by Dani Pettrey
“I have a guest room,” Kate said, moving through the living space to the galley kitchen.
He glanced at the couch. “I’m fine here. It lets me keep an eye on the door. I don’t sleep much.” He tried to, but in his profession sleeping soundly was rarely an option. He spent most nights reading, analyzing his ops, or exercising. He’d bother her less in the living room.
She shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll grab you some bedding.”
“Thanks.” He dropped his duffel on the floor and took more time to look around, since his last visit had been pretty intense.
The space was clean and uncluttered, though he expected no less from Kate. She’d always been a minimalist when it came to stuff and wasn’t the sentimental type. It had never been her nature to linger over things. He moved to the kitchen to find two photos in colorful magnetic frames stuck to the stainless-steel Kenmore. One was an image of her and the gang hiking at Bandelier. So they’d taken a trip to New Mexico. He wondered if it had been on business or for pleasure. He bet a combo of the two.
Sandia Labs, Los Alamos, and Kirkland Air Force base were located in New Mexico. According to Mack, Kate had been offered jobs all over the world, but she stuck to in-country. He wondered why, especially when it’d always been her dream to travel. So many questions he wanted to ask, so much he wanted to know about the woman she’d become.
Was she still devoted to Christ? It appeared so, from small actions he’d witnessed and the fact that her dog-eared Bible sat with a highlighting kit on the side table by the chaise longue.
Based on the Bandelier and cliff-jumping pictures on the fridge, she still loved the outdoors and adventure. Leaning in, he studied the cliff-jumping one but couldn’t place the location.
“Hawaii,” she said.
He turned, shoving his hands in his pockets at her nearness. He felt strangely out of place where he used to feel so at home in Kate’s presence.
How could he have been so stupid as to leave her? To leave such a blessed life behind?
He cleared his throat and switched his attention back to the photographs. “Which island?” he asked.
“The big one.”
He leaned in closer to examine the photo. “Cool shot.”
“Thanks. Tanner took it when we all traveled there a couple months ago after Griffin and Finley’s wedding. We kind of crashed their honeymoon,” she said sheepishly but with a hint of the smart-aleck smirk he loved.
“Seriously?” He laughed. “I’m sure they appreciated that.”
“Their travel agent made it sound so awesome, and we stayed on different islands—hopping opposite them, so when they were on Maui, we were on the Big Island, when they were on the Big Island, we were on Kauai.”
“Sounds like a great trip.” He’d never been. Measures of national security never seemed to occur in paradise, at least not since Pearl Harbor.
“It was. We hiked up volcanoes, went swimming with sea turtles, and snorkeled with dolphins.”
“And went cliff-jumping,” he said, gesturing to the picture.
“Yeah, that too.” She smiled.
She had remained the adventurous, wanderlust-filled girl he loved. “What’s been your favorite place to visit?”
“Oooh.” She grabbed a flavored sparkling water from the fridge and offered him one. He passed. They tasted like bubbly nothingness to him, though everyone else seemed to be crazy about them.
She held up a Mighty Mango Naked juice.
“Great,” he said.
She tossed the cold bottle to him and he caught it. “Thanks.”
She nodded, took a seat on a barstool facing him, and tracked back to his question. “My favorite place to visit. Hmm. That’s a tough choice, but I’d have to say the Big Island.”
He leaned against the counter, loving the way her face looked as she mentioned it. “Why?”
“Because it’s breathtaking, full of adventure, and low on people.”
“Sounds like your perfect spot.” He untwisted the bottle cap and took a swig of the fruity drink.
“How about you?” she asked, managing to sit cross-legged on the barstool.
He’d seen a lot of beautiful places, but hardly ever under pleasant circumstances. “I’d have to say Barcelona.”
She leaned forward. “Why?”
“Because it’s gorgeous, has beautiful beaches, and, of course, is home to the best futbol team.”
“Barca fan?” she asked, tapping her water bottle decorated with bright pink berries.
