He’d been in the States for a little over a week, relating the specifics of his deep-cover mission to some arrogant prick who’d never seen a dirty, dangerous day of battle in his life. Not to mention helping tie up the loose ends after single-handedly dismantling one of the most bloodthirsty and ruthless drug cartels in Colombia. And going ape-shit crazy because the bureaucrats in charge were taking their sweet time and wouldn’t flippin’ release him.
His wife had been so close, and he hadn’t been able to get to her. Beyond frustrating.
The other bridesmaid stepped up beside Tatum, her voice soft and soothing as she said, “I’m sure everyone would understand if you needed to leave, Tatum. Hope and Gage are already gone.”
“Maybe, but that’s beside the point, Willow.” His wife’s hands fisted at her sides.
Evan shifted away, putting a little more space between them just in case she decided she needed to use them on him.
It struck him as hilarious that he’d spent the last three years rubbing elbows with some of the most hardened criminals in South America, constantly wondering if today was the day he’d end up with a bullet in the back, and taken the inherent danger in stride.
But a pissed off Tatum? She scared the shit out of him. Always had. She didn’t hesitate to fight dirty. It was one of the things he’d always loved about her. And hated, since life had taught her the need and skills to do it.
Her gaze darted from him to Willow and back again. Her mouth thinned and her eyes snapped. Finally, she growled, “Dammit!” She poked a finger into his chest. “Stay here.” She wrapped a hand around Willow’s arm and dragged the other woman behind her.
Willow didn’t turn, not right away, but let her gaze trail down his entire body as she walked backward. In heels several inches high. Over ice-covered pavement. He might have been impressed, if he hadn’t been so conscious of the fact she was weighing and measuring him while she was doing it.
And her dark, calm eyes gave no indication just how he’d scored.
Evan watched Tatum and Willow disappear inside, heavy doors slamming shut behind them.
It was entirely possible she was screwing with him and had every intention of letting him freeze his ass off waiting on her while she whooped it up at the party.
But he didn’t think so. Tatum was the kind of woman who faced problems head on, always had been. She didn’t hide her head in the sand or pretend something wasn’t happening in the hope the problem would disappear. She made a decision and took action.
It was a trait they shared, something he’d always admired about her.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Evan leaned back against the seat of his bike. His gaze wandered up and down the street. It was quiet, just like the rest of the small southern town.
He had to admit, Sweetheart, South Carolina, was the last place he’d expected to find Tatum. She was a big-city girl. Growing up in Detroit, her family had lived paycheck to paycheck, close enough to the edge of disaster to make life a little unpredictable.
Her senior year of high school, her dad had lost his manufacturing job, sending her family into turmoil. Her dreams of college were crushed, at least for a little while.
Evan had watched her struggle that last year to hold everyone together. She’d been the glue keeping her mother and father moving forward.
He’d joined the Army right out of high school. They’d married a few weeks later, mostly to give Tatum his benefits, although he’d known for years he had wanted to marry her. The timeline had just been bumped up by circumstances.
He’d gone off to basic training and she’d stayed behind, working and trying to keep things going back home with her parents. Her mother being diagnosed with ovarian cancer was just one more blow. Without insurance, they couldn’t afford treatment. She did get some, but it wasn’t enough, and she died a year later. Her father, snowed under beneath the weight of grief and debt, had committed suicide.
Tatum was the one who’d found him, walking into a bloody mess.
Evan would never forget that phone call. By then, he’d been stationed in Iraq, living apart from the wife he loved, unable to comfort or help her the way he had wanted.
She hadn’t been hysterical, not his Tatum. Although, no matter how strong she’d tried to be, she had been unable to hide the pain locked deep inside. Or the relief, guilt and anger. Not from him.
She’d been carrying such a heavy burden at so young an age. And Evan had wanted more than anything to be there for her, to hold her and shoulder some of that weight.
He’d taken leave, come home and helped her deal with the financial mess her father had left behind. And he’d immediately moved her to North Carolina where he was stationed at Fort Bragg.
They had been happy. Sometimes she’d fought the guilt of that, but he could always shake her out of the melancholy.
She had been the perfect military wife, independent, strong, with plans and goals of her own. Unlike some of the wives, she hadn’t struggled when he was gone for long stretches of time. She had missed him, a lot, but they had plenty of experience dealing with separation. She had taken it all in stride, relishing the time they were able to spend together.
