An Aria for Nick (Christian Romantic Suspense) (Song of Suspense) Read online

  She didn't want to leave, though. She wanted to sit here in the warm sun with Nick Williams. Before she realized what happened, Nick reached out and brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. She felt her breath catch in her throat. "Nick —"

  "Aria," he said. It was the first time he had ever called her by her first name. Whatever else he intended to say remained unsaid. Instead, he leaned closer to her and pulled her to him. He let his lips brush hers softly, then leaned back and looked into her eyes with his very pale blue and very sad eyes. He stared into her gaze like he was desperately searching for something, maybe the answer to some question he never asked or maybe something he only dared hope to find.

  She thought maybe her heart would beat itself out of her chest. He started to pull back, but she grabbed the front of his T-shirt and pulled him to her again.

  He kissed her, cupping her cheeks with his hands, the strong calloused fingers of his right hand supporting the back of her neck while the fingers of his left hand cradled her face so very, very gently. Aria heard a buzzing in her ears, a rush, as he deepened the kiss.

  She had wanted his attention for so long, and now, in his arms, it felt so perfect and so right. Continuing to grip his shirt with one hand, she let her other arm go around his neck, trying to bring him even closer to her. Every part of her felt alive. Even her fingertips tingled. Her head spun and she had no thought outside of the feel and sound and smell of him.

  Until he pushed her away. Out of nowhere, suddenly, he stood, hands fisted at his sides. He looked down at her and cleared his throat. "Sorry, Aria. I have to go." He stuck his hands in his pockets and turned away.

  "No, Nick. Wait!" Aria demanded, pushing herself to her feet and running after him. She grabbed his arm and he spun around.

  "Forget it, Aria. I'm out of here tomorrow morning," Nick said. He looked down at her and put his hands on her shoulders. "You don't want me. I'm no good."

  Aria felt the tears welling up in her eyes. "Don't say that, Nick. Of course I want you. I always have."

  He cupped her cheeks with his hands. "No, you don't. You have better things to do with your life and better men to do them with. Besides, you're so little. I could easily hurt you," he said. He dropped his hand and turned and walked away from her.

  Aria watched him go, and felt a tear slip down her cheek, crying for something she had lost that she'd never had.

  ¯¯¯¯

  THRONGS of students in their blue and yellow graduation gowns milled around the football stadium. Graduates took pictures with groups of other students, with parents, with siblings, or with favorite teachers or coaches. Aria smiled with Carol, her brothers, her parents, her entire family — dozens of pictures until she thought her face would permanently stay in that excited "I've graduated!" grin she sported for all the poses.

  Finally, she extricated herself, promising her parents she'd be right back. She could see Nick, still in his blue gown, walking away from the crowd.

  She kicked off her shoes and ran after him, holding the hem of her yellow gown up so she didn't trip on it. "Nick!" she yelled, clutching the package. She saw him pause before he kept walking. "I know you heard me. Please wait!"

  He turned, a fresh bruise on his cheek shining in the evening sun. "Not now, Suarez. I need to go sign in to my unit. I'm finally free."

  She skidded to a stop in front of him. "I know you're going. I just wanted to give you something." She held out the package.

  He stared at the small cloth-wrapped square. "What's this?"

  Nervous butterflies flew up her stomach and threatened to cut off her breathing. She felt the hand she held out tremble with nerves. "It's a graduation present, sort of. It's a gift. It's like a tradition. For luck." And love, she added to herself, annoyed that she didn't have the courage to say it out loud.

  He finally took it from her. "I don't believe in luck."

  Aria sighed, a bit exasperated. "Just open it, okay?"

  Giving her a long stare, his blue eyes reflective, he finally pulled the ribbon loose. The handkerchief slid open, revealing the small, palm-sized Soldier's Bible.

  When he looked at her again, she nearly took a step back at the intensity of his expression. Instead she gestured toward her gift. "My dad often said how his favorite gift going into Basic Training was his Soldier's Bible. I hope you don't already have one."

