog could hear the wimpy sound that came out.
Then she spotted Caliban’s white muzzle as he carried his toy back up the steps to dutifully sit beside her. “Good boy.” Had he sensed her fear? Did he just have impeccable timing? “Good, good boy.” Daisy scratched around his ears and rewarded him by pulling on one end of the rope and letting him enjoy a gentle game of tug of war. But the game ended quickly when Caliban released the toy and spun toward the back door. A split second later, Muffy zipped past her, barking like mad. That response could mean only one thing. They’d heard the doorbell at the front of the house. She had a visitor.
Although she was hardly prepped for company, she was more than ready to go inside. She caught Patch’s attention and gave the signal for him to come. He dashed through the doorway in front of her.
The doorbell chimed again while she bolted the back door. The dogs raced ahead of her, yapping and tracking snow across the long, narrow rug and refinished oak of her hallway floor. Patch leaped over the two plastic tubs of Christmas ornaments she’d stacked beside the stairs, waiting for the tree she planned to get this weekend. Daisy hurried after them, dumping her purse on the bottom step of the staircase leading up to the second floor, pulling off her hood and stuffing her gloves into her pockets.
She pushed her way through the semi-circle of barking dogs, put Caliban and Patch into a sit and picked up Muffy, her brave boy who had the most trouble following orders and greeting an unfamiliar visitor. If this was the potential tenant Pike Taylor had okayed for her, she wanted time to explain that her pack of dogs were looking for treats and tummy rubs, not the opportunity to take a bite out of a stranger. Daisy flipped on the Christmas lights over the front porch and made sure the dead bolt was engaged before peering through the window beside the door.
“Wow.” She mouthed the word, fogging up the glass.
The man standing on her front porch was hot, in a rugged sort of way. He stood six feet tall, give or take an inch. He wore a black stocking cap fitted tightly to his head and a beige coat that pulled at his broad shoulders and thick arms. With his hands down at the sides of his jeans and his legs braced apart, he stood there, unmoving. If it wasn’t for the puffs of his warm breath clouding around his gray eyes, she’d have thought him a statue, impervious to the cold. Daisy’s throat went dry at the inverse response of heat that could be nerves, or something decidedly more...aware...that he triggered inside her.
Not the fatherly figure she’d been hoping for. His face was a little too craggy to be handsome. The scars that peeked above the collar of his sweater and crept up his neck to the edge of his mouth and cheek to circle around most of his left eye, coupled with the stern set of his square jaw, added to his harsh look. She was certain Pike wouldn’t send her anyone she wouldn’t be safe with. Still, safe was a relative term. This guy didn’t project calm reassurance so much as he looked as though he could scare off anyone who glanced crosswise at him. Although he would fulfill the purpose of having a tenant, she wasn’t sure she’d be comfortable having a man like him in the house.
Still, if Pike said he was okay, she’d at least interview him.
She startled when his head suddenly tilted and his gaze shifted to her silhouette in the window. He’d caught her staring at him. He didn’t smile, didn’t wave an acknowledgement, didn’t react, period. He simply locked his gaze onto hers until she muttered, “My bad,” and hurried to atone for her rudeness. Muffy whined in her arms, and Daisy unbolted the door and opened it, leaving the steel-framed storm door secured between them.
The rush of heat she’d felt dissipated with the chill that seeped through the glass. “Hi. Are you here about the room to rent? I thought we weren’t meeting until after dinner.”
“Master Sergeant Harry Lockhart, ma’am,” he announced in a deep, clipped voice. “Are you Daisy Gunderson?”
Recognition and relief chased away her trepidation and she smiled. “Master Serg...? Harry? Pen pal Harry?” She plopped Muffy down between the other dogs, then unlatched the storm door and pushed it wide open. “Harry Lockhart! I’m so excited to finally meet you.” The dogs followed her out onto the brick porch and danced around their legs. Daisy threw her arms around Harry’s neck, pressed her body against his rock-hard chest and hugged him tight. “Welcome home!”
Chapter Two (#u24867251-8052-5487-9e00-c5bcbc2bafa4)
Welcome home?
Harry’s vision blurred as something gray and furry darted between his legs. A mix of squeals and barks blended with the deafening boom and shouting voices inside his head, and his nose was suddenly filled with the stench of burnt earth and raw skin.
One moment, the memories were there, but in the next, he blanked them out and focused on the here and now. His body was hyper-aware of the softness wrapped around him like a blanket, and the creamy chill of the woman’s cheek pressed against the side of his neck.
