CHAPTER XVI

 

 

What struck Brian first was the surreal sensation of being underwater.  There were no desktop or overhead lights.  The lavish office was aglow from the luminous wall-length aquarium with a host of exotic deep-sea creatures meandering through undersea fauna and vivid coral.  They moved with a predatory finesse, like their owner.

In that undulating light, Brian located the body of George Barcuda sprawled across a burgundy NMD insignia throw rug, his arm flung in mid-motion towards a 9mm that was just now being scooped up by very soft, feminine fingers.

“Miss me?” Emily quipped from the dark.

Brian’s glance jerked across the room and locked on her eyes.

It took two strides to reach her.  He snaked an arm around her waist, hauled her against his beaten body, and claimed her mouth in one deep kiss.

“Yes.”

 

Emily tasted that kiss and caved in to vertigo, sagging limply against Brian.  She had been staving off the effects of the anesthesia, but the compelling touch of his mouth betrayed all efforts.

In the distance she heard his hoarse appeal, “Emily?”

It was so easy for him, the way he lifted her into his arms.  Emily dropped her head against his collarbone, and sniffed the singed shirt, terrified by the smell.

“You’re hurt.” She mumbled, wondering how she had managed to hold onto clarity so long, when even now a short sentence was hard to master.

“Take the gun,” Brian ordered gruffly.

Beneath her cheek, Emily felt his heart beat in triple time, and thought, I have the gun.

“Did you ever hold one of those before?” He continued, as she was lulled by the heavy timbre of concern in his voice.

“It’s a machine.  Not much to figure out.”

That voice had her head lifting from the fog.  She struggled to open her eyes.

“If he moves—”

“Yeah, don’t worry about that.  If he wants to move, I’m going to make him change his mind, but it looks like he is out cold, if not dead.”

Emily charged out of her stupor.  “Colin?”

The most beautiful face appeared before her.  It was a fusion of the hard planes and rugged chin of her father, and the vivid eyes and fair hair of her mother.  The endearing grin however, belonged exclusively to her baby brother.  Emily felt tears burn her eyes as she smiled back.

“You’re safe.” She sobbed.

For a moment, she saw his eyes mist, but he blinked and widened his grin as if to compensate.

“Of course.” Colin beamed.

Traces of the anesthesia still clouded her thoughts.  “And Ben?”
           Colin coughed.  “Brian saved him.”

Beneath her cheek, Emily felt Brian swallow and she knew it was emotion her rugged knight was ingesting.

“Our hero,” She murmured.

Adrenaline had served its purpose.  In this embrace Emily felt safe.  She closed her eyes and finally caved into the effects of the drug.

 

Strangers in the night, two lonely people, we were strangers in the night…

Emily hummed along with the tune, and in her dream she danced in Brian’s arms in the Adirondack cabin, surround by candles and the glow from the fireplace embers.

“Wake up, sunshine.”

Wake up sunshine?  That wasn’t what he would have said.  He would have said something seductive, like, I’ve been staring at you all night long, and I can’t wait to make love to you.

“Em, come on honey, let me see those baby blues.”

Okay, so it wasn’t the mad, passionate sex allusion, but it was a start.  Emily opened her eyes.

“Hi.”

Oh God.  He was the most attractive man in the world.

“Brian?”

Her hand was wrapped in his.  “Have a good nap, Angel?”

“Nap?” She mouthed.

“You’ve been out for—” his gaze drifted to the nightstand, “—almost five hours.”

Five hours?  Colin! Barcuda!  The Hyperion.

“What happened?  Colin, where is Colin?”  Emily struggled to sit up, but Brian rose from the chair to slide his hip alongside hers.  As the mattress dipped he used a light stroke to thwart her ascent.

That touch must have been the catalyst, but suddenly memory came rushing back.  All of it.  It hit Emily like a wrecking ball in full impetus.

“Brian,” She surged up, and fought against his arms.  For a moment the world tilted, but one hand gripped the mattress and the other clutched Brian’s thigh until she gained her equilibrium.