“Yeah.” He narrowed his eyes. “You know Barca?” She’d been a hockey fan in college.
“It’s hard to not know who Lionel Messi is.”
“True.”
“So, Barcelona . . . ?” she pressed.
“Oh, it’s a city that doesn’t feel like a city.” He moved to lean over the counter. His hands mere inches from her, his head dipped under the cabinet overhanging the galley bar where she sat on the opposite side. “It’s got quirky but fantastic architecture, all thanks to Gaudi.”
“I’ve seen pictures of his work. I can’t decide which is my favorite, the fish house or the cool park.”
“Casa Batlló is cool and totally does look like a fish, but Park Güell is amazing.” He’d spent a lot of time relaxing there on his leaves, rare as they had been.
She stared at him the way she used to when they’d chatted like this before he’d abandoned her. He leaned closer, his fingers caressing hers. She leaned in, then quickly yanked her hand away. “I better get to bed.”
“Right,” he said, straightening and clearing his throat. “Night.”
“Night.” She looked back one last time before shutting her bedroom door at the end of the short hall.
Cyrus entered Ebeid’s study, surprised to find him still awake at this late hour. “I followed Agent Grey like you asked, and you’ll never believe who showed up,” Cyrus said, leaving out the fact that he’d acted on his own and tried to kill the man, and failed. If he ’fessed up now, he’d be the dead one. Besides, he was about to rectify that situation posthaste and get on Ebeid’s good side with the intel he had to share. By the time Ebeid learned of the botched hit at CCI, it wouldn’t matter because Garrett Beck and Kate Maxwell would be dead.
“I’m hardly a fan of guessing games. Get to it, Cyrus.”
“Garrett Beck.” The CIA black ops agent known most often as Garrett Beck had been a chigger under Ebeid’s skin for almost eight years.
Ebeid lurched forward. “Here in Baltimore?”
“Yes, and you’re never going to believe where I followed him to.”
“What did I just say about guessing games?”
“The boat the Shaw woman was staying on with Kate Maxwell.”
Ebeid straightened, stiffened. “What?” His dark eyes narrowed. “Are you certain?”
“Positive.”
“So she has ties not only to Grey’s investigation and to Tanner Shaw, but also to Garrett Beck?”
Cyrus nodded, pleased at his boss’s half smile.
“You know what to do.”
Kate rolled over, unable to sleep. The time with Luke at the counter had stirred intense feelings. The stark reality was that she was falling in love with the man he’d become, and not just the boy she’d known. Disconcerting didn’t come close. Shaking her head, she sat up. She’d bolted so quickly before anything deeper could begin that she’d neglected to get ready for bed—hadn’t even washed her face or brushed her teeth.
It would only take a couple of minutes and would make her feel far more comfortable.
Cold from the hardwood floor seeped through her fuzzy socks as she opened her bedroom door. Getting a glimpse of Luke, she forgot to breathe.
He hung in the doorframe of her bathroom, doing chin-ups, his fingertips braced on the edge of the frame. His back contracted, his muscles flexing, his sinewy arms rippling with each pull and release.
He glanced over his shoulder at her, perspiration slipping down the center of
his back as a heated ripple cascaded through her limbs.
“Sorry,” he said, hopping down and planting his bare feet on the floor. “Did I wake you?”
“Nuh-uh.” Nuh-uh? What was she, some star-struck teenager who’d just met Tyson Ritter? She smoothed her tousled hair. “I forgot to brush my teeth.”
“Oh.” He grabbed a hand towel to wipe his face.
She swallowed, his sculpted abs even more impressive than his back. “You couldn’t sleep?” she said, barely managing a coherent sentence.
“Nah, like I said, I don’t need much sleep.”
“That must get exhausting.” She stepped around him in the tight quarters, trying not to stare. Focus on his eyes. No, don’t do that. His eyes always melted you.
“Comes with the job, I’m afraid.” He shrugged, his muscles again flexing with the motion.
