Sam & Alyssa Short Story # 2

by Suzanne Brockmann

Sam Starrett's daughter had finally surrendered and fallen asleep when the telephone rang.

He closed her bedroom door as silently as possible and raced down the hall toward the living room, where he'd last seen the cordless phone. 

Yesterday, three and a half year old Haley had missed her nap and their dinner had been loud and far more tearful than dinosaur-shaped mac and cheese warranted.  Apparently, without an afternoon rest, having to choose between green beans or peas as a side dish was a tragic dilemma of astronomical proportions.

Sam, always good at creative solutions, thought he'd solved the problem by heating up both vegetables. 

At which point Haley wept inconsolably because the spoon she wanted to use was in the dishwasher. 

It was then that Sam understood.  As a former Navy SEAL and one of the top counterterrorism experts currently working in the private sector, he recognized that he was caught in a dread no win scenario.  He realized that even if he hand-washed the spoon, there would be something wrong with the fork, or the color of the napkin, or maybe even the brand of parmesan cheese he and his wife Alyssa kept in their fridge. 

It was obvious that the real problem wasn't with the peas or the spoon or the cheese.  Haley missed her mother -- Sam's ex-wife, Mary Lou -- and that, plus lack of nap, had locked them into orbit around the Planet of Inconsolable Unhappiness.

Sam could totally relate.  He, himself, was struggling hard to keep from joining his daughter there because Mary Lou wasn't the only one out of town.  Just over a week ago, Alyssa had gone OUTCONUS. 

A diplomat on a peace-keeping mission to Kazbekistan -- a third world terrorist hotbed nicknamed "the Pit" -- had contacted Troubleshooters Incorporated, the private security company where Sam and Alyssa both worked.  Former Senator Eugene Ryan was adamant about not showing up in the battle-weary country surrounded by heavily armed, dangerous looking "bruisers" as guards.  At the same time, he wisely didn't want to go in without adequate protection. 

And so he'd requested Alyssa join his security team. 

In a country that wasn't exactly known for its equal rights, no one would expect a woman to be an expert sharpshooter and total kickass bodyguard despite her lack of height and bulk.

Sam had desperately wanted to go along -- but his goal was not to keep Ryan safe.  No, he wanted to watch his wife's six.  But he was the exact physical type that the former senator didn't want along for the ride.  Not to mention the fact that he'd promised his ex-wife that he'd watch Haley this week...

And so he'd driven Lys to the airport and kissed her goodbye, working overtime to keep her from noticing his tightly gritted teeth.

It had to happen sooner or later, but as he'd watched her walk into the terminal, he had to admit that he'd been hoping for much, much later.  But here it was.  For the first time since they were married, Alyssa was off on a dangerous assignment without him.  And it would be another week, at least, before she came safely home.

So last night, as the green beans and peas were both heating in the microwave, Sam had sat down with Haley on the floor of the kitchen and told her it was obvious there was nothing to do but go on and have a good ol' cry. 

"Why are you crying?" she'd asked.

"Wah," he'd said.  "The Dallas Cowboys lost the football game last week."

His pretend sobs had made her giggle, at least for a little while.

Still, the entire rest of the evening had been filled with the potential for an all-out meltdown.

The first few days had been fun.  An entire week at Daddy's was a novelty for Haley, who'd never spent more than a weekend away from her mother.  Sam knew it had been exciting for her, too, to look at the pictures from the brochure and imagine Momma and her new husband having a romantic vacation aboard a cruise ship. 

As for Sam, he'd appreciated the distraction -- what was Alyssa doing right now?  Was she in danger?  Was he going to have to wait another five days before she had a chance to call him again...? -- as he took his tiny blonde daughter to the zoo and over to Old Town San Diego.

But today, over their Cap'n Crunch and orange juice, Sam and Haley had started counting the days on the calendar -- four -- until Mary Lou came back home.

Four days was definitely do-able, provided they didn't miss any more of those very important naps.

Provided he could convince her to fall asleep.  He'd just sat with her for over an hour, holding her hand.

The phone shrilled again as Sam searched for it among the pile of toy cars and dolls on the living room rug.  He loved his little daughter dearly, but please sweet Jesus, don't let her wake up yet.

He managed to find and grab the cordless phone before it completed that second ring.  "Sam Starrett."  Shoot, he must be tired.  This was his home phone, and here the correct greeting was "Hello."