Slowly Emily’s glance climbed up the sturdy torso of the man beside her.  He had changed into a navy fleece pullover, but she recalled images of his flannel shirt, shredded and charred, his face dark with ashen residue and concern.

“Are-are you okay?” She wanted to hug him, to throw her face in his neck and kiss it, but with the dawn of this new day, she felt unsure.

“I’ve survived worse than this.” His voice rumbled.  “You’re the one that gave me a scare.”

It took effort, but Emily wriggled past him and lowered her feet over the edge of the bed.  She didn’t look back, but could feel his eyes on her.  The floor beneath her socks was wooden, and foreign.

This was it, wasn’t it?  She wasn’t clear on the details of what transpired, but she knew that the crisis had reached a conclusion.  And that meant that Brian Morrison was absolved from any ties with the Brennans.

It was over.

“Colin?” She wrenched throatily.

“He’s asleep.”

“I want to see him.”

Brian rose off the bed, the motion causing him evident pain.  It took an inordinate amount of willpower not to go to him, but if this was going to be the end of their—their relationship, she had to start exhibiting some strength.

“Come here,” He extended his hand.

Oh, she knew that hand.  Knew it intimately.

Emily stood up and shivered, clasping her arms about herself.  She caught Brian’s frown but ignored it.

“Where are we?” She asked.

“My house.”

They were upstairs, the window revealing the top of an oak with a few dead leaves desperately clinging on despite the breeze that tickled their bellies.  The polished wooden floorboards were warmed by the sun piercing the bay window.  Colonial furniture gave her the sensation of being transported in time and standing at a Widows-walk, waiting for her husband’s ship to return.  Even the musty scent oozed a sense of genuineness, of home.

Drawn to the view of the sapphire Sound with its choppy surface, Emily rose and walked towards the window, tilting her head to bask in the nourishing warmth of the sun even though the window itself leaked a cold breeze from outside.

She turned back and observed the patchwork quilt draped across a king-sized, four-poster bed.  Those sturdy columns of wood reminded her of a gazebo.  She could find sanctuary in this bed.

Paintings of the sea hung from pale blue walls, and a picture of a man dressed in Naval splendor sat atop a dusty dresser.

Emily crossed the creaking floor to pick up the brass frame.  She saw the resemblance immediately—in the eyes, those stunning, soul-searching bourbon-colored eyes.

“Your father?”

“Yes.”

She gauged the uniform. “Was he an admiral?”

“Yes, he was.”

There was no mistaking the sorrow in Brian’s voice.  Again she struggled not to turn to him, but she couldn’t keep from asking, “What happened?”
         “He’s gone.”

Emily spun now.  “How?”

With a tip of his head towards the frame in her hands, Brian murmured, “He went down with that ship.”

Two quick steps and she drew to a halt close enough to reach for him, though her hands still clutched the photo.  “I’m so sorry, Brian.”

His shrug did nothing to stave off the old pain.  Emily knew that gesture.  It never worked.

“I was young.  It was a long time ago.”  He managed a sad smile.  “You know what it’s like.”

“Yes, I do.” She whispered.

“Well, come on, let’s go check on the other sleeping beauty in my house.”

She allowed him this diversion only because she was eager to see her brother, but later, if there was to be a later, she would try to draw more out of him.  She sensed more than anything that he needed to talk about it.

God she hoped there was a later.

 

A sturdy banister marred with nicks, funneled downstairs to a living room that opened to a bank of mulled windows with white wooden grids, displaying a full length view of the sound.  At the bottom landing, the floorboards creaked under their weight, only to be muffled by the crooning of Frank Sinatra. Emily sucked in a quick breath at the melody.  On that fateful night in the hospital, when she and Brian chatted endlessly about everything and nothing she had revealed she was a Frank Sinatra lover.

“You remembered,” Emily whispered, realizing she hadn’t dreamt the song.

In the vaulted foyer, Brian stopped.  It appeared almost as if he wanted to reach for her, but hesitated.

“Of course I remembered.” His voice was husky. “I might not recall the drive on Route One that night, but I remember every second since I opened my eyes and saw you looking down at me.”

