- -
- 100%
- +
This book is dedicated to:
Captain Joseph Giusti
Colonel Anthony Giusti
Colonel Glen Willoughby
My son, my husband, my father—my heroes!
The soldiers of the 101st Airborne Division
(Air Assault)
And all the brave men and women
in uniform who defend our nation.
God bless you for your service to our country.
Liz, Mary Katie, Eric and Anna
For your love and support.
Darlene Buchholz, Annie Oortman,
Dianna Snell, Sharon Yanish and Connie Gillam
Thank you!
My editor Jessica Alvarez
And my agent Deidre Knight
For your guidance and wise counsel.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EPILOGUE
ONE
Not what he expected.
Captain Jude Walker fingered the scrap of paper and, once again, glanced at the address Nicole had sent him—114 Rosemont Avenue.
It’d been seven days since the 101st Airborne had redeployed home from the Middle East, and this was his first opportunity to leave Fort Campbell. The last mandatory reintegration briefing had ended at noon. He’d signed out on two-weeks’ leave, climbed into his pickup and headed to Atlanta. Four hours later here he sat on Rosemont.
Tension tightened his shoulders, and a wave of anxiety rolled through his gut. He felt as if he was in a combat zone instead of this residential city street. It was probably the worry that had eaten at him for a month or so.
Why had Nicole stopped answering his e-mails? A glitch with her Internet provider, or so she’d claimed over the phone. The last time they’d talked, she assured him her system would be back online within a day or two.
He would have believed her except for the apprehension he’d heard in her voice.
“What’s wrong, Nicole?”
“Nothing, baby. Everything’s gonna be fine.”
Three days later, a lone message appeared in his inbox, compounding his unease. “Don’t try to find me.”
Then her phone had been disconnected….
Almost five weeks and nary a word.
His military training had taught him to plan for the worst-case scenario. He’d called every hospital in the Atlanta area, just in case. The long-distance charge had been worth his peace of mind. No one named Nicole Valentine had been admitted to a medical facility in the metro area.
The police had been less than forthcoming, except to assure Jude a missing persons report had not been submitted in her name.
Foolish as it seemed, Jude had talked himself into believing she’d be waiting for him when his plane touched down at Fort Campbell. A crowd of exuberant well-wishers swarmed the tarmac, waving American flags and screaming with joy as he and his men deplaned. He searched the crowd but never found Nicole.
Standing alone when every other man had someone to wrap his arms around had been worse than marching into battle. The sense of emptiness haunted him still.
Jude let out a breath of frustration. Had he read too much into their chance meeting in Atlanta? Without a family to go home to and knowing he’d be assigned to Atlanta’s Fort McPherson shortly after his thirteen-months’ deployment was over, Jude had chosen the city as a good spot to visit over R&R in the middle of his stint. Meeting Nicole had been a plus he’d never expected.
The two weeks passed quickly as they got to know each other. Nicole seemed enthusiastic about their relationship until he happened to mention the possibility of a future together.
“Gotta live in the moment,” she quipped when the subject came up. “Besides, you don’t know me. You don’t know who I really am.”
“I know enough,” he assured her. But the truth was, he didn’t know anything about Nicole except she’d been staying at the same hotel. Unusual, yes, since she lived in Atlanta. A minivacation without leaving town, she claimed.
At that point he’d been too taken in by her warm smile and twinkling eyes to question anything.
But now, after being deployed for thirteen months, the last thing he needed was rejection. Surely everything would work out once they were together again.
And what about her e-mail that warned him not to try to find her? Merely anxiety on her part about reconnecting after six months? At least that’s what he kept telling himself.
Bracing for whatever would unfold, Jude grabbed his beret and stepped onto the pavement, wishing he’d taken time to change into civilian clothes. Hopefully, she’d be glad to see him, no matter what he was wearing.
Slamming the truck door, he glanced down Rosemont. An older neighborhood. At one time, probably prime real estate, now slightly in need of repair.
