CHAPTER NINETEEN
Eileen Michaelson rolled over and studied her fifty-eight-year-old but still handsome husband. It was two-thirty in the morning, and she couldn’t sleep while Rick snored off the remaining effects of the Benadryl. Thank God he hadn’t needed the Epi-pen, but he’d dozed the entire ride home, then barely made it through the evening news before climbing into bed. An over-the-counter medication did what many terrorists and bad guys had tried but failed to do over the years—knock her big, bad Navy SEAL on his cute ass.
At times, she couldn’t believe they’d been married for almost thirty-five years. Their anniversary was six months away, and she loved Rick more than ever. They had a rough first few years with him being out of the country for weeks or months at a time, and phone