Emily trembled at the intensity of his glance.  Those amber eyes were flecked with shiny gold from chaotic sunrays that pierced the front door’s beveled glass.

“I do too,”

“Em,” Brian took a step closer.

“Colin.” She rushed, flustered. “Please, I want to see my brother.”

The nod was more a twitch of withdrawal.  “Okay.  This way.”

Cursing her insecurity, Emily distracted herself by looking around the living room as she passed through it, picking up intimate signs of the brooding man beside her.  The furniture was staid, all wood and plush cushions.  There was a layer of dust on the coffee table, but considering recent events, when would he have been here last?

Emily was not too proud to admit that she was pleased that there were no apparent traces of female intervention here.  Brian Morrison was a loner, or so his home indicated.

The source of Frank’s melodic voice emanated from a stereo set on wooden shelves built into the wall.  Books lined every ledge up to the ceiling, with a host of leather nautical-themed embossments.  Briefly she caught glimpses of their titles, smiling at a gold-bound version of Moby Dick.

Definitely a man’s house, but to her it was charming.  Rugged, but appealing.  She imagined them curled up on the couch, holding each other and looking out on the Sound as her head settled against his shoulder—

“Em?”

“Huh?”

“Like the view?”

She snapped her eyes on him, and said, “Yes.”

Brian cleared his throat and shook his head.  “When you look at me like that—”

What?  Tell me.

“Soon.” His husky promise was cut short as he reached for a doorknob and tipped his head for her to follow.

The door creaked open wide enough for Emily to peek through.  Tears burned the rims of her eyes.  Colin slept in his typically disorganized fashion.  He bore similar signs of damage as Brian, with tiny scratches across his cheek and jaw, but a guileless serenity marked his slumberous face.

“May I?” She whispered.

Brian pushed the door open further, and stepped out of the way.

 

It moved Brian to see the way Emily stood over her brother with tears in her eyes.  He wanted to go to her, but this was a private moment.  In fact, he should seriously consider withdrawing altogether, but the poignancy of her expression kept him rooted.

“Colin?” Emily whispered.

There was little response, just a distracted scratch of the nose, and the shift of a leg.  With an abbreviated snore, Colin settled in again.

Brian couldn’t help but smile at the quiescent kid.  They shared a lot in those last few hours—the indissoluble bond of being poised jointly on the verge of death, and the even stronger connection of loving the same woman.

“He’s out cold.” Emily looked up.

She was so beautiful.  Even with eyes slightly puffy from the effects of the anesthesia and tears, and a wan complexion enhanced by the blush now forming under his lengthy stare.

But when Emily looked at him, she probably thought he had nothing to offer.  He was a man with an enigmatic past at best.  A man who had been sent to hunt her down.  A man who was now out of a job.

“Brian?”

“Come on,” He stepped back from the doorway, “Let’s let him sleep.  He deserves it.”

She followed, pausing for one last glance at her brother before gently clicking the door shut.

When her eyes shifted back to him they seemed edgy, bouncing around the foyer and landing back on Brian with wariness.

Damn, she was afraid of him.  It was no wonder.  He had never come across as anything but threatening.

“What about Phil?” She asked softly.  “Any news?  Is he all right?”
       Brian rubbed at his ribs, the injury seeming to have occurred ages ago.  He had a couple of deep scratches to add to it from the hull of the Hyperion.  “Yeah, he’s going to be okay.  I talked to him today.” A grin toyed with the corner of his mouth. “That is, when I could get past the string of expletives coming through the phone.”
      “Not happy about being in the hospital?” She used the opportunity to edge along the wall and toy with the lacey tablecloth on the gratuitously huge dining table.

“Not happy that the radio in his room is on the fritz and he couldn’t get Mike and the Mad Dog.”

Emily smiled, and Brian thought that he would move Heaven and Earth to see a repeat of that simple gesture.

“Will you tell me now,” She asked anxiously.  “Will you tell me what happened?”

Okay, so the trivial banter was over.  This was it.  This was the talk Brian wanted to have.

God help him, if she walked out that door.

