Part 31
Evening had fallen by the time Kermit and Karen finally finished up at the precinct, but the storm still showed no sign of abating and the temperature had dropped at least another fifteen degrees. Kermit peered through the streams of water sluicing down his windshield, straining to keep Karen's sedan in sight as he followed her home. Despite the terrible road conditions, he grinned at the thought of the evening ahead. Sure, he and Karen had a lot to hash out after the events of the last couple of days. But the direction in which she'd turned when she pulled out of the precinct parking lot told him all he needed to know.
Tonight wasn't the night, he reminded himself. But soon ... soon Karen would know he wanted her presence in his home at the end of a harrowing day to be a foregone conclusion, not a decision to be made anew every time they left the station.
The light ahead turned red. Kermit braked, and watched the distance between the Corvair and Karen's car expand. Damn. Before they'd left the warehouse, Karen had missed an item as she scooped everything back into her purse -- the security card he'd given her so she could open the underground garage of his high-rise even if he wasn't home. He'd retrieved the card, but forgotten to return it to her in the flurry of activity that accompanied Drako's arrest and processing.
Damn, damn, damn. He lifted his eyes to the heavens in supplication. What else could go wrong today?
Soon after, he had his answer. As he neared his building, he spotted Karen's sedan parked along the curb a few feet from the sloping driveway. The headlights were still on, and Karen herself stood in the middle of the sidewalk arguing with the building's new security guard. Kermit groaned, cursing his all-too-intimate acquaintance with Murphy's Law.
It took ten minutes for him to defuse the argument and establish to the guard's satisfaction that Karen had his blanket permission to use the building's garage. By then they were both soaked and more than eager to leave behind the events of the day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Once inside his apartment, Kermit turned to Karen. "Why don't you go change out of those wet clothes while I start a fire?"
Her skeptical gaze traveled the length of his body from head to toe and back again, all too obviously registering his equally drenched condition. He anticipated her objection and shook his head; the expected protest died on her lips. Instead, she nodded before disappearing into the bedroom.
A few minutes later, as Kermit knelt beside the fireplace coaxing a few weak sparks to produce a fire, he heard the hum of a blow dryer from the direction of his bedroom. He chuckled, welcoming the prosaic sound as a sign he had indeed begun to make a home here ... with Karen. The hum ceased at the moment the last log caught, flames glowing an intense red-orange. He gave the logs one last jab with the poker before replacing the tool in its stand and rising.
Karen emerged from the bedroom just as he finished pouring an ample amount of cognac into two brandy snifters. The impeccably groomed, elegant police captain had yielded to the softer, sexier Karen he alone was privileged to see. Clad only in one of Kermit's shirts, sleeves rolled up past the elbow and the first few buttons enticingly open to reveal a bit of the swell of her breasts, she took his breath away. Kermit could feel a wolfish grin take over his face as he drank in every inch of the barefoot woman before him, his gaze lingering on legs he found impossibly long and shapely.
A languid answering smile curved Karen's lips as she crossed to his side and accepted the drink he proffered. Her hand brushed against his as she took the glass, and Kermit became painfully aware of the layers of drying clothing starting to stiffen against his body. "My turn to find some dry clothes." Sweeping an arm out in a mock-chivalrous gesture as he stepped away, he gestured toward the fireplace. "Enjoy the fire while I'm gone."
Before he could get far, Karen detained him with a light touch on his arm. As Kermit turned toward her, she reached up to pull off his sunglasses. Smiling, she set the glasses on the mantel, never taking her eyes away from his. "I'd wager we won't need those anymore tonight, wouldn't you?"
Kermit grinned. Taking her hand, he placed a gentle kiss on the inside of her wrist. "Oh yeah."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Karen hadn't heard him return to the living room, Kermit realized when she failed to turn around at his entry. Indulging himself, he stood there for a moment, watching her. Rather than sitting on the couch, Karen had settled herself on the floor by the fireplace. Unaware of his presence, she contemplated the flames which provided the room's only light while she gently swirled the amber liquid in her brandy snifter. Her head was slightly bowed, a golden cloud of long hair falling forward, and her legs were curled under her. Kermit wanted nothing more than to make love to her. Yet he knew he first had to find some way, however awkward, to apologize for the distance he had wedged between them since Alex Drako's initial call.
Grabbing his own glass, he went to join her. Karen must have sensed his approach, for she turned and craned her neck up at him, her smile an invitation. He lowered himself to the floor beside her. When Kermit said nothing, Karen returned her attention to the flames, leaving him to decide how to broach the subject at hand.
Usually, the silence that stretched between them of an evening was the comfortable silence of two people who didn't need words to be at ease with each other. Tonight, Kermit wondered if it marked a chasm between them, a rift he'd caused by lying to her -- a crack that could lead to nothing but the crumbling of their hard-won relationship. Quiet continued to encompass the room as he debated whether Karen could possibly forgive him for freezing her out. Finally, studying her profile in the firelight, he broke the silence. "I have the distinct impression that I owe you an apology."
Karen shook her head, shifting position so she faced him. "You owe me nothing."
Against his will, Kermit tensed, and averted his eyes from her. The last time a woman had said those words to him, Virginia had followed them with a vitriolic "And I owe you nothing, including access." Two sentences had ended his relationship with his young son then, with such finality Jim hadn't recognized as much as his name when they met in Straker's camp. Did Karen's unwitting echo of Virginia's departing shot signal his loss of her now? Nearly before the fear asserted itself enough to take hold, her voice cut through the fog that had invaded his brain, compelling him to turn toward her.
"You haven't done anything you need to apologize for." She hesitated, a momentary flicker of pain shimmering in her eyes. "I understand more than you think I do about the decisions you made these past couple of days and why you made them. I only wish you could have placed more trust in --"
"I do trust you, Karen," he interrupted, the weary resignation that laced his tone penetrating to the deepest marrow of his bones.
