Once and For All: An American Valor Novel Read online

  Dedication

  For V.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  An Excerpt from You’re Still the One by Darcy Burke

  An Excerpt from The Debutante Is Mine by Vivienne Lorret

  An Excerpt from One Dangerous Desire by Christy Carlyle

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  February 2012

  DANNY MACGREGOR STARED at the black screen, knowing he was good and screwed. The dead cell phone meant he had no way to call for an exfil, no GPS. Aside from the fact that he was standing on the deck of a million-dollar beach house, he had no fucking clue as to his whereabouts. Only one thing was for certain—no way was he going back inside to wake last night’s distraction and ask for directions. Or worse yet, ask her to drive him to his daddy’s house.

  Not just no, but hell no.

  “God. I’m getting too old for this shit.”

  Danny shoved the useless piece of tech in his back pocket and buttoned the fly of his jeans. So what if he was in a bit of a jam. Not a big deal. He’d made it out of far worse situations before. And this time he had the luxury of not being shot at in the process.

  The sun was breaking over the Atlantic, painting the cloudless sky shades of pink and orange as the tide eased its way farther and farther onto shore. He’d seen plenty of sunrises all over the world, but for him none were more beautiful than those in Myrtle Beach. He breathed the cool, salt-tinged air deep into his lungs, soaking in the moment, imprinting it to memory. As much as he loved home, he couldn’t stay. There were other places in the world where his talents were put to much better use. But it would be a moment like this he would recall in the future, when the world around him went to shit and he would briefly close his eyes in desperate need of peace.

  After pulling on the rest of his clothes and tying his boots, he made his way across the expansive deck and down the stairs, following the boardwalk over the dunes. Then, using both hands, he shielded his eyes from the sunlight reflecting off the ocean waves. He looked first to the south, then back to the north as he tried to get his bearings. A half mile down the beach, a long wooden pier jutted out into the water, giving him a good idea of his whereabouts. He turned back to the south and began the solid six-mile run back home.

  The temperature was cool with a light breeze out of the north, making running conditions damn near ideal. Even so, within the first hundred meters his head began pounding in time with his heart. Jack Daniel’s pulsed through his veins and soured his stomach, causing it to burn and churn with every step. The nausea finally got the better of him, forcing him to stop and puke in a nearby sand dune. But with a swift kick of his boot, he covered the mess and resumed his steady, albeit slower than normal pace.

  He felt like hell and probably looked far worse considering the stares he was getting from a few of the early-morning beachcombers. Or maybe they just weren’t used to seeing anyone running on the beach wearing the same clothes they wore out to the bar the night before. Even with a raging hangover, it was still one of the more pleasant runs he’d taken since enlisting in the army.

  For almost a decade the 75th Regiment had conditioned and trained his body to run under far worse circumstances, for far longer distances. Time and time again he pushed his body beyond normal limits, depriving himself of food, of sleep. But more important, ignoring twinges of pain or fatigue until it became second nature. He’d run in rainstorms, in sandstorms. In one-hundred-degree heat and bone-chilling cold. He’d run during the day, carrying a sixty-pound rucksack on his back and a gas mask on his face. He’d run through fields and forests in the dead of night with only night-vision goggles to help him see the way, all part of his continued physical training so he could run down a target the government wanted captured, or run for his life when all hell broke loose and the only way to safety was on his own two feet.

  After hitting the halfway mark home, Danny glanced at his watch. Twenty-five minutes. It wasn’t close to his best time. Hell, it wasn’t even the Ranger minimum. If the guys in his squad ever found out he’d certainly catch hell for it. But if he could maintain this pace, he’d be back at his father’s house in another thirty. Which meant within the next hour, after a shower and maybe some breakfast, he could fall into bed and sleep off what remained of his hangover.

  Then he’d spend the rest of the day doing absolutely nothing. And hating every minute of it.

  Goddamn mandatory block leave.

  For Danny, two weeks forced vacation from the job he loved was the worst kind of torture. He handled life far better when things were balls to the wall. Functioning on less than three hours of sleep. Blowing shit up. Training guys up. Jumping out of perfectly good aircraft. Anything, anything to keep him busy and out of trouble.

  Before he completed another mile, the familiar roar of a big block engine approached from behind, forcing him onto the shoulder. The faded red and rusted truck from his youth gunned past and pulled to the side of the road only yards in front of him. Danny came to a standstill, taking a moment to brace his hands on his knees and catch his breath.

  The driver-side window eased down. “Morning, sunshine. Nice day for a run?”

  From where he stood at the side of the road, Danny could see his brother’s shit-eating grin reflected in the side mirror. Being the ever respectful enlisted man, he snapped to attention and bestowed upon his officer brother a well-earned middle-finger salute.

