But every single man at Steele—and Tara—had come to his and Valerie’s aid, never doubting or questioning that he was on the side of right, never stopping to consider the risk to themselves for helping him. He would have done the same in their shoes, yet it had still shocked him.
On the drive to Scott’s apartment this afternoon, Kurt had even floated the idea of offering Valerie a job as a computer specialist at Steele. No one else would touch her right now, and the company could use someone with her skills.
Why had Scott held everyone at bay for so long? He wanted their friendship, that sense of brotherhood and teamwork. Time to burn his hair shirt and start living. And loving. Otherwise, he might as well let the feds lock him up again.
He shivered at the thought. Never. Again.
Across the concrete pad, two figures appeared backlit in the doorway, and his pulse shifted into overdrive. The woman broke away and approached him slowly, her face hidden in shadow. “Scott?”
He stepped toward her with his arms out, heart pinned to his chest. “Hey, baby.”
She hesitated, and he stopped breathing.
“You left me,” she accused.
He swallowed hard and dropped his hands. “I’d do it again to keep you safe.”
“Always the protector,” she said softly, moving closer.
“I’ve been called worse.”
Half laughing, half sobbing, she threw herself into his embrace. “I missed you,” she said against his shoulder, her grip around his waist like a vise as her escort disappeared into the building, leaving them alone.
“Me too,” Scott said, his throat tight. “Me too.” He wanted to laugh and cry and shout and drop to his knees. Instead, he tipped her head back gently and pressed his lips to hers.
She was as hungry as he was, and the kiss quickly turned frenzied. Thank God, thank God. He slipped a hand down to cup her ass and pull her closer.
A sharp whistle of appreciation rent the air as a vehicle approached. “Woohoo! Get it on,” a man yelled through the window as the car passed by and rounded the corner.
“Oh, my God.” Valerie broke away with an embarrassed laugh. “We should probably go.”
Scott grinned and reluctantly released her, but held out his hand. “Come home with me?” He held his breath.
She laced her fingers with his. “Yes.”
Yes. He kissed her quickly and tugged her toward his Jeep, which sat in one of the nearby parking structures. They crossed the street and passed a small, empty lot where the city hosted a farmer’s market on the weekends.
“Do you want to stop by your apartment for anything?” he asked.
“Not really. I’m not ready to see it yet.” Her steps slowed. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.”
“Okay.” Maybe he could pack up all her stuff and put it into storage until she found a new place. Then, she’d never have to go back. He squeezed her hand. “You can stay with me as long as you want, but no pressure. If you’d feel more comfortable getting a hotel room…”
“No.” She stopped and faced him, caressing his cheek. “I want to be with you.”
She looked so different with her aggressive bangs and short hair, but she was still his beautiful, brave, intelligent Valerie. He ran both hands through her dark tresses and bent to kiss her warm, soft lips. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
His chest eased, and he rode the high. She loved him. She still loved him.
“I suppose you have me to thank for your happiness,” a man said from Scott’s left.
Hollowell.
Duncan? Valerie hardly trusted her eyes. Shouldn’t he be in Fiji or something?
Scott—ever the protector—moved quickly to put himself between her and her former boss. Then he faced the devil. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Valerie stood on tiptoe and peered over Scott’s shoulder. Duncan had a gun aimed directly at her lover’s chest.
All the blood drained from her head and the world tilted.
“Tsk, tsk, sniper,” Duncan said. “Poor situational awareness.”
Under her hands, Scott tensed, probably berating himself for exactly that reason. “I figured you’d be out of the country by now.”
Duncan cocked his head and caught Valerie’s eye. “We have a little unfinished business.”
Neither of them spoke, but Scott must have sensed her restlessness because he threw an arm back to keep her hidden.
“Thanks to you,” Duncan said, “the feds have frozen all my accounts. I figure you can help me get some of my money.”
Valerie’s throat went dry. They were less than a hundred yards from police headquarters, and maybe double that from the county jail staffed with dozens of sheriff’s deputies, and there wasn’t a soul around to help them.
“I think you overestimate my abilities,” she said. “I’ve never even tried to hack a bank.” Not entirely true, but a frozen account? “I certainly can’t do something like that in a few hours. You of all people should know that.”
It would require days or weeks of learning the ins and outs of the target bank before she could even start thinking about how to approach it.
“I don’t need you to hack a bank. There are plenty of other ways to use your skills to get money.”
Her entire core churned like hot lava.
Duncan made an impatient gesture. “Come with me now.”
“Don’t move,” Scott urged, squeezing her hip.
“Come with me or your boyfriend eats lead.” Duncan leered at them. “Live by the gun, die by the gun, right, grunt?”
God, no. “Okay.” Valerie spun away from Scott and scooted out of his reach. “I’ll help you.”
“Valerie, no,” Scott said.
“It’s my turn,” she said. She hadn’t been able to protect her dad, but she could keep Scott safe.
He growled in protest even as he kept his eyes on Duncan and his gun.
She made eye contact with her former boss. “I’ll go with you, but only if Scott walks away unharmed.”
“Goddammit, Valerie,” Scott said under his breath.
