High-Stakes Holiday Reunion. Christy Barritt
She closed the door just as the man in black exited the hardware store.
She was going to get away, she realized.
But her heartbeat didn’t slow as she wondered if her brother and nephew would be so fortunate.
* * *
Christopher Jordan ran a hand over his face, weariness from a long, hard week of work compounding until a pulsing headache thumped at the back of his head. He’d worked too late—again. Now darkness surrounded his car as he drove the hour back to his house.
He really should buy a place closer to work. But this house had lots of memories for him, and he couldn’t give those up yet. He needed those memories now. He needed good memories to push out all of the bad ones.
He turned off the highway, and the streets became quieter, darker. Just like his soul, he thought. Ever since he returned from war, he hadn’t felt like himself.
Just how was he going to remedy that?
Good memories, he thought. He just needed to hold on to the good. That, along with his faith in God, would help to pull him through his inner turmoil.
Finally, he turned onto his street. All he could think about was getting home for the weekend, being alone and not doing anything for as long as humanly possible—which meant until Monday came and it was back to work again.
He knew his stress was from more than just his work. He’d only been back from the Middle East for three months, and memories of the place still haunted him. Every night, nightmares jolted him awake. Too many images stained his mind. It seemed as if they’d been imprinted on his soul, and for the rest of his life he’d carry the burden of his time deployed.
He’d gotten out of the military, taken a job as a training specialist at the private security contracting firm Iron, Incorporated, also known as Eyes. He taught tactical training, such as sharpshooting and use of force to law-enforcement groups that came to Eyes for instruction. Eyes worked with both local law-enforcement communities, as well as the Department of Defense, in training personnel, developing programs and equipment, and for other special assignments.
He’d taken the job in hopes of repairing some of the damage his psyche had suffered. He’d thought he was stronger than all of this. But the deaths of those around him had begun to take their toll on him, and now he wondered if he’d ever be the same.
He’d poured himself into work at his new job, hoping to erase the pain. But it was always there, cold and achy and throbbing.
The two-story house that his grandfather had left to him came into view. The place was out in the middle of nowhere. Some would call it isolated. Christopher called it breathing room. He slowed as he turned into his driveway, his headlights skimming the front of the house.
His foot pressed on the brakes. Was that something on his porch? In his rocking chair?
In the dark, he could hardly tell. Something was out of place, but whatever was on the rocking chair only appeared to be a shadow.
He should have left the porch light on, he supposed, but he hadn’t thought about it when he left home this morning. Now all of his instincts were on alert. Could it have to do with his SEAL team bringing down the leader of that terrorist group? Had their names been leaked? They’d all be logical targets in the aftermath of the terrorist group’s demise.
But especially Christopher. He’d been the one to pull the trigger.
He reached under the front seat and pulled out the gun he kept there. He carried it with him at all times as a part of his job.
Slowly, cautiously, he got out of his car. Yes, there was definitely something on his porch. Or was it...someone?
He crept toward the steps. The bitter cold air filled his lungs, heightening his awareness even more. Who would be hanging out on his porch at night? Had one of the terrorists found him?
With his other hand, he fingered the phone in his pocket. Should he call for backup? No, not yet. They’d only think he was paranoid, only push him harder to get more counseling for PTSD. The last thing this soldier wanted to do was talk about his feelings, especially with a stranger.
He scanned the usually welcoming porch again. The railing still looked intact. Even the strands of evergreen that he’d draped there, complete with red Christmas bows, were in place. He didn’t see anyone lurking behind the bushes or peeking around the corner of the house.
With the skill of a trained fighter, he climbed the steps, his gun pointed at the figure on his porch. He couldn’t see a face. The person appeared to be hiding underneath a coat—arms, legs, face and all.
He cocked his gun, all of his instincts on alert, each of his muscles poised for action. “You have three seconds to show yourself before I fire.”
The figure flinched, and a mad fluttering of limbs ensued. Finally, a head popped up. Familiar eyes stared at him, wide with fear. The facts hit him one by one. Honey-blond hair. Oval face. Slim build. He couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but he instinctively knew they were blue.
The woman raised a slender hand. “Please, don’t shoot. It’s me.” Her voice sounded soft, lyrical—and desperate.
“Ashley?” He lowered his gun, disbelief washing over him. It couldn’t be. No, not Ashley. Not his ex-fiancée, the woman whose heart he’d broken when he’d called off their engagement. Their parting had been one of the most painful conversations he’d ever had, and still when he thought about it today, an ache formed in his chest. He’d had to make a decision between his career or a family. His country had needed him, so he’d chosen his career. He tried to live without regret; he thought he was stronger than that. But whenever he allowed himself to think about Ashley, regret was the very emotion that tried to creep into his mind. He’d loved that woman at one time. Times had changed, though; he had changed.
She nodded slowly, raw emotion lining her eyes. She pulled the white, wool coat around her more tightly as the wind picked up again, sweeping dry leaves across the porch. The sound tightened his nerves.
“Christopher.”
Instinctively, he stepped closer. He’d both dreamed and had nightmares about this moment for so long. During those dark moments on the battlefield, he’d wondered what it would be like to see Ashley again.
And never had he imagined it like this. Not him with a gun in his hand and her with a look of absolute vulnerability straining each of her lovely features. No, in his moments when he’d faced death, he’d imagined Ashley forgiving him, smiling, picking up where they’d left off. He knew that would never happen. Even if there weren’t any hard feelings between them, Christopher knew he was too broken and damaged to be in a relationship right now.
He remembered their last conversation and paused, unsure how to greet her. Not with a hug. Not with the way things had ended. A handshake seemed too formal when considering their past relationship. Instead, he settled for putting his gun away and making an effort to relax his shoulders.
He and Ashley had met at a mutual friend’s house on New Year’s Eve more than a decade ago, and it had been a textbook case of love at first sight. Not only had he instantly thought she was beautiful, but her smile, her love for life, her hope for the future had hooked him. She’d pulled him out of the shell he easily sucked himself into—most people didn’t see it because he’d hidden it well with easygoing small talk. But Ashley had always seen right through him. She had a way about her that made him open up.
Their two years together were filled with easy, effortless moments. Relationships like that didn’t happen often. Six months before the wedding, he’d called things off.
Ashley brushed a hair out of her face and licked her lips. Her eyes implored him. “I’m sorry to show up here, but I didn’t know where else to go.” Her voice sounded tight and strained.
He reached toward her, compassion and concern pounding through his veins, but his hand dropped midway. “Are you okay?”
She hesitated