by Skye Warren
So much for pretending he didn’t give a damn. Every cell in his body was attuned to her—her safety, her fear. His concern for her was all-encompassing, leaving him…exactly where he’d always avoided. Open. Vulnerable.
She turned her face up, her gaze searching his. He had no idea what she saw there, but it made her cup her palm against his jaw. It was clenched tight, but at her touch, he loosened a fraction, at the proof that she wasn’t afraid of him after what she’d seen him do.
“Is this why you wouldn’t tell me?” she whispered.
Towards the end, she’d tried to get him to tell her about his time in the army. Things that he was careful to avoid speaking about, even thinking about, things that only surfaced occasionally in his dreams.
He had refused, of course. The reason why they sent trained killers out into the world was so people like her could be safe and ignorant in their beds. She might have thought she wanted to know, but he wouldn’t wish that knowledge on anyone.
It was the same reason he’d never told her about his moonlighting gig—the black ops work he still did on the side. Even though the omission had meant he’d never be truly open with her, had maybe caused the rift between them that made her walk.
Yes, this was a glimpse of what it had been like, skimming the surface of death and darkness and the despair that he really was a coldhearted bastard.
He turned her question around. “Why didn’t you tell me about the explosion?”
She flinched. The irony didn’t escape him that he expected her to confide in him while he kept his past locked up. But that was ancient history and this was her life at stake. Nothing was more important than that.
“It doesn’t feel real.” Her brow lowered in confusion. “I was right outside. I watched it happen, but it doesn’t seem real.”
He understood that. The first time he’d watched three of his buddies blown to bits in an IED explosion, he’d kept expecting to see them in their bunks. When they’d assigned other soldiers to their beds, Nate had started a cafeteria brawl with one of them, as if he could punch the truth of the matter right out of him. Didn’t work though.
It sucked to care. Sucked a lot, and Sofia cared more than anyone he knew.
He couldn’t find the words to tell her it got easier, couldn’t lie to her when she seemed so small and fragile in his arms. After the fight, his commanding officer had looked at him with knowing eyes, when Nate hadn’t even understood why he was so pissed off.
As punishment, he’d been assigned to scrub the decks for a week, but the labor had been exactly what he’d needed to get his head on straight. Something to keep busy and be useful.
That was all he could offer Sofia.
“Go pack a bag,” he said.
She blinked slowly. “Why?”
“We’re getting out of here, at least for tonight. Until I can figure out what the hell’s going on and how to keep you safe.”
He braced himself for her objections. She would want to talk to the police, give a statement. Have them protect her instead of her bastard ex-boyfriend. But the argument never came. She simply went upstairs to do as he asked. He followed her, humbled by her blind trust in him and unwilling to let her out of his sight.
She packed quickly, bringing only a backpack with clothes and toiletries and a messenger bag.
“Your laptop in there?” he asked, nodding toward the bag.
She glanced down. “Yeah, why?”
Because she’d almost been killed for it. “Do you always bring it with you to work?”
“Sometimes. I’ve got a desktop there, but I wanted to bring some files home. The images can get pretty huge, so it’s fastest to download them directly to my laptop.”
“Well, that’s what the men were after.” That and a snapshot of a hole in her head, but he didn’t think that part needed elaboration at the moment.
She frowned, lifting the flap to peek at her laptop. “I don’t know what would be valuable. A bunch of newspaper clippings that are publicly available.”
“Hmm. We’ll look through it when you’re safe.”
He kept her behind him down the stairs and across the lawns to his car. Most likely those men were it. Three would have seemed like plenty to kill an unarmed young woman. But he wasn’t taking any chances.
He gestured her into the driver’s seat.
She raised her eyebrows in surprise but threw her bags into the passenger seat and sat behind the wheel without complaint. It warmed him that she seemed to trust him still, even after seeing what he was capable of. Then again, she’d never balked at following his orders—at least in one area of their relationship.
He handed her the keys and watched while she turned on the ignition. “I’m going to scope out the van I think they came in. Most likely no one’s in there or they would have bolted when the shooting started, but just in case, I want you to stay here with the engine running. If anyone approaches the car that’s not me—”
“Run them over?”
He felt a grin tug at his lips. “I was going to say hightail it out of here, but that works too.”
Chapter Six
Sofia tried not to stare at him. He hadn’t told her what he’d seen in the van, but it wasn’t good. He’d radiated tension when he got back to the car and ordered her into the passenger seat. Now his attention was on the road as they crossed a single-lane suspension bridge.
The rich hues of ink spilled from beneath his sleeves, the worn fabric of his shirt clinging to packed muscle. The light brown hair on his face had grown longer than she was used to, and she knew that it would leave marks on her private places if they had still been together.
He didn’t turn as he spoke. “Give me your phone.”
Part of her wanted to refuse him, but clearly he knew what he was doing and she was out of her depth. Besides, he was pretty attractive when he got all commanding. Comforting too. After the terror of the explosion and then the intruders in her house, it felt damn good to have him there.
