Forged in Fire Page 28

  “Ginny….” Beth’s knees wobbled as she stepped closer to the bed. “Todd’s….”

  She couldn’t force the rest of the sentence out.

  “He’s what? Busy? In the middle of something? In a meeting?” Ginny’s voice climbed with each word, sharp as barbwire, brittle as an autumn leaf.

  “No, he’s….” Beth started to reach for that robotic hand, but a tight, distant sheen in those blue eyes told her the contact wouldn’t be welcome. Instead, she gathered her courage and forced the admission out. “He’s dead, Ginny.”

  Thick silence pulsed in the room.

  “When?”

  The flat empty question sent unease skittering up Beth’s spine. Where was the pain? The grief? She glanced toward the tense fingers and their mindless, repetitive motion.

  “This morning. I’m so sorry.” Unable to stand another minute of that robotic stroking, she reached out, grasping the white hand between both of her own. The moment she captured it, the flesh went still and frozen in her grasp.

  “How did he die?” Still no emotion. Just flat curiosity.

  “He was shot. In your van. In PacAtlantic’s parking lot. By the same people who kidnapped you.”

  The hand lying so rigid between her palms spasmed. That eerie molten heat flooded the blue gaze again.

  “He was still going to work? Still obsessed with his fucking planes? Did he even notice we were gone?”

  Beth’s heart clenched. For the first time she recognized that volcanic glow. Rage. Pure, incandescent rage.

  Ginny had once complained that Todd spent more time at work, with his planes, or in his shed, with his inventions, than he did with his own family. But the complaint had been half-hearted. Laughing. She wasn’t laughing now. She was obviously reeling from what had been done to her, looking for someone to blame.

  “He loved you, Ginny. You know he loved you.”

  With a sharp yank, Ginny tore her hand lose. “Yeah. Sure. I bet he didn’t miss a day of work. I bet he was relieved I wasn’t there to nag him into leaving his shop and coming to bed.”

  Beth’s breath hissed out. There was a world of fury in the accusation. A universe of hurt. “That’s not true. He had to go to work. It was the only way to get you and Kyle back.”

  A shrill laugh pierced the room. “Is that what he told you?”

  Beth collapsed onto the chair beside the bed.

  There was too much anger in Ginny’s eyes, in the frozen white tundra of her face. An anger beyond what those bastards had done to her. Such pain didn’t happen overnight. It didn’t erupt full-blown following a crisis. It developed through the years. The foundation had already been laid, seething below the surface. The kidnapping may have ripped the mask away, but the emotions had already been there. Waiting.

  How could she have been so blind to her best friend’s pain?

  “Is that what he told you? That he had to work?”

  “No,” Beth whispered back. “He didn’t tell me anything. He was dead by the time I knew what was happening, but he had to go to work. To get you back he had to hide half a dozen guns on PacAtlantic’s flight to Hawaii.”

  With another of those shrill, violent laughs, Ginny dragged her forearm across her eyes. “I bet those hijackers were pretty pissed then, which explains why the rules changed this morning. Too bad they didn’t explain why they took us. I could have told them Todd would never do anything to hurt one of his fucking planes.”

  Beth’s mouth fell open in shock. She leaned forward to touch Ginny’s arm, but pulled back at the last moment. “He planted those guns. Every last one of them. He emptied your bank account. He did everything they told him to in the hope of getting you and Kyle back.”

  Ginny’s forearm rose and Beth could clearly see the disbelief in her dark, raw eyes.

  “You’re lying. Trying to make me feel better. I’ve known for years where we stood on Todd’s priority list, which is right there at the bottom.”

  Beth’s head whirled. A falling sensation hit her, like the ground had just disappeared beneath her feet. “That’s not true. You know it’s not. Todd’s always been there for you.”

  “When? When was he ever there for me? You spend more time with us than Todd did. You’re the one who remembered my birthday, Kyle’s birthday. You’re the one who was my birthing coach.”

  “He would have been there for Kyle’s birth, but he was away, remember? At that conference.”