One-fourteen sat back from the road. A three-story rambling brick complete with a sprawling porch, two white wicker rockers and a pot of yellow pansies that waved a greeting as he neared. He imagined Nicole sitting in the rocker, awaiting his return.
Jude had faced combat, had known the caustic taste of bile that churned in his gut when danger needed to be faced. Not that he gave the fear control, but it was a presence, a shadow that hovered over any battlefield. Today he felt that same shadow float over him as the late-February sun slipped momentarily behind a dark and angry cloud.
An omen? Something Jude didn’t believe in. A man controlled his destiny by the way he lived his life.
Still, he wasn’t sure what he’d find on the other side of the door. The Nicole he’d met on R&R? Or a woman who had turned her back on the memory of their two weeks together?
Pulling in a calming breath, Jude walked toward the house. It’d been six months since they’d been together. Seemed like an eternity.
Sarah Montgomery cradled the phone on her shoulder, trying to keep the frustration from her voice. No reason for the head of the Caring Heart Foundation to know she was angry.
“Sir, I wasn’t meddling. As acting director of Hope House, I was merely reviewing the records. When the figures didn’t add up, I decided to dig a little deeper.”
“You should have alerted me immediately, Sarah.” Winton Cunningham’s voice was stern.
“That’s exactly what I am doing. Cynthia is due back at the end of the month. I wanted to ensure there were no problems before she returns.”
Winton sighed. “Look, Sarah, the board appreciates the job you’ve done filling in as temporary director these past six months, but there’s no reason to delve into money issues. We have credible people at the foundation who handle the finances. They do an outstanding job, and I trust their integrity.”
“I wasn’t implying—”
“Of course you weren’t. But you must realize the stress everyone is under. Contributions are down, and the foundation’s trying to hold Hope House together.”
“Aren’t you overexaggerating the situation?”
“Unfortunately, no. If a couple of our major contributors get wind of mismanaged funds, even if the story is unfounded—” Winton sniffed “—the consequences would be devastating. I’d hate to see Hope House close its doors because of a simple accounting error. So, you tend to the kids and let the foundation handle the money. Understand?”
Sarah’s cheeks burned from the chastisement. “Of course.”
“No need to mention this to the other board members tomorrow night at the Charity Ball. I don’t want to spoil their evening. Plus, the last thing we need is bad PR. You know how the press loves to stick its nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“I hadn’t planned to talk to anyone else about the situation, sir.”
“Excellent. After dinner I’ll invite you to the stage for the presentation. Accept the donation, then say a few words to the contributors.”
“I understand.”
“What about the application for the orphanage referral position? Have you submitted your paperwork?”
“It’s in the mail.” Sarah hesitated. “If the donations are down, won’t that affect the project in South America?”
“Not at all. My wife, Elena, still has family in Colombia where she was raised. They’re funding the project and insist their contributions remain separate from Hope House’s resources. No matter what happens in Atlanta, they want the orphanage referral agency established so more South American children can be adopted by American families. Bottom line, the program will remain on schedule.”
The stability of the Colombian project didn’t make Sarah feel any better. As acting director of Hope House, her first priority was the kids in Atlanta.
She hung up the phone and sighed. If she hadn’t noticed the discrepancy—
Well, she had noticed and look where it had gotten her. On the losing end of a verbal squabble with Mr. Cunningham.
The sound of a car door slamming pulled her from her thoughts. Shoving the curtain aside, she peered through her office window at the man in uniform walking purposefully toward the house.
Not the usual visitor by a long shot, with his black army beret angled over his forehead, squared shoulders and a determined look plastered on his chiseled face.
She tucked the curtain back in place as three knocks resounded though the house.
“Patience is a virtue,” she muttered as a second repetition echoed like machine-gun fire. Obviously, the man didn’t like to be kept waiting.
Stepping into the foyer, Sarah opened the front door to the extent of the chain lock and regarded the visitor.
Crystal-blue eyes, straw-blond hair cut in a military buzz.
