by Sue Wilder
But I was uneasy, and I knew why.
Where, earlier, trouble had been compliant, now she was reluctant, with her mind running a mile a minute, realizing how I’d maneuvered her into a situation she couldn’t control.
The cost of protection, I decided, listening to the deep-throated rumble of the BMW as I reversed onto the road.
Sometimes, the client didn’t like the process.
◆◆◆
My house was an architect’s wet dream, with connecting cubes cantilevered over the lower, four-bay garage level. The home sat against the hill. The slope closed around the lower level, but the upper living area was light-filled, a floating space with floor-to-ceiling windows and a soaring fifteen-foot ceiling. For privacy, automatic shades would obscure the glass, but I liked the view, not because the bay drew me and the pines cloaking the hill hid other houses. I demanded a clear line-of-sight covering the approach.
The interior was spacious, with wood-planked ceilings that echoed the polished oak floor. The rectangular fireplace was ultra-modern, rimmed with black marble and wrap-around glass because I enjoyed firelight in the evenings and wanted to see it no matter where I was in the space. I appreciated the openness these days, and the rooms were sparsely furnished, designed for comfort since my taste was the only one that mattered. I rarely entertained and preferred to live alone until my nightmares were under control. My other fears put to bed.
Until I was emotionally whole. Stable.
I watched trouble. She wandered around and I knew she’d picked up on my withdrawal by her silence in the car; she’d been twisting her fingers as she watched the passing trees like she was memorizing her way back. The idea made me wonder how to handle the conversation once she realized I hadn’t been honest.
She deserved full disclosure, but getting her here was the priority when she insisted on self-reliance. I’d never take that away from her, but I’d bend it when necessary, and I hoped the house would be enough to convince her to stay. Stupid, maybe, but half the time I was flying blind with trouble, driving myself crazy—which was not my usual style. In the past, women were convenient until they weren’t. But last night, she’d gotten to me on an emotional level, so far beyond the sex that I was afraid to believe what it meant.
Earlier, she’d chosen a bedroom at the far end of the hall, away from mine. But we’d returned to the main living space, with the big screen television and a kitchen, where pendant lights reflected down with spears of light, shiny on black marble and stainless steel.
“This is beautiful,” she said. “A little sterile without a houseplant or two for company.”
“House plants die if you don’t water them.”
“Ah… that’s the reason.” Her smile ghosted. “And here I thought gin was just as good for plants as water. I was always emptying my glass into the potted palm—sorry.” She caught my expression and turned away. “Old times. Won’t bore you.”
I rolled my shoulders. “It’s not that.”
“No, it’s not.” I hated the composure in her voice. She walked to the windows, stood with her arms around her waist and stared at the vista beyond, the blue sky, blue water, sparkling light and tall trees.
“All morning, Garrett, you’ve confused me, running hot one minute, cold the next, and there’s this awkwardness between us I don’t understand.”
“Soleil.” She stiffened at her name, signifying what she talked about, how I was hot one moment, cold the next. “I’m trying.”
“Then talk to me.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Last night, we relaxed with each other, said and did things with total freedom. Now, you’re silent, and I need you to tell me what changed.”
I wiped a hand over my face. “Nothing changed. If I’m awkward, it’s because I told you more last night than I’ve told anyone.”
“And intimacy is tricky.” She turned her head to watch the flight of a bird above the trees. “One minute, all you want is to crawl inside someone else’s skin, and then you wake up, realize you scraped your soul raw.”
“You saw me weakened, out of control, and you deserve the truth. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, but I did them because they were necessary. Because I learned how to turn off the part of me that cared. It’s difficult to turn that part back on.”
“I’ve watched the way you care about Missy.” She glanced at me over her shoulder. “Tad, and so many others.”
“But I haven’t figured out how to be that way… with you.”
“I have no expectations, and I’d never ask for what you can’t give.”
Her pivot toward the window meant she was lost in the light, and I couldn’t see in her face what I heard in her voice. A muscle kicked in my jaw. “Trouble, look at me.”
“No, because I’ve learned to be a certain way, too, and what you want, to have me close one minute, absent the next. I’m not sure I can do that.”
“I promise you.” I placed my palms on her shoulders as if I could force her to listen. “I don’t want you absent. But I’m focused on what’s critical. Brand wants something. Billy-Joe drops off the radar. I don’t need to list the dangers, or tell you how you’re at the center of that circle. That’s why I want you here. Where I can protect you.”
“I’m not an idiot, Garrett. I knew why you wanted me here. And I thought we agreed on how to handle Brand.”
“I am dealing with Brand. You’re out.”
I felt her stiffen beneath my fingers. “You won’t even consider my feelings?”
“No.”
She shuddered, shrugged away from my hands. “Was it easier to pretend? Let me believe you?”
“I understood your reasons, but I won’t let you confront Brand on your own.”
“I’ve survived him before.” Her voice frosted the way it had that first day, with the speed of a storm moving in so fast, mist freezes on the ground. “And I’ve survived Hollywood for years. I think I know what I’m doing.”
I shifted my weight, my body readying for the adrenaline rush of a coming fight, too instinctive to shut down after years of doing what I did.