  “Which I begged him not to go to. I was a week away from giving birth. To our first child.” With a shallow breath, Ginny looked down at her son. Reached out to touch his face. This time her fingers trembled. “But he left anyway. Told me not to worry so much.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, as though the rage had burned away and taken her strength with it. “I told him I wanted a divorce. The morning before they came and took us? I told him I wanted a divorce. I wanted to wake him up. You know what he said? That we’d talk about it when he got home from work.” Dark, raw eyes rose to Beth’s face. “It was always work, or his inventions, or a conference. Anything before his family. Amy never doubted John was doing everything possible to get them back. If it had been left to Todd, Kyle and I would have died in that awful place.”

  Beth stared at the disillusionment on her best friend’s face. How could she convince Ginny her husband had loved her, had tried to get her back? Maybe she could get hold of the picture Chastain had showed her, the one of Todd sneaking on board the plane with a part’s crate. Maybe the evidence the FBI were using to implicate him would prove to Ginny that in the end, he’d put his family before his job, his planes, his inventions, even his own life.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you felt like this? What was going on between you and Todd?”

  “What good would it have done?” With a roll of her head, Ginny stared up at the ceiling. “Nothing would have changed. All it would have done was set you more firmly against trusting another man, opening yourself to love.”

  Beth reeled beneath another tsunami of shock. “I’ve always been open to love, to finding the right man.”

  Ginny’s red hair shimmered as she rolled her head on the pillow.

  “Beth,” she said gently, in the manner of people delivering crushing news. “You locked yourself behind a wall the moment you caught Brad with Shelby in that closet. You haven’t let another man get close since.”

  “That’s not true.” This time Beth’s voice rose. “I go on plenty of dates. I’ve let plenty of men close. They’ve just never been right for me. I want what your parents had. What I thought you had with Todd.”

  “You go on one date. At the most, two. But before things have a chance to develop, you back off. You claim you want a friendship that turns into love, but you break the relationship off before anything has a chance to deepen.”

  Beth sat frozen. The protest locked inside her aching throat. That wasn’t true. That couldn’t possibly be true.

  Regret flickered in Ginny’s eyes.

  “Beth.” She reached out, but a knock on the door shattered the moment. “Come in,” she called instead, her hand dropping to the mattress.

  A middle-aged woman with graying, no-nonsense hair and an ill-fitting maroon pant suit stepped into the room. Tired eyes swept Beth’s face and moved onto Ginny. “Mrs. Clancy? I’m Detective Meacham. I need to ask you some questions.”

  “Of course,” Ginny’s voice was courteous, yet flat.

  Beth rose to her feet, her legs numb beneath her. She glanced toward Kyle. “Do you want me to take Kyle? I can bring him back when you’re done….”

  Ginny settled a gentle hand over her son’s head. “I doubt he’ll wake up.” She raised her head, met Beth’s stare, regret clear in her eyes. Slowly, her arm lifted and her hand stretched out. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair to unload on you. Just ignore everything I said.”

  Without hesitation, Beth squeezed her friend’s fragile fingers. She forced a smile. “Sure.”

  Zane took one look at Beth’s face as she came out
of Ginny’s room and straightened against the wall. Without saying a word he stepped forward, snagged the nape of her neck and hauled her into his arms, simply holding her. Beth buried her face in the hollow where his throat met his neck and breathed in his musky, smoky scent. The world stopped spinning. The ground grew solid and stable beneath her feet.

  “You want to talk about it?” he asked, running soothing palms up and down her spine.

  She shook her head against his throat. He had enough on his mind with Cosky and Mac. The last thing he needed was a heap of her uncertainties as well.

  They were pressed so tightly together she felt the current of tension roll through him. His hands ceased their comforting slide. Frowning, she lifted her head. The moment she moved he released her. Had he equated the silent shake of her head as a rejection? She hadn’t meant it as such. She opened her mouth to explain, but he was already talking.

  “I need to get back to the waiting room.” His green eyes were curiously muted. “Do you want to wait here?”

  Beth slowly closed her mouth. It was foolish to presume his tension had anything to do with her. He had two friends in emergency surgery. It was more likely that he was worried about them.