  "I —" Nick had never even held a Bible. He looked down at it and looked back at her again before clearing his throat. "I don't. Thank you." He shifted the Bible out from under the handkerchief and held it out. "You can have this back."

  Instead of taking it from him, she took his hand in both of hers and closed his fingers over the linen cloth. "That's yours, too. Traditionally, a lady would give the knight of her choosing her handkerchief as a favor before he went into battle. It's like a talisman. A token of her …"

  His eyebrows knitted.

  "… of her affection for her favored warrior." She was such coward.

  Aria could feel his hand tense under hers as he tightly clutched the handkerchief in his fist. He closed his eyes and a muscle ticked near his jaw. Finally he opened his eyes and pulled her to him. Instead of kissing her, like she hoped, he just wrapped his arms around her and hugged her to him.

  It felt like they stood that way forever. She leaned into him and inhaled his scent, memorized the feel of his body against hers. Why did it take this long to finally get to this point? Right when he would have to leave?

  She felt him rest his cheek on top of her head and she wondered if she felt as perfect to him as he felt to her. When he spoke, she thought maybe she felt the rumble of his voice before she heard it.

  "I'm not who you need."

  "You don't know that," she said quietly.

  He lifted his head but did not step away. Instead, he cupped her face with his free hand and lowered his mouth to kiss her. It was such a sweet, beautiful kiss that it stole the breath from her chest. She slipped an arm around his neck and tried to get him to deepen the kiss, but he did not. Instead, he broke contact and lifted his head, brushing her hair off of her cheek.

  "Good bye, Aria," he said. He searched her face, for what she did not know, then stepped back and completely broke contact with her.

  "Bye, Nick," she said in a whisper.

  Without another word, he turned and walked away. She watched him walk all the way out of her field of vision without so much as a backward glance.

  ¯¯¯¯

  CHAPTER 4

  MOSUL, IRAQ

  23 MONTHS LATER

  THE stars had faded, and now an empty palette of light gray spread out above the desert from horizon to horizon, waiting for the strokes from God's brush that would create colors and beauty unlike that found anywhere else in the world. Just on the eastern horizon, the first slash of pink began to work its way through the dark, signaling the beginning of a new dawn. In the blink of an eye, yellow streaks shot through the pink, coming forward like trumpeters heralding the arrival of a king, pushing away the blackness of the night. The colors created a breathtaking image that stretched for as far as the eye could see, and the edge of the horizon began to burn as the white hot globe inched itself upward.

  Sergeant Nick Williams sat on top of his bunker absorbing every moment of the breaking dawn. The mild fatigue he felt as a result of the late night mission from which he'd just returned faded away at the sight. He felt light and free and in communion with God.

  Nick's first taste of God had come from the Chaplain in Basic Training who had told him about his Soldier's Bible and how to read it. It had amazed him, in hindsight, how empty he felt until he came to know God. What he discovered was a hunger unlike anything he'd ever experienced, and only the Word of God could sate him. Over the past several weeks since he'd arrived here from Afghanistan, during these quiet moments on this bunker every morning, he had even considered the possibility of becoming a Chaplain himself.

  After the war of course. For now, other things required his attention, t
raining, and expertise.

  "Williams!" He turned when he heard his name, then scrambled off the bunker, sliding his Bible into the cargo pocket on his pant's leg, right next to the linen handkerchief in which it had first come into his possession. First Sergeant Martinez headed in his direction from the headquarters building. Many men before him had made the mistake of assuming that Martinez was a weak man because he was a short man. It had taken Nick less than a week to learn that Martinez didn't have a weak bone in his body.

  "Had chow yet?"

  Nick glanced toward the structure that housed the mess hall. "No, First Sergeant."

  "Get in there and get some chow. I want you on that prisoner transport in an hour. We aren't keeping him here. Apparently he's too high visibility a prisoner. Intel squirrels think they'll try to eliminate him rather than risk him talking, so we're shipping him out to Baghdad right away. Since you were instrumental in the mission that brought him in last night, I want you on that transport. They need a gunner."