She had started college, eventually earning a business degree and going to work for a tech company. Special Ops had recruited him. Things had stabilized. They had been happy, had even started talking about kids.
Then, in the middle of an undercover drug op, their informant screwed his team and any hope of a future had crumbled. Their cover had been blown. Well, everyone’s but his. The resulting shitstorm had descended so quickly there had been no way to prepare.
One minute they had all been fine and the next, several of his buddies lay in pools of blood, with him the only one left standing. He’d thought he was dead, too.
He shivered. This little trip down memory lane wasn’t helping his mental state. He needed to be clearheaded for the conversation that was coming.
Purposely turning his focus back to his surroundings, he surveyed the town Tatum had chosen to call home. He could see the appeal of Sweetheart, even if it wasn’t what either of them had grown up with. The place was like the background for a Norman Rockwell painting—everywhere he looked there were Christmas lights, fragrant garlands of evergreen and shiny red, green and gold hanging balls. With the light layer of snow blanketing everything and the huge flakes drifting slowly from the sky, the town looked perfectly ideal.
What had surprised him almost as much as the fact that Tatum had chosen Sweetheart was the reason she’d moved here—to buy the only florist shop in town, Petals.
Try as he might, he couldn’t picture Tatum patiently arranging brightly colored flowers. She’d never been the overly romantic type.
But according to the info the Army had given him, she’d been doing it for about two years, using his insurance money to make the purchase.
One of the first things he’d done when he’d finally made contact was ensure no one would be able to come after her for that money. The company had paid out and the Army, who’d eventually known he was alive even if it had been several months later, had let them.
He’d been assured Tatum was protected. Surprisingly, he wasn’t the first soldier to rise from the dead.
The front door squealed, old wood against old wood, and Tatum slipped through the opening. The dress was gone, replaced by a dark pair of jeans, boots with tufts of fuzz shooting from the top and a heavy coat that enveloped her body, hiding everything else from him beneath a wall of shiny, quilted blue.
A plastic bag that most likely held her dress was draped over her arm. Another bag was slung over her shoulder, smacking against her thigh with every second step.
Her steps were deliberate and silent. She stopped several feet away from him. Evan felt the space between them like the gulf of a river, the swirl of their history, her anger and his hope threatening to pull them under if either of them tried to bridge the gap.
Snowflakes clung to her dark lashes, sparklin
g in the scattered light from the lamppost close by. She stared at him for several seconds before shaking her head. “Where are you staying?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t stop long enough to figure that out, Tatum. The first chance I could, I hopped my bike and rode here.”
She sucked in a deep breath. “The resort isn’t open yet. You could stay at the B and B, but it’s full of guests for Hope and Gage’s wedding. I suppose you could drive back to Charleston.”
“What about staying at your place?”
He watched Tatum’s tongue sneak out and sweep across her parted lips. The vein just beneath her jaw pulsed with tension.
“Dammit,” she muttered, so quiet he almost missed it.
“Tatum, we need to talk. I’ll sleep on the couch if that’s what you want.”
Her mouth thinned. And then trembled. “If that’s what I want? What am I supposed to want, Evan? You’ve been gone for three years.”
Swallowing the huge knot lodged in his throat, he opened his mouth to ask the question he’d been dreading since the moment he knew he was going to make it out of Colombia alive.
It was the one thing he’d tried not to think about at all while he was down there—because any time he lost the battle, it would make him want to throw up. Even now, his stomach churned.
He knew she hadn’t remarried. According to the intel he’d browbeaten a friend into getting him while he spun his wheels in Charleston, he knew no one lived with her. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t moved on.
“Is there someone in your life?”
“What?”
“Are you dating anyone?”
Her head snapped back. Her deep, emerald eyes widened. And then they narrowed.
“I’m not sure you have any right to ask me that, Evan.”
The slimy reptiles slithering through his belly began to quiet. He took a single step toward her, and when she didn’t counter with one backward, he took another and another until he stood right in front of her. Toe to toe, he stared into her upturned face.
Her creamy skin was warm when he reached for her, running the pad of a single finger over the slope of her cheekbone.
“What I want is to kiss my wife. What I want is to pull her into my arms and taste her mouth. Feel the silky, smooth texture of her skin beneath my hands. To finally experience the memories that kept me alive for three long, hellish, frustrating and devastating years.”