Her lanky college boyfriend was now a beautifully sculpted man who could rival Michelangelo’s David.
Swallowing, she scooted into the bathroom and, with one last glance, shut the door. Her eyes widened, and the desire to call Tanner and share what had just happened raced through her, but she refrained and instead splashed her face with cold water.
Katie?
Luke bolted upright and scanned the room. It took a moment to acclimate himself. Katie’s boat, and he’d crashed out?
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he glanced at the clock. Just after midnight. Normally he didn’t crash this early and then was up at dawn. His job didn’t allow for a long or sound night’s sleep, but his body and mind had adjusted, allowing him to perform at his best on four hours of sleep a night without issue or incident. It was amazing what a body and mind could endure with rigorous training, the strength and fortitude one gained.
He glanced back at Katie’s door. All was silent.
He was so thankful she’d finally let him stay. Why did the girl have to fight him on everything? Even more frustrating, why did he enjoy the verbal jousting so much?
Because she was unlike any other woman he’d ever met. Smart, witty, quick on her feet, and more than able to hold her own while still possessing—although she rarely showed it to anyone—a tender side. He’d spent seven-plus years away, and not a day had gone by during which she hadn’t danced through his mind.
He raked a hand through his hair, back to his natural shade of dark brown for the first time in a while.
It was amazing the love he still held for Katie. He’d always known he loved her, but even he hadn’t realized how deeply or all consumingly until he was back in her presence. But what did he do with it? So much had happened, so much time had passed.
He dropped to his knees in prayer at the side of the sofa bed.
Father, I know it’s been too long.
Oh, he’d said prayers, offered up quick ones as he needed help and as they fit in his schedule, but he couldn’t recall the last time he literally dropped to his knees with a bared-open heart before his Savior. Though he feared after all he’d done . . . after all his sins . . . he might be beyond the point of redemption.
I’m sorry, Lord, for choices I’ve made and some of the orders I’ve followed. They were contrary to my soul, and I did them regardless. I’m wrestling with demons. They’re always haunting me, trying to keep me in darkness.
Being back, all I want is to return home to You, to Katie, to the guys, and to my family, but I don’t know if that’s even possible.
Help me, Father. Guide my steps and keep the gang safe. Don’t let evil touch them because of me. Help me to keep my focus when it’s being pulled in two vastly different directions—Katie and Ebeid.
He lay back on the couch, fully expecting to remain awake, but an hour later he was roused from a deep slumber. This time something was wrong. Once again he sat up, pulling his .45 Sig from under the pillow.
He moved to check on Katie, cracked her door, and found her sound asleep. He moved back through the boat and then heard it—a click by the sliding glass door.
Was someone trying to enter?
With a deep swallow, he inched back the privacy curtain.
A man in black, a shadow in the dimness of the dock lights, stood less than a foot away on the opposite side of the glass. Wires were on the door. On the handle. A black box fixed to the glass. It was a bomb. Its red countdown numbers reflected backward on the sliding door of the ship opposite. Two minutes.
He raced for Katie.
Please, Father. Don’t let anything happen to Katie!
Kate awoke to a large thump on top of her legs, a heavy weight pinning them in place.
Fear ricocheted through her.
She grabbed her gun from under her pillow.
“It’s me,” Luke said, shifting off her legs. “Don’t shoot.”
Cold October air swirled in through the open hatch above. “Luke? What are you doing? Why is my hatch open?”
“Your sliding door is rigged to blow in under two minutes. We’ve got to get out of here now.”
“What?”
“No time to explain.” He kneeled on her bed beneath the hatch. “Climb up me and out the hatch. Hurry!”
She stared at him. Was she dreaming?
“Now, Katie!”
She shook off her slumber and did as instructed. Once through the hatch, she dropped to the deck and lay flat on her stomach for better stability. She offered her outstretched hand to Luke. “Thanks,” he said, climbing up like a spider scaling a wall, “but I’ve got it.”