Duncan produced a set of handcuffs and held them out. “Lock him to that fence,” he said, pointing to the low chain-link barrier that bordered the parking lot.
She started forward, reaching for the cuffs.
Scott exploded into action. He kicked Duncan’s right arm and the gun clattered to the ground, sliding out of reach as the man stumbled. Scott followed with a punch to the kidney.
“Mother fucker.” Duncan came up swinging and caught Scott square in the face, knocking him back.
Blood spurted from Scott’s nose. Valerie screamed and ran at Duncan.
He produced a hunting knife and rolled to his knees. The blade in his grip was as long as her hand. Shiny, cold, deadly.
She stopped several feet away, her body physically recoiling from the horrible weapon. The metal flashed in the lamplight, like a beacon of warning. Stay away, stay away, stay away, it intoned in a menacing voice, keeping time with the frantic beating of her heart.
In that moment, she was fourteen again, frozen in shock as an angry beast of a man lurched forward and sank a knife deep into Dad’s abdomen. He repeated the stabbing motion even as her father fell to his knees, clutching his middle, eyes full of surprise as he registered the blood on his hands.
“Valerie, run.” Dad’s voice had come out strangled and hoarse, the spark of life already fading from his dark eyes.
She had run. Straight onto the attacker’s back with a primal yell.
But she’d been too late and too easily slashed open and too quickly cast aside to help.
Her scar burned with the memory.
Duncan pushed to standing. Scott sat up. Duncan lunged for the man she loved.
“No!” She launched herself into Duncan’s path, using her body as a shield. No shock, no fear would hold her back.
With a growl, he thrust his blade into to her upper thigh and tossed her to
the asphalt. Her head bounced and the world went black.
“Valerie!” Scott cried as she was shoved aside.
Fear squeezed his chest in its iron fist and he ran headlong into Duncan, taking them both down on the sidewalk with a bone-cracking thud.
Scott reached for the knife. Duncan gripped it with both hands and tried to swing it away.
Enough of this fucker. Scott released the man’s wrists, catching him off guard. As Duncan’s arms snapped back, Scott unleashed his fists on the asshole’s face. His own nose throbbed and swelled, and he could hardly see, but he knew where to hit. And hit.
Duncan’s hands fell and he dropped the blade.
Scott hit him again. And again.
He wanted to kill the bastard, rip him limb from limb, tear him the fuck apart.
Instead, he stopped.
Scott straddled his quarry, breathing heavily. He would not murder him. I’m not my father. I’m not a killer. He was a protector, and as much as he hated the man whose blood covered his fists, he couldn’t take his life now that he wasn’t an immediate threat.
Scott squinted at Valerie in the dim light, feeling shaky. Scrambling off the other man’s limp body, he kicked the knife out of reach and rushed to her side. “Honey?”
She moaned but didn’t open her eyes. “Valerie?” His voice was stretched tight with fear.
The overhead light glinted off a wet puddle under her leg. Scott’s stomach dropped. Her pants were wet and sticky. His fingers came away red. Oh, God, no.
He patted his pockets, searching frantically for his phone, fear lodged in his throat like a fist.
Footsteps pounded across the gravelly street. “Hold it right there!” “Hands up!” Shouts came from all sides as they were swarmed by half a dozen men in uniforms wielding guns. Finally.
“She needs an ambulance,” Scott yelled as his arms were wrenched behind his back for the second time in a week.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Annandale, VA
Wednesday, 11:00 a.m.
Wednesday morning, after she was released from the hospital, Valerie stood before Scott’s apartment building, her stomach tied in knots. Scott hovered like a father watching his baby take its first steps, while she moved awkwardly on crutches down the wet sidewalk.
Duncan’s knife had damaged her muscles, nicked her femur, and made her bleed a lot, but she’d been lucky. They both had. Still, she cringed in sympathetic agony at Scott’s broken nose. She wanted to strangle Duncan with her bare hands for everything he’d put them through.
Luckily, she didn’t have to. He was in jail awaiting sentencing. He’d struck a deal in exchange for a guilty plea, so the death penalty was off the table, but no one expected him to get less than a life sentence.
And she and Scott were finally, truly free.
“At least I’m on the first floor,” Scott said, opening a glass door that led to a heated foyer and open staircase.
Yes, thank God, because he’d probably insist on carrying her up the stairs. Which would be nice, but also mortifying.
A trim blonde in her early twenties jogged down the steps in long tights and a fleece jacket, earbuds in her ears. She stopped in her tracks at the sight of them. Her eyes widened in recognition, and she nodded to Scott. “Hey.”
Hers was that careful kind of greeting you give to someone you don’t really know, but see often enough that it would be weird to ignore them. Like the guy who’s always out walking his dog when you go for a run, the cashier at the mini-mart where you shop for late-night cookie dough, the woman in another department at work who likes the same section of the office parking lot.
“Hi.”
The blonde kept her gaze down as she slid behind them and out the door. She was probably making a mental note to verify that her antivirus software was working, and to set her alarm when she got home.
“I think we’re bringing down the property values,” Scott said, pointing at a door to the left marked 1B, his voice half amused, half irritated.