The woman on the other end didn't seem to mind.  "Please hold for Mr. Cassidy," she said.

Well, la di dah.  Lookie who got himself a secretary. 

Sam had left a message for Jules Cassidy just yesterday, asking for an update in the FBI's search for a serial killer known as "the Dentist."  He and Lys had handled a missing person case last year which hadn't ended happily.  They'd found the young woman they were searching for -- or rather, they'd found what was left of her after the Dentist worked her over.

They'd also discovered that the Dentist had been posing as a ski instructor in New Hampshire, using the alias "Steve Hathaway."

Alyssa -- normally tough as nails -- had been unusually upset when they'd found the body, even though the murder had occurred six months earlier.  She'd taken it personally -- so Sam had started getting regular updates on the case from Jules, her friend and former partner from her FBI days. 

It was obvious to Sam that, after seeing that dead girl, Lys wanted to kick the Dentist's ass straight to hell where he belonged.  She was afraid -- and rightly so -- that it was just a matter of time before the killer targeted his next victim. 

After months of no progress, a man had recently surfaced in a resort town in Colorado who fit Hathaway's description.  Sam was hoping the FBI agents working the case would locate the Dentist's grisly souvenirs from his victims and have enough evidence to take him into custody before Alyssa returned. 

Giving her that news would be a wonderful welcome home present -- a thought that made him smile.  Forget about flowers and chocolate.  His wife wanted a psycho-killer behind bars.

She was different from most other women, no doubt about that.  Which was not to say she didn't love chocolate... 

Ah yes, Sam missed her very much.

The line clicked, and Jules finally came on the line.  "Sam." 

"Hey," Sam greeted him, genuinely glad to hear Jules' voice.  Five years ago, if someone had told him that he'd be happily married to his old nemesis Alyssa Locke, and best friends with her best friend -- an openly gay man -- Sam would've laughed his ass off.  But obviously a lot could happen in five years.  "Thanks for calling me back, Mister Cassidy."

There was the briefest pause, then Jules said, "I guess you're not watching TV." 

"What?  No.  I've got Haley for the week and anything besides Sesame Street is too intense for her," Sam said as he now began searching for the remote control beneath the Spiderman and Powder Puff Girls coloring books that covered his coffee table.  Haley got nightmares.  It was Big Bird or a Disney DVD.  Although it was possible that too much Big Bird was now giving Sam nightmares.

When he actually slept, that is.

"Sam, hang on a sec."  Jules put his hand over the receiver as he spoke to someone else on his end.  Usually irreverent and upbeat, he sounded serious.  Hell, he was calling Sam Sam instead of Sponge Bob or Pollyanna or one of those other humiliating nicknames that he usually used. 

"What happened?" Sam asked as Jules came back on the phone.  He answered his own question.  "Another dead woman without teeth in Colorado." 

"This isn't about the Dentist," Jules told him as Sam found the remote and aimed it at the TV.  "Listen, do yourself a favor and don't turn on the news." 

Too late.  Sam had already flipped to CNN where... 

"Oh, shit," he breathed, sitting down heavily on the sofa.

Peace-Keeper Attacked was the headline that hung over the anchor's right shoulder, along with a picture of Eugene Ryan.  "...in northern Kazbekistan, where the former senator's helicopter was believed to have been shot down."

Oh, God, no...

"We just received confirmation," Jules told him, "that one of Eugene Ryan's helicopters was hit by a shoulder-fired missile, just north of Ikrimah, which is a city in the northern province of--"

"I know where Ikrimah is," Sam interrupted him.  "One of...?"  How many helos were transporting Ryan's delegation?  Jesus, he couldn't breathe. 

On the TV, the news anchor was now delivering a fluff piece on a pie eating contest, a big smile on his face. 

"One of two," Jules delivered the grim news as Sam hit the mute.  Which meant there was a fifty/fifty chance Lys was on the helicopter that went down. 

In flames.

"Before we lost radio contact," Jules continued, "the second chopper reported that there were definitely casualties, but we don't know how many and we don't know who."

"Before," Sam repeated.  "You lost... radio contact...?"

"I am so sorry," Jules started, but Sam cut him off. 