  He scanned the hall, his gaze touching on the emergency exit, and the skin of his forehead wrinkled. Could someone access the observation wing through the exit door? Obviously, he didn’t feel comfortable leaving her back here by herself. Was Ginny in danger as well?

  “Do you think she’s still in danger?”

  Zane glanced down. “She should be safe. They took her to force Todd Clancy to smuggle the guns on board. He’s dead now. The hijacking’s been aborted. They’d have no use for her.”

  “But she saw her kidnappers—”

  With a shake of his head, he reached toward her cheek. His hand dropped before making contact. “Most of them are dead, the rest in custody.” But he glanced toward the exit door and frowned. “Still, we need to make sure no one can access this hall from the outside.”

  Beth followed him down the corridor to the emergency exit, and waited on the inside while he stepped outside and closed the door behind him. A few seconds later, he pounded on the steel door and she let him back inside. From the satisfied expression on his face, the hall was secure enough for his tastes.

  By the time they got back to Ginny’s room, Detective Meacham was stepping through the door. She stopped, and studied Zane. Her weary gaze sharpened. “And you are?”

  “Lieutenant Commander Zane Winters.” He offered his hand. “United States Navy.”

  She shook it once, and dropped it. “You’re one of the men Virginia Clancy claims rescued her?” she asked in a voice more acerbic than admiring.

  Zane’s expression didn’t change. “That’s correct.”

  “I have some questions for you and your team.”

  “Of course. If you’ll follow me to the waiting room you can question Lieutenant Rawlings as well.”

  “We need to take this to the station.” The acidic bite in Meacham’s tone strengthened. “Legally the US military cannot, under Posse Comitatus, conduct law enforcement operations. You should have let the local PD handle the situation.”

  “We didn’t act beneath the umbrella of Naval Spec War,” Zane countered, without raising his voice. “We acted beneath the direction of Federal Agent John Chastain—Special Agent in Charge of Seattle’s Counterterrorism Division.”

  Detective Meacham flipped open her small notebook and glanced at a page of scribbled notes. “Agent Chastain, as in husband to Amy Chastain, a second kidnapping victim?”

  “That’s correct,” Zane confirmed, and raised an eyebrow.

  “And it didn’t occur to you to report the situation to an agency that could legally act? It didn’t occur to you that agent Chastain could be emotionally and mentally compromised—”

  “What occurred to us,” Zane broke in, his voice retaining its level flatness, “is that Agent Chastain would have contacted another agency if he’d felt he could trust them.”

  The detective scowled and flipped her notebook shut.

  “They saved Ginny’s life.” Beth reminded her. “As well as the lives of three children and Amy Chastain. Two of their team mates were wounded in the process.”

  Detective Meacham’s gaze shifted to Beth’s face. Her expression wasn’t tired any longer. It was irritated. Frustrated. “I’ve got a house in flames, apparently with multiple bodies inside. I’ve got another dead body in the woods and two gunshot victims in the OR. If they’d called the incident in, as they should have, perhaps the body count wouldn’t be so high.”

  Beth crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, holding those irritated eyes squarely. “Or perhaps you’d have two dead women, three dead children and no sign of the kidnappers.”

  A nurse approached them and cleared her throat. “This discussion needs to be taken elsewhere. Mrs. Clancy needs her rest.”

  With a small nod, Zane stepped back, obviously waiting for Detective Meacham to precede him down the hall. After a moment of hesitation, she strode off. Beth and Zane followed. When they reached the waiting room, Beth went to sit beside Marion.

  “The doctors are checking them out,” Marion said as Beth’s gaze settled on the vacant bench the Chastain boys had been sitting on. “I imagine they’ll go see their mother afterwards.”

  “How are you doing?” she asked Marion. “Do you want some coffee? Something to eat.”

  “I’m fine, dear.” Marion’s eyes drifted toward the steel doors to the ER.

  Beth’s gaze followed. “Has anyone updated you?”

  “Not yet. That’s good though, don’t you think? It means they’re concentrating on Marcus. On making him better.”

  That was one way of looking at it.

