"TR, you didn't—"
"But I did. They're on my thumb drive." She raised her hand to her neck, reaching for something that wasn't there. A frown creased her face and she looked down, the first hint of panic flashing in her eyes. "I grabbed it. In the kitchen. I know I did."
"What did you grab?"
"My thumb drive. It was on the lanyard. I had it—"
"The pig?"
TR's gaze snapped to his. "Yes. It was hanging from the hook.
Mac reached into his pocket and pulled out the lanyard. The dirty rubber pig swung from the end, its body spinning in a small circle. "This thing?"
"Yes." TR grabbed the lanyard from him then held the pig between her fingers. She gave it a tug and yanked. The head popped off, exposing the small thumb drive attached to the body.
Mac stared at it for a long minute, not knowing what to say. He'd been furious with her when she had stopped to grab it, wanting nothing more than to get her out of the apartment. But if she hadn't, if he had pulled her out of the kitchen and hurried her to the door like he had wanted—
Neither one of them would be here right now. They would have reached the door at the same time as the explosion.
"That damn thing saved our lives." He reached for the thumb drive, curled his fingers around it and gave it a squeeze before tossing it to Chaos. "Now let's see if you can work your magic and find out if you're as good as you say are."
Chaos caught it midair, tossed it up once and let it land in his palm. A cold smile curled the edges of his mouth as he met Mac's gaze. "I'm even better."
Mac didn't respond—he didn't have to, not when he knew that Chaos's ego had been hard-earned and well-deserved. Whether there was enough information on the thumb drive to shed light on what was going on remained to be seen. If it was there, Chaos would find it.
Wolf followed Chaos from the room, leaving just the three of them. Daryl started his own retreat then paused at the door, his gaze carefully blank when he looked at Mac—
And at the way Mac's hand was still resting protectively in the middle of TR's back.
"We'll talk later."
Mac acknowledged Daryl's suggestion with a curt nod then waited for him to leave. As soon as the door closed behind him with a soft click, Mac pulled TR into his arms.
She stiffened against him for a quick second then wrapped her own arms around his waist. Her head dropped to his chest and he felt the warmth of her breath through his shirt when she sighed.
Minutes stretched by, filled with nothing but the sound of their breathing. But instead of relaxing even more against him, TR slowly tensed, her body becoming a little more rigid.
Pulling away. Not physically, but emotionally. Mentally. He could feel it as surely as he felt the warmth of her breath against his skin.
He dropped a kiss against the top of her head then stepped back, grabbing one of her hands in his before she could move. He led her over to the table and leaned against the edge, settled her between his spread legs. She started to move away but he kept her in place by putting his hands on her hips.
"Talk to me, babe. What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
He dipped his head, caught her gaze with his own. "Yeah there is. What is it?"
TR shook her head, tried to pull away but it was only a half-hearted gesture. She dropped her hands to his, grazed his wrists with her fingers then frowned. "You need to get these looked at."
"Get what looked at?"
"These. The blisters."
"I'll be fine."
"But they could get infected—"
"TR, they're just blisters. It's not a big deal."
She lifted her head, frowned up at him. "Like being shot isn't a big deal? Or drowning while pulling me out of my car? Or dying in a fire trying to save me?"
There was something in her voice—anger, impatience, sorrow. He heard it in the sharpness of each word, saw it in the flash in her eyes. Mac waited before answering, instinct telling him he needed to choose each word carefully. TR was going through...something. Feeling...something. But damn if he knew what.
And damn if he knew the right thing to say.
"TR, I—" He stopped, still searching for the right words. He wanted to reassure her, tell her nothing would happen to him. But how could he do that with the evidence so clearly displayed on his body? When each scar—the ones she could plainly see on his face and the ones she had yet to notice—said otherwise?
There was nothing he could say. Nothing but the truth. Would that be enough? Probably not, but it was all he had.
"TR, I'm not that easy to get rid of. And I've been trained by the best. I know how—"
"That doesn't make you invincible. That doesn't mean nothing can't happen to you." The breath hitched in her chest and she looked away, pulled on her lower lip for a second before continuing. "And it's my fault. All of it."
"Whoa. Back up. What's your fault?"
She pushed against him and he almost let her. Almost. But he didn't and she finally gave up, the fight leaving her as quickly as it came. "The fire. Those people being hurt. You being hurt—"
"I wasn't hurt."
She closed her hand over his and raised his arm between them. "Then what do you call these?"
"A nuisance." He eased his arm free then caught her face between his hands, tilting her head back until she looked at him. "And this isn't your fault. None of it is—"
"But it is. You heard Daryl—he said this wasn't an accident—"
"I don't think it was—"
"Which means it's my fault. Whoever did this was after me. I'm the reason those people were hurt. I'm the reason my apartment building was burned down." Her words ended in a sob, one she quickly choked back, just as she blinked away the tears before they could spill over her lower lids.
Mac pulled her against him, holding her so tightly, he worried he might actually hurt her. But he didn't loosen his hold. Not yet. Not when he simply needed to feel her against him.
"This isn't your fault, TR. You need to stop blaming yourself."