"Fuck sorry!"  Sam winced, looking toward the room where Haley was sleeping.  He lowered his voice, but it came out no less intense.  "I don't want sorry.  I want the information that you've--"

"We don't have any information," Jules raised his voice to talk over him.  "All we have is speculation.  Rumors.  You know as well as I do what good that--"

"What are the rumors?" Sam asked.

"Sam," Jules said.  "You know rumors are just--"

"Did the second helo go down, too?" Sam had to know.

"No," Jules said, but then added, "Not exactly.  What we think happened, and sweetie, breathe.  This is mostly guesswork.  Even though we have a few people who claim to be eye-witnesses, we have only their word that they were actually there.  So yeah, they reported that after the first chopper crashed, the second swung back around to assist the survivors.  According to these unreliable sources, it apparently landed, going out of view, behind several buildings.  Then, allegedly, there was a second big explosion."

"And?" Sam asked tightly.

"And nothing," Jules said. "It's all speculation.  You know as well as I do that this could be nothing more than one of the local warlords planting disinformation--"

"There was an and in your voice," Sam insisted.  "God damn it, Jules, tell me all of it."

Jules exhaled hard.  "The attack happened shortly before sunset.  There've been unconfirmed reports of a fierce firefight in that area pretty much all night."

Sam was going to be sick.  "So, best case scenario is that my wife is on the ground in a hostile part of Kaz-fucking-bekistan, engaged in a gun battle with people who don't just want to kill her for being American, but who want to kill her slowly, on camera, broadcast over the internet."

Worst case was that Alyssa was already dead -- that she had been dead for hours. 

"Who's going in after them?" Sam demanded.

"I don't know," Jules said.  "Look, I'm going to make some phone calls, see what I can find out, okay?  It may take me a while."

"Jules," Sam started, but he didn't have to say it.  Jules said it for him.

"I'll call you back as soon as I hear anything.  Good news or bad."

"Thanks."  As Sam hung up the phone, the news anchor made a joke about a pop star who was getting married.  It was absolutely surreal. 

How could anyone laugh when Alyssa might be dead?

He turned off the TV, but then turned it back on, flipping to the other news stations and then back, hoping for something, anything that would let him see just what Alyssa was up against. 

If there were any way to survive this, Lys would find it.  Of that Sam had absolutely no doubt.  She was strong, she was skilled, and she had the heart of a warrior.

But if her team was badly outnumbered by their attackers, if it was a handful against several hundred, they would soon be overpowered.  And all of the skill, strength and heart in the world wouldn't keep her alive.

* * * *

Sam splashed water on his face, then dried it with his towel.  It was one of the blue ones that he and Alyssa had picked out when they'd moved into this little house together, a few weeks before their wedding.

"Blue is all about serenity and tranquility," she'd told him as they stood in the department store, when he'd suggested they get brown because it would hide the dirt and stains.

But she was serious, which had surprised him.  For someone so down to earth and practical, as they'd decorated their house she'd paid a lot of attention to the mood created by color, as well as something called Feng Shui.  Which was all about furniture placement and good vibes and all kinds of touchy-feelie New Age voodoo.

Of course, maybe there was something to that Feng Shui crap, because Sam had never been happier and more at peace in his entire life than he had this past year, living here.

Then again, he'd be beyond ecstatic living in a cardboard box, as long as Alyssa was with him.

Please, God, keep her safe.

Sam took a deep breath, then opened the bathroom door. 

The phone rang again, and Joan DaCosta, the wife of SEAL Team Sixteen's Lieutenant Mike Muldoon, picked it up out in the living room. 

As the news of the downed choppers spread, friends and relatives were calling him to find out details and offer their support.  But it had quickly gotten overwhelming.  "I'm sure Alyssa's all right.  I'm sure she's fine..." they reassured him.  But they wanted him to say it back to them, too.

And the truth was, as optimistic as he usually was, in this case, he wasn't sure about anything.  And no one really wanted to hear how he was scared shitless, and that this sitting still and waiting for news was driving him freaking nuts. 

No one, that is, except for Joan and Savannah and Meg, the long-suffering wives of his three best friends from his days as a Navy SEAL.

Meg Nilsson -- Johnny's wife -- had been the first to arrive.  She'd just opened his front door and walked inside his house, God bless her, announcing, "Hey, it's only me.  I didn't ring the bell -- I didn't want you to think I was someone bringing you bad news." 

She'd brought her two daughters -- Amy, a teenager from her first marriage, and four year old Robin, who had Johnny's eyes. 