When he turned those blue eyes toward her, a feeling stirred deep within her. She swallowed, having difficulty finding her voice.
Not what she needed at this point in her life. Get a grip, Sarah.
“May I help you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Polite. She’d give him that much. Probably six-two, he had a thick neck, broad shoulders and biceps that bulged beneath the digital pattern of his uniform.
He glanced down at a photograph he clutched in his hand and held it up to where she could see the woman’s image. Expressive round eyes, slender nose, shoulder-length black hair framing an oval face.
“Ma’am, I’m looking for Nicole Valentine.”
No doubt the person in the photo. Sarah raised a questioning brow. “And you came here because…?”
He let out a quick breath. “One-fourteen Rosemont. That is your address, isn’t it?”
“That’s right, but—”
“Nicole Valentine lives here,” he stated before Sarah could continue. Then he paused, probably noticing the perplexed expression on her face. “I just returned from the Middle East. Nicole and I…” He glanced again at the photo. “You see, ma’am, she sent me this address.”
Sarah could read people, and everything about the man standing on her front porch said he was legit. Maybe a little mixed up as to where his girlfriend lived, but the guy didn’t seem to pose a threat to either Sarah or the kids at the shelter.
“Just a minute.” She slipped off the chain lock, opened the door wide and walked onto the porch.
He took a step back. Had she crowded him?
“Look, Major—”
His gaze warmed momentarily. “Hate to turn down a promotion, but it’s captain, ma’am. Captain Jude Walker.”
She nodded and tried to offer him what she realized must have seemed a halfhearted smile. But she did have work to do and kids to take care of, so…
“Captain Walker.”
“Call me Jude, ma’am.”
“And I’m Sarah Montgomery.” The guy seemed sweet in a rugged sort of way, like a cocker spaniel in a rottweiler body.
“I’m afraid you have the wrong address, Jude. This is a shelter for teens. Your girlfriend doesn’t live here.”
“But—”
He hadn’t corrected her when she called the beautiful woman his girlfriend. For half a heartbeat, Sarah envied the woman in the photo.
“A teen shelter? Are you sure?”
His question sounded like one the kids would ask. “Yes, I am sure, Captain. I’m well aware of who finds lodging within this house.”
He tilted his head, a flash of irritation evident in his eyes.
She’d been too abrupt. Sarah sighed. Despite the phone call with Winton Cunningham and the financial reports that didn’t add up, this man—this Jude Walker—deserved a few minutes of her time.
“Look, I’m sorry. That was harsh. It’s been a rough day and…”
She stopped her explanation. No reason to tell the captain about the problem she’d uncovered.
Reaching for the picture, she gave it a long look. “What’d you say her name was?”
“Nicole Valentine.”
A memory niggled at the back of Sarah’s mind.
She glanced into his blue eyes, now hooded, as if her hasty comment had lowered a shield over the open heart he’d exposed earlier.
“Why don’t you sit down for a minute?” She pointed to the wicker rocker. “I’ll check the roster. I’ve worked here for about six months. Seems to me when I first arrived there was a girl named Valentine.”
A flicker of hope flashed over his face. “Thank you, ma’am.”
His sincerity touched her.
She started to step inside and then hesitated, noting the way he sighed with relief as he settled his body into the rocker.
“How long have you been back in the States?”
The sun played over his haunting eyes, and for the first time she saw the fatigue that lined his face.
“Seven days.” He stretched his legs out in front of him.
How had all that length of man managed to stay contained in the crowded seat of an airliner for the long trip back from overseas?
“I don’t know if anyone’s told you yet, but a lot of people in the United States appreciate what the military’s doing.”
“Just doing my job, ma’am.”
Sure. The world could use more Jude Walkers.
“Give me a minute to look up those records.”
She stepped into the house’s warm interior and pulled the door shut behind her. For a moment she leaned against the hardwood frame. Something about the man tugged at her heart.
The accounting problems could wait. She’d give the captain a few minutes of her time before she sent him on his way. That was the least he deserved.
