The Promise of Love (19 page)

SEAL.
You were in the SEALs. But how do I find out if you’re still alive, if I don’t know where you live?

She walked up to the tree she’d parked near. This was where Sara’s Honda had died. Surely he’d show up again, just like before.

Unless he’s hurt, or worse, dead
.

Or he’d been sent out on another mission and what they’d shared was over because that was all there was.
Just fun for a weekend.

No, I can’t believe that. It was more.

* * * *

“What the hell do you mean you can’t find her?” David asked. His hand shook, making the grip he had on the phone shake the whole damn thing, but he held on, listening to Will’s lame excuses. Five days he’d been out. Five days and she was gone without a trace. How was that even possible?

“She’s not at the compound. I’m checking on it. How far can she get?” Will said.

Pretty damn far. “I tried her cell phone.”

“Affirmative. So did I,” Will clarified. “Again, don’t worry, I’ll find her.”

“Sir.” A nurse dressed in scrubs came up to his gurney. “We have to get you prepped for surgery.”

“Just wait,” he muttered, and held off her demands long enough to focus on the biggest issue here. Finding Paris. “I want her safe, Will. Sound and secure. Find her. Something had to happen—”

“Or this life is too hard on good girls, Jan. Think about what you were asking of her. You were shot, that bullet had to come out, and you hit your head pretty damn hard. We shut down Duke’s. She was not there. But—” He exhaled again and the background static calmed down enough for David to hear men talking near Will. “I found her phone, on a table in the apartment. Maybe she just left.”

David’s head felt as if it was going to explode from the stress he was putting on it. But he pulled himself up to a sitting position. He even managed to hold the nurse back with one arm and his side with the other. The phone he cradled between his ear and his shoulder. “I know damn good and well she didn’t just leave. I made a promise. A promise is meant to be kept, Will. She wouldn’t have simply left because I was hurt. She had no idea I’d
been
hurt, and even if she had known, she wouldn’t have left me over it. Shit, buddy, think. There were more jackals out there then we knew, someone could have gotten hold of her. Whatever, I’m not talking when you’re being too damn dense to get it. Get a car here for me, the leg can wait, I want to check the goddamn compound myself.”

“What? Hell no, get that leg—”

“I’m coming in. Get here and pick me up or send someone,” David barked and shook off the nurse. “Get me a leg brace, the kind with the metal on the sides, that buckles on,” he ordered her. She backed up and finally nodded. “I’m going to be waiting, half an hour, I want that pick up.”

Silence, then more cursing. David got his pants on and only had to sweat through the pain for a few minutes before his leg calmed down. By then, Will had as well.

“I’ll be there.”

“Good.” Real good, because there was no way he wanted some MP witnessing him losing his shit if Paris had left him. It’d been more, a hell of a lot more, than a vacation.

Chapter Eleven

Six months later

“I’ve got this,” Paris called over to Margaret, her co-teacher, then skated to where two of her students were having a mini catfight. With the way they acted, soon they’d be ready for the Olympics.

Immediately she felt bad for her thoughts and slowed so she arrived a second after Susie had rushed off crying. The blonde ten year old would get over it, but the real trouble was the stoic child left behind. Macy met her eyes and immediately glanced down at her scuffed white skates.

“Hey, Macy, what’s wrong? I thought you and Susie were getting along better?” Paris asked, giving the girl her space by circling her on her skates.

Macy was dressed in her pink leotard, pink tights and pink socks today, complete with pink ear muffs with little cherry stems and smiley faces. She was adorable, until you met her eyes. Then she just looked sad. Lonely. Paris knew that feeling.

“You’re not answering me. I thought we talked about this.” Paris hated reminding the child of painful memories, but with Macy’s problems on and off the ice, Paris had made the girl promise to try harder. Talking, for Macy, was one of those trying harder points.

“She was making fun of Kay.”

“And?”

“And, I don’t like it. Susie is so spoiled, she has everything, and now she wants more, my time with you, and if she can, she wants to make Kay quit.”