“We’re going to work this out, trouble.”
Her arms were crossed, her feet moving as she backed from the threat she read in my eyes. “What—exactly—do you think we have left to work out?”
“I’m telling you and you’re not listening to me.” Her expression turned aloof, like I wasn’t there, didn’t matter, and I wasn’t sure if it was what I said, or the anger in the way I said it, but my pulse began a damn racing in my throat that made it worse.
“Okay, I’ve hurt you,” I said, “but I can’t worry about your car going over a cliff again. About you needing help when no one comes. You told me not to obsess, but I’m not built that way. I obsess. I see the problems you don’t because I’ve been in situations you’ve never imagined, so give me a little damn credit for what I do.”
“When what you do affects my life, Garrett, I get a say in it. Normal people call it compromise.”
“I never agreed to compromise—this isn’t one of your script meetings, where you sit around the table and argue about emotions. I can contain the situation here better than anywhere else.”
“You can contain me here better than anywhere else—which means I’m absent.”
The hurt in her voice stabbed. My hands fisted. I was losing her, didn’t know how to stop it, and the desperation hit. God—I was like Slate, begging, and I didn’t care.
“We’re going to work this out,” I told her, as if repeating myself meant she’d believe me this time.
Her chin lifted. “I’ll take care of myself.”
“I don’t want you taking care of yourself.”
She brushed her hair aside, and the distance between us widened into a canyon filled with emptiness, where she was no longer willing to reach across, even look across to see me standing. If I was still standing. In my mind, I swam through the angry pain of hopeless begging, lying on my back between two friends.
I tu
rned away, not needing the flashback, the turmoil that came with it.
When my cell rang, the interruption fueled the anger. My thumb hovered over the decline button—until I saw Tyson Lemay’s name on the caller ID.
“Now is not a good time, Ty,” I growled, then let the ice settle in my gut as he talked. “I’ll be right there.”
With a brush of my thumb, I disconnected and placed another call to Tad. Trouble put more space between us, pretending not to listen, but when I ended the conversation, she swung around with her hair fanning.
“Tad doesn’t need to come here.”
“I want him here. He knows the security system as well as I do, and you don’t.” I heard the dominant edge in my voice and regretted it. But I wouldn’t soften, either. “The police have Billy-Joe cornered in a motel room. He has one of my men. Hastings, the man with Riggs last night. Brand’s inside, too, trying to talk Hicks down.”
Her eyes widened. “Is Billy-Joe armed?”
“That’s what he claims. Ty wants me there.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No,” I answered brusquely. “That won’t happen.”
Rebellion flashed. “I’m not a member of your team, Garrett. You can’t order me to stand down and wait.”
“I can.” And she wouldn’t win this argument. “The police won’t allow you anywhere close, and I’m not dragging you into a fucking situation I can’t control.”
“Why not? I’m the reason your man is in that motel room. He wouldn’t be there if you weren’t here, and you wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t asked for help. Can you even comprehend how I might feel responsible? Need to do something?”
Her resentment raked against my skin. “I asked you to wait.”
“No, you told me to obey, and there’s a difference.”
Focus narrowed to a point, centered on what I understood and she didn’t—the desperation of cornered men. How her presence could set one of them off when I’d be powerless to stop it.
“Don’t defy me on this.”
“Or what?”
“Look at my face if you can’t figure it out.”
Her inhale was sharp. “This is about you, going it alone, when you’re not alone. Other people can help, but you won’t stop for one damn second to let them try. There’s something hard inside you, Garrett. You push people away.”
“I asked you to stay.”
“That’s my decision, isn’t it?”
I expected her bitterness, but not the depth. “I don’t know what the hell I said that upset you, but we’ll talk about it when I get back.”
“When you get back, I won’t need to be here.”
I stared at her.
“It’s too easy, believing in you.” She scrubbed at her face. “I want to, but then I’m overwhelmed by who you are. Your strength. You see the world in ways I can’t touch, and I forget who I am—but, like you, I can’t afford distractions. I can’t lose myself in you.”
“Okay.” I held up both hands and stepped back, rigid against the tears running down her face. “You need space. I’m giving it to you. But Tad knows the security system. How to monitor the external cameras. I’d feel better if he stayed with you until this is over.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, Garrett.”
“I’m asking, Soleil.”
“Fine.” But relief didn’t follow her agreement. “I’ll stay because you need to… feel better.”
I don’t know how I’d forgotten that—the way she could put so much distance in one simple pause—but I had, and moments later, I heard the knock on the door and let Tad in, wondering if she was right. If I’d have anything to come back to when this was over.
And if it wasn’t for the best.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Soleil
“So… this is kinda weird,” Tad said with a crooked smile. “Me, babysitting Dacree of Wyvern.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Babysitting wasn’t Tad’s idea, and he didn’t deserve my sour mood, but since our shared word of the day was “awkward,” Tad must have figured out why he was here. Garrett didn’t trust me. Not on my own.
Aimlessly, I wandered, past the masculine furniture, the elegant touches I hadn’t expected, pretending this was normal. The pain was normal, and Garrett hadn’t made love to me last night, then destroyed something so fragile this morning, I wasn’t sure we could put it back together.