“Let’s—” He tossed caution to the wind and touched her arm.  It was a simple caress, but no less tantalizing than dangling candy in front of a child.

“Let’s go back upstairs, so we don’t bother him.  In this house everything resonates off the wooden floors.”

Bright blue eyes traced the floor and then up the stairwell, till they bounced back uneasily.  “All right.”

Ah hell, this wasn’t going well.   She was ready to bolt out the door now that the adventure was over.

Brian followed her up the stairs—a perfect little angel in worn jeans and a faded sweatshirt.

He wasn’t going to make it easy for her to leave.

 

Dusk was settling in, slanting deep violet shadows across Brian’s bed like ripples of satin.

Why was she was so focused on that simple piece of furniture?

Maybe it was the inviting ensemble of throw pillows piled haphazardly at the head of the mattress, or perhaps the allure of the bed was simply because she was exhausted.  Effects from the anesthesia surely lulled her towards its comfort rather than the notion that this was where Brian slept.

“Em, I saw Barcuda drug you.  I saw you pass out.”

Startled, she turned at his husky tone.  In the filtered glow of sunset Emily witnessed his intensity and it made her shiver.

“When they took you away, I—I—”

He struggled for expression, and she understood that same sense of futility.  The need to find Brian, to find her brother—these fears had fueled her with undefined strength.

“If that was anesthesia, how did you manage to regain consciousness?  Emily, honey, as happy as I was to see you with it,” Brian brushed a finger against his temple, as if he hoped to stimulate a theory. “How did you get possession of that gun?”

How indeed?

They say adrenaline is one of the most mysterious forces to be reckoned with, but fear runs a close second.   Emily had loved ones that were in jeopardy.  Her brother whom she had loved for a lifetime, and Brian, the man whose love caught her off guard and was something she yearned to nurture.  He had just called her honey.

“When he covered my mouth with that cloth,” Emily stepped away and reached the window, hooking her pointer finger on one of the wooden grids.

Outside a rosy sunset met the stark indigo plane of the sound.  A merger of two conflicting personalities. Day and night.  For one brief moment, these two opposites learned to coexist.

Emily’s nerves were falling apart.  For one who was always in control, or at least portrayed the role, she was floundering with Brian.

“I felt the effects kick in and knew what was happening.  It was like a sense of weightlessness, but my eyes were fine.  They worked and I saw you.”

Emily turned from the window and though the room grew darker with the setting sun, she was certain that nothing could mask her emotions.

“I saw you,” She continued softly.  “And I fought it.  I fought breathing.  I made it look like I passed out quicker than actually happened just so he would take that tainted cloth away from my mouth.  I did lose consciousness a few seconds later, but the dose I took must have been minimal.  I only inhaled when I screamed.”

Brian stepped forward, but the she kept him at bay with her continued speech.

“When I woke up, I could have sworn they dropped me in the Sound.  It was dark and the walls were undulating, and I saw fish—” She had felt like Pinocchio inside the mouth of the whale.  “It finally registered that I was Barcuda’s office.  I knew he was there.  I heard him breathing before I saw him, and I guess it was dark enough that he didn’t notice I had opened my eyes.  I tried so hard to stay still, but I just couldn’t stop shivering.  It was so cold in that office—like the bottom of the ocean.”

“It was only him,” She continued, still hearing the buzz of the aquarium in her ears, “only Barcuda in the room.”  Around her, the iridescent wall leant a touch of macabre to the moment, and then she heard that sharp nasal intake directly above her.  He was standing over her, bending down—

Emily tried to appear latent, but the clammy combination of sweat and hair gel along with the nauseas side-effects of the drug nearly made her gag.

“Emily,”

She broke from her reverie at the sound of Brian’s husky tone.

“If he touched you— ”

She shook her head, but it was more of a twitch.  “I don’t think Barcuda really believed that I was conscious, but he talked to me as if I were.  He told me you were both dying.” Her voice caught.  “That you would run out of oxygen soon, and that I could join him later to collect the bod—”

On that last word, she lost it.

