Chapter Eleven
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Rachel looked at the message in consternation. Figures. She’d been counting down the hours until she could see him again and their date was delayed. No, it wasn’t the fault of the people who crashed, and she would never think such things, but it was still disappointing. Grabbing her iPad she plugged in her headphones. Maybe she could lose herself in music. Or games. Candy Crush Saga had her at a standstill. Maybe if she spent enough money on boosters she could get past the hurdle and move on.
It was three hours later before she heard a knock on her door. Trying to control the excited leap of her heart she crossed the room and swung open the door. Dean stood there, a smile on his face.
Something was off, though, she could tell.
“Come on in,” she urged him.
Dean leaned down to press a kiss to her lips before he even stepped over the threshold. Rachel cupped his head in her hands and tried to be what he needed, because there was something off about his kiss as well. She pulled back, concerned. “Are you okay?”
He blinked down at her, his blue eyes dull. Rachel suddenly realized what it was rattling her senses. He looked like the guys she’d flown into Afghanistan time after time, ready to do the job, but emotionally detached. Those men had seen too much in their very young lives and she would remember the look for as long as she lived. If she dared look in the mirror, she would probably see the same expression on her own face.
Dean didn’t need sex or food, he needed a non-judgmental ear and a warm shoulder next to his own. Tugging him into the room, Rachel nudged him toward the couch. Dean dropped his nylon uniform bag on the chair then followed her willingly and collapsed onto the cushions. Rachel plopped down beside him, hip-to-hip and shoulder-to-shoulder.
“How was your shift?” she asked, going straight to the issue.
Dean winced and looked away. “It was great for a while. Totally quiet.”
“The message said you had a hit and run to deal with?”
He nodded, running his hand through his thick blond hair, making it stick up in spikes. “Yeah. It was bad. One of the worst I’ve ever dealt with.”
“Why was this one so bad?” she asked.
He hesitated for a long time but she didn’t push him to answer. Reaching out she curled her fingers into his. His grip tightened until her fingers ached.
“One of the victims was just a little kid. Five years old. So tiny on her little pink bike. I think she was gone almost instantly. Her older brother is in critical condition although he’s expected to survive. The car that hit them then veered into oncoming traffic and hit four cars before his vehicle was so damaged it wouldn’t move anymore. Then he still wouldn’t get out of the car.” He gave her a chagrined look. “I actually enjoyed dragging his ass out of the wreckage and onto the pavement. Stupid shit. He was laughing when we took him down. Thought the whole deal was funny.”
Damn. Rachel’s heart ached at the obvious sorrow in his expression. “Dean,” she breathed, “I’m so sorry. Drugs or alcohol?”
“Meth. The car was littered with paraphernalia.”
Rachel shook her head in commiseration. She’d heard the same story, or variations of it, many times over the years. There had been a pilot in her squadron that had had a very well hidden cocaine addiction. It wasn’t until his own flight team turned him in that anyone knew about it. Luckily, they’d gotten him out of the air before he hurt anyone seriously or crashed and hurt a whole lot of someones.
“You know there is nothing you could have done differently. If it wasn’t that guy it would have been someone else plowing into that crowd. You deal with the situation that you find, then you have to move on.”
Dean nodded, sighing. “I know. Life is just so precious, though, you know?”
Rachel barked out a laugh. “Yes, I do know how precious it is. Believe me. When my chopper started to go down, I knew it was the end of my life. But I was okay with it, because that was part of why I had signed on. Giving your life for your country is acceptable, right?”
She shook her head, lost in memory. “Then we hit the ground and pain just exploded through my body. But I was still alive. Somebody moaned behind me and I knew I needed to get my ass moving. I had a lot to do. But I couldn’t move. That was when I realized maybe I should have died in that crash. I thought I was going to be a cripple for the rest of my life and I would rather be dead.”
Dean gripped her hand in his own like a lifeline, without saying anything.
“I passed out and basically didn’t wake up for a week. By then I was in Germany, recovering. None of my guys died that day, but a bunch were pretty beat up. A couple got shipped stateside. I got shipped stateside as well and received a medical release. There was no way I could go back in service.” She shrugged as if the changes that took place then had been minor. “You roll with the punches and keep going. This will knock you down for a while, but when you go back out you’ll be a sharper cop for it. I know it hurts, but that pain will drive you.”