Daisy Gunderson was on her tiptoes hugging him. Bear-hugging him. Giving him a squeeze-the-stuffing-out-of-him kind of hug. What happened to polite introductions and handshakes? This wasn’t the greeting he’d expected. She wasn’t the woman he’d expected.
But when a woman hugged a man like that, it was his natural instinct to wrap his arms around her and...pat her back. He could hear his men ribbing him now, giving him grief over his lousy moves with the ladies the same way he gave them grief about staying sharp and keeping their heads down. He’d been short on this kind of contact for a long time. Months. Years, maybe. The instinctive part of him wanted to tighten his grip around her. A baser part of him wanted to reach down and see if the curves on the bottom half matched the ones flattened against him up top—or whether all that luscious body he felt was just the pillows of her coat squished between them. A different part of him, the part that was still fractured and healing, wanted to bury his nose in the sugar-cookies-and-vanilla scents radiating off her clothes and hair and skin, and let it fill up his head and drive out the nightmares.
Harry did none of those things. Although her scent was as sweet as he’d imagined, nothing else about this meeting was going according to plan. Dogs were barking. She was plastered against him. He patted her back again because he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react to this welcome. After all, he’d never met Daisy in person before.
She started talking before pulling away. “This feels like a reunion between old friends. I just got home myself. A few minutes earlier and you would have missed me. What are you doing here?” She shooed the dogs into the house and grabbed his wrist, pulling him in, as well. “Sorry. I’ll stop talking. Come in out of the cold.”
He watched the little gray-and-white fuzz mop dart back and forth across the area rug in the foyer while the white terrier jumped over him with a yip of excitement when he got too close. Those dogs were wired. They needed a good bit of exercise to take some of that energy out of them.
After locking the thick mahogany door behind her, Daisy pointed to the little one. “Muffy, down.” Muffy? The long-haired one was clearly a dude, but he had to give the little guy credit for flopping down on his belly to pant until he got permission to go nuts again. “I can put them in their kennels if you want, but they’ll mind if you tell them to stay down. Make sure Patch is making eye contact with you and use your hand. He’s deaf. But smart as a whip. Jack Russells usually are. He knows several commands. Patch?”
She demonstrated a universal hand signal. The terrier sat, all right, but so did the Belgian Malinois. Who looked a lot like... That muscle ticked beneath Harry’s right eye as he slammed the door on that memory and focused on the dog with the graying muzzle. Poor old guy had lost a leg. But those deep brown eyes were sharp and focused squarely on him, as if awaiting a command. Maybe the dog recognized another wounded warrior. “Is he a working dog?”
“KCPD-retired,” she answered. “That’s Caliban. He lost his leg to cancer. I inherited him when his handler couldn’t keep him. Sorry about the mess. I’m in the middle of decorating for the holidays.” Daisy was moving down the hallway beside the stairs, which were draped with fake greenery and red bows tied along the railing. She swerved around a couple of plastic tubs and kicked aside little bits of melting snow with her low-heeled boots. “Stick to the runner and it won’t be slippery,” she advised. “Could I get you something hot to drink? Coffee? Cocoa? Are you hungry? I baked a ton of cookies last weekend.”
Did the woman never stop talking? He couldn’t even say hello, much less ask a question or explain the reason he was here. “That’s not necessary.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s cold. I’m cold. I’d be fixing it, anyway.”
Clearly, she expected him to follow her through the house, so Harry pulled the watch cap off his head and stepped out. A parade of curious dogs followed him into a cozy kitchen that opened up to a dining room that appeared to be a storage area for unwanted furniture, more plastic tubs and paint cans.
“Ignore that room. My goal is to clear that out this weekend and finish decorating. I’m hosting my school’s staff Christmas party next weekend.” She shed her coat and scarf and tossed them over a ladder-back chair at an antique cherrywood table. “Have a seat.”
“I wanted to talk about the letters.”
“Sit.” She pulled out a stool at the peninsula counter and patted the seat. “I’d love to talk about the letters you sent. Wish you’d kept writing after the school year ended.” He’d stopped in June because that’s when he... He hadn’t written any letters from the hospital. “You’re the first one of our pen pals I’ve met in person.”
“That was nice of you to keep writing, even after I dropped the ball.” Harry put his leather gloves on the counter, unzipped his coat and settled onto the stool. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that some of those pen pals were never coming home. “I want you to know how much my unit appreciated all the letters you and your class sent them. Even if we, if I, didn’t always respond.”