Brian reached for her before the first tremble.  Her body indicated she was crying but the tears had not yet reached her eyes, just another sign of the control she was always exerting.  He felt the tremors, the hiccups that she swallowed, and he held her tight and tucked her head against his collarbone.

“We’re okay.  You see that—everyone’s okay.”

Emily’s nod brushed against his throat, a silky sweep that made him clench even tighter the precious package in his arms.

“I know that now,” She whimpered, “but I didn’t then.”

In his arms Brian felt the tension creep up Emily’s back.  Lithe muscles flexed instinctively as her hands crawled up to his chest and used the connection as leverage to push off.

Brian reluctantly let her go, though she backed only arms length away.  She gripped his forearms with a tenacity that amazed him.

“I went mad.”  Her fingers flexed.  “I—I—just remember attacking him.”
           “Attacking him?” He echoed.  “Emily, dammit, what did you do?” Thoughts of the jeopardy she placed herself in had him anguished.
          Her voice grew confident with recollection.  “I just wanted him to suffer.  I remember diving at him and knocking him back against his desk.  The element of surprise was definitely on my side.  He fell back and I didn’t think, I just dove for the gun.”

The wind had picked up outside, its keening wail creeping into the tiny cracks around the window frame.  Brian felt that cold invasion in his bones.  He wanted warmth.  He wanted Emily’s warmth.  He wanted assurance that she was unharmed.

“You could have been killed.” His husky voice tone bore traces of every raw emotion he felt.

“It didn’t matter at that point.”

“Barcuda’s men could have barged in and shot you.”

“They didn’t.”

“Barcuda himself could have overpowered you.”

Her smile was sad, but her dark eyes flashed conviction.  “I don’t believe so.  I don’t think anyone could have stopped me.”

Brian reached up and cupped Emily’s shoulders, his head dipped so he could look at her dead on.  “Why, Em? Why did you do it?  At least you were safe while you were playing unconscious.”  He gripped her shoulders, dragging her imperceptibly closer.  “I was coming for you—I was delayed, but I was coming for you.  I would have died before I let him hurt you.”

Emily’s lower lip trembled mutinously.  The rosy glow of the setting sun reached beneath the sheer curtains and shimmered around her cinnamon hair.  She was bathed in ethereal light—a grounded angel.

“I didn’t know Brian,” She whispered hoarsely.  “I didn’t know you were coming back.  He—he” The sob nearly overpowered her, but she straightened her spine against it.  “He told me that the man I love was dying.”

Vertigo sucked at Brian.  He gripped her shoulders even tighter, afraid he was hurting her, yet afraid to let go.  Logistics reminded him that her statement was rational.  “Your brother wasn’t hurt, Em.  He’s okay.”

Tears bubbled in the corners of her eyes and slipped when she shook her head in frustration.  “I love my brother, and you know I will do anything to protect him.  I’m all he has, and I will fight a thousand armies to keep him safe.”

Brian nodded, awed by the force of her speech.  He didn’t doubt her for a minute.  She was a dynamo, who had outsmarted a dangerous egomaniac.  It was that compelling sense of protection that was yet one more trait he found endearing.

“But I was talking about the man I’m in-love with.”

The floor opened up beneath his feet and he felt the tug of the Earth’s core threatening to haul him through the wood into its fiery axis.  “What are you saying, Em?”

Emily rolled her eyes and smiled.  It was the first genuine smile he had seen on her face since before they entered NMD.  It was beautiful.

“Do I have to spell it out for you, Morrison?”  Her fingertips reached up and brushed along his jaw.  “I’m in love with you.”

When he would have crushed her to him—when he would have echoed her words a breath before touching her lips, he saw that magnificent smile drop.  And all that remained was a grim sense of foreboding.

“Now is a hell of time to say but, Emily.”

“But—I know that this adventure is over.  I know this was borrowed time.” Her finger drifted from Brian’s jaw to his lips to silence his objection.  “And I know that you will move on.  Washington, right?” She managed a wan smile.  “You never know, I hear the cherry blossoms are beautiful in the spring.  Maybe I’ll—”

Brian brushed her wrist out of his path, and kissed her.