Reaching the top, he grabbed her hand and they slid down the rear boat ladder to the main deck. They leapt to the pier and raced for the parking lot, seconds ticking away along with the rapid thumping of her heart.
An explosion shuddered the earth below as her home shattered into a thousand pieces. Luke yanked her to the gravel-strewn pavement behind his rental car, shielding her body with his as the ground quaked in rippling waves.
Once the charred pieces of her home ceased raining down, Luke slowly released his hold on her and stood, assessing the damage.
Mr. and Mrs. Braverman stumbled onto their deck, gaping at the destruction. “Oh, Kate!” Mrs. Braverman wailed.
“I’m ok—”
Luke covered her mouth and tugged her hard against him. “Shh. Better to let them think they succeeded—that you went down with your ship.”
“But I don’t want folks to worry.”
“Better they worry than to have whoever did this try again.”
Excellent point. How did she argue with that?
He helped her into his rental car and handed her the keys. “Just don’t start it until I give you the okay.”
She nodded.
He opened the glove box and pulled out a flashlight.
Dropping to the ground, he slid under the vehicle. Then a moment later he stood, walked to the edge of the harbor, dumped something in, and ran back and climbed in the car.
“What was that?”
“A second incendiary device, in case the first didn’t do the job.”
“And you just threw it in the harbor?” she asked as he started the car and pulled out of the lot.
“I disabled it first.”
He shifted gears and tore down the road, checking the rearview mirror.
She looked back, anticipating a follow, and sure enough, one came.
Luke exhaled, shifted gears, and tore down an alleyway. Several minutes and impressive maneuvers later, he lost the tail but continued to check the rearview and side mirrors.
“Where are we going?”
“My hotel.”
She swallowed, both a thrill and shot of trepidation bolting through her. After a minute, she found her voice. “Was that Ebeid back there?”
“One of his men. A dead one for failing.”
“What happens now?”
He shifted gears and banked a hard right down another alleyway, checking the rearview mirror yet again. “You don’t leave my side.”
5
When we were at the hospital, Declan
said there’d been a shootout at your boat.” It’d been nagging at Luke.
“Ebeid’s men were after Tanner and Declan,” she said.
“On your boat?”
“Tanner had been staying with me. Declan was walking her home and Ebeid’s men opened fire.”
“Obviously, they survived.”
“Do you think they blew up my boat assuming Tanner was still staying with me?” Kate asked. “In retribution for Declan stopping the Bay Bridge attack?”
“It’s possible, but my gut says they were there for you—and possibly me.” And the man in black would have succeeded if he hadn’t been there, as Kate had been sound asleep. The thought hit him hard. He’d already lost Katie once by walking away. Now that he was back . . . the thought of her gone for good was suffocating.
“Why for me?” she asked, her hands fidgeting in her lap.
He tapped the wheel with his thumb. How real was he willing to get? “Either because of your connection to Declan’s investigation or . . . because they’ve figured out what you mean to me.”
“How could they possibly know what I mean to you when I have zero clue?”
After the kiss they’d shared the other night and his apology, he’d hoped she at least knew he still loved her. Not that he could necessarily do anything about it, but he wanted her to know he’d carried her with him all these years. “I guess I hoped . . .”
“Hoped what?” She shifted to face him, and the unease reflecting in her eyes tugged at his soul. “You took off without a word and have been gone for over seven years. How on earth could I assume—let alone know—that I mean anything to you?”
The breath left his lungs in a whoosh. She really didn’t know. But how could he blame her? If the roles had been reversed, what would he be thinking? He swallowed hard, the stinging reality of the depths of pain he’d caused hitting home. “I’m sorry, Gracie.”
She stiffened, tears glistening in her eyes as an oncoming car’s headlight beams bounced off her beautiful face.
Apparently the use of her nickname hit a raw nerve.
She stayed silent the remainder of the ride, and he left it there. He’d said little but already caused her pain. The last thing he wanted to do was cause her more. She deserved nothing but the best, and he most certainly wasn’t it.