Everyday, Average Jones. Suzanne Brockmann
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minutes. It was true they’d covered a great deal of the distance last night. But this was by far the easiest way of crossing the border.
“Aren’t we flying awfully low?” Melody asked.
“We’re underneath their radar,” Cowboy told her. “As soon as we’re across the border, I’ll bring ’er up to a higher altitude.”
Harvard was still watching their six, waiting for another plane to appear behind them. “I don’t know how you can be so convinced they’re not going to follow, Jones.”
“I am convinced,” Cowboy told him. “What do you think took me so long earlier tonight? I didn’t stop for a sandwich in the food commissary, that’s for damn sure.”
Harvard’s eyes narrowed. “Did you…?”
“I did.”
Harvard started to laugh.
“What?” Melody asked. “What did you do?”
“How many were there?” Harvard asked.
Cowboy grinned. “About a dozen. Including the 727.”
Melody turned to Harvard. “What did he do?”
He swung around in his seat to face her. “Junior here disabled every other plane on that field. Including the 727. There are a whole bunch of grounded tangos down there right now, hopping mad.”
Cowboy glanced back into the shadows, hoping to see her smile. But as far as he could tell, her expression was serious, her eyes subdued.
“We are crossing the border,” Harvard announced. “Boys and girls, it looks as if we are nearly home!”
* * *
Ensign Harlan Cowboy Junior Kid Jones landed the little airplane much more smoothly and easily than he’d taken off.
Melody could see the array of ambulances and Red Cross trucks zooming out across the runways to meet them in the early dawn light. Within moments, they would taxi to a stop and climb out of the plane.
She wanted four tall glasses of water, no ice, lined up in front of her so that she could drink her fill without stopping. She wanted a shower in a hotel with room service. She wanted the fresh linens and soft pillows of a king-size bed. She wanted clean clothes and a hairdresser to make some sense out of the ragged near scalping she’d given herself.
But before she had any of that, she wanted to hold Harlan Jones in her arms. She wanted to hold him tightly, to thank him with the silence of her embrace for all that he had done for her.
He’d done so much for her. He’d given her so much. His kindness. His comforting arms. His morale-bolstering smiles. His encouraging words. His sandals.
And, oh yeah. He’d killed for her, to keep her safe, to deliver her to freedom.
She’d seen the blood on his robe, seen the look in his eyes, on his face. He’d run into trouble out alone on the air base and he’d been forced to take enemy lives. And the key word there was not enemy. It was lives.
Melody was long familiar with the expression “All’s fair in love and war.” And this was a war. The legal government had been overthrown and the country had been invaded by terrorist forces. They’d threatened American lives. She knew full well that it was a clear-cut case of “them” or “us.”
What shook her up the most was that this was what Cowboy Jones did. This was what he did, day in, day out. He’d done it for the past six years and he’d continue to do it until he retired. Or was killed.
Melody thought about that blood on Jones’s robe, thought about the fact that it just as easily could have been his own blood.
All was fair in love and war.
But what were the rules if you were unlucky enough to fall in love with a warrior?
Jones cut the engine, then pushed the door open with his bare feet. But instead of climbing out, he turned around to face Melody, giving her his hand for support as she moved up through the cramped cabin and toward the door.
He slid down out of the plane, then looked up at her.
He’d taken off his blood-streaked robe, but he still wore that black vest with its array of velcroed pockets. It hung open over a black T-shirt that only barely disguised his sweat and grime. His face was streaked with dirt and dust, his hair matted against his head. There was shoe polish underneath his chin and on his neck—from where she’d burrowed against him, stealing strength and comfort from his arms.
But despite his fatigue, his eyes were as green as ever. He smiled at her. “Do I look as…ready for a bath as you do?”
She had to smile. “Tactfully put. Yes, you certainly do. And as for me—I think I’m more than ready to be a blonde again and wash this stuff out of my hair.”
“But before you do, maybe I could send my shoes over to your hotel room for a touch-up…?”
Melody laughed. Until she looked down at his feet. They were still bare. They looked red and sore.
“You and Harvard saved my life,” she whispered, her smile fading.
“I don’t know about H.,” Jones told her, gazing up into her eyes, “but as far as I’m concerned, Miss Evans, it was purely my pleasure.”
Melody had to look away. His eyes were hypnotizing. If she didn’t look away, she’d do something stupid like leap into his arms and kiss him. She glanced out at the line of cars approaching them. Was it possible that Jones had cut the engine and stopped the plane so far away from the terminal in order to let them have these few moments of privacy?
He reached for her, taking her hands to help her down from the plane.
“What’s going to happen next?” she asked.
He pulled just a little too hard, and she fell forward, directly into his arms. He held her close, pressing her against his wide chest, and she held him just as tightly, encircling his waist with her arms and holding on as if she weren’t ever going to let go. His arms engulfed her, and she could feel him rest his cheek against the top of her head.
“Jones, will I see you again?” she asked. She needed to know. “Or will they take you away to be debriefed and then send you back to wherever it was you came from?”
She lifted her head to look up at him. The trucks were skidding to a stop. She was going to have to get into one of those trucks, and they would take her someplace, away from Harlan Jones, maybe forever….
Her heart was pounding so hard she could barely hear herself think. She could feel his heart, too, beating at an accelerated rate.
“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen,” he said, gazing into her eyes unsmilingly. “Second thing that’s going to happen is that they’re going to put you in one ambulance and me and H. in another. They’ll take us to the hospital, make sure we’re all right. Then we’ll go into a short debriefing—probably separately. After that’s done, you’ll be taken to whatever hotel they’re keeping the top brass in these days, and I’ll go into a more detailed debriefing. After we both get cleaned up, I’ll meet you back at the hotel for dinner—how’s that sound?”
Melody nodded. That sounded very good.
“But the first thing that’s going to happen,” he told her, his mouth curving up into that now familiar smile, “is this.”
He lowered his head and kissed her.
It was an amazing kiss, a powerful kiss, a no-holds-barred kind of kiss. It amplified all of the heat she’d seen in Harlan Jones’s bedroom eyes over the past forty-eight hours. God, had it only been forty-eight hours? She felt as if she’d known this man for at least a lifetime. She felt, too, as if she’d wanted him for every single second of that time.
He kissed her even harder, deeper, sweeping his tongue into her mouth.