“Kay’s not quitting,” Paris assured her.

“If she can’t afford it she will. Her lessons cost—”

“Her lessons and the cost are not your concern, are they? You are your concern, and your behavior on this ice. Right?” Paris watched Macy tighten her hands into fists at her hips. “I teach, you learn. I teach Kay and she learns. I teach Susie and she tries. Keep that in mind, the next time she says something. You are learning. Why? Because you want to improve. Kay wants to improve. That’s why you are here, not to check a box that says you take figure skating lessons. Now, are we clear?”

Macy’s hands relaxed while Paris talked, and by the time she was done, the girl had steadied her breathing and nodded, quickly wiping at her face.

“Clear.”

“Well, let’s go then, show me what you’ve been practicing”—Paris glanced at her watch—“because Kay is up next, and she won’t waste ten minutes of my time with silly girl stuff.”

Macy wiped at her face once more and a smile peeked out before she put on her serious face. “I’ve been practicing the Layback spin for my dance.”

“Oh, very good. Did you warm up?”

At Macy’s quick nod, Paris motioned to the now empty ice. “Let me see you do a quick circuit or two.”

It took her longer to say it than it did for the girl to take off. If Paris had to choose, Macy would be the student to make it to the gold. She simply lived to skate.

And I skate to live. Ironic, isn’t it?

Macy did a few smooth circles of the rink without a hitch, clearly ready and eager to show her hard work.

“Okay, show me from the beginning,” Paris called, and skated slowly out to be close in case Macy needed her. “Start with the Attitude spin and then proceed to the Layback, but watch your back arch and remember, concentrate on the ice, your body and your breathing.”

The girl nodded, clearly excited, and began her performance from the start, keeping her form tight and her body loose and carefree. The first Camel spin was perfect. Her leg was parallel to the ice and her head forward, arms close to her legs. She did a perfect build up into an Upright spin but under-rotated her Axel jump and wobbled, but shook the mistake off. Immediately she went with a beautiful twist, back bent, head partially down, but not quite in position with her arms above her body.

Paris clapped and smiled at the work she knew Macy had put into her practices to get her form so close to perfection.

Macy slowed down and glided to a stop in the middle of the rink, breathless and glowing.

“Beautiful, absolutely beautiful, Macy!” Paris called, skating to her and taking her hands. “You have really practiced, haven’t you?” She ruffled her hair. A slice of pain filtered through her remembering a certain man doing the same thing to her, but she stopped the memory. Thoughts of David Jansen weren’t allowed on the ice.

“I have,” Macy said, still breathless. “I wobbled a bit and didn’t get the bend right, it felt off.”

“You did great, but let’s work on it. The Layback is famous for a reason. It’s tricky. Now let’s see if you can’t let me show you a few things, okay? Follow my lead now,” she called, beginning to build up speed to help Macy see the form as it should be.

Macy did, and by the time all her lessons were through for the night, Paris was exhausted, but it was a good tired.

Paris was just about to leave the rink, when she spotted a familiar pink and white mitten on the ice.

“Macy,” she muttered, but smiled as she skated over. The cool air of the rink and the wet smell of the ice comforted her. Usually she stayed after and skated, neatly avoiding any of the other girls asking her to join them for a drink, or, worse, finding a man.

She’d found one, thank you, and he was now gone—leaving only the dreams that still plagued her. Lately even skating hadn’t helped. Tonight she felt more restless than ever.

Or horny.

At the thought, she felt her face heating. Maybe. But if she was, she wasn’t going there. Not after Wyoming. Not after doing things that still made her ears burn just thinking of them. Sex where anyone walking by could see being one hot memory that still made her shiver. Just thinking of David’s lazy grin could make her heart race, let alone his low groans and whispered promises.

A rush of sensations and emotions tried to attack but she shook them off and turned her iPod on. What she thought of as their song,
All of Me
, flowed around her. She sped up, taking the rink in faster and faster circles until she built up enough to let go. The power surging through her made all the hopes and crushed dreams fade to the background and the beauty of the dance surface. It took over, transporting her out of the ugliness of the world. And the loss of one man.

