In Love and War Read online

  In Love and War

  ISBN: 978-0-9903084-0-9

  Copyright © 2013, Terri L. Muhich

  Cover Art by Steven Novak

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations in articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Published in the United States of America by Sherman Hills Press

  DEDICATION

  To all the noble hearts in our midst

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Bibliography

  Chapter 1

  Summer—2006

  Daylight was fading fast when Dylan Bond sat down at his computer and shot the smuggled USB driver home. As he slowly peeled back layer upon layer of evidence, the room fell dark around him. The only illumination left came from the computer screen. The unnatural glow sharpened and defined his features, the planes of his face, the clean line of his nose. Dylan’s eyes, lost in shadow, flashed black, all pupil, the lapis blue of his irises obscured by the lack of light.

  Glancing at the sleeping golden retriever sprawled next to him Dylan reached out with his stocking-covered foot and gave the animal’s belly an affectionate rub. “You wouldn’t believe what I’m reading. This scumbag started setting things up over three years ago.”

  The dog’s eyes flickered and closed. His tail flopped on the floor a couple of times while his satisfied groan rose and fell with the tummy rub.

  Smiling, Dylan turned back to the screen and opened the next document. He leaned in and continued to read, though he quickly sobered, his outrage growing with every new paragraph.

  ***

  Ariela Perrine’s face fell when she saw the dark blue, checked necktie hanging from the doorknob. Pressing her ear to the wood, she could hear the unmistakable sounds of an action flick on the television inside. What was she supposed to do now? Were they actually watching the movie or was it just playing in the background? Her gaze dropped to the necktie once more and she bit her lip, undecided.

  Screw it. She was home now. If those two wanted privacy, they could move things into Jean’s bedroom.

  She knocked three times—hard, so they'd hear her over the movie and announced, “I’m home. Zip up.”

  “Hang on!” Jean shot back.

  Time seemed to drag while Ariela waited, though it was probably no more than two minutes. Feeling impatient to get inside and leave the memory of her latest failed date on this side of the door, she gave another hopeful rap. “Are you decent?”

  “All clear.”

  Ariela dropped the looped necktie over her head, accessorizing her smirk, and went in. Jean and Ron were still making wardrobe adjustments when she hung her purse on a hook behind the door and flopped into the easy chair with a dejected sigh.

  Jean tucked her legs beneath her on the sofa and sank against Ron. He snuggled her even closer and she sighed even though she was frowning pointedly at Ariela.

  “You’re back early. What happened? I thought you were going dancing tonight. Didn’t you like Randy either?”

  Ariela sent her roommate a long look. “Where would I even start?” Withdrawing into the cushions, she turned to the television. “What are you watching?”

  Ron glanced over. “Split Infinity.”

  “Never heard of it.” She struggled to figure out what was going on for ten minutes, but having missed the beginning, she couldn’t catch up. What was the point? “I’m starving. I’m going to find something to eat.”

  Jean stared at her. “You just came from dinner.”

  “I couldn’t eat. The guy ruined my appetite. He never stopped talking, not even when his mouth was full. I swear, it was like watching a front-load washing machine, except with a washer you’re not in danger of getting hit by something flying out of it.”

  Jean looked revolted. “Tell me you’re joking.”

  “I wish. He was disgusting.”

  “So, how much did you drink?” Jean knew her so well.

  “Two glasses of wine. When Randy asked why I wasn’t eating, I told him I was coming down with something. Thank god I thought of it. It saved me from having to kiss him later. There was no way he was getting anywhere near me with that tongue of his.” Just the idea was enough to make her shudder.

  Ron chuckled and broke in. “There’s pizza on the counter—help yourself.”

  “Thanks.” Ariela popped up to go investigate. “Anything I have to pull off of it?”

  “’Shrooms,” said Jean.

  Damn. “Mushrooms?” She hated the ungrateful whine in her voice.

  Jean arched an eyebrow at her. “Hey, we didn’t order pineapple because you bitched so much last time.”

  “I did? Oh…I did. Sorry.” Ariela gave her friends a fake perky smile. “Mushroom pizza? Fantastic.”

  Sputtering on another chuckle, Ron stood and stretched, letting out a deep groan with his full extension. “Well, I suppose I should clear out. I have an early morning.”

  Ariela flipped up the top of the cardboard pizza box, though it didn’t block her view of Jean’s theatrical pout through the kitchen doorway. Amused by it, she reached in and tore a slice of pizza free and peeled back the cheese so she could pick off the mushrooms. She flicked every single one she found back into the box.

  “See you later, Ron,” Ariela called as the couple kissed goodnight.

  There was a pause before he answered. “Be good, Ariela.”

  “I’m always good,” Ariela muttered under her breath. She was tired of being good. She wanted to be bad, to be a rabble rouser, to get into a little trouble for once in her life. Too bad it didn’t come naturally. She needed someone to corrupt her. Yes, a bad influence to shake up her boring routine would be great.

  Jean wandered into the kitchen and took a glass down from the cabinet. Going into the fridge, she held up the carton. “Milk?”