  Nick stopped the grin he felt threatening his cheeks. "Yes, First Sergeant," he barked, then took off at a run. He went quickly through the mess line, grabbing some scrambled eggs and a slice of toast. As he sat down, he thought of the mission the night before, and their unexpected capture of one of the most wanted Iraqis in the nation.

  Nick had recognized him, captured him, secured him, and brought him to his commander. He didn't expect to be given credit for the capture. He knew his unit would get the credit, but he didn't think anyone would pay attention to a new member of the unit. They had and that impressed him. It made him feel really proud of himself, something he rarely had an occasion to feel.

  As quickly as he could, he ate breakfast then rushed to the armory, where he secured a flight rigged helmet and side plates for his body armor. He reported to the air field and hopped on board the double-bladed CH-47 Chinook. The copilot helped Nick and two other gunners strap into the gunners' harnesses, and then strapped himself into his seat. Nick positioned himself at the gun, and waited. The pilot started the aircraft and, about five minutes later, two civilians in khaki pants and body armor vests came out of the aircraft hangar escorting a hooded prisoner between them. They were actually wearing brown shirts which made Nick grin a private grin.

  The brown shirts did not speak to Nick as they boarded the aircraft and secured the prisoner. As soon as they gave the all clear, the pilot took off. The crew chief broke out his M249 SAW and deployed it using snap links on the legs of the bipod to secure it to the lowered ramp. He performed a function check then lowered himself into a prone position and peered out the back of the aircraft over the gun sites.

  The beauty below was not lost on Nick as the helicopter sped across the desert; it was just placed in the background so that he could examine it later. Little stabs of insecurity and maybe a little bit of fear threatened his confidence and initial burst of excitement, but he fought them down. He knew his job and he did it well, but failure here would mean the loss of lives. Another stab of fear clawed its way to the top, and before he was able to give in to it, the helicopter banked a hard turn and went over a rise. On the ground, about two dozen armored vehicles began firing vehicle mounted Soviet built antiaircraft guns at the helicopter.

  Nick sighted his gun and began returning fire in conjunction with the other gunners, doing his best to eliminate all the threats. The pilot moved the large craft evasively, but there were just too many of them and they were under the guns. Nick couldn't get the angle for even a deflection shot most of the time.

  "Stinger!" The crew chief announced in Nick's helmet.

  When the first turbine took a direct hit from the American made state-of- the-art antiaircraft missile, the pilot banked hard enough to nearly send Nick flying out of the helicopter. Only his harness caught him and kept him from sliding all the way out. Momentarily off his gun, he was unable to stop the enemy combatant below who lifted a machine gun and fired into the aircraft. Nick actually felt bullets whiz by his face and heard the single cry from one of the civilians who took a hit directly in the chest. The medic onboard rushed to his side and unstrapped him from his seat, dragging him over to the side where he laid him on the deck of the helicopter. It didn't take him long to stop working on him.

  Nick regained his balance and took back control of his gun, returning fire with a roar he unintentionally broadcast over his helmet microphone. The helicopter wobbled and, as the wind shifted, black smoke from the damaged engine blinded him.

  Through the helmet speakers, he could hear the pilot and copilot frantically talking to each other and knew they were going down. They were doing their best to get them as far away from the enemy combatants below as possible before they crash landed. Nick looked out and saw that they were temporarily clear. He looked behind him. The prisoner fought against his restraints. The other civilian, a tall, salt and pepper haired man, struggled to keep the prisoner contained. The door gunner on the opposite side of the aircraft from Nick hung suspended in his harness, dead. The medic kept him strapped to his harness and just secured the slack so that he didn't fall out of the aircraft.

  The copilot was broadcasting while the pilot struggled with the large helicopter in an attempt to get them to safety. "Hammer this is Arrow Four. We are taking fire. I say again, we are taking fire. Hostiles in the area are danger close. I say again this is Arrow Four. Come in Hammer."