I knew why he left me here and went to that motel on his own. Hastings had been doing what Garrett probably ordered him to do, follow Brand, see what he could discover, and Garrett felt responsible. I even understood why he didn’t want me confronting Brand. Our connection was frightening, how I understood his guilt and anger because it was like mine, and I hadn’t been fair. I shut Garrett out, when he’d done the same to me. But he couldn’t stop pushing people away, and if he couldn’t reach for me, after everything we shared, then I couldn’t risk losing myself in him. Not if he was already gone.
I swiped at my face and forced calm into my voice.
“You know Garrett.” I shrugged in Tad’s direction. “He worries too much.”
“Yeah.” Tad slouched against the side of the couch, using the leather cushion for a chair. He wore a simple tee, jeans and high-top tennis shoes. His hair was longer, and I saw hints of the male charisma I remembered from the photograph of his father. The smile, filled with devil-may-care mischief, and I thought he must be breaking Missy’s heart by growing up so fast.
“You gotta understand.”
With a casual lift of his hand, Tad brushed his hair back, winked—and I smiled at the lecture coming on.
“Dude gets a little crazy. When he first came, he’d sit in mom’s café with a cup of coffee, and his knee would jerk up and down until mom took away his caffeine. She made him drink this herb tea—which he hates—but he’s better now.”
“I love your mom’s coffee,” I said wryly. “And I’m glad she’s never taken it away from me.”
“Nah, you’re Dacree of Wyvern.” His smile charmed. “She’d cry when she watched you on that show, pretend it was allergies or something.”
“Come on,” I teased. “The violence wasn’t that bad. A few heads lopped off.”
“It wasn’t the blood stuff. She cried because she said Dacree loved that dude when he wasn’t coming back, and I kinda thought she was thinking about dad right then.”
My fingers trembled when I smoothed a strand of Tad’s unruly hair. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “Wasn’t really you—you were just reading some script the writers wrote.”
I wasn’t sure if Tad was serious or trying to make me feel better. Still, I appreciated the conversation, and I wandered around the room looking for something else to talk about. Shelves lined one wall, and I traced over the book bindings, thinking of my father, my grandfather, how they both lived through the stories they told.
In the middle of one row, separating two sections of books, I saw a glass jar with a tight lid. Inside were lumps of deformed metal.
“Oh, those.” Tad came to stand beside me. “Bullet fragments.”
He picked up the jar, tipped it, and pointed. “These came out of dude’s back. The other two came from his friends. He asked for them, when he was in the hospital. Said it was all he had left. Needed to remember.”
A chill raced down my arms. I held my hand out, palm up, as Tad offered the jar. Carefully, I closed my fingers. The glass was warm to the touch, but the weight of the contents seemed insignificant.
“They don’t look like much, do they?”
“No,” I agreed, but the weight still pressed like stones on my heart. I tipped the jar, listened to the muffled clink, the sound of pebbles being scattered across the ground.
“Dude doesn’t talk about what happened,” Tad continued with a teenaged lack of discretion I suddenly, achingly appreciated. “I guess the bullets did most of the damage. But escaping the way they did—it didn’t do him any favors. Two of dude’s v
ertebrae were cracked nearly in half, and after the surgery, they weren’t sure he’d walk without a cane. But dude’s strong that way. Got up and refused to listen. Had to quit running his company, though. Couldn’t do all the hard stuff anymore.”
“He told me.” With care, I slid the jar back into place, stared longer than I needed at the fragments, imagining where they’d been.
“Gave it all up,” Tad agreed casually. “Like giving up coffee in the morning. Now he’s just your average billionaire who runs a bar and sleeps on a boat when he wants to be alone.”
My vision blurred as I followed Tad. He walked to the end of the bookshelf, dug around and pulled out a brass-hinged black case. Popped it open.
“The State Department gave him this medal. Civilian, and real hush-hush—don’t tell dude I showed you this.” Tad’s smile was endearingly sheepish. “Bad enough that I’m telling you, but it isn’t fair, how no one knows what he did. He doesn’t want anyone to know—and I get it. How he feels. I saw the citation they gave him.”
He rummaged around behind the books while I held the box, my palms damp.
“They’d gotten that woman out of the terrorist camp, but then she realizes she doesn’t have her stupid camera case and starts screaming. Dude tells her he’ll go back just to shut her up.”
I closed my eyes.
“He does. He gets it, and he’s running. But by then, the explosives he left behind have gone off, and the bad guys know they’re escaping. Come after them in jeeps.”
Tad straightened, empty-handed.
“She was waiting out in the open, and dude pushes her to the ground. He takes the bullets in his back for her, and then two of his guys come. They’re trying to drag him toward the helicopter, but… they get shot, too, and I guess, when they’re flying home, she doesn’t even ask about dude, or the other two guys who died. Just yells about some memory card not being in the case. Later, it turns out the card she wanted was stuck in the seam. It had this intel the spies needed, and they commended dude. Used words like heroism, above and beyond, the kind of stuff they like to say.”