When she handed over her iPhone, he popped out the SIM card, rolled down the window of his Trans Am, and tossed it over the side of the bridge. So they couldn’t be tracked. She wasn’t trained the way he was, but she’d paid enough attention as a reporter and watched enough action flicks to follow what he was doing.
He handed back the phone, and she slipped it into her bag, though it was just a fancy hunk of silicone now. She wondered if she could still get at her contact list. That was the only thing of importance here anyway. Everything else was on the Daily’s servers—or on her laptop. The laptop she’d almost died for.
She shuddered, forcing her thoughts away. The events at the Daily and at her apartment were still unreal, and she preferred them that way. Reality was horrifying. This quiet bubble with Nate—this was where she wanted to stay.
All of her was cold, the chill settled deep in her bones and icing all around her, so that she watched the world through a cracked-crystal lens. The distance was a good thing. A safe thing. Like watching the blades of a lazy ceiling fan turn, tucked beneath heavy blankets.
She couldn’t afford to break down right now.
That would be for later, when Nate wasn’t so close, so…intense.
He had barely spared her a glance, but she got the impression that he was finely attuned to his surroundings, including her. He was handling this situation with a capability she’d never doubted but hadn’t seen firsthand. It was her problem, and he was fixing it. She wouldn’t make this harder by sobbing in his car.
His hair was longer now, the ends glowing orange in the waning daylight. She wanted to touch it, to run her fingers through it. To see if he’d let her lead his body with a fistful of it the way he’d once done with her hair. Probably not, though. He didn’t submit, and damn if she didn’t like him that way. Not to mention the fact that his stubbornness had probably saved her life today.
“How’d you know to come see me?” she asked softly.
He slanted her a wry glance. “You
know why I came.”
And maybe she did know. She’d dithered on the phone, too afraid to ask for comfort from the man she’d kicked to the curb. But he had understood the implicit invitation, the barely banked need for reassurance after seeing the explosion. Of course, instead of a hot shower and hotter sex, he’d shown up at her door, guns blazing.
Her hero, even though he hated that word.
The trees grew denser, the lanes more narrow as the old car wound higher into north Austin. Not toward downtown, where first response teams would be dealing with the aftermath. Not toward his small office in a historic south Austin house and his apartment upstairs.
“Where are we going?” she finally asked.
“A friend’s house.”
She pondered that a minute. His tone didn’t exactly invite conversation, but although she was willing to be a passenger in this, she needed to understand what was happening. It was part of her innate curiosity, something Nate enjoyed in certain, more carnal pursuits, but which had ultimately been their downfall. She was always asking questions, always grasping, always reaching up the goddamn ladder, when he had chained himself to the bottom rung in some sort of protest against the world.
“I thought we’d go to your place.”
He shook his head. “The phone call. You called me after the blast. Even if they didn’t know about our…past relationship, they could pull the phone records and find out about me.”
“And your house,” she finished quietly. “Oh, Nate. I’m so sorry. I really didn’t think—”
He snorted. “You are not going to apologize for getting attacked by hit men. Of course you didn’t plan for that. No one would have.”
Well, maybe not most people, but he seemed pretty well prepared for all contingencies. That was different, though. He was different. She was sure it had never even occurred to him not to help. Risk his life to protect her. Drop everything he had going on to keep her safe. Anything she needed, of course, of course. No wonder she’d fallen for him so hard.
It was only real life that had gotten in the way.
The old engine struggled up the steep hills until finally he turned off onto a small, dark road. A little way down, the headlights illuminated a one-story house, but she wasn’t fooled by its height. This was a luxury neighborhood, where even a shack would sell for half a mil.
He cut the engine.
“Your friend lives here?”
His laugh was soft but rich in the darkness. “Don’t think I know any rich people? I know plenty of them. They pay me to spy on their wives.”
“You did not bring me to a client’s house.” She hoped not.
He got out, pulling her bags out from his side. “Nah, an old army buddy. Who’s done real well, obviously. I’m just keeping an eye on the house until tomorrow.”
She followed him to the two wide front doors, metal with rivets spread across them for industrial decoration. He unlocked the door, then disabled an alarm system interface that looked more advanced than her laptop.
Inside, the living area was a huge open plan. Sleek modern furniture was slung across a smooth, dark wood floor. The house was thin, probably conforming to the steep, rocky land it sat on. The back wall was almost entirely glass, showing off the view—miles of hilly treetops sprinkled with the occasional light from another expensive home.
“Wow,” she breathed. Really well had been an understatement.
“Right?” He fiddled with the thermostat, and the AC kicked in with a soft whoosh. “That’s what a little private security work can get you.”
Private security, sure, but she bet this guy had contracts with the government. Black ops.
“You could probably work for your friend,” she said. Heck, he’d been given the keys to the guy’s house—literally. That showed trust.
He gave a short laugh. “I don’t need that kind of headache.”
Of course, because he didn’t want to protect her. Didn’t want to protect anyone. What he really meant was that she was the headache. And he didn’t need her. He’d proven that much when he’d let her walk away.