She was running water now, measuring coffee. “That was one of my more inspired projects. I started it with last year’s composition class. Anything to get them to write. Plus, at Central Prep—the school where I teach—we encourage our students to be involved in the community, to be citizens of the world and aware of others. It seemed like a win-win for both of us, supporting the troops while improving their communication skills. When your sister mentioned your Marine Corps unit at church, looking for Christmas cards to send them last year, I jumped right on it.” She tugged at the hem of her long purple tweed sweater after reaching into the refrigerator for some flavored creamer. As she moved about, Harry noticed that her glasses were purple, too, and so were the streaks of color in her chocolate brown hair. “I always model what I ask my students to do, so I adopted you. I don’t mean adopt you like that—no one would adopt...you’re a grown man. We drew names out of a hat. You were the one that was left, so you lucked out and became my pen pal. It’s nice—no, amazing—to finally meet you in person.” She stopped to take a breath and push a plate of sugar cookies decorated like Christmas trees and reindeer in front of him. “And now I’m rambling. Thank you for your service.”
Now she was rambling? Harry was still replaying all the dialogue in his head to catch everything she’d said. “You’re welcome. I was just doing my job. Thank you for your letters. They meant a lot to me.”
“You’re welcome. And I was just doing my job.” She pulled two turquoise mugs from an upper cabinet while the earthy smell of coffee brewing filled the room. “You’re home on leave for the holidays, I imagine. Are you visiting Hope?”
“I’m staying with my sister and her husband for a few days.”
“How’s their little boy? He’s about two, right?”
“Gideon is...” A little afraid of the growly uncle who was rooming with him for the time being. Or maybe the fact that Harry was a little afraid of holding his energetic nephew without breaking him was what created the awkward tension between them. Who was he kidding? Pretty much every relationship was awkward for him right now. “Yeah, he’s two in a couple of months.”
“And Hope is pregnant with baby number two? That’s good news. Although that apartment over her bridal shop only has two bedrooms, doesn’t it? She and Pike will have to be looking for a bigger place soon.” Daisy filled two mugs and carried them to the counter across from him. Although that bulky knit sweater covered the interesting bits between her neck and thighs, her leggings and boots hinted at earth-mother curves. He was busy filling in with his imagination the shape he couldn’t see, enjoying the mental exercise a little more than he should when she set a fragrant, steaming mug in front of him, and cradled the other between her hands, warming her fingers. “What can I do for you, Master Sergeant?”
Harry dutifully pulled his gaze up to the blue eyes behind her glasses. “Top. You don’t have to call me Master Sergeant every time. Top is the nickname for an NCO of my rank.”
“All right, Top. What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to meet you in person and thank you for your letters.”
“You said that already.” She picked up a red-nosed reindeer cookie and dipped it into her coffee before taking a bite, waiting for him to continue.
Exactly how did a guy broach a subject like I need the woman from those letters to help me regain my sanity? The golden, ethereal one with the soft voice, gentle touch and quiet mien I imagined in my dreams? I need that angel’s healing touch. He definitely didn’t need a woman who talked nonstop, owned a pack of dogs and triggered a lustful curiosity he hadn’t acknowledged for longer than he cared to admit. Harry picked up his mug by the handle, then turned it in his hands, staring down into the dark brew that reminded him of one of the colors of her hair. “Writing your students gave my unit something to do during the slow times. Getting those letters could really... You know, some days were harder than others, and, um...” This wasn’t right. She wasn’t right. Time to abort this crazy ass mission and call one of the shrinks Lt. Col. Biro had recommended for him. Harry set his mug down on the counter with enough force to slosh the coffee over the edge. “Sorry.” He shook the hot liquid off his skin and shot abruptly to his feet. “Now’s not a good time, is it?” While she retrieved a dish cloth to clean up his mess, he grabbed his gloves and headed toward the front door. “Sorry to show up on your doorstep unannounced.”
“You haven’t even touched your coffee.” Harry strode past the trio of dogs who hopped to their feet to follow him. He heard Daisy’s boots on the floor boards behind him. “You must have stopped by for some reason. We have lots to talk about, don’t we? Your dog, Tango? Your friends who were wounded in that IED explosion? Are they okay? Were you hurt? I mean, I can see the scars, so clearly you were, but—”
“That was a different skirmish.”
“You were hurt more than once?” Harry had his cap on, his coat zipped and the front door open when Daisy grabbed his arm with both hands and tugged him to a halt. “Wait.”
Her fingers curled into the sleeve of his coat, tightening their hold on him. Harry glanced down at her white-knuckled grip, frowning at the unexpected urgency in her touch before angling around to face her.
