Chapter Fourteen
Is this the place?
Stepping from the back seat of the cab she had caught from Norfolk International Airport, Katrina eyed the small cabin nestled under a copse of large trees with a mix of excitement and reservation. It looked different than it had in Mitch’s photo, when the oaks had been lush with leaves, the azalea bushes blooming.
Now, in the middle of February, through the vapor of her own breath, the bare branches of the trees struck her as unwelcoming. The cabin’s dark windows gave it a desolate air. No doubt it was cold, too, given the absence of smoke coming from the stone chimney—and no electricity either, she reminded herself.
Managing a thank you for the cab driver, who’d gotten out to fetch her suitcase from the trunk, she tipped him and waved him away.
With an indrawn breath, she started for the cabin while feeling in her pocket for the key Mitch had given her. Squeezing it, she let the rough edge cut into her palm to ground herself.
This is finally happening. She had dreamed of this moment for so long, it struck her as unreal. Yet the relief she’d thought she would be feeling remained at bay.
What if Mitch’s offer no longer remained? A bed of dry leaves crackled under the soles of her boots as she neared the front stoop. An icy breeze sloughed the tree branches overhead, carrying the scent of wood smoke and drawing a chill up her spine. After all, he had never replied to her email, sent about a week earlier.
Had he even received her explanation for not writing? Her request for shelter?
After all, she’d awakened from her surgery asking for him, only to learn from del Rey that Mitch and his teammates had been summoned home for some untimely mission. For months after that, she’d been placed in witness protection and denied access to the internet, lest someone from her previous life discover her existence. The ruse had been necessary, del Rey had explained, to keep her from facing charges and to protect her from any more attempts on her life. She had explained all that to Mitch in her email.
It wasn’t until the trial was underway that she learned del Rey had spread the rumor she was dead. Her horror had been immediate.
“Everyone believes I’m dead? Mitch, too?” she’d demanded.
“No, no, no,” Del Rey had rushed to reassure her. He’d soothed her with the assurance that he’d sent Mitch’s commander a certified letter advising them both of Katrina’s situation. Mitch would have gotten the letter when he returned from the emergency assignment that had called him away.
But had he? Sudden doubt brought Katrina to a halt near the cabin’s front door. A spider web, abandoned when the weather turned cold, draped from the eves, suggesting the home had not been occupied any time recently. Surely, if Mitch had been expecting her, he’d have cleaned the place up just a bit, not that she expected him to go out of his way for her.
If he hadn’t known of her arrival, then he must not have gotten her email.
Dear God. Dismay kept her frozen for a minute as a crow, eying her from a branch overhead, cackled at her.
She had no choice but to help herself to Mitch’s home. He had offered, she reasoned. After she settled in, got her bearings, and bought a new cell phone under the name del Rey had given her, she would track down Mitch—and give him the shock of his life.
This isn’t what I’d hoped for.
The vision she had spun in her mind to get her through their months apart splintered and then crumbled to dust. Four months was a long time. If Mitch had thought her dead all that time, he might well have found another.
***
Halfway down the driveway to his cabin, Mitch jammed on the brakes. In the next instant, he extinguished his Tundra’s headlights, plunging the woods around his cabin into darkness. The firelight dancing in the hearth inside his supposedly vacant home came sharply into focus.
What the hell? Someone was in there. They’d built a fire to keep warm. More than that, they’d lit at least two of his oil lamps in utter disregard for the fact that they were trespassing.
Son of a bitch. Cutting off his engine, Mitch took the time to think through his approach. He was wearing, as he always did, his personal pistol in the paddle holster under his left arm. Unlike the Astra 600 he’d tried using in Spain, the Sig Sauer 226 with the SAS melt had never jammed on him. His trusty folding dagger was still riding in his thigh pocket, where it had been throughout the op he’d just returned from.
Reaching for a couple of the zip-ties he carried in his glove box, he stuffed them into the pocket in the lining of his coat, silenced his cell phone, and made sure the interior light in his truck stayed off when he opened the driver’s door. Shutting it almost silently behind him, he stepped off the driveway to circle the house.
Exactly how many squatters was he dealing with?
Annoyance tapped at his temples as he peered into the dwelling’s interior. The trespassers couldn’t have picked a worse time to break into his house. He’d just come off a grueling three-month op in Venezuela. His job had sucked the last ounce of energy from him—though he had to admit that without the distraction, Katrina’s death might have sent him into deep depression.
He had acknowledged the dark cloud of despair hovering on the fringes of his mind, waiting to ambush him the moment he wasn’t in survival mode. In fact, that was the reason he’d gone straight from their debriefing at Spec Ops to his cabin. He’d known he would need its healing comfort. Discovering someone had taken advantage of his absence really put his back up.
A lumpy shadow on the wall let him know someone was sitting in his favorite recliner, right in front of the fire. Poor son of a bitch didn’t know what was about to hit him.