  Mike laughed. “Get in, dipshit.”

  As he walked to the passenger side, Danny wiped the sweat from his brow with the tail of his button-down.

  “Where the hell is your truck?” his brother asked.

  “Sitting in the parking lot of Eve’s.” At least he hoped his truck was still sitting there. All too often, nice truck plus dive-bar parking lot equaled stolen.

  Danny yanked open the door, the old steel frame groaning beneath the added weight as he climbed in. After slamming the door shut, he studied his perfectly coiffed brother. They were polar opposites when out of uniform. Danny always dressed for comfort while his brother appeared to have stepped from the pages of a fashion magazine. In his high-dollar golf shirts and perfectly pressed pants, most would assume Michael MacGregor was part of the country club set. Which is exactly where Danny thought he belonged. Or at the very least, working at Walter Reed or Brooks or some other VA hospital. Someplace stateside. Someplace nice and safe and far away from trouble. He sure as hell shouldn’t have joined regiment just so he could babysit his little brother.

  But that age-old argument could wait for another time.

  Danny cranked the window down halfway and leaned his head back against the cracked vinyl headrest. He closed his eyes, letting th
e cool morning breeze wash over him as the truck rumbled down the street. If he was lucky, his brother would save the inquisition for another time.

  “Good time last night?”

  So much for luck.

  “Oh, come on. Why the silent treatment?”

  Danny kept his eyes closed, silently praying to the hangover gods for a quick and merciful death.

  “Say something, dammit!” His brother’s words were punctuated by a dull thump, most likely the palm of his hand meeting the padded steering wheel.

  His eyes snapped open and he turned to face his brother as best he could, squinting against the glare of sunlight. “What the hell do you want me to say?” Between the liquor, the vomiting, and the impromptu run, his voice sounded like someone had scoured his vocal cords with sixty-grit sandpaper. “Yes, I drank too much. Yes, I went home with some random woman from the bar. No, I don’t remember her name. Yes, I feel like shit. Good enough? Anything else?” Danny glared at his brother, daring him to ask one more idiotic question.

  Mike glanced at him warily. “I guess that about covers it.”

  Finally, that was over and Danny relaxed back into the seat. The silence, however, was short-lived.

  His brother turned on the radio, the volume a low hum as it scanned from station to station. But once it landed on the heavy metal station, Mike cranked it to the highest level the factory-installed system would allow. Danny felt the pound of the bass in his chest, hands, and feet. Not to mention his head. He took slow, measured breaths but refused to complain. No way would he give his brother the satisfaction. After all, it was something he would have done.

  Halfway into the second song, the truck came to an abrupt stop and the engine shut off. Danny opened his eyes, expecting to be parked in the driveway of their childhood home. Only they sat in a grocery-store parking lot.

  “I thought we were going home.”

  “Should’ve asked,” Mike answered with a laugh. “I needed to make a grocery-store run and decided to drive around town a bit to see if I could find your dumb ass. Lo and behold, I did.” Mike pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket, tore it in two and handed one half to him. “Look at it this way, we’ll get the shopping done in half the time.”

  “I’ll just stay here,” Danny said, avoiding the piece of paper held out in front of him.

  Mike took hold of his brother’s hand and forced the list into his palm. “Not unless you want to walk home from here.”

  Danny stared at the grocery list, contemplating the lesser of two evils. The unexpected detour had added at least two more miles. He could easily run the rest of the way, but he felt like hell. And this was supposed to be his vacation.

  Reluctantly, he snatched the paper from Mike’s hand and followed him inside.

  BREE DUNBAR TUGGED on her pageboy cap in hopes of hiding the obvious. Having beaten cancer for the second time, she’d woken up feeling stronger, more confident than she had in months. A little rebellious, even. Which is why she’d said goodbye to the wig and hello to her stylish new cap. Only now that she was out in public it didn’t seem like the smartest of moves.

  People weren’t just noticing her, but staring. Stopping dead in their tracks with mouths gaping open in an “I’m not even trying to hide the fact that I’m staring at you” kind of way. With her earlier confidence now wavering, she felt more than a little . . . exposed.

  She closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. “Screw it. Doesn’t matter,” she told herself. After all, they didn’t know what she’d been through. What she’d given up. So in her mind, feeling this good was still a milestone worth celebrating. Worthy of cheesecake, even. Who cared it wasn’t even noon.

  Bree shoved her cart in the direction of the bakery, where she perused the refrigerated display case. Turtle. Strawberry swirl. Double chocolate.

  She sensed someone hovering and her earlier irritation reared its ugly head.

  “When a woman is stalking the cheesecake case first thing in the morning it can only mean one thing,” a man whispered in her ear.