  Her attention shifted to the mouth of the waiting room. A second detective had joined Meacham beside Zane and Rawls. After several minutes of intense conversation, the two detectives walked away. Something told her they’d be back.

  As the minutes ticked by, Zane’s tension escalated. She could actually see it happen, see the anxiety cinch tighter and tighter until the corded muscles of his arms were clearly defined. A nerve twitched in his cheek. His tight silence and the tautness of his body illustrated how badly he was hurting. How much he dreaded the appearance of the surgeon and the words he seemed certain they would hear.

  Zane stepped away from the wall with a roll of his shoulders, and turned to say something to Rawls. He scanned the waiting room. She glanced away before their eyes made contact, but could feel his gaze settle on her for one long pulsing moment. He wouldn’t come over, though. Somehow she knew that. He’d give her the space she silently insisted upon.

  “Before things have a chance to develop, you back off. You claim you want a friendship that turns into love, but you break the relationship off before it has a chance to deepen.”

  Ginny’s words whispered through her mind. Sharp-tipped and shredding. Beth tried to shove them away, except… there was an uncomfortable ring of truth to them.

  And then there was Zane. She was the one pushing the relationship away.

  She bolstered herself with familiar arguments. Passion burned out. Her mother had been proof of that, as had her engagement to Brad. She wanted a relationship built on trust, on friendship—like what Ginny’s mother and father had.

  But the words rang hollow. Untrue. Instinctively, she sought Zane’s calm presence, only to find his back disappearing around the first bend in corridor. She jerked to her feet.

  “I’m going to talk to Zane,” she told Mrs. Simcosky.

  “It’s about time.” Marion managed a smile. “I was about to give up on you.”

  Zane came into view as she turned the first corner in the hall. He was simply standing there, hands loose at his side, staring at a door marked Authorized Personnel Only. Beth’s steps slowed. Maybe he wouldn’t appreciate her company. Maybe he wanted to be alone, to grieve in silence and solitude. But he looked so lonely stand
ing there.

  “I keep trying to imagine what it’s going to be like without the stubborn son of a bitch around,” he said without turning his head.

  She made a soft, hurting sound. He turned toward her, the movement smooth and coordinated. Even in his grief he retained that natural grace.

  His eyes were dry, but raw. Burning.

  Reaching out, she took his hand. “Maybe the wounds weren’t as severe as you think. They’re still operating on him, so he must still be alive. Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

  Zane shook his head. “He took two rounds to the back. They exited through his chest. It was a level four hemorrhage. He lost over half his blood volume. Nobody is capable of surviving such a massive blood loss.”

  She squeezed his hand. “He was alive when they took him into surgery. They would have given him blood immediately. There has to be a chance.”

  Zane shook his head again. “He bled it out, as fast as they put it in. Best case? Massive brain damage from lack of oxygen. Christ, Cosky would rather be dead than a vegetable.”

  For the first time Beth understood Zane and Rawls’ complete and utter lack of hope. Even if Marcus Simcosky survived, he’d still be lost to them.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Oh God, Zane. I’m so sorry.” The pressure in Beth’s chest swelled. She squeezed his hand and raised it to her lips, wishing there was some way she could comfort him. Ease the anguish burning in those grass-green eyes.

  He released a rough sound and reached for her.

  The kiss started out gentle. Comforting. The warm press of lips. The clasp of arms. A connection forged in grief and pain.

  Until his tongue surged past her lips to stroke the inside of her mouth. Arms tightened. Hearts accelerated. She caught his tongue with her teeth and suckled, his dark-chocolate taste exploding in her mouth. Lord, he felt perfect. More perfect than anyone ever before. Hard as concrete. Hot as a furnace with that smoky masculine scent so uniquely his own, intensifying as his skin warmed, until she felt steeped in his smell.

  With a soft, needy moan, her arms tightened around his waist and she pressed closer, wanting to climb inside his strong warm body. His mouth hardened and his arms convulsed, crushing her to him. He dropped his palms to the curves of her rear and cupped her, squeezing and releasing. Squeezing and releasing. Only to lift her with abrupt urgency, until he could rub the rigid bulge of his penis against her belly.