Mitch listened for voices. Not a sound came from within. The shadow didn’t move, suggesting whoever was in his chair was fast asleep. His mind flashed to the story of Goldilocks. If only fairytales were real.
Mitch crept toward the back door that led into the tiny house’s country kitchen. Feeling under a loose brick, he expected the hidden key to be missing, only to feel its metallic edge. The squatter must have broken in through the front door since the back was still locked.
Silently letting himself in, he slipped into his home. The familiar fragrance of pine and cedar was overlaid by something floral. A sense of surrealism accompanied his stealthy footsteps as he crossed the kitchen, his SIG at the ready.
Halfway toward the recliner, he froze. Firelight reflected off a tendril of hair resting on the arm of the chair. The delicate features of the woman snoozing against the overstuffed high back wreaked havoc on Mitch’s mind. His heart hammered. I’m dreaming.
Truly, he had dreamed of her so often—exactly like this.
Or was his mind playing tricks on him?
Some sound, some movement must have betrayed him—maybe his incredulous gasp of breath—for her eyes floated open.
Sensing the presence of another, Katrina leaped out of the chair.
“Who’s there?” she demanded hugging herself as she stared at his dark shape.
He realized she couldn’t see him. “It’s me. Mitch.”
“Mitch?” Throwing her arms open, she flew at him. He had scarcely reset the safety on his gun before she hurled herself into his arms.
“Oh, thank God,” she cried, gripping him fiercely. “You did get my email.”
Stunned by what was clearly real and not a figment of his tortured mind, Mitch staggered back a step. Delight and confusion collided, leaving him dazed. He could feel her heat, her curves pressing against him. Warm lips kissed his neck fervently and tracked to his jaw.
“What email?” he asked stupidly, the only thought he could fully process when so many were clamoring through his brain.
His question had her pulling back. Faint firelight illuminated her confusion.
“The one I sent last week. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
He shook his head. “I’ve been out of the country. I haven’t checked my mail in months.”
“Oh,” she said. “But you’re here.”
Half-afraid she would vanish on him, he caught her face in his hands, traced the smooth skin of her cheek with his thumb. “And you’re alive.”
She gasped with what sounded like anger.
“They said you were dead,” he continued. “I saw it on the news.”
“But del Rey sent a letter to your commander, explaining that was just a ruse.”
“Captain Montgomery?” He shook his head. “I haven’t seen him in months. I went straight from vacation to four months of hell in South America.”
“Oh, my God,” Katrina murmured as pity followed quickly on the heels of her wrath. “All this time, you thought me dead?”
“I read it in the news,” he repeated, recalling that awful moment at the airport. “You died in the hospital.”
“I did almost die. That’s what gave del Rey the idea to spread the rumor for my benefit—and his,” she added on a harder note.
Mitch’s smile faded as he recollected the news he’d followed, even though it pained him. “Your brothers went to jail.”
“Martí for life,” she affirmed. “Jordi got five years.”
He lifted his hands to cup her face. Having stared at her picture on his phone at least a thousand times, every curve, every feature was known to him.
“You’re even more beautiful in real life,” he asserted.
She searched his expression with a suggestion of doubt. “I hope…,” she started, then faltered. “I hope it’s not a problem for me to be here. I understand if you’ve… moved on or if you’ve found someone else. I promise I won’t—”
“Katrina.” He cut her off abruptly, dropping his hands to her shoulders to give her a gentle shake. “Stop. Please.” The joy of her resurrection was just beginning to dawn on him. “You’re alive! You’re fucking alive!” He gripped her harder.
Hope brought a tentative smile to her face. Do you still love me?”
“Hell, yes,” he assured her. Irate feelings edged his joy aside, but only momentarily. “I can’t believe del Rey didn’t answer my voicemail. I must have left at least a dozen.”
“I don’t think he realized what we found in each other,” Katrina said, smoothing her hands over his shoulders.
With his emotions careening wildly, Mitch battled a sudden urge to bury his face in her hair and cry. Even with his perilous work keeping him distracted, Katrina’s death had taken its toll on him. He’d made mistakes at work, which his teammates had thankfully corrected before his task unit commander noticed. He’d dropped weight he couldn’t afford to lose.
But Katrina was very much alive, obliterating every ounce of his despair and brightening his prospects beyond his wildest dreams.
“My love,” he said, nuzzling her cheek.
“My love,” she echoed, with tears of joy sparkling in her eyes as she smiled up at him.
“Welcome home,” he said gruffly. “How do you like it so far?”
“It’s rustic. And cold. And lonely,” she answered truthfully. “But not anymore.”
Gazing down at her, Mitch marveled at the gift he’d been given. Pleasure burned in him like well-dried tinder.
“Let’s start over,” he suggested.
With a smile of absolute agreement, she rolled up on her toes and gently, sweetly crushed her mouth to his.