“Please don’t leave.” Her face was tipped up, her eyes searching his as if she was struggling to come up with the right words to say. Odd. Words didn’t seem to be a problem for her. “If you really have to go, I understand. And if you don’t want to talk, that’s okay. But...” She looked back over her shoulder, past the dogs and holiday decorations before she finally let go of his sleeve and shrugged. “Totally unrelated thing, but, before you go, would you do me a favor? I’m not saying you owe me anything. I mean, you barely know me—”
“I know you better than most people.” Correction. He knew the person who’d been his lifeline to normalcy and home and hope. This chatterbox with the wild hair and effusive personality felt like someone different. “After reading your letters, that is. You shared a lot. About your ex, your parents, this house...” He glanced around at the refinished wood and fresh paint of the drafty old Colonial that was far too big for one person—even if she did live with a pack of dogs. “Some of your school stories made me laugh or made me want to wring someone’s neck.”
She took half a step back. “You remember all that?”
He’d memorized nearly every sentence. Laughter. Concerns. Wisdom. Compassion. The Daisy Gunderson he knew had shared her heart.
“I know the men and women I work with,” he clarified. “My sister and her husband... I mean, you’re not the only person I know.”
He couldn’t tell if the pinch at the corners of her mouth and eyes meant she was touched by his confession, or if she felt a little sad to learn how few connections he had outside the Marine Corps. “Thank you. I feel like I know you better than someone I just met a few minutes ago, too. You wrote some touching things that, well, some of them made me cry.”
He made her cry? Harry shifted uncomfortably inside his coat. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. You shared the truth about what was on your mind, what you were feeling. I was honored.” She hugged her arms around her middle. “You made me smile sometimes, too.”
So why wasn’t he seeing that smile? The Daisy in his dreams always smiled. This was not going well. Daisy Gunderson was supposed to have a serene smile and a calm demeanor that made all the crap he had to deal with go away. But just because the real Daisy didn’t fit the ethereal angel he’d imagined, it didn’t mean he should blow her off. “You were going to ask me something?”
“Right.” She shrugged one shoulder. Then she pointed at him, at herself, then back at him. “I’m here by myself and I wondered... Would you...?”
Now she couldn’t come up with words? “Ma’am, I really should be going.”
Her manic energy returned in a burst that faded into breathless hesitation. “One. Don’t call me ma’am. My students call me ma’am, and it’s after hours and I’m off duty. Besides, it makes me feel like I’m old enough to be your mother. And two... I could use a man right now.” Now wasn’t that a suggestive request. The parts of him south of his belt buckle stirred with interest, even as his chest squeezed with anxiety at the possibility she wanted something more than a pen pal, too. “But I don’t have a big brother or a boyfriend or a dad to call and...” She gestured down the hallway toward the back of the house. “Would you check something out for me?”
His disappointment surprised him more than the relief he felt. “You’ve got a problem?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” She tucked a stray lock of hair back into the purple and brown waves behind her ear. “I hope not, but...”
He could change a flat tire for her, or do some heavy lifting or pull something down off a high shelf. He owed the fantasy Daisy from his letters at least that much. But as Harry waited for the details, he read something more troubling than the awkwardness of this conversation in the blue eyes behind her glasses. She was scared.
Seventeen years of military training put him on instant alert.
“Show me.”
Stopping only to put on her coat and order the dogs to stay inside the mudroom, Daisy walked out onto the back deck, and Harry followed. She went to the railing and pointed down into the snow. “Those footprints. Something seems off to me.”
This was about something more than tracks through her backyard. Her cheeks should be turning pink with the dampness chilling the air. Unless the colored lights were playing tricks on him, her skin had gone pale. The buoyant energy that had overwhelmed him earlier had all but disappeared. Seemed he wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.
With a nod, he accepted the simple mission she charged him with and went down into the yard. Stepping farther out into the snow so as not to disturb the suspicious tracks, Harry switched his phone into flashlight mode and made a quick reconnaissance. This was an awful lot of traffic through the yard of a woman who lived alone. And all of these tracks were too big to be Daisy’s. His boots were digging into snow instead of sand, but the hackles at the back of Harry’s neck went up just as they had overseas when he sensed an enemy lurking somewhere beyond his line of sight.
Trusting suspicions he wasn’t sure he was equipped to deal with yet, he retraced his own path a second time, kneeling to inspect some of the deeper tracks. They’d frozen up inside after a bit of melting, meaning they’d been there long before the afternoon sun had reached them. He pushed to his feet and moved closer to the house to confirm that the deepest boot prints were facing the house, a good five feet beyond the gas and water meters. Harry looked up to a window with a shade drawn halfway down and curtains parted a slit to reveal the blackness of the room inside.