"But it is—"
"No, it's not. It's the fault of whoever is behind this. And trust me, I'll find out who it is. And when I do—"
"No." She pulled away. Shook her head. "No, Mac. Promise me you won't do anything. Promise me you won't go after them—"
"Bullshit. I'm not making that promise."
"I don't want anything to happen to you. I couldn't live with myself if that happened. Promise me you won't—"
"TR, I'm not making that promise. You need to have a little faith in me. In the rest of the guys. We'll figure this thing out—"
"Then I'll drop the story. I'll go to work tomorrow and tell my editor I can't do it."
"Do you honestly think that would work? TR, I don't know what you stumbled on but everything that's been set into motion isn't going to stop just because you drop the story." He ran a thumb across her cheek then gentled his voice. "And you know that as much as I do."
She tilted her head back and watched him with watery eyes for a long minute. He saw the truth dawn in their clear blue depths, saw the pain of that truth flash across her face. Mac waited for her to say something, knew it wasn't in her nature to give up, not without a fight.
But maybe she realized this was something that she couldn't fight. That he'd been speaking the truth when he said that whatever was playing out wouldn't simply stop just because she dropped the story. He wanted to believe she realized that but something told him TR wasn't so easily convinced—which meant he'd have to keep a close watch on her, just in case she decided to do something foolish. Not that TR was foolish—she wasn't. But if she was blaming herself for everything, if she thought she was responsible and could somehow stop things...yeah, Mac could clearly see her trying to do just that.
TR dropped her gaze then leaned into him and rested her head against his chest. He didn't hesitate, simply wrapped his arms around her and held her close. "Things are going to work out, TR. And I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
"I know."
Did she? Maybe, maybe not. Maybe she simply thought his words were nothing more than empty words meant to reassure her. And if that was the case, he was fine with it. He knew the truth, knew that he'd protect her no matter the cost.
He pressed a kiss against her temple. "Come on, let's go home."
She stiffened, sighed, slowly pulled away. "I don't have a home."
"No, but you do have a place to stay."
"Mac, I can't—"
"Yeah, you can. And you will."
"I can stay at my mom's..." Her voice trailed off, her eyes growing wide as she stared at Mac in horror. "Oh my God, my mom. I need to call her. She probably saw the news, she's probably freaking out—"
"You can call her from my office, let her know you're okay."
"I need to see her. She won't believe me until she actually sees me for herself. Can you drive me to her place? Please?"
"Of course—"
"Wait. You can't, you left your truck at my apartment."
"I can get another set of wheels with no problem. And I'll take you to see your mom—but after we go home."
"Home? But—"
"TR, if you want to reassure your mom you're okay, you need to clean up before you see her."
"Oh." TR ran her hands through her hair, frowned when they tangled in the ends. She grabbed several long strands between her fingers and pulled them in front of her face. She sniffed then dropped them with a shudder. "I stink. Do I look as bad as I smell?"
"No, to both: you don't look bad and you don't smell. But you still need to clean up first." Mac reached down and wrapped his hand around hers. Had her sudden change of subject been a deliberate ploy to avoid talking about staying at his place? Or had TR simply been so overwhelmed by everything that she really had forgotten about her mother until just a few minutes ago?
It was possible.
But Mac wasn't buying it—which simply meant he had to be one step ahead of whatever she thought she was going to do when they got to her mother's place.
Because no way in hell was he letting her out of his sight.
Chapter Fifteen
Mac wasn't into big family displays of affection. His mom, when she'd been alive, had always showered him with hugs but that had been too many years ago to count. His father had been a military man himself, more comfortable with war than hugs, leaving the affection part of parenting to his mother—which suited Mac just fine. He had a happy childhood growing up, had known he was loved without all the touchy-feely crap. Hadn't wanted it. Didn't miss it.
Which was why he deliberately stayed in the background when they reached TR's mother's house.
He should have stayed in the fucking car instead. Not that he would have let TR out of his sight for that long. And not that it would have done him any good—he could have been ten miles away and he still wouldn't have been able to miss the big display of family affection.
TR had barely knocked on the door of the tidy townhouse when it was thrown open by a woman who looked like an older version of TR: the same shiny black hair cut in a short, trendy style instead of worn long and loose like her daughter's; the same oval face with delicate bone structure; the same full lips and stubborn chin.
And clear, pale eyes, a shade more gray than blue, fringed with those same long, dark lashes that framed TR's eyes.
The woman had taken one look at TR then pulled her into a huge hug. And dammit, both women had started crying. Not dainty, quiet tears—which would have been bad enough. No, these were noisy, air-gulping sobs that the people ten houses down could probably hear.
And there wasn't a damn thing Mac could do about it except stand off to the side, feeling like an overgrown, ill-mannered bear as he tried to look anywhere else and pretend the emotion in those racking sobs wasn't punching him in the gut.
Fuck.
TR pulled away first. She ran both hands over her face then started laughing when her mother did the same thing—first to her face, then to TR's. A smile wobbled on her face, hesitant but a smile none-the-less, a real one.
When was the last time he'd seen TR smile?