A wistful smile flitted across Karen's lips. "I know you do. That much I've never doubted. I was going to say I wish you could have placed more trust in *us*."
"My track record with relationships isn't exactly stellar." Kermit snorted. "Dysfunctional might be a good word to characterize it, if you're into pop psychology. This is the first time in a long time that I've actually believed I have a chance at staying in this -- staying with you -- for the long haul. I couldn't risk losing that." He took a deep breath, and decided to go for broke. "You'd already understood and accepted more than anyone else ever had. I couldn't ask you to put your life and reputation on the line as well. And I couldn't let the truth about what I'd done drive you away -- or kill you."
"Relationships have never been my strong point either, you know. If I learned anything from my first marriage, though, it's that *both* partners have responsibility for working things through." Karen eyed Kermit briefly, her thoughtful expression telling him she was considering whether to follow her statement to its logical conclusion, then shook her head. "Damn it, you of all people should have known I would have gone to hell and back for you. You would have gone to the wall for me when I was accused of Lester Fletcher's murder. You know what it feels like to watch someone try to destroy the life of a person you ... care about, how powerless you feel."
"Love."
Blue eyes questioned him, searching his unshielded gaze.
"Even then, I was falling in love with you." He heard Karen's sharp inhalation before he warned, "And don't ask what in the name of God possessed me when I pulled away from you for a while afterwards. All I know is I'm glad I came to my senses." A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I'd deny I ever said it if anyone else ever heard this, but the word is impotent."
Karen arched one eyebrow and set her brandy snifter down on the hearth as she fought the smile struggling to emerge. "Pardon me?"
"That's the way I felt when I couldn't do anything for you then. And I'm sorry if trying to keep you safe made you feel that way now."
"Thank God you have such good friends." Karen swallowed once, convulsively, before continuing. "Neither one of us could have resolved this dilemma without them."
"It wasn't a matter of trust that made me turn to them. It was a matter of shared history in a world you've never had to live in."
"I know. I also know it wasn't me you didn't trust, it was yourself." Before he could concede her point, Karen's expression transformed into a triumphant smile that nearly blinded him. "We didn't break apart, Kermit. We're stronger than that. You did your damnedest to keep me out of it, I went behind your back to insert myself in the middle of it, we both thought we could stop Alex Drako alone, and in the end we discovered there was only one way we could stop him. Together."
Kermit blinked. What the hell had just happened? "So." He downed a goodly portion of the cognac in his snifter while he gathered his thoughts, then inquired, "Are *we* all right now?"
The high-wattage smile dimmed, and the impassive mask of the 101st's commander took over Karen's features. "Except for one small matter that still needs to be addressed."
Karen glanced away, but not fast enough for him to miss the
twinkle in her eyes. "Impotent?" She laughed, and locked
gazes with him. "That's hardly a word I would choose to
describe you. Soooo ... what shall we do to correct this
contradiction in terms?" Lifting her glass again, she took a
sip, her movements mirroring Kermit's own.
"Oh, I have a few ideas." Kermit took the snifter from her
and set both glasses aside. Bridging the gap between them,
he caressed Karen's cheek, her skin
velvety soft beneath his hand. "Have I told you today how
beautiful you are?"
"Not today." Karen smiled. She covered his hand with her
own, then leaned forward to close the small distance still
between them. Her lips brushed against his, and she
relinquished her hold on his hand. Feather-light kisses
rained steadily against his mouth as her hands parted the
closure of his robe and began to roam over the exposed flesh
of his chest.
Kermit's entire body vibrated with need, forcing him to
close his eyes and take a deep breath in order to regain
some control. Karen moaned in protest when he pulled away
from her lips, then let out a half-sigh, half-purr of
pleasure as he lowered his head to kiss her neck, running
his tongue across the sensitive flesh above her jugular. She
melted into him, her breasts rubbing against his chest.
Reluctantly leaving the sanctuary of the hollow of her neck,
his lips glided over to her ear. As his teeth nipped Karen's
earlobe, he allowed his hand to drop from her cheek and join
the other at the small of her back so he could lay her down
on the hearth.
She resisted the momentum of the backwards movement long
enough to guide his head down to her taut nipples, her
action telling him what she wanted. Snatching the hem of the
shirt she wore, Kermit slid it up and off her body. Karen's
feverish efforts to assist him screamed that she too
considered the thin material an offensive barrier between
them. Throwing the shirt to the side, Kermit smiled as her
skin was exposed, then kissed the sensitive flesh on the
underside of her breast before easing her onto the floor.
His smile broadened when he felt Karen's grip on his hair
tighten, forcing him to where she wanted him. "Oh yes. Please." Karen's plea was barely above a whisper,
yet as clear to Kermit as a sharp cry.
Taking pity on her, he took her into his mouth, lightly
biting the tip of her nipple, then smoothing away the pain
with his tongue. Karen moaned with delight, arching up off
the soft carpet. "Yes," she breathed as Kermit turned his
attention to her other breast.
A few heartbeats later, Karen grabbed a handful of his hair,
pulling his head away from her breast, and met his lips with
her own. Kermit framed her face with his hands and deepened
the kiss, sliding his tongue deep into her mouth. After a
few seconds, he forced himself to tear his lips from Karen's
and draw away from her. He removed his robe, then took
possession of her hands, intertwining his fingers with hers,
and began to lower himself onto her body.
He could get lost in her eyes, Kermit thought as he stared
deeply into them, settling himself on top of her so she
could feel his arousal by her entrance. She matched his
stare with her own, her eyes darkening with desire.
"Yes, Kermit," she moaned. "Make love to me. I want to feel
you inside me, please."