Jude tapped his foot and let out a frustrated breath. He appreciated the shelter worker’s help, but he had expected Nicole to be the woman answering the door.
Not Sarah Montgomery.
Tall and fair-skinned with golden-brown hair. Around thirty. His age or a year or two younger. For all her attempts to be authoritative, she missed the mark. Compassion was what he saw staring back at him from her green eyes.
He scanned the sleepy neighborhood of older homes. Seemed like a safe environment. Not a bombed-out hovel in the lot of them. No bullet-scarred walls, no worry of land mines or IEDs or rocket launchers in enemy hands.
Hardly seemed to warrant a shelter.
Yet every city had areas where bad things happened. Inner-city crime. Street drugs. He may have been deployed for thirteen months but the facts of life remained. Every country had its problems.
Why had Nicole given him this address? Nothing made sense.
Jude glanced at his watch.
What was keeping Ms. Montgomery? Maybe she was calling the police and telling them about the weird guy in a rumpled uniform who had taken up residence on her front step.
A dull thud pounded in the deep recesses of his brain. Chalk it up to the worry that continued to eat at his gut.
Jude closed his eyes and thought of the way the dimples in the corners of Nicole’s cheeks appeared when she laughed.
They had laughed so much. Deep, turn-your-world-topsy-turvy laughter that wiped away the past and gave him hope for the days ahead. Days he wanted to spend with Nicole.
The door creaked. He rose as Sarah stepped onto the porch.
“I checked the overnight log. A young woman named Viki Valentine stayed here for a couple weeks, six months ago. She left just a few days after I arrived.”
“But what about Nicole? Perhaps she was a volunteer?”
“Not in the last six months.”
Jude sighed. Nicole had mentioned a younger sister, although he couldn’t remember her name. As much as he hated to think of someone in Nicole’s family ending up in a shelter for wayward teens, even good kids made bad decisions that got them in trouble. “Do you know where I can find Viki?”
Sarah shook her head. “I’m afraid she left without telling anyone.”
“You must keep records,” Jude pushed.
“Of course, but only if the kids give us information.”
The breeze blew a strand of hair across Sarah’s cheek. She tugged it back into place and tilted her head as she stared back at him. “You’ve got to understand, Jude. Usually the kids who stay here have no place else to go. They run away from a bad life at home and run into a worse situation on the street.”
“You’re saying this Viki Valentine came from a troubled home?”
“More than likely. And for whatever reason, she didn’t want to accept the help we offered.”
“Any idea where I should start looking for her?”
Sarah hesitated, her face clouding for an instant. “Viki may have gone back to where we find a lot of the girls,” she finally said. “The area’s about six blocks from here. Head to Moreland Avenue and go south. At the fourth light make a right. You’ll see a series of run-down motels. Some of the girls work the streets in that area.”
“Work the streets?”
“That’s right. Like so many of the girls we rescue, Viki Valentine is a prostitute.”
TWO
A streetlight glowed in the cold night air, throwing shadows across the faces of the people Jude passed. An empty cigarette pack littered the sidewalk along with fast-food wrappers and the want-ad section of the newspaper, all strewn like rubble across the cracked cement.
Rap music blasted a message of violence and despair from the stream of motorists who cruised the streets, looking for…?
Jude could only imagine.
A plastic bag of powder? Enough crank or ice or speed to drown out the reality of life on the street.
And what was Jude looking for? He’d pounded the pavement for hours, lost in his own world of unanswered questions. Did he really think he could find Nicole?
She was probably far from this area of unfulfilled dreams, living the good life that didn’t include an army guy she’d met by chance at a coffee shop six months ago.
He let out an aggravated breath. Had he deluded himself, thinking fate had brought them together?
Nicole’s take had been less romantic and more realistic.
“Baby, it’s just that our paths crossed for a moment in time.”
And then she’d moved on?
Is that why she’d given him the wrong address?
And what about her e-mail and disconnected phone service? Surely that was overkill.
Unless she was running away. From what?