This morning. In his kitchen. When he'd caught her staring at his bare chest as he leaned across the table, using every ounce of his self-control not to pull her under him, spread her legs, and drive into her tight heat.
Fuck.
Had that really been just this morning? Christ, it seemed like a lifetime ago. How the hell was that even possible? He frowned, trying to figure out how time had become so fucking warped this past week.
No, the past two weeks, ever since TR had shown up at the offices of Cover Six Security and asked him to be her date.
He didn't bother hiding the scowl on his face as he went through everything that had happened since that morning that felt like a lifetime ago. And thank Christ he hadn't sent her packing that day, the way he had a year ago at Reigs's wedding, when she had propositioned him.
When he had foolishly turned her down, telling himself she deserved better.
What would have happened if he had been the same foolish jackass that morning two weeks ago? Genuine fear crept along his spine as the different possibilities unfolded in his mind—and none of them good. Just thinking of what could have happened was enough to make his balls shrivel. The accident, the fire...would TR have survived either of them? Would she be gone even now?
He didn't want to imagine a world without TR in it. Couldn't imagine it—the picture was too bleak, too gray, too empty. Fuck, his life this past year had been bleak and gray and he was only just now realizing why. No, they hadn't been together a year ago but she had still been part of his life back then. An easy friendship had developed between them, even though they hadn't known each other long. But she'd been there.
Annoying him. Teasing him. Making him laugh.
And then she wasn't—because he'd pushed her away. Because he thought he knew what she needed better than she did. Only he didn't know shit because this past year had been fucking miserable. And how fucking stupid was he that he was only now just realizing why?
Another realization blindsided him, this one startling enough that the air rushed from his lungs like he'd been sucker-punched in the gut. He shook his head, trying to deny it. It wasn't possible.
But it was.
He narrowed his eyes and looked up, only to take a step back in surprise. Both women were staring at him. Watching him. TR cocked her head to the side, her delicate brows pulled low over her pale eyes, no doubt trying to figure out what the hell he was scowling about this time. But it was her mother's expression that surprised him even more.
Her own pale eyes raked him from head-to-toe and back again. He had the feeling her clear gaze could see behind every mask and wall he'd ever erected, that she could see through him, into him. See every mistake he'd made, every regret he had, every sin he'd committed. She was taking his measure, judging his worth—and he was certain she'd find him lacking. Certain she'd grab TR and pull her into the house and tell him to stay away from her daughter, that he didn't deserve her.
And she'd be more right than she would ever know. Mac didn't deserve TR. But damn if he'd walk away from her. Not now. Not ever again.
Mac straightened to his full height, his arms loose by his side, his weight resting on the balls of his feet. Her gaze raked over him once more, finally resting on the network of scars covering the lower half of his face. Five seconds went by, then ten. Then another five—long enough that Mac felt an unaccustomed blush heat his face. Long enough that he experienced the unexpected need to fidget and flinch.
And then she moved toward him, her speed surprising him.
The large hug she gave him surprised him even more.
"Thank you. Thank you so much."
Mac opened his mouth, closed it again when he realized he had no idea what to say. And then dammit, she raised up on her toes and pressed a dry kiss against his cheek, right near the largest scar that ran from the corner of his mouth to his lo
wer jaw.
He blinked, thankful for the dark glasses covering his eyes because he could only fucking imagine the surprise that were flashing in them. No, belay that. He couldn't imagine it, couldn't remember the last time he'd been this surprised.
No, that was wrong, too. He did remember: it had been a year ago, when TR had pressed her warm body against his, leaned up and grazed his mouth with her own, and asked him to go home with her.
And fuck. That was so the wrong fucking thing to be thinking about when her mother was still standing right there in front of him, staring up at him with that soft smile of gratitude on her face.
"Mom, don't. You'll just make him uncomfortable. He embarrasses easily."
What. The. Fuck.
Had TR just said that? Had she really just accused him of embarrassing easily? No fucking way.
Only he couldn't fucking deny it because he had no idea what to say, wouldn't have been able to choke the words out even if he did. Then he didn't need to worry about it because TR was beside him, wrapping her slender fingers around his own and tugging him toward the house. She closed the door behind them then leaned up, her voice a soft whisper.
"You're blushing."
He pushed his sunglasses up and narrowed his eyes at TR. "I don't blush."
"If you say so." She didn't give him a chance to respond, just led him into the living room of her mother's house and finally released his hand before taking a seat on the plush sofa. Mac hesitated, his gaze studying the surroundings, then eased his weight down next to her.
The first thing he noticed was the overabundance of plants. Large potted palms flanked the French doors leading out to the deck. Ferns hung in the corners of the room, their full leaves creating a canopy of shadows. More plants—some tall, some full—rested on flat surfaces everywhere he looked: the coffee table, the mantlepiece of the gas fireplace, the wooden entertainment center. It was like a jungle, only without the oppressive heat and humidity.
TR's mom moved around them, her trim figure flattered by the linen pants and sweater she wore. She offered him another smile then carefully folded her hands in front of her. "Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Soda? Water?"
The Protector: MAC: A Cover Six Security Novel Page 11