Kermit closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the sound of
her desire. No matter how often they made love, he still
couldn't fathom that such a beautiful and incredible woman
could believe him worthy of her love. She was his salvation.
After today, whenever he was certain of nothing else, he
would always be certain of that.
At this moment, when desire and need drove him, she was also
his reason for existing.
Slowly, he placed himself at her entrance, aware of little
else but his all-consuming need for her. Need for the woman
who completed him. Need for the woman who had reawakened so
many of the joyous parts of his soul he had believed years
of mercenary work had stripped away.
"I love you, Karen," he whispered before he brought his lips
to hers. Devouring her mouth with his own, he drove his body
deep inside of hers in one swift thrust.
Karen broke off the kiss and threw her head back, an
expression of sheer ecstasy on her face. "God ... Kermit,"
she ground out, her hands tightening on his.
Kermit had to close his eyes for a second. When he opened
them the first thing he saw was the desire burning in her
eyes, a desire surely equal to that which threatened to
drive him insane. As he drove into her depths, Kermit felt
Karen tighten her internal grip around him. She gazed at him
with fierce intensity, then once more ravished his mouth
with her own.
What little control he had left disintegrated, his
overwhelming love and need for the beautiful woman beneath
him all his mind could process. His remaining restraint
shattered as he pulled most of the way out of her, then
slammed himself back into her.
Karen broke away from his mouth, letting out a wordless cry.
His first thought was that he had hurt her, but he realized
how wrong he was when she barely managed to gasp, "God, yes.
More ... please." She moaned, causing him to groan in turn.
Stroking her within, Kermit reached their joined hands above
her head. Karen sighed as he plunged further inside her.
Wrapping her legs around him, she thrust back. The sensation
of being inside Karen's body was still as incredible as it
had been the first time they made love, and he could only
pray that their lovemaking made her feel as alive as it did
him.
Kermit felt her muscles contract more tightly around him, as
he continued to move deep inside of her. He closed his eyes,
and the world went away, himself and Karen the only
inhabitants of a universe of their own making. Reality and
its problems receded even further as he hit her most
sensitive area. In the moment before he lost all coherent
thought, Kermit swore he could feel their souls join,
melting into one entity.
He quickened his pace, and Karen's inner muscles
clenched around him, signaling she wanted more than
anything for him to join her as her climax began to erupt.
"Kermit," she moaned as she tore her hands from his grasp to
pull him closer to her.
Dimly aware of her arms around him, Kermit continued to
pound deep into her. He was close to the edge, she was
driving him insane with her love for him. "Oh God. Karen,"
he whispered as he thrust convulsively into her once more
before his own release emptied into her.
"I love you, Kermit," Karen gasped before she tenderly
kissed his temple. Completely drained of energy, Kermit
collapsed on top of her. Karen claimed his mouth, running
her tongue across his lips. One hand began to caress his
back, while the fingers
of the other ran through his hair.
Afraid to burden her with his weight for too long, Kermit
rolled off Karen to lie on his back. He took her with him as
he went, pulling her into his embrace. As Karen rested her
head upon his sweat-covered chest, his fingers toyed with
her tousled hair. Exhausted from his release, the last thing
he saw before he closed his eyes was the expression of utter
contentment that washed over Karen's features as her eyelids
fluttered shut.
END PART 31
Part 32
Wakefulness returned to Karen slowly, sleep a siren call she
found difficult to resist. She stretched and tried to move
closer to Kermit, only to learn she was now lying on his lap
as she registered the rough texture of his terrycloth robe
beneath her cheek. The notion of scrambling to find his
discarded shirt occurred to her, but was replaced by the
realization the garment already covered her -- for the most
part. She opened her eyes to see Kermit studying her hands,
as though taking note of the size differential between them
and his own. The events of the past two days flashed through
her mind, causing her to chuckle.
Kermit looked down at her, his expression faintly amused.
"What's so funny?"
Karen levered herself off his lap and into a sitting
position a few inches away, fumbling to get her arm into the
sleeves of his shirt and close a few buttons. She shook her
head, trying to order her thoughts. "Did you ever find the
tape recorder activator or the recorder Blake hid?"
Kermit shook his head. "I'm thinking of taking the easy way
out and using one of his own detectors to locate them." A
quizzical glint appeared in his eyes, and Karen suspected he
was finally about to ask the question she knew had been in
the back of his mind since he first saw her at the
warehouse. "I've been wondering --"
"Yes?"
"How did Drako get your gun?" He extended a hand, the
gesture urging her to come closer to him again.
Karen moved into the welcome haven of Kermit's arm and
rested her head on his shoulder. "You wouldn't believe it if
I told you."
Tilting her chin up with his free hand, Kermit favored her
with an assessing gaze. "Try me."
Karen broke away from his touch, reaching for her drink. She
took a gulp, then set the snifter down. "Well, I knew the
only way to get some sort of closure on this was to pretend
to go along with Drako for the moment. Since you had
effectively shut me out of the loop --" Kermit cringed
slightly, and she broke off mid-sentence. "Don't worry, I'm
not mad about that. It's in the past, and I know you'll
never do it again," she reassured him, leaning down to kiss
him. Lost in thought, she remained quiet for a few moments.
Most likely, he would find fault in her logic, but at the
time she hadn't been concerned with either police procedure
or her own safety. How in God's name was she going to make
Kermit understand the risk she'd taken to protect him from
Drako's threat to expose his past had been worth it?
"Naturally, when he appeared out of the shadows shortly
after I arrived at the warehouse, I went along with him.
Would you believe he didn't even try for my gun?" She shook
her head in disbelief. "Since it was fairly apparent that
despite his intelligence he lacked the mental stability to
refrain from acting rashly, I informed him I had my gun on
me. It was a calculated move, and it worked. He let me know
that he'd expected no less. And I handed it over to him."