Harry glanced up at Daisy, who was watching his every move from the edge of the deck. She was hugging her arms around herself again. Something definitely had her spooked. “That’s not just a case of a new meter reader guy thinking he could get out on that side of the yard, is it?”
“I don’t think so. He’d only have to see that part of the fence once to know there’s no gate over there.” And yet her visitor had walked back and forth multiple times, then stopped here to look inside that window. “What room is this?”
She paused long enough that he looked up at her again. “My bedroom.”
Harry walked straight to the deck, braced one foot on the bottom planks and vaulted over the railing. The snow flinging off his boots hadn’t settled before he’d turned her toward the door to walk her back inside. “You need to call the police. You’ve got a Peeping Tom.”
Chapter Three (#u24867251-8052-5487-9e00-c5bcbc2bafa4)
Harry sat in the darkness of his truck watching Daisy’s light blue Colonial with the dark blue shutters and dozens of Christmas lights, wondering if she was going to give the balding guy at her front door the same kind of hug she’d given him when he’d left a half hour earlier. He already wasn’t a fan of the older gentleman who’d insisted she leave the barking dogs on the other side of the glass storm door and finish their conversation on the brick porch where Daisy was shivering without her coat. If she hugged the guy, then Baldy was definitely going on Harry’s do-not-like list.
Not that he’d handled either her enthusiastic greeting or grateful goodbye terribly well. But something simmered low inside him at the idea that Daisy’s stuffing-squishing hugs were available to anyone who came to her front door.
Finally. The would-be renter handed Daisy a business card and shuffled down the steps. Harry exhaled a deep breath that fogged his window, relieved to see the thoughtless twit depart without a hug. He approved when Daisy crumpled the card in her fist, clearly dismissing the inconsiderate anti-dog man. She huddled against one of the big white pillars at either corner of her porch to watch the rejected tenant drive away.
“Go back inside,” Harry whispered, urging the woman to show a little common sense and get out of the cold night air. But she was scanning up and down the street, searching for something or someone. Was she still worried about those snowy footprints in her backyard?
Harry hunkered down behind the wheel as her gaze swept past his truck. The brief glimpse of fear stamped in the big blue eyes behind those purple glasses when she’d asked for his help had been imprinted on his brain. And since the gray matter upstairs was already a bit of a jigsaw puzzle, he wasn’t quite ready to have any worries about her safety lingering on his conscience. So he’d decided to hang out at least until Baldy left. But Daisy already had one pervert who thought looking through her bedroom window was a fun idea. She probably wouldn’t be assured to know that he was still out here in the darkness, spying on her, too.
After one more scan, she went back into the house, petting the dogs and talking to them before closing the door. The colored Christmas lights winding around the pillars went out, followed by the bright light of the foyer. She must be moving toward the back of the house because a few seconds later, the lights decorating the garage went out, too. From this vantage point, Harry wouldn’t know if she was fixing dinner or changing her clothes or making a path through the mess of projects in her dining room.
Not that it was any of his business how she spent her evenings. Baldy had left her house and it was time for him to go.
Harry started his truck and cranked up the heat, obliquely wondering why he’d felt compelled to sit there in silence, putting up with the cold in lieu of drawing any attention to his presence there. Probably a throwback to night patrols overseas, where stealth often meant the difference between avoiding detection and engaging in a fire fight with the enemy.
But he shouldn’t be thinking like that. Not here in Kansas City. He watched Daisy’s neighbor to the north open his garage and stroll out with a broom to sweep away the snow that had blown onto his front sidewalk. That was a little obsessive, considering the wind would probably blow the dusting of snow back across the walkways by morning. The neighbor waited for a moment at the end of his driveway, turning toward the same revving engine noise that drew Harry’s attention. They both watched from their different vantage points as a car pulled away from the curb and made a skidding U-turn before zipping down the street. Probably a teenager with driving like that. The neighbor shook his head and started back to the garage, but paused as a couple walking in front of his house waved and they all stopped to chat. Yeah, Christmastime in suburbia was a real hotbed for terrorists.
Muttering a curse at his inability to acclimatize to civilian life, Harry pulled out, following the probable teen driver to the stop sign at the corner before they turned in opposite directions. Although this was an older neighborhood, the homes had been well maintained. The sidewalks and driveways had been cleared. Traffic and pedestrians were the norm, not suspicious activity he needed to guard against.
Bouncing over the compacted ruts of snow in the side streets, Harry made his way toward his sister’s loft apartment in downtown Kansas City, avoiding the dregs of rush hour traffic as much as possible. This evening’s visit to Daisy’s house needed to go on his list of dumb ideas he should have reconsidered before taking action. What had he thought was going to happen when he showed up on her doorstep? That the woman who’d sent him all those letters while he’d been overseas and in the hospital, would recognize him? They’d never exchanged pictures. He’d thought that trading news and revealing souls and making him laugh meant that they knew each other. That the same feeling he got when he saw her name at mail call would happen to him again when they met in person. If he was brutally honest, he’d half expected a golden halo to be glowing around her head.