Amy possessed a maturity and sensitivity far beyond her years.  She'd ushered both Robin and Haley outside, where she kept them occupied and entertained.  Even now, hours later, Sam could hear their laughter from the backyard. 

Shortly after Meg arrived, Chief Ken "WildCard" Karmody's wife Savannah pulled into the driveway.  Mikey's Joan was right behind her.

They'd each given him a hug and told him they weren't going to let him go through this alone.

"Joan'll let me know if it's Jules on the phone, right?" Sam asked now, as he went back into the kitchen, where Meg and Savannah were sitting together at the table.  At first glance they seemed to be unlikely friends. 

Savannah was a high powered attorney who had just made partner and opened a law office in San Diego, after years of a bicoastal marriage.  She came from money and worked not because she had to, but because she wanted to.  Sam suspected though, if and when the time came to start a family with Kenny, she would throw herself into it with the same whole-hearted devotion.

Kind of the way Meg did.  A brunette to Savannah's elf princess blonde, Meg Nilsson worked part-time from a home office.  Her standard uniform was very different from Van's lawyer clothes -- T-shirts and shorts, sneakers on her feet -- better for chasing after Robin.

Sam knew for a fact that it wasn't easy for Meg and John to make ends meet on John's salary.

And yet Savannah and Meg were friends.  They both loved their husbands -- who willingly traveled to war zones and other places that were hazardous to one's health.

They both knew that their husbands might be injured or even killed in the line of duty at any given moment.

They knew what it felt like to carry around that anxiety, to live for those overseas phone calls that usually came in the middle of the night.  "I'm sorry it's so late, but I have cell service -- it's weak, but it's there -- and I'm not sure when I'll get it again..."

Four days ago, before the helo crash, he got a call like that from Alyssa.  And for five minutes while he spoke to her, he could breathe again.  She had been safe, and he knew it.

For those five minutes. 

It ended far too quickly, and as soon as he hung up the phone the anxiety came screaming back. 

Alyssa had been scheduled to be away for just a short time.  SEALs, however, often went out for months.  Sam absolutely couldn't imagine living like this for more than a few weeks. 

"Jules said it would be a while before he called again," Meg gently reminded him.

"Have you tried cleaning the refrigerator?" Savannah suggested.  "I've found it helps a little if you just keep moving."

Sam sat down, wearily rubbing his forehead.  Jesus, his head ached.  "I did the fridge the night Alyssa's flight left," he said on an exhale.  "Then, in the morning, I took an axe, went out in the yard and removed this old stump we'd been talking about getting rid of."  He'd chopped the crap out of it in about four hours.

"I usually stick to cleaning out closets." Savannah was impressed.  "I've never tried anything that involves an axe."

"I have," Meg said dryly.  "Don't bother.  It doesn't help."

Nothing helped. 

"If you want," Savannah suggested, "we could help you organize your closets.  It'll keep you busy.  And you'll also win big bonus points when Alyssa comes back."

When Alyssa comes back.  They were sitting there, all three of them, pretending that if Alyssa came back wasn't what she really meant. 

God, he hated this.  But the alternative was sitting in his kitchen by himself.  Or trying to fool Haley into thinking everything was all right, and sneaking into the bedroom every ten minutes to turn on CNN, see if there was any new information that made it to the cable news station first. 

So he told Savannah, "I did the closets on the second night.  It took a while, but I wasn't going to sleep, so..."

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Meg asked, clearly working to keep the conversation going.  "Just how much junk two people can accumulate in a short amount of time...?"

"Yeah," he agreed.  "I found this old hat -- a baseball cap -- that I thought I lost years ago and--"  He broke off.  "I can't do this.  I'm sorry, I can't stand it.  I'm just sitting here, so freaking helpless -- I can't do a thing to help her.  Even if I got on a plane..."  It would take him at least forty-eight hours to get to Ikrimah.  He closed his eyes.  "Right now, she could be dying.  Right now.  Right now.  And I can't help her."

Meg took his hand.  "I know," she said quietly.  "It's hard, isn't it?" 

Sam looked at her, and he knew that she knew exactly what he was feeling.  "How many times have you done this?" he asked. 

"Thought John might not be coming home?" she clarified.  She didn't wait for him to respond.  "There've been, oh, I guess three or four times somewhat similar to this situation.  But, you know, every time he's out there and there's some news report about a helicopter crash or a suicide bomber or..."  She laughed as she shook her head.  "Believe me, there's a lot of prayer involved when you're married to a SEAL."