"You just handed your gun over to a maniac." Disbelief
dripped from Kermit's words as he processed her admission.
"No seasoned cop would do something that crazy." Karen
arched an eyebrow; he amended, "Except for Peter, the
101st's resident exception to every rule. Damn it, Karen,
everyone knows it's police procedure to never give up your
gun. More than that it was just plain stupid." For a moment,
he regretted how harsh he'd sounded, but Karen didn't seem
at all hurt by his assessment. Instead, her eyes flashed
fire.
"If I hadn't, who knows what he might have done?" she
argued. "I figured if I handed over my weapon, I would have
the upper hand." Kermit snorted, but she went on,
unperturbed. "I bet he would set the gun aside, without
emptying it, somewhere I could get to it if the need arose.
I don't think he thought I'd use it, since I made it
perfectly clear to him that I only wanted to talk *and* I
made a show of faith by telling him the truth about my gun."
Kermit stared at her, incredulous. He still thought Karen's
actions had been reckless as hell, but her willingness to
sacrifice herself for him told him more about what she felt
for him than anything else she had done or said before that
moment. "I can't believe you took that risk. He could have
killed you. Promise me you will never do anything that
stupid again. Not for me, and not for anyone else."
"You know I can't do that, Kermit. I can't swear I won't go
to hell and back for the people I love." Karen paused, then
added, voice softer, "And you know you were worth the risk."
"You risked a lot. Far more than you should have. You could
have lost everything you worked for so many years to
attain."
Karen leaned over and silenced him by placing a finger on
his lips. "No self-recriminations, Kermit. I risked nothing
I wasn't willing to lose. Don't you see? I would have broken
every rule in the book to save you."
"How were you so sure I deserved saving?"
"I knew."
"No matter how anyone tries to rewrite history, the fact of
the matter is I *did* assassinate Kevin Drako. I think
that's something that got lost in the translation back at
the warehouse. What I did may have been done in the name of
my country, but I *did* kill him in cold blood."
"A sniper's kill." Karen waved her hand dismissively, but
the tension evident in the set of her jaw betrayed distress.
Kermit brushed a stray strand of hair off Karen's cheek, his
hand coming to rest on her shoulder. "Can you live with
that?"
She started at the flat words, then reached up to remove his
hand. Fury lending silver sparks to her blue eyes, she met
his probing gaze. "How can you even ask me that after all
that's happened?"
"Most people couldn't live with it." Kermit sighed. "Hell,
Karen, your misgivings are obvious just from the way you're
holding yourself. And after everything you've learned about
me over the past two days, you've got every reason to harbor
those qualms. I don't have the right to ask you to live with
this, and I wouldn't blame you if you walked away. Much less
if you needed some time to lay your doubts to rest. I'm
willing to give you that time if you need it. All you need
to do is ask." He held his breath, watching Karen's brow
furrow in confusion. Confusion? Not uncertainty?
Finally, comprehension lit her eyes. "You thought *that* was
the reason I'm upset? God, Kermit, if I couldn't live with
your having made that kind of a kill, I would never even
have begun to get involved with you. Alex Drako didn't clue
me in on any element of a soldier's life I was unfamiliar
with before his calls. I've always known what that life
entailed."
Struck by the oddity of her easy choice of the word
"soldier" to characterize his mercenary past, Kermit waited
for her to explain. The soft tick of the clock on the mantel
and the crackle of the blazing logs sounded unnaturally loud
as the seconds dragged on.
Karen stared down at her glass, idly tracing the rim with
her forefinger. When she began to speak, her voice was
distant and so anguished his heart went
out to her before she'd forced out a complete sentence.
"Apparently I never told you all there is to tell about my
brother Daniel. He was brilliant. First in his class at prep
school, ranked tenth in his class at Harvard when his draft
number came up." Karen looked up at Kermit, the pride in her
sad smile never reaching her tortured eyes. "He could have
gotten a deferment easily, but he didn't think it was fair
to allow someone else to fight -- and perhaps die -- in his
place."
"Sounds familiar," Kermit murmured. "He's the brother you
were always closest to growing up, isn't he? The one you've
deflected my curiosity about every time I've wondered why
you no longer keep in touch?"
"You had your own cross to bear with David's death. You
didn't need my burden added to your own." Casting her eyes
down toward her glass, Karen remarked, "You're right, Daniel
and I always did share a certain sense of fair play that
bonded us together so we were closer to each other than to
the rest of the family. But in some ways he was more like
you than you could ever know." The wistful note in her voice
increased as she added, "You wouldn't allow someone else to
die in your stead any more than he would have."
"You don't need to tell me if it bothers you too much,"
Kermit offered, reaching over to place his hand atop
Karen's.
She turned her palm to meet his, her desperate grip as their
fingers interlocked shouting of her gratitude for his touch.
Karen needed his strength, Kermit realized, the swift
certainty of his recognition stunning him. The woman whose
unquestioning love and faith had sustained him through the
hell of the past two days needed *him* now. He eased the
snifter out of Karen's grasp with his free hand, pushed it
away, and shifted closer to her, disentangling their fingers
and wrapping his arm around her.
Karen leaned into his embrace and reached up to stroke the
side of his cheek. "I love you for that, but I do need to
tell you. You *should* know, especially now. I started to
tell you once, but the timing was wrong." She must have
sensed the question he was about to pose, for she explained,
"We were talking about siblings, about brothers. I was so
tempted. But it was too soon."
"After whatever you're about to tell me about happened?"
"After Florida. After Larson. You were so certain you'd
failed David when you hadn't. I couldn't add my burden to
that self-imposed guilt he wouldn't have wanted you to
carry."
Kermit dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Tell me now,"
he whispered into her hair.
