Page 44 of Renegade
Chapter Twelve
Walker
Dr. Morris’s house is on a quiet, tree-lined street in an unassuming neighborhood just south of San Francisco. I kill the engine on the bike but wait for Gemma to get off first for the sheer pleasure of looking at her ass in the tight jeans she’s wearing. I could have turned in the bike when I went to pick up the accessories for tonight’s play/training session with Gemma, armed with Cooper’s shopping list, but I decided to keep it for the rest of the time we’re here. I like the feel of Gemma’s body behind me on the bike.
Hell. I just like the feel of Gemma’s body. Writhing under me, riding me, wriggling on the bed as I smack her ass or push my cock into her wet heat, curled up next to me, as if I’m her port in a raging storm. I shake my head. Fuck. I’ve got to stop thinking about Gemma, although after last night, that’s going to be next to impossible for the next fifty years or so. But this morning, she made it absolutely clear that us havingsex was a onetime thing, and that what she wants is Declan. I’ve done my best to convince her that he isn’t right for her, that being submissive isn’t right for her. But I’m starting to wonder. She’s been so responsive to everything I’ve done to her. I shake my head. It’s time to concede defeat. We’ll find out what Dr. Morris’s family knows, go to the club, and then I’ll send her back to Charleston and Declan. And then I’ll deal with the fallout on my own.
An older, still-attractive woman in her mid-fifties answers the door. She looks at me apprehensively as we introduce ourselves, but Gemma’s presence seems to put her at ease. Five minutes later, we’re sitting in her cheery yellow kitchen along with her son and daughter-in-law, drinking tea mixed with honey. The woman, whose name is Connie, still seems slightly leery of me, so I decide to let Gemma take the lead. After nine years of friendship, she can read my cues as easily as one of my SEAL brothers, and she dives right in without hesitation.
“I’m so sorry to hear about your husband,” she says, the sincerity evident in her voice. “I only met him that one time, but he seemed like a wonderful person. Losing him so tragically had to have been such a shock. A devastating one.”
“Yes,” Connie says quietly. “To have survived being held hostage in Afghanistan, saved in a dramatic rescue attempt that cost your friend’s brother his life, only to die in a freak car accident weeks later.” She shakes her head as her daughter-in-law covers her hand. “I can’t quite understand the cruelty of fate.”
Gemma doesn’t say anything, and I nudge her leg under the table. She looks up at me, and I see her eyes are shimmering with tears. Oh, fuck. Gemma’s always had too soft a heart for her own good. I’m going to have to step in.
“I understand Ms. Ward told you that Liam Prescott, the SEAL who led the attack on the terrorists who captured your husband, is being considered for the Navy Cross award for his bravery in rescuing your husband, and that I’m making the final decision?” I look to Dr. Morris’s widow for confirmation, and she nods. I wink at Gemma, proud of myself for acknowledging her lie while not actually agreeing with it. She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling now, the tears gone for the moment. Mission accomplished.
“Yes. I don’t know anything more that I haven’t told everyone else, but I’m happy to tell you again.”
“Everyone else?”
She sighs heavily. “The reporters, the embassy representatives, the CIA…I tell them all the same thing.”
“The CIA?” What the hell would the CIA be talking to Dr. Morris’s widow about? The woman’s face becomes shuttered, and Gemma shoots me a warning glance.
“I’m sure it’s been difficult,” she says soothingly to the older woman. “You don’t have to tell us anything you’re not comfortable with.”
What the fuck? Like hell she doesn’t. That’s why we’re here.
Gemma continues without giving me a second glance. “It’s just…” She pauses, looks down at her lap, and takes a deep breath before meeting Connie’s gaze steadily. “McKenzie—that’s my best friend who came with me to meet your husband shortly after he returned to the States—she’s been pretty broken up about the death of her brother. Her parents both died a few years ago, and she and Liam were especially close. It’s hard to lose that one person who connects with you on every level and whom you love more than anything—whether it’s a husband or a brother, or someone else.” Gemma’s voice wavers. She takes a minute to collect herself and then continues resolutely, “That’s why we’re here. Not to bother you or cause you pain. But because having Liam’s story told, and seeing him honored for his bravery by the organization that he sacrificed his life for, will heal her soul just a little.”