The bridge of his nose was dark and swollen, with a butterfly bandage holding the split skin together, and purple bruises had spread like strokes of paint beneath both eyes. His sun-streaked hair was still shaggy, but he’d shaved this morning, revealing his sharp jaw and high cheekbones. Even his injuries couldn’t hide how handsome he was.
“Having you around should drive them up,” she said.
“Trained killers tend to make people nervous.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open, gesturing for her to enter.
“Injured people make people nervous,” she said. “They feel bad that they’re healthy and can’t help you, and also have an irrational fear that being around you might cause them the same fate.” The crutches were starting to make her armpits sore, but she swung through the doorway into Scott’s living room far enough to let him shut the door behind her.
“Wow.” The living room’s standard white walls were hung with professionally framed photos of all kinds. Arresting black-and-white shots of old bridges and buildings complemented gorgeous color images of waves breaking against a dark cliff and red rock structures from somewhere in the southwest. On the other side of a tan couch, the dining room boasted a thick, rough-hewn wooden table and chairs. “I expected something—”
“Cleaner?”
“No.” She laughed because the place was intimidatingly spotless. No dust, no stains, no clutter. “Plainer.” Gesturing to the pictures, she asked, “Did you take all these?”
“Yeah,” he said, removing his parka to reveal a Lumineers concert T-shirt, and then helping her with her own jacket. He stashed them both in a coat closet stuffed with camera equipment, an electric guitar, and three pairs of running shoes.
“They’re beautiful. They should be in a gallery somewhere.”
“It’s just a hobby.” With his injuries it was difficult to tell, but she could have sworn he was blushing.
She shook her head in disbelief and swayed a little. The pain meds made her a bit lightheaded.
Scott leaped toward her and grabbed her shoulder. “Hey, why don’t you sit down? I’ll get a pillow so you can put your foot up. I even bought Skittles.”
“In a minute,” she said with a laugh. “I want to see the rest.”
His apartment was a typical four-room layout with a bathroom tucked between the kitchen and the bedroom, high ceilings, and maybe five hundred square feet. They ended their short tour in the bedroom, which held a stocky wooden queen bed and matching highboy dresser. An emerald green duvet draped neatly over the mattress, and she imagined them wrapped up in it.
“Are you sure you’re okay with staying here?” Scott asked, studying her with his bruised sapphire eyes. “It was one thing when we were thrown together and on the run, but everything’s different now, and I don’t want you to feel trapped.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, we haven’t even been on a real date, and I’m already asking you to move in with me.” His careless laugh didn’t fool her. The answer mattered to both of them.
She chose her words carefully. “We have a lot to learn about each other. But that’s going to be part of the fun. The little idiosyncrasies and unexpected interests, the weird habits.”
“I don’t have any of those,” he deadpanned.
Valerie grinned. “Right. Me either.”
“Actually, I make origami swans.”
She laughed, not sure if he was serious or not, and balanced carefully on her left foot as she leaned her crutches against the wall. He instantly caught her around the waist for support, and just that touch sent tingles of delight down to her toes.
Running her fingers through the hair at his temples, she said, “I know the things that matter, Scott, and I love you for them. There’s nowhere else I want to be.” Her gaze locked with his. “I’m not afraid of moving this fast, are you?”
He shook his head and kissed her, searing her with his soft, searching lips before breaking away. “Outside of a war zone, no one’s ever fought for me before,” he
said, his voice light with wonder. “Not my dad, not my mom, not my sister. But you did. You tried to put yourself between me and Hollowell—which I’m pissed as hell about, by the way—and I don’t even know how to accept that. No one’s ever loved me enough to make that kind of sacrifice.”
Tears threatened, tickling her nose, but she blinked them away. “I’m sorry I was the first. You deserved better.”
“I got the best,” he said, tracing her temple and cheekbone, down to her jaw with the tips of his fingers. “I love you, V. And now that you’re here, I’m not letting you go. You know that, right?”
Thank God. She nodded and gave him a sly look. “So now that we’re living together I won’t need to get on my knees to beg for sex?” Just the memory of her bold move in New Mexico made her warm all over.
Lust darkened his face, and he hugged her close, enveloping her in his intoxicating scent. Warm breath brushed across her ear as he said, “Baby, once you’ve healed, you are welcome to get on your knees anytime—and I’ll be happy to return the favor—but you will never, ever have to beg.”
Over his shoulder, a framed picture caught her eye. It was a print of the close-up he’d taken of her outside of Janus, the wind blowing her long hair back, a huge smile on her face that echoed how she felt right now in his arms. “You framed it.”
He pulled back and followed her gaze, ducking his head. “Yesterday. I promise it wasn’t there before.”
“So is that your way of telling me to grow out my hair?”
He apparently missed her sarcasm because he frowned and grabbed a strand of her short hair between his fingers. “You can do whatever you want with it. You’ll still be gorgeous.” Glancing over his shoulder at the photo, he said, “I just love the expression on your face. That pure joy and sense of triumph. I can see your inner fire in that photo.”
Her inner fire? Maybe the meds weren’t behind her sudden need to swoon.
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