"And a lot of really clean refrigerators," Savannah added. 

"Pristine closets."

"Well gardened yards..."

"You see, John knows where he is when he's on an op," Meg told Sam.  "He knows when he's safe and when he's at risk.  But all I know is he's somewhere dangerous and..."  She shrugged.  "It sucks."

No kidding.  "I had no idea," Sam admitted.  "Before this, I just..."  He shook his head.  When he'd gone wheels up with the team he'd understood that it was no picnic for the wives, girlfriends and significant others they left behind.  But he'd had no clue just how awful it could be.

Joan appeared in the doorway, cordless phone in her hands.  "That was Mike," she told them.  "The team's training exercise'll be over in an hour.  He and John and Ken'll bring dinner when they come."

The phone rang again, and Joan retreated toward the living room.  "Starrett and Locke residence," Sam heard her say.  But then she gasped.  "Oh, my God!"

Sam was up and out of his chair, and he nearly collided with her as she came racing back into the kitchen, thrusting the phone at him.

"Jules," he said as he clasped it to his ear.  Please God, let this be good news.  "What's the word?"

"It's not Jules," Joan said, but he waved for her to be quiet, because all he could hear was static, and then...

"Sam, it's me -- I'm all right," Alyssa said -- beautiful, wonderful, vibrant and so-very-alive Alyssa -- her voice suddenly clear as day. 

"It's Lys," Joan announced, which was good because try as he might, Sam couldn't get the words out.

"Ah, Jesus, thank you, God," was all he could manage, and even that was little more than a whisper.

Meg and Savannah both leapt to their feet.  Meg pulled one of the kitchen chairs behind him, and Savannah tugged him back into it, Joan pushing his head down between his knees -- as if they thought he might actually faint. 

"Hey!"  But, shit, he was dizzy and on the verge of falling out of the chair, so maybe they were onto something there.  But before he could thank them, they all left, hurrying out into the backyard to give him privacy.

"The SAS came in and...  Gordon MacKenzie, remember him?" Alyssa asked him.  "His team pulled us out.  He remembers you -- he wants to know what you think of his SAS boys now."

Gordon MacKenzie...?

"Gordie told me his SAS team did some training exercises with SEAL Team Sixteen, back a few years," Alyssa continued as Sam desperately tried to regain his equilibrium.  "He said they learned a lot from you -- that you used to rate them on a scale from one to ten.  But you never gave them anything higher than an eight."

Yeah, he remembered that.  MacKenzie had gotten in his face and accused him of being a hardnosed asshole.  Actually arsehole was what he'd said in his quaint Scottish accent.  Sam had countered by standing his ground and saying he'd give them a ten when they fucking deserved a ten.  And no sooner.  Maybe they'd earn it next year, he'd told MacKenzie when the exercise had ended.

"Sam, are you still there?  Can you hear me?" Alyssa was saying through the phone.

"Yeah," he said.  "Yes.  Lys, are you really all right?"  Frickin' Gordie MacKenzie's team had helped save Alyssa's life.  Next time he saw the dour bastard, he'd kiss him on the mouth.  "Where are you?"

"The helo just landed on an aircraft carrier," she said.  "We're safe."  She sounded exhausted, and she exhaled hard.  "Those of us who made it out alive."

"Are you hurt?" he asked, heart in his throat.

"Just a little tired," she told him -- she always had been the queen of understatement.  "Well, yeah, okay, I could use a few stitches -- just a few, don't get upset, I'm fine.  We're pretty dehydrated, though.  They've got us all on IV drips." 

"I am so freaking glad to hear your voice," he told her, and she laughed.  "You have no idea..."

"Yeah," she said.  "Actually, I do.  Although, don't be jealous.  I have to admit, as glad as I am to talk to you, I was even more glad to hear Gordie MacKenzie's voice this morning." 

No kidding.  "Tell Gordie that I love him," Sam said.

Alyssa laughed again.  "Those aren't the three little words he's longing to hear from you, Sam.  Seriously, what they did was...  It was remarkably courageous.  We were trapped and...  I honestly didn't think anyone was coming for us -- that anyone would be able to...  I thought...  It was bad," she said quietly.