Chapter Seven
A flat-screen TV stretched over the southern wall.
Stung from Nate’s words, she wandered across thick planks of glossy dark wood and found the remote. I don’t need that kind of headache.
“At least thirty people have been reported injured as a result of the blast that shook the Daily newspaper offices this morning, two in critical condition. There are no reported fatalities at this time.”
Sofia watched the solemn expression and emphatic gestures of the newscaster. Laura Meade. She’d met her once at a media awards dinner a year ago. Her impression had been large hair and deep red lipstick, though they looked almost ordinary on the TV screen.
She’d known early on that TV wasn’t right for her. Her shaky hands now seemed to confirm it. She could write about dark things from the safety of her desk, but she couldn’t be in the action with perfect nails and a tight smile.
Except now the sanctity of the office had been violated.
Warm hands closed around her shoulders, and she jumped. Nate squeezed gently, then ran his hands down her arms. She was shocked to feel the heat of him, shocked to realize how cold she’d gotten.
He sat down and pulled her into his lap without a word. Are you okay? Everything will be fine. He didn’t give her false platitudes. He’d been in a freaking war zone. He knew she wasn’t okay.
He knew everything might not be fine.
Who was in critical condition? “I want to call Remy.”
Even without seeing him, she knew the slight motion. No.
But she needed to know what was happening. “I won’t tell her where I am.”
“They came after you,” he said roughly. “I could have lost you today. Don’t tell me I have to risk you again. Not now. I won’t fucking do it.”
And she realized she wasn’t the only one who wasn’t okay.
She turned in his arms, looking up at him. Her forehead touched his, their breaths mingled. He gripped her sides so tightly she thought there’d be bruises, and that was fine. Bruises meant pain. Pain meant life. I could have lost you today.
She could have lost him too.
“Nate,” she murmured.
He made a wordless sound, a denial. “I know you don’t want this, but I have to—”
His words cut off abruptly, as if he couldn’t help himself. Warm lips. Searing tongue. His kiss came quick and forced, pushing her mouth open, claiming what she’d taken away.
Just as suddenly, he shoved her back, pushing her onto the sofa.
She panted, staring into the dark turmoil of his eyes.
The TV filled the space between them. “The Austin Police Department have issued a statement confirming the pinpoint of the blast as the data center of the newspaper. No terrorist organizations have taken responsibility for the attacks.”
“No one’s going to,” she whispered quietly.
Nate’s expression hardened. “You know who did it.”
“Not for sure.”
“Someone came after your laptop after destroying the Daily’s data center. They’re after information that you have. They’re after you.”
She shivered. “I’m working on a big story.”
“Of course you are,” he said flatly, running a hand through his unruly hair.
This had been the argument between them, how she had cared so much. How he had cared so little. At least, he pretended not to. She could have lived with that, but she couldn’t have lived with him keeping her locked up like some fragile bird. She had already been locked up once. She wouldn’t go back, for anyone. Not even him.
“And you won’t stop.” It wasn’t a question.
She swallowed hard. “This is everything to me.”
“Jesus, Sofia.” Walls came down over his brown eyes, his expressive lips, the long scruff on his face. He was closing off to her again, and it was her fault. She couldn’t pretend otherwise. They w
ere at an impasse, again. They’d been here before.
If she didn’t have this drive to find justice…
If he didn’t care so damn much about her getting hurt…
“Thank you,” she whispered.
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t fucking start.”
“Why not? You saved my life.” Tears filled her eyes.
He made a low growling sound. “Fuck no. We’re not doing this. I’m not some godforsaken hero. And you’re sure as hell not helpless.”
She struggled to hold back the tears, her lower lip trembling. “I know that. But those men. It was too much like— I thought—”
He stood up and swung away from her, his muscles rigid, vibrating. “If your brother weren’t dead, I’d fucking kill him again. He wasn’t a fucking hero. And neither am I.”
Her brother had died protecting her.
She didn’t want Nate to die.
This was how they’d broken up before, Sofia wanting Nate to care, to believe in something. Nate wanting her to quit the paper, quit fighting. Quit caring like him.
She stood up stiffly, feeling broken all over again. The scrapes from falling on concrete, the bruises he’d left on her hips. Nothing hurt as deeply as seeing the regret on his face that he’d kissed her, held her.
“You don’t have to watch out for me,” she said.
“Yes, I do,” he said grimly, and it sounded more like a threat than a kindness.
Guilt churned her stomach. “I’m really sorry.”
“We’re not back to that, are we?” He stood up and turned away from her. “Someone can damn well apologize for using up three of my bullets, but that someone isn’t you. Now come over here. Let’s take a look at your laptop and see what’s so valuable.”
Swallowing past her hurt, she turned off the TV and followed him to the kitchen—an open space without break from the living room. He spun a simple oak chair around and straddled it, casual. Maybe even professional. Nothing like that urgent kiss. That wouldn’t happen again.