Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
After Mark heard Amanda return from wherever she’d gone, he stepped into the shower, letting the hot water massage the tight muscles in his neck and back. Nothing like sleeping in a chair to teach you to appreciate a soft mattress.
He figured he’d be sleeping in a lot worse places than a chair soon enough.
When Amanda had left earlier, he’d barely kept himself from following her. It was healthy for her to go out alone, and it definitely would not be healthy for him to stalk her like that little rat from the night before.
The detective had assured them that the stalker would be in jail at least until his arraignment on Monday.
He’d better stay in jail a lot longer than that.
Mark’s cell phone rang. Whoever it was could wait five minutes until he’d finished getting cleaned up.
He used a squirt of liquid soap that filled the tiny shower with the scent of flowers, bringing Amanda to mind.
Not that he minded that, but he wasn’t thrilled about smelling like a girl for the rest of the day.
His phone rang again when he was rinsing shampoo out of his hair.
While he dried himself with a towel he’d found in the hall closet, his phone rang a third time. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he looked at the caller ID.
Uh-oh. He connected the call. “Lieutenant Johnson.”
“It’s Major Sapp. I just got off the phone with Detective Sealy of the Providence PD. You know him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You were involved in an altercation in which you…let me see here…”
Papers were shuffled in the background.
“You repeatedly smashed the head of one Russell T. Harris into a hardwood floor, broke his nose, and gave him a concussion.”
Mark felt his future slipping away. “Yes, sir.”
More paper shuffling. “You punched him so hard in the kidneys that he’s being treated for blood in his urine.”
Mark gazed through the haze of steam at the mirror over the sink, seeing only a hazy reflection. “I punched him, sir. I wasn’t aware of that.”
“Sealy also said that Mr. Harris broke into the apartment of a girl you’ve been seeing and”—was his CO shuffling the papers to make Mark sweat? If so, it was working—“attempted to sexually assault her.”
Mark swallowed. “That’s what it looked like, sir.”
“I see.” Major Sapp was silent for a moment.
His CO was fair. He’d lectured them often about how everyone deserved respect. Fellow soldiers, subordinates, superiors, citizens of enemy nations, enemies, and women. Especially women. Maybe that would help Mark’s cause.
Finally, the major spoke again. “I have one question for you, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did it really take you that many hits to knock the guy out?”
Mark blinked. “I was trying not to kill him, sir.”
Major Sapp chuckled. “I’m glad you didn’t kill him. The paperwork would have been a bear.”
Mark blew out a breath and wiped sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. “Yes, sir.”
“How’s the girl?”
“She’ll be all right, as long as… What did you say his name was?”
“Russell T. Harris.”
“As long as Harris doesn’t get out of jail, Amanda will be okay.”
“So, Amanda.” Major Sapp paused as if waiting for something, but Mark wasn’t sure what. After a minute, the major asked, “Girlfriend?”
“I met her Thursday night. I saw Harris follow her out of the bar where she worked. I…distracted him.”
“I see.”
“She and I spent some time together this weekend.” Such a bland way to describe what had happened over the last twenty-four hours. They’d fallen for each other. They’d fallen in love.
“I don’t know how you feel about her,” Major Sapp said, “but women don’t forget men who save their lives.”
“I don’t know that I saved her life.”
“You did.” The amusement drained from the major’s voice. “Sealy told me they ran Harris’s prints and got a hit. Two, actually. They pulled a thumbprint off the belt buckle of a college student who was raped, murdered, and left in a dumpster in Albany. There was another match from a crime scene in western Mass.”
Mark sat on the side of the tub. It’d be a bad idea to hang up on his superior so he could vomit. “I see.”
“I imagine the detective will call soon.”
“My phone rang twice before you called.”
“He’s going to ask you to go to the DA’s office tomorrow to sign a statement so you won’t have to appear at a trial. I assume that won’t be a problem?”
“No, sir.” He’d need to stay in Providence another day, which would irritate his mother, but what else was new?
“They’re not going to release the guy, right?”
“He won’t be granted bail. The only question right now is where he’ll stand trial first. Probably New York or Massachusetts, since those would both be murder charges.”
At least Amanda wouldn’t have to worry about him coming after her again. “Thank God.”
“That’s right, son. Thank God. Listen, get this taken care of. We expect you with us one week from tomorrow.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Mark ended the call and stared at the hazy mirror.