"Daniel and I were the rebels of the family. The ones who
failed when they tried to shoehorn themselves into the roles
expected of them. For me, the biggest failure was my
marriage. I was lucky. There was a silver lining to *my*
failure." Kermit smiled to himself, knowing she meant her
son. "Daniel wasn't so lucky. His failure was too late, too
permanent." Her voice cracked on the last word, and she
paused long enough to compose herself. "I'm afraid I'm
rambling, but this is so difficult to talk about, even to
you."
"Take it slow. I'm not going anywhere."
"He found his niche when he joined the Army. I understood. I
was the only one who did. It was his way to give something
back for all the blessings we enjoyed growing up in a world
of privilege. And it sure as hell didn't hurt that it
offered an adrenaline rush of a sort that --" She faltered.
"-- that I don't have the words for right now. I just know
you know what I'm talking about."
"Same one I got when I was first a mercenary. Same one you
got when you were first a cop. Oh yeah, I know what you're
talking about."
"He'd always excelled at whatever he tried. He excelled at
his MOS."
"Sniper." Kermit closed his eyes for a second, cursing
himself for not guessing this sooner.
"Three Bronze Stars, two Silver Stars, and the Distinguished
Service Cross." A strange mixture of detachment and ire
replaced the pride in her voice. "Daniel was a hero. He may
have accomplished his
missions by killing the enemy, but he saved countless lives.
And he was ostracized for his efforts. By our family. By the
circles in which the family moved. Even by some of his
fellow soldiers who couldn't accept that a man could be so
utterly skilled at killing and still remain a decent human
being.
"For a while, it didn't really matter. He stayed in the
Army, got recruited into Special Forces. Eventually he was
tapped for Delta Force -- back when Delta Force's very
existence was still classified far beyond what it is now.
Then a mission went wrong, and he took a bullet in the leg.
His injury was severe enough to warrant a medical discharge.
After that, he returned to Philadelphia and joined an
investment firm." Karen laughed, the sound brittle. "Daniel
hated the world of finance as much as I hated being
harangued about how improper it was for a woman of my
breeding to stoop low enough to enter law enforcement. But
our father arranged the position for him, and very few
people say no to Richard Taylor. Ironically, Daniel excelled
at the job he hated just as surely as he had
at Special Ops."
"Then what happened?"
"His first kill in Vietnam, the one that still had the power
to haunt him years later, was a fourteen-year-old boy. The
boy was a VC sniper with more than forty kills to his
credit, but he *was* a boy. Almost twenty years later,
Daniel got a call from a man who'd served at a firebase near
where that kill was made, a man who'd seen the boy's body.
Seen the clean, execution-style bullet hole. He demanded two
million dollars within twenty-four hours as the price for
his silence. Otherwise, he threatened to go to the press
with the story that Daniel had murdered a child in cold
blood."
"And then?" Kermit had a sinking feeling he knew where Karen
was going with this, but they both needed this secret to be
verbalized.
"Daniel couldn't liquidate sufficient assets in so brief a
time period. He didn't want to shame the family, and he was
convinced there was no other way out. Or so his suicide note
claimed." Karen's tormented gaze sought Kermit's eyes,
locking onto them as though
seeking an anchor. "He thought our family would be less
shamed by having a suicide as its scandal, rather than a
murderer. I suppose he thought a suicide would simply be
looked on as a single man's failure at living, rather than
as tainting the rest of the family. So he wrote a note
explaining his decision in great detail, locked himself in
his office, and ate his gun." Karen's clenched fist betrayed
the angry grief behind her harsh words.
"But the Daniel I knew would never have given in so easily.
There must have been something more, something else, but if
there was, I haven't found it yet. I still wonder whether
his blackmailer threatened more than the family name, if
Daniel was protecting someone's life by doing what he did."
Karen chewed on her lower lip, then added slowly, "Or if
that damn note was an effort to throw me off the scent of
the truth, if instead this was all somehow tied up with his
last mission and why it went sour. Most of all, I wonder
whether I could have stopped him if I'd known what was going
on." She hesitated. "And I miss him."
"God, Karen, I'm sorry."
"I know." She nodded, fighting back tears. "If that note
tells the whole story, he killed himself to prevent a
blackmailer from exposing what he'd done under orders as an
nineteen-year-old Army sniper. He died alone, because he
thought he had nowhere to turn, no one who had faith in him.
In any event, I was the only member of our family who
attended his funeral. And the day he died was the day I
stopped believing that playing by the rules was always the
best move."
Karen choked back a sob before adding softly, "I
couldn't save him, Kermit, and every day I wonder if he'd
still be alive if he'd thought he could have come to me for
help. Every day I wonder what else caused this and whether
the secrets he kept from the world could have saved his
life. His situation and yours weren't that different. And I
knew your soul, I knew what a good man I'd fallen in love
with. How could I possibly have turned my back on you?"
END PART 32
"Are you sure this is the right place?" Karen asked the next
evening, her gaze sweeping over the nearly empty parking
lot. "It looks a bit --"
"Deserted?" Kermit chuckled as he completed her thought.
"Yeah, I noticed that myself. But when John called me this
morning, he asked us to meet him and Megan here."
"Interesting choice." Karen tilted her head to the side, her
expression thoughtful. "Not exactly his usual style."
He nodded in agreement, as suspicions he couldn't quite
pinpoint surfaced. John's tastes ran to establishments far
more sedate or sophisticated than this neon-bright
roadhouse. When he'd first heard where John wanted to meet,
Kermit had thought there was something odd about the chosen
location. Now he *knew* there was. For his old friend to
have opted for a place so far off the beaten track and so
different from his usual tastes meant something strange was
in the offing. Damn.
"You think he has an agenda."
Kermit grinned at the knowing edge to Karen's voice. "Only
one way to find out. Shall we?" He offered her his arm.
