Homecoming by Denise Grover Swank Page A

it all? But the Marines held him up as an unnamed hero, keeping his identity secret, stating that Will preferred it that way. Will had found and captured the third highest-ranking al-Qaeda member, something no one else had achieved despite the fact many had tried. They could even write off the loss of forty children in the Iraqi school as the fault of the terrorist and their booby traps. The Pentagon had their man. Public support for the war had been renewed. But one small problem remained. What to do with Will?
    Publicly, Will had been reassigned. Privately, he’d been reassigned to the barracks. Despite the fact Will had led the team to capture the al-Qaeda, he’d disobeyed orders to do it. Will had been told to wait on the brass in Washington to give the final orders while Will and his men watched the man responsible for thousands of deaths prepare to slip out of their grasp one more time. Will couldn’t stomach it and had carried out the mission anyway. The end justified the means. He found it ironic that the part that tortured him the most was brushed off as collateral damage. The deaths of innocent children. And while it was true that the terrorists had planted the bombs as their safeguard, Will’s team had triggered them.
    The blood of forty kids, four teachers, and five of his own men stained his soul.
    Will was a murderer.
    His court-martial, not for the murders but his disobedience, was held in secret in Iraq. The higher-ups didn’t want the public to know that they’d almost lost the terrorist because of their slowness to respond. Nevertheless, disobedience could not be tolerated. Will stood in front of a judge and small jury, ignoring the advice of his appointed attorney, and pleaded with his conscience. Guilty. He refused to pretend otherwise. His sentence? Time served and a dishonorable discharge.
    What a fucking joke.
    The next day they packed his ass on a plane and twenty-four hours later, here he was. A civilian again.
    Snowflakes began to fall from the steel gray sky. They landed on his arms and face and melted. Water dripped from his hair and into his eyes, but he blinked it away as the wind seeped through his clothes and into his bones. His face and hands were numb when he reached the car rental building, his stiff fingers as they fumbled with the door. Several people turned to look as he walked up to the first agency he came to.
    The woman at the counter raised her eyebrows. “You must have come from some tropical climate.”
    Will shook his head with a scoff, looking down to avoid eye contact. “You could say that.”
    “What kind of car can I get for you? A convertible?” She laughed, but a touch of condescension laced it.
    Will swallowed his rage. “No, a compact will do,” he choked out. His car was parked in his mother’s garage a little over an hour away. He just had to get there. Preferably without killing anyone else in the process.
    The woman looked from Will’s old driver’s license and his current condition, narrowing her eyes. “Are you sure you’re the same guy?”
    Will tensed. “Yes.” But that was a lie. He’d never be that man again.
    Will tugged at the neck of his t-shirt and leaned over the counter. “Are you almost done?” His words were harsher than he’d meant.
    Her gaze rose to his face, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “You in a hurry or something, Mr. Tropical Weather?”
    Will had began to warm up and his wet shirt clung to his chest and back, giving him chills. He rubbed his forehead and rested his hand on the counter. “Look, I’ve been traveling for over twenty-four hours and I just want to get home.”
    Instead of speeding up the process, she seemed to draw it out, giving him apologetic smiles that were too sweet to be real. Finally, she handed him the forms, and he snatched them off the counter, heading for the exit.
    He sucked in a breath as he opened to door to the parking garage, the cold air hitting his wet shirt. Will briefly considered