  “I’d rather have juice.”

  Jean looked over the shelves. “Don’t see any.”

  “Figures. Guess I’ll have milk too.”

  She was off to a good, rebellious start. Well, at least she was getting her calcium. Tomorrow, she’d better get to the store to pick up more of her favorite cranberry blends.

  Jean set Ariela’s glass down in front of her and took her usual chair at the table. Reaching into the pizza box she helped herself, playfully wiggling her eyebrows as she bit the mushroom at the very tip clean off.

  Ariela quivered in distaste. “Do you mind? I'm eating here.”

  “So am I.” Jean laughed and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “You know, I think I like cold pizza best.”

  “I get into moods.” Using her freshly polished fingernails, she picked off a tiny chunk of black olive and wiped it on the inside of the box.

  “It’s not a booger, Ariela.” Jean kicked back in her chair and contemplated her roommate.

  Wary, Ariela lo
wered her second slice of pizza. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  Ariela slowly shook her head. “Oh no, no, no, no. Tell me.”

  Jean breathed in and out first. “Fine. It’s just…well…I figured Randy was going to be a bust. And he was—just another dud in a pattern of duds for you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Face it. You go out with losers, knowing they’re losers and they’re going to disappoint. It’s like you set yourself up on purpose.”

  Ariela gave a dismissive snort. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m just saying. You know what you want, and you refuse to go there.” Jean took another bite of her pizza.

  “I go out with the guys who ask me.”

  “You turn down any guy who might be interesting.”

  “I haven’t met any of those.”

  “You don’t want to.” Jean tossed her crust back into the empty box and wiped her hands on her napkin. “I think you’re afraid to fall in love.”

  Ariela scoffed at the idea, unconvinced. “Is that right?”

  “We’ve been friends a long time. I know you better than you think. You’re afraid to end up like your mom.”

  Sitting up, her eyebrows raised, Ariela deflected the charge. “I don’t think this is how a psych session is supposed to work. I believe I’m supposed to be the one talking and you’re supposed to take notes and nod occasionally and say things like ‘hmm,’ and ‘I see. Very interesting.’”

  “I’ve just made some observations over the years, that’s all. Maybe it’s time to admit you don’t go deep with men. You keep them shallow, where they can’t hurt you.”

  Ariela laughed. “Okay then, point me in the right direction, because I’m obviously mucking things up on my own.”

  “Be serious.” There was an understanding look in Jean’s eyes. “You can’t run away forever.”

  ***

  It was well over six hours since Dylan gave any thought to his aching back. All sense of time and discomfort were lost in a flurry of mental activity. Armed with damning evidence, he was in his zone, a master of political commentary as his words flowed across the screen.

  ‘—and unfortunately for the American people, Senator Norton has never acted on any legislation before his financial terms have been worked out first. The Carpenter Bill is a prime example. It makes this jaded journalist pine for the days when money was passed discreetly under the table, instead of brazenly and unapologetically in the open.’

  With a dramatic flourish, Dylan lifted his hands off the keyboard and kicked back in his chair with an exhilarated smile. “Take that you bastard. Hope it stings like a bitch.”

  He dated his column and sent it in.

  “Oh yeah.” Reaching for his long-neglected beer, he took a swig and his face contorted with a wicked grimace. “Warm and flat.” He shuddered and rolled back his chair, grunting stiffly to his feet. Only now did he notice the daylight streaming in the windows.

  “Jesus. What time is it?” He scrubbed his tired eyes with the heels of his hands.

  Max sat up and scratched himself, his attention centered on his human. When Dylan swept up the open bag of cheese puffs on the desk and shook the last two into his hand, the dog’s tail beat the floor in double-time. Chuckling at the animal, he popped one into his own mouth and tossed the second to him. Max snatched it out of the air and swallowed it whole.

  “You could at least pretend to taste it for my sake,” he said dryly.

  The dog followed him into the kitchen and parked himself directly behind Dylan when he threw open the refrigerator door.

  The pickings were slim. Dylan pulled out a container of forgotten lunch meat and opened the lid. He took a cautious sniff, jerked his head back, and sent the bologna sailing across the room. It landed in the trash with a satisfying whump. Max stretched up and gave the garbage an interested look.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he warned.

  Shit, there was nothing to eat. He slammed the refrigerator door and stretched through his spine, finally attuned to the stiffness he’d managed to ignore while working. Rubbing his lower back in a distracted fashion, he looked at the dog.

  “I’ve gotta get something in my stomach. How does a breakfast sandwich sound?” Max wriggled with excitement and pounded his tail on the floor. Laughing, Dylan patted his leg and invited the dog over. “Yeah, like you know what I said.” Max leaned his weight against his thigh while he rubbed his ears. “Come on boy.” He grabbed the leash off the counter and snapped off the kitchen light.

  ***

  Two blocks away, Jean shuffled into the kitchen and found Ariela curled over a mug of coffee, a magazine open on the table in front of her. When Jean saw the headline, Are you getting enough Niacin? she gasped in alarm. “Oh my god. Put that away!”