Skating did that for her.

One man had as well.

Then he’d left and destroyed yet another dream—one she’d never known was a possibility. What would it have been like if David had survived? If they’d been able to build a life together, with kids, and pancakes and lazy Sunday mornings in bed?

The pain found its way through, but she used it and skated through the heartache. He’d been too young, too full of life and fun to die. But there was no other explanation. There was one thing she knew for fact about David Jansen. It might not be his address, or when he’d left the service, or even if he had, but she knew David kept his promises.

Tears blurred the rink, but she didn’t need to see to glide across the ice. She just needed to feel the music and let her sorrow out—once again—and hope that she could finally be free of one man she’d given her heart to.

* * * *

David wanted to pace the hallway leading to his former commander’s office. He stifled the urge, but not the anxious pit in his stomach.

Paris. She’d not left him like he’d thought.
All these months, I wallowed in my misery when I should have asked Petrok for help.

All this time Paris thought…what? I’d left her or I’d died, or…I’m a lying promise breaker that can’t be trusted.

He rubbed his hands over his face. He knew first-hand what a broken promise felt like. For years foster parents would load him up with promises then break every one of them.

Carson’s door jerked open.

“Sorry to keep you boys waiting, but we have a situation,” Carson said as way of hello. The welcome was immediately cut short by his phone ringing. Carson grimaced but answered it with a sharp ‘Carson here’ and another scowl.

Carson was an ex-SEAL and one hell of a tough man, but today David saw the age weighing on him. The words,
we have a situation
, didn’t sit well, not with David, and by the lack of emotion on Will’s face, him either.

“I don’t have time for this,” he muttered to Will. “Paris is up in Canada thinking God knows what about me after half a fucking year of me twiddling my thumbs.”

“She’s fine, you’ll get her back,” Will added. “You were drinking more than you were twiddling. She’ll listen, just explain and you’ll have her back.”

Will I?

Two days ago Petrok had ripped his heart out with the news Paris hadn’t deserted him, but had waited for him. The Russian ex-spy had then filled him in on not only
why
Paris had left, but
what
had happened to her, and more importantly,
where
she lived. Paris had been scared and alone, without much money and no car. She’d waited six days for him then taken a bus out of town.

Alone.

He’d located the bus driver easily enough. The old man even remembered her. He’d torn David’s guts to shreds by telling him she’d spent her time crying in the back, thinking no one saw, but the old man had nodded and told him, he’d seen.

He’d been sure she’d simply left—that he’d read her wrong and it hadn’t been love he’d seen in those pretty gray eyes.

Petrok had set him straight.

Six months. Six months I let her think I broke my promise.

By now she’d probably forgotten all about him, worse, had moved on to someone else.

Just the thought had him fisting his hand on his crutch until the metal protested. He needed to get on the road now. He needed to see her. Just see her smile, or hell, yell at him. Anything but sitting here and doing nothing to get to her.

He shoved his other hand in his pocket to fiddle with the rock heart she’d given him on their hike. He’d worn it down a little, he thought. It was smoother now, not so jagged on one side.

Will I get a chance to get back into her heart?

“I’m gonna need you for a little longer,” Carson said after pocketing his phone.

“Sir,” David began, “I get that you need men, but I’m of no use to anyone right now.” He indicated his crutch. “And I’ve got a girl to get to in Canada—”

“That, my boy”—Carson pointed his finger like a gun at David—“is where you are wrong. On both counts.” He ducked back into his office after that hopeful sentence, and they had no choice but to follow.

David caught Will’s eye and nodded at the unspoken question there. They’d go in, but if this was another mission, they were walking. Will led and he followed, spotting an open laptop with Petrok and her soon to be husband, if David had to guess, Cody Johnson on screen.

His tension lessened. Sonya and Cody knew how important getting to Paris was to him. If anyone would understand a man who had really only had four days with a woman and knew she was the one, it was those two. Heck, they’d had a whirlwind of a time and were already talking marriage.