A two-week relationship filled with the promise of developing into something more?
Jude tugged at his Windbreaker. The temperature had dropped significantly with the setting sun.
At least he’d changed into civilian clothes. No reason to advertise he was military. Plus he doubted people would be forthcoming talking to a man in uniform.
Up ahead two women leaned against a brick storefront, the display window covered in a protective web of wrought iron.
The taller of the two tapped her boots to ward off the cold, the tasseled suede covering more leg than the miniskirt that stopped midthigh. The other stood on red stiletto heels, legs wrapped in fishnet stockings. A thin slip of a dress hung on her bony body. She clutched a denim jacket around her shoulders and shivered in the night air.
Couldn’t be more than fifteen. Pretty mocha face. Shoulder-length hair. Big eyes that turned as Jude approached.
Someone Sarah needed to take home to her shelter.
A late-model sedan pulled to the curb. Two guys, wearing sport coats and ties. The front-passenger window lowered.
Jude fisted his hands and hustled forward, realizing what the men were hoping to buy.
Not the young one.
The older woman climbed into the rear seat, and the car sped away into the night.
The girl left behind stared at Jude.
He dug in his back pocket and fished out his wallet. The least he could do was help. Palming three twenties, he cautiously approached the teen.
Doubtful she’d take the money without encouragement. Maybe he could trade for information.
“Miss?” Jude pulled Nicole’s picture from his pocket. “I’m looking for someone.” The girl glanced nonchalantly at the photo he held up to her.
Jude fingered the bills. “Have you ever seen this woman? Or someone named Viki Valentine?”
A flicker of recognition swept over her face.
“Do you know Viki?”
The girl grabbed the twenties. “Why you want Viki when you can have me? I be nice to you.” She pushed off the brick wall and wiggled toward him. “First time you pick up a girl?”
Jude took a step back. “Look, miss, I’m not interested in buying anything from you except some information. Do you know where I can find Viki Valentine?”
The girl’s eyes swept past Jude, her face caught in a pulse of light. A car door slammed. Jude glanced over his shoulder and squinted into the bright glare.
With a flash of motion, the young woman raced around the corner.
A police officer stepped onto the sidewalk. “Hold it right there, sir.”
The officer mumbled something into the radio on his shoulder. The dispatcher squawked a reply.
Jude raised his right hand, palm out. “I was just talking to the girl.”
“You gave her money.”
“So she could get off the street and find a motel room.” Bad choice of words. “You’ve got it all wrong, Officer. I wasn’t making a buy or trying to pick up the girl. Besides, she couldn’t be more than fifteen.”
“Since when’s that stopped anyone?” Sarcasm was evident in the cop’s voice. “Step to the car, sir. Put your hands on the hood.”
“What?” The cop wasn’t interested in Jude’s side of the story. “I’m a captain in the army. I’ve been overseas for the last—”
“Lonely and lookin’ for a woman, eh?”
“Actually, I am looking for a friend of mine.”
“Friend or not, solicitation’s against the law. Now, spread your legs, hands on the hood.”
“Solicitation?” Jude let out an exasperated breath. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand you’ll be cited with resisting arrest if you don’t move. Now, buddy.”
How had he gotten into this mess?
Jude clamped down on his jaw and held his anger in check as the cop patted him down. Arms, torso, both legs.
“Put your hands behind your back.”
“Officer, this is entirely unnecessary,” Jude said.
Cold steel cuffs snapped around his wrists. The night had gone from bad to worse.
On the opposite side of the street, a utility van pulled to the curb. The driver’s door opened and a black man—probably six-four, three hundred pounds, gold ring hanging from his left earlobe—dodged the traffic and hustled toward them.
“Yo, Brian, my man. What’s up?” The big guy high-fived the cop.
“Another john. Claims he was merely talking.”
The newcomer eyed Jude. “What are you doing, boy? I told you we work outta the van. Last thing you want is to scare off the ladies.”
Jude gave the guy a long, hard look. Who was he?