Golden-halo Daisy was supposed to be his link to reality. Seeing her was supposed to ground him. The plan had been to let go of the nightmares he held in check, and suddenly all the scars inside him would heal. He could report back to Lt. Col. Biro and never look back after a dose of Daisy.
So much for foolish miracles.
Daisy Gunderson wasn’t fragile. She wasn’t golden-haired. And she certainly hadn’t been glowing. She was a brunette—a curvy one, if his body’s humming reaction to those impromptu bear hugs were any indication. A brunette with purple streaks in her hair and matching glasses on her nose and a need to chatter that just wouldn’t quit.
And the dogs. He hadn’t expected the dogs. Or the mess. Everything was loud and chaotic, not at all the peaceful sort of mecca he’d envisioned.
The fact that some pervert had been peeking in her bedroom window bothered him, too. He’d foolishly gone to a woman he only knew on paper—a stranger, despite the letters they’d shared—for help. Instead, it looked as if she was the hot mess who needed help.
Harry needed the woman in the letters to help him clear his head and lose the darkness that haunted him.
He didn’t need Daisy Gunderson and her troubles.
He’d done his good deed for her. He’d assuaged his conscience. It was time to move on.
To what? What was a jarhead like him supposed to do for six weeks away from the Corps?
If he was overseas, he’d be doing a perimeter walk of the camp at this time of the evening, making sure his buddies were secure. Even if he was back at Camp Pendleton in Southern California, he’d be doing PT or reading up on the latest equipment regs or putting together a training exercise for the enlisted men he intended to work with again. He was used to having a routine. A sense of purpose. What was he supposed to do here in Kansas City besides twiddle his thumbs, visit a shrink and reassure his sister that she didn’t need to walk on eggshells around him?
He supposed he could find the nearest mall and do some Christmas shopping for Hope, his brother-in-law, Pike, and nephew, Gideon. But even in the late evening there’d be crowds there. Too many people. Too much noise. Too many corners where the imagined enemy inside his head could hide.
Pausing at a stop light, Harry opened the glove compartment where he’d put the list of local therapists Lt. Col. Biro had recommended and read the names and phone numbers. Even before he’d finished reading, he was folding the paper back up and stuffing it inside beside the M9 Beretta service weapon he stored there. He closed the glove compartment with a resolute click and moved on with the flow of traffic.
He’d already made an appointment for tomorrow afternoon. He wasn’t ready for an emergency call to one of them yet. Maybe he should ask his brother-in-law where he could find a local gym that wouldn’t require a long-term commitment. He could lift some weights, run a few miles on a treadmill. That was all he needed, a physical outlet of some kind. A way to burn himself out until he was too tired to have any more thoughts inside his head.
It was almost eight o’clock when Harry pulled into the driveway beside Fairy Tale Bridal, the wedding planner business his sister owned. He pressed the buzzer and announced himself over the intercom before Hope released the lock and he jogged up the stairs to the apartment over the shop where she and Pike lived. He heard her warning Pike’s K-9 partner, Hans, to stay before opening the condominium door. His sister had a quiet beauty that seemed to have blossomed with the confidence she’d found in marriage and motherhood. He was happy to see her soft smile when she welcomed him home.
But that smile disappeared beneath a frown of concern before she shooed the German shepherd into the living area of the open layout and locked the door behind her. “That coat is too small for you. You need to get a new one that fits.”
“Guess I’ve filled out a bit since the last time I needed my winter coat. There’s not much call for them in Southern California or the Middle East.”
Although he’d fully intended to put his own things away, Hope took his coat from him as soon as he’d unzipped it. “You’re later than I thought. Did you get any dinner? I can heat up some meatloaf and potatoes in the microwave.” Seven months pregnant and wearing fuzzy house slippers with the dress she’d worn to work, she shuffled into the kitchen, hanging his coat over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “Would you rather have a sandwich?”
Harry followed her, feeling guilty that, even after all these years, she felt so compelled to take care of him. “I’m good.”
“Did you eat?” she stopped in front of the open refrigerator and turned to face him.
Hope was only a year older than Harry, and he topped her in height, and had outweighed and outmuscled her for years. But she could still peer up at him over the rims of her glasses with those dove-gray eyes and see right into the heart of him, as though the tragic childhood they’d shared had linked them in some all-knowing, twin-like bond. Lying to Hope wasn’t an option.