  Ariela glanced up with a frown. “Why? It’s just a health article.” She returned to her reading.

  Jean snorted. “I know. That’s what worries me.” She got a bowl down and reached for the cereal.

  “Ha ha. Very funny.”

  But as Jean silently predicted, it wasn’t long before Ariela made another of her ridiculous suggestions.

  “We should have green tea on hand. It’s supposed to be good for you.”

  “You don’t like tea.”

  Without looking up from the page, Ariela shrugged. “I could learn. I should.”

  Jean groaned. “Not this again. Do me a favor, stick to the makeover tips. Stop reading those health updates. I don’t need you imagining you’ve got a wheat allergy next. And I’m through, I mean it, I’m through with all those stupid fad diets.”

  “You make it sound like I’m a hypochondriac or something.”

  Jean slowly turned and gave her roommate a significant look.

  Ariela rolled her eyes. “I’m not that bad.”

  “Debatable. So, what time is Mrs. Corley coming in?” Jean pulled out a chair and sat at the table.

  “Nine.”

  Ariela’s listless reply made Jean smile. Sprinkling sugar on her flakes, she asked, “Are you going straight down after breakfast?”

  “Actually, I'm going to run to the market first and pick up something for later.”

  Jean’s spoon hovered in front of her, milk dripping back into the bowl. “But I have to bring some sample books over to Banks Brothers at eight.”

  “I’ll be right back. Just go do what you have to do. I’ve got it covered.”

  “Good.”

  ***

  As Ariela dressed for work, she thought about her appointment that morning. Though it was their policy to fawn over their clients, Mrs. Corley was a woman who appreciated a bit more fuss than normal. Unfortunately, that didn't mean she made it any easier on them. Her habitual indecision was maddening, but the money on the line made it worth the trouble.

  Their last appointment was particularly frustrating. The knotty-pine cabinets Mrs. Corley had chosen were suddenly out. Now she wanted a radical new look for her kitchen, something sleek and modern. Maybe in oak? Ariela had crossed off the tile countertops without blinking and listened patiently while the client asked about granite, but not necessarily granite, instead. Could she do that?

  “That’s no problem,” Ariela assured her with a tight smile, then brought out examples for Mrs. Corley to look over.

  Then they moved on to wallpaper samples. That alone took well over an hour, even with Ariela steering the woman in the right direction again and again.

  If Mrs. Corley didn't commit to this kitchen plan today, there was no telling what Ariela would do. She could almost picture herself escorting the impossible woman out and giving her a boot in the ass as she waved her off. Ariela sighed. No way could she ever do anything of the sort. Still, it was an enjoyable fantasy—hours of pleasure without the blowback and guilt.

  Being Friday, Ariela would be on her own for lunch. Jean had a standing date with Ron.

  Her roommate and business partner was already gone w
hen Ariela slipped out the front door, locking it behind her. Heading down the front steps, she turned left at the sidewalk.

  Gorgeous, the day was simply gorgeous—warm sunshine, clear, deep blue sky, and the lazy hum of bumblebees on the old-fashioned roses growing along the neighbor’s fence. Ariela drew the fragrance deep and sighed at the unexpected subtle finish of freshly mown grass that followed. It was a perfect day to play hooky, or maybe enjoy a picnic.

  Truth be told, she didn’t mind the Friday routine. She had an hour, one whole hour, all to herself and she liked to stroll over to the little market at the end of the block. They usually had something good in their deli case, and a nice selection of sparkling juices and waters to go with it.

  ***

  Pushing his way out the doors of the Spiffy Mart, Dylan wolfed down the last bite of his breakfast sandwich. There were two newspapers caught tight under his left arm and a second unwrapped sandwich in his right hand. He felt a wave of relief to see Max still waiting exactly where he'd left him, tied to the bike rack.

  “Good boy.”

  Dylan tore the sandwich into thirds and fed it to the dog. He had to shove the excited animal back in order to untie the knot and free him. The instant Max felt slack in the leash he took off, nearly jerking Dylan’s arm out of its socket. He struggled frantically to keep his newspapers from raining down on the sidewalk one section at a time.

  “Max, wait! I said, wait, damn it.”

  If he lost anything, Max was going to pay. A newspaper was a treasure. Even though he could get all the information he needed off the internet, there was something deeply satisfying about holding a paper. The pleasure of having to wash the inky residue off his fingers after he finished reading could never be replaced by a screen. Another drawback to reading online was his habit of making notes in the margins would naturally end. Harsh. Then there was the daily crossword, of course. He’d missed those the most while he was overseas.

  Dylan hauled the dog back at the corner to keep him from darting into traffic. Giving up the fight for the moment, Max waited, happily fanning the air with his tail. When the light changed, Dylan eased up on the leash and the golden retriever took the lead, this time striding as regally as a show dog. Anyone who saw them might be fooled into thinking Max was domesticated, but Dylan knew better. His dog was a disaster waiting to happen.