Suzanne Brockmann – Everyday, Average Jones (страница 1)
New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Suzanne Brockmann has thrilled audiences with her Tall, Dark and Dangerous series. Experience it here with a hero who must face the most daring adventure of all—falling in love.
Melody Evans just wants to marry an ordinary, average man who doesn’t take risks. But when the foreign embassy where she works is taken over by terrorists and she’s rescued by a daring Navy SEAL, Melody blames the extreme circumstances for their ensuing passion. When it comes to ordinary, Harlan “Cowboy” Jones is anything but, and their encounter leaves Melody with a little more than just memories…
Seven months later, when Cowboy pays Melody a visit, he’s shocked to find her pregnant with his child. Now all he has to do is convince her they’re meant to be together—that he can be as ordinary as the next guy…
Everyday, Average Jones
Suzanne Brockmann
Thanks to Candace Irvin, who helped clear up a great deal of confusion about rank and pay-grade and U.S. Navy life in general.
My eternal thanks to my tall, dark and dangerously funny friend Eric Ruben, who called me up one day and said, “Hey, Suz, I just read a great article about navy SEALs. You should check it out.” (I did, and the rest, as they say, is history.)
Thanks, also, to the EAJ Project volunteers from the Team Ten list (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/teamten) for their proofreading skills: Group Captain Rebecca Chappell, Jolene Birum, Joan Detzner, Nancy Fecca, Ginny Ann Jakob, Annie Lewis, Leah Long, Gail Reddin, Vivian L. Weaver and Deborah Wooley.
Special thanks to the Frisco’s Kid Project volunteers, who got left out of the acknowledgments for that book: Cocaptains Rebecca Chappell and Agnes Brach, Miriam Caraway, Maureen Cleator, Nicole Ione Cottles, Anne Dierkes, Melody Jacobson, Leah Long, Kelly Ludwig, Nadine Mayhew and Lauri Uzee. Hooyah, gang! Thanks so much to all of you for helping out.
Thanks to the real teams of SEALs, and to all of the courageous men and women in the U.S. military who sacrifice so much to keep America the land of the free and the home of the brave. And last but not least, a heartfelt thank-you to the wives, husbands, children and families of these real-life military heroes and heroines. Your sacrifice is deeply appreciated!
Any mistakes I’ve made or liberties I’ve taken in writing this book are completely my own.
For my big sister, Carolee Brockmann.
And for my mom, Lee Brockmann,
who even likes the ones that never sell.
It was extremely likely that she was going to die.
And with every hour that passed, her chance of making it out of this godforsaken country any way other than inside a body bag was slipping from slim to none.
Melody Evans sat quietly in the corner of the little windowless office that had become her prison, writing what she hoped would not be her final words in a letter to her sister.
Dear Brittany, I’m scared to death of dying….
She was terrified of the finality of a single bullet to the head. But she was even more afraid of the other sort of death that possibly awaited her. She’d heard of the kinds of torture that were far too prevalent in this part of the world. Torture, and other archaic, monstrous practices. God help her if they found out she was a woman….
Melody felt her pulse kick into overdrive, and she took slow, deep breaths, trying to calm herself.
Remember the time you took me sledding up at the apple orchards? Remember how you got on the sled behind me, and told me in that supertheatrical voice you sometimes used that we were either going to steer a straight course down the hill through the rows of trees—or die trying?
Her older sister had always been the adventurous one. Yet it was Brittany who was still at home in Appleton, living in the same four-story Godzilla of a Victorian house that they’d grown up in. And it was Melody who, in a moment of sheer insanity, had accepted the job of administrative assistant to the American ambassador and had moved overseas to a country she hadn’t even known existed until six months ago.
I remember thinking as we plunged down the hill—God, I couldn’t have been more than six years old, but I remember thinking—at least we’ll die together.
I wish to God I didn’t feel so alone….
“You don’t really think they’re going to let you send that, do you?” Kurt Matthews’s acerbic voice dripped scorn.
“No, I don’t.” Melody answered him without even looking up. She knew she was writing this letter not for Brittany, but for herself. Memories. She was writing down some childhood memories, trying to give herself a sense of that peace and happiness she’d known once upon a time. She was writing about the way she’d always tried so desperately to keep up with a sister nearly nine years older than she was. She skipped over the sibling infighting and petty arguments, choosing to remember only Britt’s patience and kindness.
Britt always made such a big deal over Melody’s birthday. This year, even though Mel was thousands of miles from the New England charm of their hometown in Massachusetts, Britt had sent a huge box of birthday surprises. She’d taken care to send it far enough in advance, and Melody had received it four days ago—more than a week before her twenty-fifth birthday.
She was glad now that she hadn’t followed Britt’s written orders and instead had opened the pile of presents in advance of the so-called special day. Britt had sent five new pairs of warm socks, a thick woolen sweater and some new athletic shoes. Those were the practical gifts. The fun gifts included the newest Garth Brooks CD, Tami Hoag’s latest romantic thriller, a jar of real peanut butter and two videotapes on which Brittany had recorded the past three months’ episodes of ER. It was America-in-a-box, and Melody had both laughed and cried at her older sister’s thoughtfulness. It was the best birthday present she’d ever received.
Except now it looked as if she wouldn’t live to see those episodes of ER. Or her twenty-fifth birthday.
Kurt Matthews was ignoring her again. He’d gone back to his asinine discussion with Chris Sterling. They were trying to figure out just how much CNN would pay them for the exclusive rights to their story after the deal between the terrorists and the U.S. government was made and they were released.
Matthews, the fool, actually had the gall to say that he hoped the talks weren’t going too smoothly. He seemed to think that the monetary value of their story would increase with the length of their ordeal. And so far, they’d only been held for two days.
He—or Sterling, either, for that matter—didn’t have a clue as to the seriousness of this situation.
Melody, on the other hand, had done research on this particular terrorist group who had overthrown the entire government in an unexpected coup early Wednesday morning. They’d taken the American embassy by storm shortly after that. They were terrorists, and the U.S. didn’t negotiate with terrorists. Right now they were only talking. But if the talking didn’t end, and end soon, this group of zealots was not likely to continue to show their three civilian hostages the same amount of respect and creature comforts they had to date. Provided, of course, that one could call being locked in a tiny, nearly airless office with two idiots, irregular deliveries of food and water and a washroom facility that no longer worked “comfortable.”
Matthews and Sterling both seemed to think they were being held under rather dire conditions.
But Melody knew better.
She closed her eyes, trying to force away the image of the cold dankness of an underground cell. When she’d left Appleton to take this job at the embassy, she’d had no idea that the desert could be so cold during the winter months. It was March now—early spring—and it could still be chilly at night.
She focused instead on her feet. They were warm, clad in a pair of the socks and the cross trainers Brittany had sent.
They’d be taken from her—both shoes and socks—before she was thrown into that dark cell.