He’d saved her life.
Maybe he should’ve killed the guy.
He slipped into his dirty jeans, wiped the mirror with his towel, and checked his reflection. Not a hair out of place—the good thing about a crew cut.
He opened the bathroom door to let in some cool air. Standing in the hallway, he picked up the unmistakable scent of frying bacon.
“Good morning.”
Mark turned to see Amanda behind him wearing jeans, a sweater, and sneakers. Her hair was brushed, her face scrubbed clean of makeup. Despite the bruise on her cheek, she was beautiful. And staring at his bare chest.
“Sorry. It’s hot in there.”
She looked up and blushed. “The fan’s broken. I’m making breakfast.”
“Where’d you go?”
“I needed a couple of things. I got you a coffee.”
“Thanks. Let me just?—”
“Take your time.”
Mark slipped back into the bathroom, threw on his sweater, and headed for the kitchen in his bare feet. He leaned on the kitchen counter and watched her from behind as she stirred something in a cast-iron skillet.
“Smells delicious.”
She started at his words, and he cursed himself for startling her. She spoke before he could apologize. “It’ll be another few minutes.” When she turned to him, her face was pale. She nodded to a Dunkin’ Donuts cup. “That one’s yours.”
He reached for it and took a sip. “Perfect. Thanks.”
“I just talked to Detective Sealy.”
He set the drink down and stepped toward her. “You heard, then?”
“How did you?”
“My CO called.”
“Oh.” She snatched a paper towel from a roll on the counter and wiped her eyes “They were both killed in alleys. That would’ve been me, Thursday. They were both blond-haired and blue-eyed, just like me.”
“I didn’t hear that part.”
“The detective says the guy doesn’t stand a chance at getting bail. I guess the only question is, who gets to prosecute him first?”
“Do you care?”
“No. As long as he goes to jail forever.”
Mark pulled her into a hug. “I was impressed with you this morning, venturing out by yourself.”
She leaned back to meet his eyes. “I knew I was safe. I can’t let this derail my whole life, right?”
“Still, it was very brave.”
They looked at each other a moment longer, nothing but the crackle of bacon filling the silence.
She turned back to the stove. “I’d better…”
He got out of her way, and she stirred the potatoes, flipped the bacon, then whisked some eggs. “Do you like mushrooms?”
“Sure.”
She poured the eggs into a big pan, then lifted each piece of bacon onto a paper towel-covered plate. She set the plate in front of him, so he snagged a piece and took a bite.
Salty and perfectly crisped. “Delicious.”
“Thanks.” She tended the eggs. “Sealy wants you to call him.”
“I will, in a bit.” He took another bite.
She twisted toward him. “And my parents want to talk to you.”
He almost choked on his bacon, gulped the coffee, scalding his tongue. “Your parents? Why?”
Her eyebrows lifted, amusement playing around her mouth. “I told them what happened. I guess they want to thank you.”
“Oh. Okay.” What in the world would he say? Wasn’t it too soon to meet the parents?
He stood, needed to do something and feeling like a fool for being so nervous. “Can I set the table?”
“Help yourself.”
He found the plates and silverware, then added salt, pepper, and a jar of salsa from the fridge.
While Mark ate his breakfast—an omelet, fried potatoes, bacon, and toast, and if he hadn’t already fallen for her, the meal would have pushed him over the edge—Amanda moved food around on her plate. For someone who wanted to be a chef, she sure didn’t eat much.
But she did make small talk, and he loved listening to her, the lilt of her voice, the Massachusetts accent he guessed had been softened by summers in Florida the last few years with her parents. She talked about their house, which was within walking distance of Satellite Beach, and her brothers and their wives, who’d all moved south as well. She talked about how her parents were always talking up the wonders of their new home state.
“I know they want me to move there, but I’m not going to. I like it here.”
“They’ll probably understand.” His father would, and her parents sounded like reasonable people. He added, “I don’t need their thanks.” Maybe he could get out of calling them.
“Oh.” Her expression dimmed. “They want to meet you.”
He didn’t want to disappoint Amanda. Or them.
At least they didn’t live next door. A phone call, he could handle.
After finishing both their breakfasts, he grabbed her plate. “You cooked, so I’ll clean.”
She took it back and set it on the counter. Then she grabbed her phone. “I’ll clean, and you talk to my parents.”