“No.”
“I wish you’d take better care of yourself. It wasn’t that long ago you were in a hospital fighting for your life. Besides getting winter clothes that fit, you need sleep and good food inside you.” She nudged him into a chair, kissed his cheek and went to work putting together a meatloaf sandwich for him. “You found Daisy’s house okay? What did you think of her?”
Harry pictured a set of deep blue eyes staring up at him above purple glasses, in an expression similar to the pointed look Hope had just given him. Only, he’d had a very different reaction to Daisy’s silent request. Yes, he’d reacted to the fear he’d seen there and taken action like the Marine he was trained to be, but there was something else, equally disconcerting, about the way Daisy had studied him in her near-sighted squint that he couldn’t quite shake.
“She’s a hugger.” Surprised that those were the first words that came out of his mouth, Harry scrubbed his palm across the stubble itching the undamaged skin of his jaw.
But the faint air of dismay in his tone didn’t faze Hope. In fact, something about his comment seemed to amuse her. “I told you she was friendly and outgoing. She approached me that first morning in our adult Sunday School class. I’d still be sitting in the corner, just listening to the discussion if she hadn’t sat down beside me and started a conversation.”
Yep. The woman certainly had a talent for talking.
“There’s Uncle Harry.” Pike Taylor strolled into the living area, carrying their squirmy, wheaten-haired son, Gideon, who was decked out in a fuzzy blue outfit for bedtime. Even out of uniform, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, Pike carried himself with the wary alertness of the Kansas City cop he was. But the tall, lanky man who’d been there to protect his sister from both their abusive father and a serial rapist while Harry had been stationed over in the Heat Locker reminded Harry of an overgrown kid when he set his son down and chased him over to his play area in the living room. Even the dog got into the game, joining in with a loud bark and circling around the toddler, which only made the little boy chortle with glee. That muscle ticked in Harry’s cheek as the urge to smile warred with the images of something darker trying to surface. Gideon lost his balance and plopped onto the extra padding of his diaper before using the German shepherd’s fur to pull himself back onto his pudgy little feet and change directions. “Look out,” Pike warned from his wrestling position on the floor. “He’s been asking for his roommate all evening.”
Gideon toddled over to Harry’s knee, joyfully repeating a phrase that sounded a lot like “Yucky Hair,” which was apparently going to be his nickname for the duration of this visit. Gideon’s little fingers tugged at Harry’s jeans and reached for him, demanding to be picked up. Although Harry was half afraid to hold the stout little tyke, he could feel the expectation radiating off Hope not to deny her son the innocent request. Unwilling to refuse his sister anything that would put a smile on her face, Harry picked up his nephew and set him on his lap. He pushed aside the salt and pepper shakers that Gideon immediately reached for, and let him tug at the buttons of his Henley sweater, instead. Hans lay down close by Harry’s feet, keeping an eye on the little boy as if he didn’t trust Harry with the toddler, either. Harry shifted in his seat, uncomfortable being the center of all this attention. Gideon batted at Harry’s face and he lifted his chin, pulling away from the discomfiting contact. Hell, the dog was better with the child than he was. He needed to distract himself fast, or he was going to end up in a dark place that no one in this room wanted him to visit.
Turning his chair away from the watchful German shepherd, Harry latched onto the first thought that came to mind. “Daisy’s a little scattered, isn’t she?”
Pike tossed a couple of toys into Gideon’s playpen before rising to his feet and crossing to the table. “Scattered? You mean her house? She’s been working on it for three years. I can’t imagine what it’s costing her to redo it from top to bottom like that. Plus, she’s doing a lot of the cosmetic work herself.”
“I meant she rambled from one topic to the next. I had a hard time keeping up.”
“She does live alone,” Pike suggested. “Maybe she was lonesome and wanted to talk to somebody.”
Hope snickered at her husband’s idea. “She’s been at school all day, with hundreds of students. She’s had plenty of people to talk to.”
“Teenagers,” Pike countered. “It’s not the same as talking to an adult.”
Dismissing the explanation with a shake of her head, Hope opened a cabinet to pull out a bag of potato chips. “It’s not exactly like you’re Mr. Conversation, Harry. You’re quiet like I am with new people. Maybe you made her nervous and she was chatting to fill the silence. I do that when my shy genes kick in.”
Not in any universe would he describe Daisy Mega-Hugger as a shy woman. But maybe something about him had made her nervous. The scars that turned his ugly mug into an acquired taste? Not announcing his visit before showing up on her doorstep? Was there something more to those footprints in the snow than she’d let on? The idea of a Peeping Tom had upset her, yes, but now that he considered her reaction, she hadn’t seemed surprised to discover signs of an intruder.