Gemma deserves a fucking Oscar for that performance, but the bitch of it is, she means every word of it. Her compassion is the real deal. Connie’s eyes are shimmering with tears, and she says, “She’s lucky to have you. To be honest, I wouldn’t have agreed to this meeting if I hadn’t already met you when Mr. Prescott’s sister came to see Steve. But Liam Prescott saved my husband’s life. The least I can do is give his sister something to hold on to for that.” She turns to me. “What do you want to know?”
“Why don’t you just walk me through what happened? What your husband told you about the rescue.”
Connie nods. “My husband has a big heart.” She swallows hard. “Had. I’m sorry. We were married for thirty years. It’s hard to get used to him being gone.” She takes a deep breath and continues. “All he ever wanted was to heal and help people. It was the reason he became a doctor. And the poorer and more helpless the people, the more driven he was to help. He felt strongly that people in poor or war-torn countries shouldn’t have to suffer and not get the care they needed. He had a very lucrative career as a trauma surgeon here in the Bay Area at UCSF Medical Center, but every year, he would take time off to go to Mexico, providing medical care for the poor and disadvantaged. He started a clinic there that we still fund.
“But about a year ago, he felt called to do something more. Early retirement had left him with too much time on his hands, and we were watching the news one evening about what was going on in the Middle East. He looked at me and said, ‘They need me there.’ A few months later, he left to join a group that was setting up a hospital in a war-torn area of Afghanistan. We both knew the dangers. Afghanistan is the most dangerous country in the world for doctors, relief workers, and other humanitarians. But Steve had been doing this for so long, I don’t think either one of us thought anything would really happen.
“Then I got the call that he had been kidnapped by Taliban militants. The U.S. government got involved, but they moved at a snail’s pace, and they told me very little,” she adds bitterly. “I didn’t know they had sent in a special forces team to rescue him until I got a phone call from him telling me he was okay and on his way home.”
I frown. There’s something that doesn’t add up. While Dr. Morris sounds like a wonderful humanitarian, the U.S. government doesn’t typically send a highly trained special forces team to rescue a run-of-the-mill aid worker. But I know I can’t tell her that. Still, there has to be more she’s not telling us. Someone in a high position wanted Dr. Morris rescued, but why? Could it have something to do with his work in Mexico? I open my mouth to speak, but Gemma’s shoe stomping on mine under the table has me biting my tongue.
She turns her attention to Dr. Morris’s wife and smiles. “Go on.”
“There was a roadside ambush when he was traveling to the hospital. He and an Afghan doctor who also worked at the hospital were taken hostage by the Haqqani network, a Taliban-aligned group that commands the highland area near the Afghanistan and Pakistan border. The other doctor was sold for a ransom. They kept Steve. He said they treated him reasonably well, but he had no illusions that the U.S. would save him. He was a nobody, really, and the U.S. is adamant that they don’t negotiate with terrorists.”
I’ve let Gemma pussyfoot around enough. I need answers.
“Unfortunately, your husband was right,” I interject. “It’s not typical for the U.S. to send in special forces to save hostages, especially ones that aren’t high-ranking military officials or valuable to them in some way. Can you think of any reason your husband would have been valuable to the U.S. government?”
She shakes her head. “He was just an idealistic doctor who wanted to help people.”
“Tell us about Liam saving your husband,” Gemma prods.
“According to Steve, the terrorists kept him in the same location for several months, but then they suddenly moved him across the border to Pakistan. The next day, a special operations team stormed into the mud hut where Steve was being kept. The militants fired on the soldiers, and they fired back. Your friend’s brother was shot. Steve tried to help him—he’d been shot in the stomach—but then someone threw an explosive into the room and he told Steve to get out while he could. Steve went to tell one of the soldiers to go back for your friend’s brother, but before they could get to him, the whole hut blew up.”
I rake my hand over my face, trying to mask my frustration. I was fucking there. She’s not telling me anything I don’t already know. I take a deep breath and, taking a page from Gemma’s book, try to remember I’m dealing with an emotionally fragile woman and not a terrorist. And that I’m supposed to be evaluating Liam for an award.