He stifled a groan while she dialed. “Mom? You still want to talk to Mark?” Amanda grinned at him, then said, “Okay. Here he is,” and held out the phone.
He stood tall, as if he were lining up for inspection. “Hello.”
“This is Amanda’s mom, Lydia.”
“Lieutenant Mark Johnson, United States Marine Corps.” He sounded so formal. What an idiot.
“This is her dad, Paul.”
“We can’t thank you enough for saving our baby.” Lydia had tears in her voice. Like mother, like daughter. “We needed to tell you how much we appreciate what you did. You can’t imagine…” Her words were choked off by a sob.
Paul picked up the thread. “Not a lot of men would’ve gone to the lengths you did to keep her safe.”
“It wasn’t that much,” he said.
“It was. It was all that and more.” Lydia’s voice was stronger. “Who knows what would’ve happened if not for you?”
Mark knew, but he wasn’t about to tell Amanda’s parents the news about her attacker. Amanda was watching from across the kitchen. She lifted her eyebrows, and he shrugged.
Paul cleared his throat. “She said you spent the night.”
“On the couch. I mean, she slept on the couch, sir, and I slept on the chair. She didn’t want to be alone.”
“So she said.” Paul didn’t sound upset, just matter-of-fact.
“Nothing happened, obviously?—”
“Thank you for that too. A lot of men would’ve taken advantage of the situation.”
“No, sir. Of course not.”
Lydia said, “Mark, Mandy tells us you’re being sent to Afghanistan.”
Mandy. He liked that nickname. “I leave a week from tomorrow.”
“That’s horrible business over there,” Lydia said. “I’m sorry you have to go.” She paused, but what was he supposed to say? That he was sorry to be going off to war? He wasn’t sorry.
But across the room, Amanda was washing dishes, sending him glances every few seconds, and a stab of regret pierced him. If not for the Marines and terrorists and Afghanistan, he could stay here, with her.
Maybe he wasn’t so happy after all.
He must’ve paused too long because Lydia spoke again. “I hope you don’t mind if Mandy gives us your contact information. We’d like to send you care packages now and then. Would that be okay?”
They wanted to send him care packages? His own mother wouldn’t do that.
Before he recovered from his surprise, Paul said, “Uh, Lydia, could I talk to Mark for a second? Alone?”
“Oh. Okay. It was good to talk to you. I’ll pray for you every day.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate that.”
She hung up, and Amanda’s father cleared his throat. “Listen, son. It’s not that I don’t appreciate what you did for my daughter. I do.”
Uh-oh.
This couldn’t be good.
“But you’re obviously quite older than she is.”
“Six years.” He refrained from adding the only , though it was on the tip of his tongue.
“It’s not just the years,” Paul said. “You’re a soldier, about to go off to war.”
A Marine, not a soldier, but he didn’t correct him as he wandered down the hallway and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Whatever her father wanted to say, Mark had a feeling he might need some privacy.
“My brother went to Vietnam,” Paul continued, “and it changed him. You might not come home the same.”
Mark heard what the man wasn’t saying.
You might not come home at all.
“I’m sure you’re a good guy, but she’s my daughter, and I’m only trying to protect her. I’m just saying, maybe you shouldn’t make her any promises. Just keep it casual until you get home. Encourage her to see other people, and you do the same, and then, when you get out, if you both still feel the same way?—”
“You’re right.” The words twisted his insides, but he forced himself to add, “Of course you’re right. I told her the same thing last night, but she can be persuasive, and… Well, she’s amazing, so I let her…” He took a breath.
He didn’t want to end things with Amanda.
But he needed to.
He’d decided a long time ago that he didn’t want to get married. He didn’t want to commit himself to a woman. His dad had stuck it out with his mother throughout their long, terrible marriage, when Mark would’ve bailed years before. He’d told his father as much, more than once.
The Marines wouldn’t have to change him. Battle wouldn’t have to change him. Mark already didn’t want what Amanda would expect from him. Mark already knew he wasn’t the man for her or any woman. And he didn’t want to be.
No matter what he felt for her, this weekend had been a fantasy.
One Amanda’s father had seen right through.
“I’ll end it today.”
“I’m not saying?—”
“Don’t worry.” Mark swallowed all his feelings. “This has nothing to do with you. She needs someone who can be with her now, not some Marine half a world away.” Not a guy who, even if he kept himself from getting blown up in Afghanistan, would bail at the first sign of trouble.