  Bree spun around, prepared to kick this guy in the nuts and tell him exactly what he could do with his one thing, but her plan of action died the moment she laid eyes on him.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  It had been years since she’d seen Michael MacGregor, but he looked just the same as he always did with his preppy clothes and dark blond hair cut in a traditional military style.

  “Definitely not God,” he said with a hint of Southern twang. “God complex? Maybe.”

  With a wink and a smile, Michael extended his arms wide and Bree practically leaped into his waiting embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck. Then, just as he’d done when they were younger, he lifted her feet several inches from the ground and spun her in a tight circle. She laughed as they narrowly avoided a bread rack and towering cupcake display. Then with her feet firmly planted on the ground, he kissed her forehead and released her.

  “How you doing, kiddo?”

  “I’m good. Really good,” she said with a smile. And for the first time in a very long time, she wasn’t lying. “What on earth are you doing in town?”

  “I’m on leave. Came home to visit Dad. Play some golf.”

  “In February?”

  “Got to play when I can.”

  Some things never changed. “You’re still in the army, then?”

  Mike scrubbed the palm of his hand over his crew cut. “Still have twenty months left on my contract.”

  For as long as she could remember, he was the big brother she’d never had. After Lily MacGregor died, it was Mike’s job to look after his younger brother, Danny, while their father worked. And since she and Danny were inseparable for most of their youth, Mike played mother hen to her, as well.

  His smile slipped a bit. Bree braced herself, knowing what was coming.

  “You look good. Considering.”

  And if that wasn’t a wet blanket on her morning. So much for going an entire day without talking about cancer. Bree did her best to shake off the irritation. If anyone deserved a pass, it was Michael. After all, he was a doctor. And one of her oldest friends. So for him, she’d let it slide. This time.

  “Considering?” Bree held on to her smile as best she could and took a playful swipe at his chest. “Thanks so much for qualifying your statement.”

  His cheeks and ears tinged pink in response. At least he had the good graces to blush.

  “You know what I mean,” he said. “All done with treatments?”

  “Last one was nine weeks ago. Just trying to get on with life now.”

  “Good girl. That’s the right attitude.” He smiled and patted her shoulder, probably with the same bedside manner he was taught in medical school. Then his gaze drifted from right to left across the back of the store.

  “Have you seen Danny? He’s around here somewhere.”

  Of course he was.

  At the mention of his name, her heart stuttered in her chest. Daniel Patrick MacGregor. The boy she’d loved her entire life. The man she’d hated for a decade. Or at the very least, tried to.

  To know he was in such close proximity made her want to jump for joy as much as run screaming for the door.

  “There you are,” came a voice from behind her. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  Bree closed her eyes, knowing exactly who that voice belonged to. And she wasn’t so naive as to think he was talking to her. But now simply turning and walking away was an impossibility.

  For ten years she’d prepared herself for this moment, rehearsed what she would say if ever given the chance to confront Danny face-to-face. Only now the time had arrived and she couldn’t remember a damn word of any of it. Out of options, she pasted on a smile and turned to face her demons.

  Or more like one devil in particular.

  “Hello, Danny.�
�

  If she had any lingering delusions his words were meant for her and not his brother, they quickly disappeared. His gaze shifted to her, then to Michael, and back to her. Confusion gave way to realization then surprise.

  “Long time, no see, huh?” She smiled so hard it was a wonder her face didn’t crack. And before she realized what she was doing, she leaned in to give him a quick hug. Although she couldn’t remember the plan, Bree was pretty damn sure this wasn’t part of it. But she recovered quickly and pulled away, giving him a little finishing pat on the arm. The kind of gesture typically reserved for old schoolteachers or distant cousins you haven’t spoken with in a million years. To be honest, he didn’t deserve that much affection, but she was trying to be the bigger person. Let bygones be bygones and all that crap.

  Nope, no hard feelings here. No deep-seated resentment that had been festering in her heart for years.

  Bree took a deep breath and turned her attention back to Michael. Even heard herself ask a million questions about who knows what and not really hearing the answers. Occasionally, she’d glance in Danny’s direction so as not to appear rude, but she purposely avoided looking at him too long; otherwise he’d realize the effect he still had on her.

  She jammed her shaking hands into her pockets. Kept her words clipped and short to hide the tremor in her voice. Although she focused on Michael, her skin prickled under the weight of Danny’s stare. She could practically feel all the questions waiting on the tip of his tongue. Things she didn’t want to talk about with anyone, but especially not with him.

  Bree glanced at her wrist only to realize she didn’t wear a watch. Hopefully neither noticed. “I’d love to stay and chat but I’ve got to go. It was nice seeing both of you.”