Hope ripped open the bag of chips and crunched one in her mouth before dumping some onto the plate beside his sandwich. “She is one of those women who seems to have a lot of irons in the fire. She’s always volunteering for one thing or another. Daisy has the biggest heart in the world.”
Harry pulled a toddler fist away from the tip of his nose. Was that big heart why she’d even considered giving Mr. Rude a place to live as her tenant? “I actually waited there a little while after I left. She had a guy coming in to talk about renting her upstairs.”
Pike came up behind Hope and reached around her to snatch a chip and pop it into his mouth. “Mr. Friesen is the uncle of one of our receptionists at the precinct. I ran a background check on him for her.”
“He showed up before I got out of there. I waited outside for half an hour to make sure he left without incident.”
Hope’s eyes were wide as she set the plate in front of Harry. “Without incident? That sounds ominous.”
Harry ate a bite before breaking off a morsel of the soft bread for Gideon to chew on, in an effort to distract the toddler from grabbing the whole sandwich. “While I was there, she had me check out some suspicious tracks in her backyard. Looked to me like someone had been casing her house.”
Pike pulled out the chair at the head of the table and sat. “Did you report it to KCPD?”
So, he thought the situation seemed troublesome, too. “I advised her to.”
Hope moved a subtly protective hand to her swollen belly. “You checked out the house for her, didn’t you? Her locks and everything are secure?
“She’s got new windows on the ground floor. Dead bolts on the doors.” But he hadn’t checked any of them to see if they were locked. Surely, the woman had sense enough to... The second bite of his sandwich went stale in his mouth. He should have done that for her, at least.
Pike pulled Hope onto his lap, soothing her concern for their friend. “We’ve had a rash of burglaries across the city. Pretty standard for this time of year. Thieves looking for money or credit cards, or even wrapped presents they can pawn.”
Either coveting his meal or sensing Harry’s increasingly testy mood, Gideon squealed and stabbed at the plate, scattering the pile of chips across the table top. Harry shoved the plate aside and pulled the boy back, scooting the chair across the tile floor. His boot knocked against Hans, sending the dog to his feet with a startled woof.
All at once, the dark place inside his mind erupted with a fiery explosion. He felt the pain tearing through his flesh. He heard the shouts for help, the whimpers of pain.
Harry staggered to his feet. “Platz, Tango,” he ordered, mixing the past and the present inside his head. “Hans, I mean. Platz.” Pike’s well-trained dog instantly obeyed the German command to lie down. Slamming the door on the flashback, Harry thrust Gideon into his frightened sister’s arms and grabbed his coat. “I’m sorry. I need to walk around the block a couple of times. Clear my head.”
“Harry?”
“Let him go, honey.”
An hour later, Harry had come in from the cold, apologized to his sister, finished off the meal she’d saved for him and shut himself inside the bedroom he shared with Gideon.
The flashback had receded to the wasteland of buried images inside his head, although he was still having a hard time settling his thoughts enough to sleep. With Gideon snoring softly from his crib across the darkened room, Harry lay back on the double bed, using the flashlight from his duffel bag to read through the stack of cards and letters that normally soothed him on nights like this.
He grinned through Daisy’s account of catching one of her students licking a potted plant in her classroom because the girl had been curious to find out what the sap oozing from the stalk tasted like. The girl had been perfectly fine, but the spate of dumb jokes that had followed would have given a stand-up comic plenty of material. The story had made his unit laugh to the extent that when any one of them made a boneheaded move, they’d teased the Marine by calling him or her a plant-licker.
Gideon gurgled in his sleep, reminding Harry that he was the interloper here. In another couple of months, Hope and Pike would need this space for Gideon’s new little brother or sister. Although he had every intention of returning to his duties with the Corps by that time, Harry acknowledged another stab of guilt. Maybe Hope wanted to redecorate this room. She had talked about expanding their loft into the shop’s second-floor storage area, but a renovation of that scale wouldn’t happen until after the baby’s birth. Maybe he was in the way here, and Hope was too kind-hearted to say anything. Maybe he could camp out in their condo for just a few days longer, then find himself a quiet place to rent until his penance was over and he could report back to Lt. Col. Biro.
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Julie Miller
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Master Sergeant Harry Lockheart was the only survivor of the IED that killed his team – but he believes his actual recovery is down to Daisy Gunderson′s kind letters.So now that he′s finally met the woman of his dreams, he′s not about to let a stalker destroy their dreams for the future.