Sam had to put his head back down between his knees.  Alyssa, who never gave up, who wouldn't dream of quitting, had honestly thought she wasn't going to survive. 

"He doesn't need me to give him a ten," Sam told her.  "He knows."

"Still..."  There was a storm of static.  "...ignals fading -- I have to go.  Sam--"

"I love you," Sam told her.  Thank God, thank God, thank God... 

"I know." Alyssa's voice was fading in and out, but he could still make out her words.  "There was a point where it would have been easier to, you know, just... have it over and done, but..."

"Thank you," he said, hoping she could still hear him.  "For not giving up."

"How could I?"  She sounded as if she were a million miles away.  "You were with me, you know.  Every minute.  I could feel you by my side."  Sam could just barely hear her laughter over the static.  "Ready to give me shit if I so much as faltered.  Gordie told me you have a permanent spot on his shoulder, too -- whispering into his ear.  And here you thought you were taking it easy, sitting around the kitchen with your feet up."

Taking it easy.  She had no idea.

"I love you," he heard her say right before his phone beeped. 

He looked at it and yeah, the signal was gone.

Sitting around the kitchen...  He'd been on dozens of dangerous missions.  He'd risked his life more times than he could count. 

None of it had been as hard as the past few hours.

Sam dialed Jules Cassidy's phone number, left a brief message.  "Alyssa called.  She's all right." 

Through the kitchen window he could see Meg and Joan and Savannah out in the backyard with Haley and the other girls.

Sam punched Johnny Nilsson's cell number into his phone.  The SEAL lieutenant was still out on a training exercise, so he left a voice mail.  "Alyssa's safe -- I just got off the phone with her.  But that's not the only reason I'm calling.  I think it would be smart if you brought your wife an armload of flowers when you came home," he told his friend.  "Tell Mike and Kenny, too.  Not just tonight, but every night for the rest of your lives."

* * * *

It was already a half hour past Haley's bedtime when Sam sat on the edge of her bed.  He'd promised she could watch a little bit of the football game with him, only it had started later than he'd thought.

"You want Duck or Hippo in there with you tonight?"  His daughter frowned, and he quickly added, "Or both, on account of it being a special occasion."

"Because Alyssa's okay?" Haley asked.

"Yeah," he said, smiling into her anxious blue eyes.  "And because she'll be home the same day as your mama."

Haley nodded, taking that in.  "Amy said we had to stay outside in case you wanted to cry and say bad words," she told him.  "Did you?"

"I think I said a few," Sam admitted.  "And, yeah, I might've cried a little."

Haley nodded, so seriously.  "If you want, I could put my fingers in my ears, like when the fire-truck goes by."

Sam struggled to understand.  "You mean... so you won't have to hear me cry?  Hale, I'm not going to--"

"In case you say more bad words," she explained.

"I won't," he told her, struggling now not to laugh.  "How about giving me a hug and kiss goodnight, Cookie Monster?"

"Sometimes there's nothing to do but have a good ol' cry," she said, repeating his words from the night before.  "If you want, I could cry, too."

"No." Sam smoothed back her hair and kissed her on the cheek.  "Thank you, but no."  He tucked both Duck and Hippo in with her.

"If you want," Haley suggested, clinging to his fingers, "I could hold your hand.  Keep you company until you fall asleep.  I'm not very tired."

But her eyes were all but rolling back in her head.  Amy had done quite a job, running Haley back and forth across the yard playing tag and Red Light Green Light and Follow the Leader and other games Sam didn't even know the names of. 

He'd keep that in mind tomorrow.  Maybe they'd take a ride over to Coronado, buy a kite and run up and down the beach a few thousand times.

"I love you, Hale," he whispered, but she was already asleep.

Sam left her door open a crack and went into the living room, where he turned on the TV and watched the football game right to the bitter end. 

He then watched the news, where the anchors solemnly reported that five members of Eugene Ryan's delegation to Kazbekistan had died when their helo was shot down.

Five families had gotten the kind of phone call he'd been dreading.  They had been given the message Meg and Savannah and all of the other wives of the SEALs in Team Sixteen prayed they'd never receive.

Their husband, wife, son or daughter was never coming home.

It was entirely possible that any tears that Sam may have shed were the result of the Cowboys losing the game.

But probably not.

From the book HOT TARGET
By Suzanne Brockmann
A Ballantine Book
Copyright 2005 by Suzanne Brockmann