Familiar Stranger. Sharon Sala
as she sat with her hands clenched tightly in her lap.
“Why didn’t you come home then? Why did you let me…let everyone…think you were dead?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Hell…I felt dead, I guess I was just waiting for my body to catch up with my mind. Only thing was, Uncle Sam beat me to it.”
“I don’t understand.”
He hesitated, trying to figure out exactly what he could say without giving too much away.
“I can’t tell you everything,” he said. “But I got recruited by a Special Forces unit and became involved in some covert missions for the government. One thing led to another and now, let’s just say that my years with Uncle Sam are coming to an end.”
“Are you telling me you became a spy?”
“Don’t ask me anything more, honey…please. I’ve already said more than I should have.”
“My God,” Cara muttered. She stared down at the unopened letters in her lap and then covered her face with her hands.
David dropped to his knees and took her hands in his.
“Cara?”
Forced to look at him, she realized that, for the first time, she was really seeing the man—and his secrets—and his scars.
“Why did you come back? Why now, after all these years?”
He hesitated again, still carefully choosing his answers.
“Because I needed to make peace with myself and with you. I needed to look you in the face and tell you that when I left for Vietnam, I had every intention of coming back and making a life with you. I couldn’t go to my grave knowing you still believed I’d walked out on you, leaving you pregnant to raise our baby on your own. I swear to God, Cara, I would never have done that to you. I loved you.”
“What do you mean, go to your grave? Are you ill?”
He slid into the seat beside her, reaching for her hands.
“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m fine.”
Cara looked down at his hands, so gently worrying the knuckles of her fingers, wondering if it was safe to give so much of herself away. And then she shoved the worry away. They’d already lost too many precious years. Whatever he had to give her, she was willing to take.
“What are your plans?” she asked. “I mean…can you stay awhile? Maybe a few days? I want to show you things…and oh, David, you have to stay and meet Bethany. She and her family are on vacation, but they’ll be back at the end of the week. Five or six days. You can stay that long…can’t you?”
He heard himself answering and knew he was making a mistake, but there was no way he was going to lose her again, at least not yet. There was every reason to believe that his final showdown with Frank could be his last. He didn’t want to give Cara false hope, but on the other hand, he couldn’t deny himself this little bit of heaven.
“Yes. I’ll stay. At least for a while.”
For the first time in a very long while, Cara felt a sense of anticipation.
“Are you hungry? I was coming in the house to make myself some lunch when I heard you arrive.”
The lilt in her voice only deepened his guilt, but he found himself agreeing. “That sounds good. I can’t remember when I last shared a meal with anyone.”
Cara pulled out of his embrace. “Can’t remember when you last shared a meal? My God, David, what kind of life have you been living?”
“You don’t want to know.”
It was the dripping faucet in this excuse for a kitchen that finally sent Frank over the edge. He picked up a pan and began hammering on the fixture until it broke off in the sink. Water shot up like a geyser, spraying the ceiling and cabinets alike. A string of virulent curses filled the air as he reached for the shut-off valve beneath the sink. Finally, the water ceased to flow and Frank was left with a bigger mess than before he’d started. But it wasn’t the condition of his decrepit hideout that was pushing his buttons. It was the fact that, once again, he had failed to reach his goal. The water pooled around his pant legs as he leaned back against the cabinets and closed his eyes. He’d been close, so close.
He’d seen the stealth chopper coming in and knew in his bones it was David. Who else would have access to such state-of-the-art military equipment but the infamous Jonah?
As he thought of David, the muscles in his wounded shoulder gave a twinge and he shifted, easing his back to a more comfortable position against the cabinets. It was nothing but a flesh wound. He’d had worse. And the wound on his ear was almost well, too, although it would never be the same. Then he ran his hands through his hair in mute frustration, absently fingering the ancient burn scars on the side of his face. Hell, nothing had been the same since the day his own brother tried to burn him alive.
Disgusted with the mess in which he was standing, he went to the phone to call the manager to fix the sink. It didn’t occur to him that, like the sink, all of his troubles stemmed from something he’d done, rather than something that had been done to him. Afterward, he strode into the bedroom to change his clothes, absently stepping on a cockroach as he went. As he crossed the threshold, he caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked and dusty mirror across the room and froze. In that moment, he saw himself as others saw him, a tall and aging man with a glass eye and a bitter expression. His gray, thinning hair was brushed back, baring his scarred face for anyone who chose to look. Oddly enough, the look seemed to appeal to a certain type of woman, although he rarely took advantage of the fact. He still mourned his beloved Martha, his wife of so many years.
As he thought of her, pain shafted. He turned away, moving to the closet to get a fresh change of clothes. As soon as his shoulder was better, he was going after David himself. No more trying to get to him through the agents who worked under him. He was tired of this game. He wanted it over.
He dressed quickly, his mind shifting from one scenario to another, imagining the pleasure of watching the life drain out of David’s body. There was no future for him beyond that fact. His daughter had ceased to exist for him when she’d defected to the other side by falling in love with one of the agents. If only Martha was still alive. She’d been his reason for living. Then he blanked out the thought. There would be time later to wallow in memories. Right now, he had murder on his mind.
Night had come when Cara wasn’t looking. One minute she was cleaning up their supper dishes and tidying the living room and the next thing she knew it was dark. The idea of sleeping under the same roof with David Wilson was almost frightening. She’d known the boy, but she didn’t know this dark, brooding man. Then she reminded herself that his persona hadn’t bothered her enough to stop her from making love to him in her hall. Surely they could sleep beneath the same roof without incident. It wasn’t like he was going to murder her in her bed.
And the moment she thought it, her sanity took a hike. He’d all but said he was a spy. Spies killed people. Then she shook off the thought. He’d also been a soldier, and they killed people, too. It didn’t make them heinous. It made them heroes.
Having settled that in her mind, she began to rearrange the magazines on the coffee table, unaware that David was watching her from the doorway. It wasn’t until she straightened and started to leave that she saw him standing in the shadows.
“Oh! David! You startled me.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“Was there something you needed?” she asked.
Yes, my life back…with you. “Not really. I was just watching you, thinking how very beautiful you are.”
“I’m a middle-aged grandmother,” she muttered, and gave the coffee table a final swipe with her dust cloth.
“With a damned fine body and a face that could still break