"Certainly, kind sir." She slipped her left hand into the
crook of his elbow. The fit was natural, as though her hand
had been designed to rest there.
He only hoped the ring burning a hole in his jacket pocket
would fit as well.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Two steps into the club, Kermit froze. Karen's grip on his
arm tightened as she too drew to a halt, the action
conveying her astonishment even before his sidelong glance
registered the similarity between the expression in her eyes
and a deer's reaction when startled by headlights.
"Am I imagining things, or did he actually do what I think
he did?" he gritted out through clenched teeth.
"I do believe imagination has little to do with this."
Karen's teasing tones were so light her demeanor
approached giddiness. Kermit wondered at the speed and
intensity of her recovery from the surprise. He decided
utter relief they'd both put old ghosts to rest informed her
actions.
"He brought them all here." Kermit scanned the room
deliberately, taking in the assemblage who occupied it. A
small group, a motley crew of people most would guess had
nothing in common. Anyone who didn't know about the past
they -- and he -- shared would have wondered at such a
disparate group's presence tonight.
John Durham -- a banker. Alec Mackensie -- a retired college
professor. Blake -- a police surveillance expert. Rykker --
the consummate spy. Steadman -- a publican. Himself --
through the grace of God and Paul Blaisdell, a cop. Hell,
the only ones in this room who were who they appeared to be
were the woman at his side and Annie Blaisdell. And even
they carried the secrets of their own pasts.
Shaking his head in disbelief, Kermit repeated, "He actually
brought them all here."
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he spotted
the man in question several feet away. John Durham raised
his glass in a mock salute. "I told you I'd get you for
that, Kermit." He paused, looked around the room, and nodded
in satisfaction. "And I do believe I've done a rather good
job of keeping that promise."
Confusion washed over Karen's features, only to be replaced
by a quizzical, yet expectant glance in Kermit's direction
when John winked. Kermit laughed. "Oh yeah, you sure did.
And you've just made sure I have to explain this to Karen if
I want the story told the right way, same way you had
something you couldn't avoid explaining to Megan that
afternoon. Nice touch." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw
Blake gulp down half his drink. Without missing a beat,
Kermit added, "I suppose my cohort helped you arrange this."
"Oh yes, your straight man proved extremely eager to
assist."
Blake winced at John's acknowledgment, and Kermit almost
felt sorry for him. Almost. "He's been eager to assist where
a lot of things are concerned lately," he growled. "Too
eager for his own good." He waited a beat for maximum
effect, then added, "Which is a matter he and I are going to
have a long discussion about later. The same discussion I'm
going to have with the rest of you about putting Karen in
harm's way."
A decidedly unladylike snort constituted his lover's
assessment of his threat. Both John and Blake laughed, their
amusement quelled when Kermit glared at them. "You're not
helping my image here any," he hissed, voice pitched low
enough to carry only to Karen's ears.
"I'm not trying to," she whispered in return, eyes dancing
with laughter.
"I wasn't kidding," he warned his friends. "You're not
getting off the hook as easily as you hope. And I'm adding
the way you set me up tonight to my list."
Blake shrugged, eyes bright behind his thick glasses. "Be
grateful we didn't invite Lasher."
"And on that note," John remarked, "I think I'll refresh my
drink."
Kermit lowered his sunglasses, delivering a pointed glare at
the substantial amount of liquid in the older man's glass.
Durham ignored him as he headed off toward the bar; he
turned his scowl on Blake. Years ago, he'd perfected the art
of cowing people with that scowl, but tonight it had no
effect on anyone. Blake shrugged again and meandered off.
"Looks like I've still got a way of clearing a room, so to
speak. Any bets on who risks my wrath next?"
Karen lightly slapped Kermit on the arm. "Play nice. They
mean well."
"God save me from well-meaning friends butting their noses
into my personal business." He thought he muttered the words
under his breath until Karen rolled her eyes, telling him
otherwise.
Before she could comment, Mac walked up to them and patted
Kermit on the shoulder. "I take this as a sign everything
turned out well." He chuckled. "Looks like those documents I
had my son procure served you in good stead."
Kermit smiled and tapped Mac on the arm with a bit more
force than had been behind the friendly pat he had received.
"Lucky for you."
Mac waved a dismissive hand. "You know what we did was in
the best interest of all involved. Karen was more objective
about this Drako matter than you were, which meant her
involvement would be your ace in the hole, if it came down
to needing one. Which it did, of course. If you weren't so
thick-headed, you could see that for yourself."
"Let's not make a habit of it. Things worked out this time,
but next time ..."
Karen glanced at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "So
there's more you're trying to keep from me, Kermit? I
thought we discussed that."
Mac's eyes widened momentarily. "Well, I'll just leave you
two alone to discuss your bright and shining future." He
backed away, a wary gaze fixed on Kermit.
"Was it something I said?" Karen struggled not to dissolve
into laughter, the battle diminishing the effect of her
perplexed tone. Kermit shook his head, as much at Mac's
reaction to her teasing as at the playfulness itself. The
strains of another woman's laughter traveled across the
room, causing his smile to widen.
He allowed his gaze to follow the sound to the table where
Annie held court, engaged in an animated conversation with
both Steadman and Rykker. Desire to maintain the pretense he
was annoyed by this gathering faded. Too much time had
passed since he'd seen Annie enjoy herself like this without
the shadow of her husband's absence all too obviously
plaguing her.
Had he spent so little time with Paul's family since Paul
left that he'd missed out on opportunities to see her this
free of worries? Or had Annie's life changed so drastically
because of her husband's departure? She was one of the
strongest women he knew, but still ... he worried about her
being without Paul. Independent as she was, without her
husband's protection she was still vulnerable in certain
areas, especially if danger from Paul's past cropped up
again.
Things were going to be different from here on in. From now
on, he intended to keep his word to Paul that he'd look
after his family -- in more ways than keeping them safe.