  "Arrow Four, this is Hammer Actual. Send sitrep, over."

  The crew chief announced, "Incoming on our six!"

  The pilot jinked the entire aircraft and simultaneously released flares and chaff. The inside of the helicopter filled with blinding light from the flares and the smell of the burning cordite reminded Nick of the fourth of July fireworks that the kids in the trailer park usually started setting off in June. The missile followed the flares down and the pilot instantly descended to treetop altitude, hoping to take advantage of ground effect and reflected desert heat.

  The copilot picked up his radio broadcast as if nothing had happened, "Roger, Actual. Line 3 is Arrow Four and supercargo listed on manifest. Get with SCIF for itemization. Line 7 is approximately one-four klicks north by northwest of Log Base Zulu and beacon is hot. Line 8 is a company sized element with armored vehicles, archie, missiles, and a truck load of small arms. Over."

  They never saw the missile come up on the far side of the aircraft opposite Nick. The dead gunner who still hung suspended in his harness never reported incoming. It struck the remaining engine on their blind side and the turboprops began to slow almost immediately.

  The pilot gripped the sticks with both hands and broadcast, "Any station this is Arrow Four. Mayday, mayday. We are going down. Hostiles in the area danger close. I say again this is Arrow Four. Mayday, mayday. We are going down."

  The copilot broadcast, "Line 10 we are auto-rotating. Nine line to follow shortly, break."

  Nick unhooked himself from the door and rushed to the rear of the aircraft, taking the empty cargo seat next to the prisoner. Grabbing the back of the prisoner's neck, he forced the man's head between his knees, fighting against him as he struggled.

  The pilot interjected, "Brace yourselves!"

  "Be still!" Nick yelled in Arabic, using the phrase he'd picked up from the translator in last night's mission. Then he bent at the waist himself and braced for impact.

  It felt like the entire world suddenly moved in slow motion. He felt like he could see every molecule in the helicopter. The smell of the smoke burned his nostrils. The blood on the deck from the civilian casualty reflected the sunlight outside. The sound of the whirring blades above barely penetrated the panicked voices of the pilot and copilot echoing in his helmet speakers. The feel of the back of the prisoner's neck against his hand, of the cold sweat and the pounding pulse under his fingers. All of that became crystal clear for a split second before impact. The thirty thousand pound beast of an aircraft — with overhead blades moving at well over two hundred miles per hour when they began to splinter and fly a
part — struck the ground in stages that Nick felt in the very soles of his boots.

  ¯¯¯¯

  ARIA inspected the envelope that had contained the letter. As always, it had no return address, not even a postage stamp. Just the handwritten words FREE APO where a stamp should be. For two years, she'd received letters from Nick Williams, detailing his growing and changing thoughts about God, his feelings about the world, his hopes to one day go into ministry. It thrilled her, this precious contact with him, yet it frustrated her because she had no way of replying to him.

  One thing not in the letters — ever — was anything about them. No promises for the future. No hopes for serving God together. Aria told herself that the more he wrote her, the more he thought of her. One day, they'd see each other again in person. Maybe looking at her through the eyes of a fellow believer would remove any of his silly notions about not being the man she needed.

  He was all she ever wanted, from the first time she ever spoke to him. She couldn't imagine even wanting to spend time with a man other than Nicholas Williams. As far as she was concerned, he just needed to catch up to her way of thinking and then the two of them could go forward, together.

  She glanced at the ticket she had taped to her mirror. Aria would perform tonight at the Kilbourn Hall in Rochester. It was her first solo performance since she started school at Eastman. Every time she performed, she got bombarded with phone calls, e-mails, and texts from agents and music industry representatives, but she had no desire to leave college to pursue a professional music career. Not yet. First, she had other musical aspirations. Having seen them perform, Aria hoped to play with the Rochester Philharmonic Orchestra at the Kodak Hall. Mainly, she wanted to wait; wait for Nick to come back to the States, wait until she graduated, wait until she could talk about her options with him. Because, as far as she was concerned, her future included him and he had a say in it.