“Why haven’t you ever flown again?”
The question came out of nowhere and Rachel sat back against the couch, surprise taking her breath away. “I just don’t…” she trailed off, shaking her head.
“This is kind of the same thing, right? I mean, why haven’t you flown again?”
Rachel didn’t know what to say now that the light was shining directly on her. Was he just trying to shift the attention away from himself? No, knowing Dean he’d already been thinking about this. “I don’t know. I think I would be disappointed if I couldn’t do it the way I used to. I don’t have the same range of motion that I did and that’s a big part of flying.” She shrugged and made a motion with her hands. “I wouldn’t have that adrenaline rush, you know? Flying in, blacked-out, under heavy fire to retrieve forty Marines pinned down in the mountains is a pretty tough act to beat.”
Dean inclined his head and leaned back against the couch, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “Yeah, you may be right.”
And he left it at that.
Rachel frowned, curious at the conversation. He’d accepted her statements easily. Maybe too easily. She was confused at what she felt. Did she want him to argue with her? Did she want him to push her to do something she’d kind of been wondering about anyway?
“Well,” he said finally. “I think we both realize how tenuous life can be. I have something for you.”
She watched as he left the couch and rummaged in the duffel. He brought a smallish paper bag over to her. Intrigued, she reached inside and pulled out a box.
Her heart stilled. It was a midnight blue velvet jewelry box.
For a minute she didn’t do anything, just sat on the couch with the box in her hand and her heart suddenly racing. Then common sense moved in, it wasn’t square. It wasn’t a ring box. At least, she didn’t think it was.
Blinking to clear her vision, she used her other hand to pop open the lid.
Then, once again, her heart was torn in two. No, it wasn’t a ring, which was a complete, and very surprising letdown. But it was a pair of beautiful earrings. She peered at them and flicked the stone with a fingernail, laughing. “What? Are these bullets?”
“Well, I think they used to be. Or at least the rim and primer part.”
Rachel blinked, then removed one of the earrings from the velvet covered cardboard. She turned it over in her fingers, looking at the workmanship. “These are beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like them.”
Reaching up she removed the plain silver studs she wore, placing them on the coffee-table in front of her. Then she replaced the studs with the bullet earrings. She shook her head, laughing, then stood to cross to him. “These are ridiculous and beautiful and silly, but I love them. Thank you very much.”
Rachel had planned to give him a light peck, playful, but emotion choked her. Wrapping her arms around his neck she leaned into him. “Nobody’s ever gotten me anything like them before. Thank you.”
Dean wrapped her up tight and swayed with her a little. “I had to laugh at the guy at the gun store. He thought I was buying them to get me out of the doghouse for buying a gun.”
Rachel laughed, enjoying the irony. She’d have been happy with a gun, too. “That is funny,” she told him, enjoying having his arms wrapped around her.
* * *
Dean relished holding Rachel in his arms, but something niggled at him. It had been disappointment he’d seen in her eyes when she’d opened the box. He guessed if he was a woman who had been handed a jewelry box, he’d have wanted it to be something different as well. But it seemed too soon for an engagement ring. Or any kind of ring for that matter.
He loved that she was thinking about marriage, whether she realized it or not. Rachel seemed to be one of those types that would fight and fight and fight until they finally did a one-eighty. It was like the flying thing.
Dean had a feeling that Rachel would love to fly again, but she didn’t want to admit it until she absolutely had to, especially to herself. So there was no sense in pushing her before she was ready.
If he had anything to say about it she would fly again.
They settled into a quiet evening at home. Thoughts of the little girl on the bicycle and a family grieving popped up occasionally, but he would glance at Rachel fingering her earrings and things would fall back into perspective. This was what was important. He would file the details of the day into his heart and mind and be a better cop when he went back to work.
That night they crawled into bed and he just held her for a long time. Dean didn’t consider himself a weepy kind of guy, but he definitely felt he could be emotional with her if he needed to. There was no need to pretend that he wasn’t affected by what had happened. He’d seen the glimmer of tears in her eyes as well. His kick-ass Marine had a soft spot.
So, he held her against him, lightly rubbing his hand up the skin of her arm. He’d found that she loved to be lightly stroked this way, along her sides and across her back. It was no hardship to him; he loved touching her.
But that, of course, led to other things. And as he loved her into the night, he wondered if she was as affected by him as he was by her.