Neither Paul nor Annie had ever let him down. Damned if he
was going to let them down again.
When he turned back to Karen, he noticed that her own gaze
had traveled in the same direction. He doubted she knew he
was watching her until she proved him wrong by suggesting,
"Let's go join them."
He nodded and reached for her hand. "Three greetings for the
price of one, and then everyone here will finally have had
their say."
Before they made it across the room, Rykker got up and
headed for the bar, empty glass in hand. Annie must have
heard their approach; as they drew near the table, Kermit
heard her say, "You may have a chance to offer that apology
you owe sooner than you expect."
"You are relentless, aren't you?" Indulgent amusement
colored Steadman's tones. "If I hadn't performed the
introductions myself, I'd wager your husband had no idea
exactly how tenacious you can be. Most women would allow it
to suffice that I provided as much information as I did --
against my better judgment, I might add. But you, my dear,
trouble me to apologize for my initial resistance."
Annie greeted his complaint with a full-throated laugh. "I'm
not the one to whom you owe the apology. Your vaunted
judgment would have sacrificed both the truth and a friend's
life." She paused as Kermit came up behind Steadman, then
added, "I believe the man you owe an apology is standing
right behind you."
"Don't trouble yourself to actually admit you were wrong,
Steadman," Kermit put in.
The older man turned toward the sound of Griffin's voice. "A
failing we both share, eh, Kermit?" Annie cleared her
throat, prompting him to add, "I do apologize if my zeal to
avoid endangering Annie's life caused you and your lady
here --" He nodded at Karen, who acknowledged the greeting
in kind.
"-- any inconvenience."
"How can we resist accepting such a gracious apology?"
Kermit smirked when he saw an astonished expression cross
Steadman's face at Karen's sarcastic rejoinder.
Recovering his composure, Steadman remarked, "I think you've
finally met your match."
"I know I have."
Steadman looked from Kermit and Karen to Annie and back
again. "I'll leave you three to talk amongst yourselves
while I see if our other friend's lovely lady has arrived
yet."
Once Steadman was out of earshot, Kermit joked, "Think we
scared him off?"
Annie ignored him, declaring instead, "Kermit, I hope you
learned your lesson."
"Straight to the chase, as always." He leaned down to kiss
the top of her head, then shot a rueful look at Karen as he
straightened. "I forgot how alike the two of you are."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Annie's air of
innocence was belied by the smile that tugged at her lips.
For a moment, Kermit was as unsure of what he meant as Annie
professed to be. One of the reasons she and Karen had hit it
off so well was how alike they were in the ways that
counted, especially their ease with voicing uncomfortable
truths. But there was an echo of Paul in Annie's words,
which distracted him enough to render him silent.
"I, on the other hand, will take that as a compliment."
Karen's voice cut into his reverie, drawing him back to
reality.
"It was meant as one." Kermit slipped his arm around her
waist and pulled her closer as he spoke. If he hadn't known
better, he would have sworn Annie's smile took on a tinge of
self-satisfaction, as though his actions had proven her
right about his and Karen's relationship. Then again, who
was he to rule out the notion Annie had seen enough to know
all there was to know on that score? She might be blind, but
she saw more than anyone else he knew.
"In that case, I'll take it as a compliment too." Annie
laughed, then continued, "I haven't had a chance to tell you
yet how glad I am everything worked out so well in the end."
"No more than I am." Kermit chuckled. "Go ahead, say it."
"Say what?" Annie asked, tilting her head back as if she
were peering up at him.
"You were right and I was wrong. This doesn't go beyond the
three of us, except maybe -- someday -- to Paul's ears, but
I should have told Karen the truth after she got the first
call."
"I had no intention of saying anything of the sort."
Kermit's first instinct was to laugh at Annie's declaration;
the desire faded when he heard her next words. "I had every
expectation you'd come to realize that. Not to mention
complete faith you were man enough to admit your mistake."
She shook her head, exasperation evident in the gesture.
"Honestly, did you expect me to allow you to destroy your
life? I wouldn't have done so any more than Paul would
have."
This time, Kermit *did* laugh. "It wouldn't have been an
issue if Paul had been here, and you know it." Karen
stiffened against the arm resting at her waist, and he
hastened to add, "But I've got to admit I was the one who
got the better part of the deal when he left. In a strange
way, his leaving gave me the greatest gift I've ever
received, and she's right here by my side." Normally,
expressing so much emotion would have horrified him. Right
now, the loving amazement written on Karen's face when he
looked down at her was enough to make the exposure of his
soul worth the discomfort.
A grin reminiscent of a Cheshire cat lit Annie's face.
"Well, it's about time you admitted that, my friend. I was
beginning to think you two were never going to move your
relationship forward."
"Oh, we are not going there, Annie, so forget about pumping
us for information about where we go from here." For a
second he feared he'd said too much, relaxing only when
several seconds went by with neither woman pouncing on the
implication he planned a specific destination for his
relationship with Karen.
"At least you've realized what you and Karen have together.
I just hope you also realize what else you have."
"Care to expand on that?"
"I know how hard it is for you to open up and trust anyone,
especially with Paul gone. After all that's happened, I hope
you understand an awful lot of the people who know you are
willing to do anything for you. You may have a tough time
letting people in, but you certainly manage to inspire their
loyalty."
Kermit surveyed the room again, gratitude coursing through
his veins. He'd go to his grave without understanding what
he'd done to deserve the kind of lasting friendship that had
seen him through the past few days.
Before he could carry his line of thought further, Annie
reached for his hand. She found it immediately, with the
same unerring instinct at which he'd long since ceased to
marvel. Her grip tight, she pulled him down to whisper in
his ear, "Don't ever forget who your family is again,
Kermit." She released his hand before adding, "Blood isn't
the only measure of family. I don't need to tell you that.
You know it already."
"Even though I seem to have forgotten?" Kermit asked as he
stepped away from Karen and dropped into the chair next to
Annie's. He was only dimly aware of Karen taking the seat on
his other side.
"I'll be here to remind you. And so will each and every one
of your friends." Annie chuckled. "At the risk of sounding
sentimental, we've become family because we have faced
danger together, we're there for each other, we take care of
each other, and we love each other. No matter what you may
think, Karen is willing to accept these realities, and she
wants to be a part of this crazy surrogate family of ours."
"I know." Kermit turned to smile at Karen, who shifted a
little closer to him.
"Good." Annie emphasized her declaration with a vigorous
nod. "Don't you even think about shutting her out of your
life or your troubles again. If you do, you'll both end up
lost and hurt. She deserves better than that. And you
deserve her. Don't ever doubt it again. If you do, I'll come
around and remind you."
Kermit shook his head in bemusement before he pulled Annie
into a brief hug. "Don't worry, with you there nagging me, I
don't think I'll forget anytime soon. Just remember, though,
things go both ways."
"Oh, believe me, I know." A hint of forced levity bled
through in Annie's voice, leading Kermit to cover her hand
with his own. She squeezed his hand, holding onto it a bit
longer than usual before releasing it.
As if the contact offered her a link to Paul. Damn. He
wished he could have offered her more than a single awkward
gesture of comfort, but he missed Paul nearly as much as she
did.
So did Peter, which raised another issue. "Peter was nosing
around this Drako thing from the start. He wasn't satisfied
with being in on the arrest. He still wants answers,
especially about how Paul's connected to this. And I
wouldn't be surprised if he comes to you with some of those
questions. Just thought I'd warn you."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Alone at last." Kermit issued the pronouncement with marked
relief, maneuvering Karen into a dimly lit alcove near the
jukebox. "Not that this evening hasn't been ..."
"Enjoyable?" Laughter sparked in Karen's eyes as she gazed
up at him.
"Memorable. Enjoyable wouldn't have included a storytelling
session."
"After all the help they gave us -- no questions asked, I
might remind you -- they deserved to learn the details of
how Drako was arrested."
"They ask too damn many questions." Kermit groaned
theatrically. "Always did. Worse yet, they don't give up
until they get answers." He glanced across the room to the
group gathered around the table he and Karen had vacated
moments before. "And John's got Megan doing the same thing
now."
Karen threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, I *do* like your
friends."
"I noticed." Kermit's dry tone became serious as he added,
"They like you just as much, you know. And they've been
pretty vocal about it tonight."
"Because I keep you on your toes?" She hesitated and her
teasing expression sobered. "Or because I accept you for who
you are without fearing your past?"
"Oh yeah."
Karen's brow furrowed when he failed to elaborate. After a
few seconds of silence, she prodded, "Well?"
"Well what?"
"Which is it?"
"Depends on who you talk to."
Karen arched one eyebrow and leaned back against the
jukebox, crossing her arms. To an outsider, she might have
appeared bored. To Kermit, her actions signaled her patience
was wearing thin.
"Blake called you 'the real thing'. Annie said you're 'the
best damn thing' that's ever happened to me. Mac suggested
dragging my heels on sharing my secrets with you proved I
was a slow learner." Karen burst out laughing, and Kermit
waited until she composed herself before he continued.
"Rykker opined you were a woman worth stealing, although he
was sure you wouldn't be amenable to the idea. You heard
Steadman say I'd finally met my match. And John told me if I
devoted as much energy to letting you in as I have to
pushing you away, I'd find out you were the woman I was
supposed to be with for the long haul."
"Am I?" A trace of uncertainty came through, lending a
quaver to Karen's whisper-soft voice.
Kermit smiled, removed his glasses, and closed the distance
between them. "Don't ever doubt it," he murmured before
lowering his head to kiss her. She responded with a hunger
that matched his own, reaching up to entwine her arms about
his neck. Reluctantly, he drew away from her after several
seconds, placing a gentle finger on her lips to silence the
question he saw in her eyes.
Reaching beyond her, he dropped a few coins into the slot on
the jukebox's side, scanned the song titles, and
pressed the selection button. "Just listen."
She did, resting her head on his shoulder till the last note
faded. "I will always have faith in you -- and in us."
Kermit slipped a hand into his jacket pocket. "Does that
mean you're willing to marry me?"
Karen jerked her head up, took two steps back, and met his
gaze with her own wide-eyed, emotion-filled one. "Yes."
"Nothing's changed," he warned, cracking open the ring box
as he spoke. "My past is still my past. And the scars never
go away entirely."
"You weren't the only one who came into this relationship
with emotional scars *and* a past."
"It won't be a bed of roses."
"Kermit."
He questioned her with a glance.
"I said yes, now stop trying to talk me out of it and give
me my engagement ring."
He laughed. "Your wish is my command." As he slipped the
ring onto her finger, he mused, "The song's right. Joy that
comes out of sorrow -- who'd have thought it could happen to
me?"
Karen caressed his cheek with her free hand. "Me." She
leaned forward and kissed him. "Your eyes are troubled.
You're still thinking about Alex Drako, aren't you?"
Kermit shrugged. "Despite all he did, part of me feels sorry
for him. His sorrow and his need for revenge took over his
whole life. And now what drove him will send him to prison.
Still ... he seemed to accept the truth and take
responsibility for his actions. There may be hope for him
yet."
"Maybe. Or maybe he hasn't concocted his next plan yet."
Karen shook her head. "But why we're worrying about Alex
Drako now is beyond me. Let's leave the past where it
belongs -- in the past." Beaming, she concluded, "It's time
to celebrate our future ... together."
"Oh yeah."
FIN