Neck bent, straining toward her, waiting for the first sign she wanted the same thing, Evan watched a myriad of emotions flash through her eyes—longing, desperation, love.
But then they were gone, replaced by a blank stare that was worse than even her anger.
She brushed his hand away. “Well, what I want is to not have been lied to. To not have buried the last remaining person who mattered to me. I want to not have been left devastated and broken. So I guess we’re both going to be disappointed.”
2
GOD, SHE WANTED—desperately—to leave him to figure out how to get out of the cold night by himself.
But she couldn’t do it. A heavy weight had settled right in the center of her chest, a ball of emotion and tears and hope and devastation.
Walking away should have made it better. Embracing the anger flickering through her should have given her the strength she needed to protect herself from getting hurt—again.
But less than three paces away from him, instead of relief flooding in, the pain and pressure had become worse.
Evan had lied to her. Or he’d let the government lie to her, let her believe he was dead. She didn’t owe him a damn thing.
The Evan she knew was ruthless and resourceful. If he’d wanted to get in touch with her he would have.
Which should have made her angrier. Not sad.
The sob she’d been holding at bay clawed at the back of her throat. No. She wasn’t letting it out.
Opening the driver’s side door of her Mustang, she tipped the seat forward and shoved her bags into the backseat. Willow would kill her if she saw her crumpling the dress bag this way, but she didn’t have the energy to worry about her friend’s indignation.
Turning, she bent to slip inside, intent on pulling the door closed.
She would not look back at him. She would not look back at him.
The words rang through her head like a litany, but apparently her brain wasn’t keen on actually following the instruction because her rebellious gaze strayed straight back to him.
Oh, Jesus.
And she almost doubled over at the pain lancing through her, an echo of the reaction she’d had when they’d told her he was dead. Why did learning he was alive hurt just as much?
Even across the space of the parking lot, she could feel the heat of his gaze as he watched her. The familiar tingle that blasted across her skin. The physical reaction only he had ever been able to coax from her body.
Damn the man.
His body was strung tight, arms heavy with muscle crossed over his wide chest as his dark gaze probed her. To anyone else who cared to look, he appeared relaxed, but she knew better. She could read the tension whipping through him.
Evan hadn’t followed her, but she knew, instinctively, he wasn’t giving up. Once her husband set his mind to something, he was relentless. Always had been, always would be.
Those qualities had served him well in his work for Special Ops. Once he took on a responsibility, he wouldn’t back down or buckle under until the job was done.
It was always something she’d admired...until that dedication had killed him. Or, at least, she’d thought it had.
Her brain was scrambled. Her emotions bounced all over the place. She’d already been exhausted from a full few days of running Petals, arranging the flowers for the wedding and attending all the wedding activities before this mess had landed in her lap.
What she really wanted to do was go home, climb into a steaming tub of fragrant water and soak away all her cares.
But Evan had come here for a reason and she knew him well enough to realize he wouldn’t leave until he’d accomplished whatever he’d set out to do.
The longer she dragged this out the harder it would be. A part of her wanted to thwart him simply to make him suffer. The rest of her realized that would be heaping punishment on her own head right along with his.
She was happy in Sweetheart. It had taken her months to find the equilibrium she’d lost. All she wanted was to return to the predictable, safe and easy life she’d built here.
Evan showing up threatened that stability. The sooner he left, the sooner her life could return to normal.
Besides, as much as she wanted to pretend it didn’t matter, she needed answers. Maybe with closure, she’d finally be able to move on and find the happiness her friends had all discovered in the last few months.
Tatum realized she’d been staring at him for several minutes, half in and half out of her gaping car door. Long enough for delicate snowflakes to melt into her hair, dampening the ends. A chill seeped under her warm coat, although she wasn’t sure it actually had anything to do with the weather.
The thought of letting Evan back into any part of her life sent panic skittering across her skin.
But she didn’t have a better option.
Gripping the top of the door, she called, “Follow me,” across the empty night before she could change her mind.
He didn’t answer, although she really didn’t give him a chance, slamming the door shut between them. Not that the empty symbolic gesture would save her.
He either followed or he didn’t. Now the choice was his.
* * *
EVAN DROVE BEHIND the sleek, growling, piece of American machinery. It didn’t surprise him to see that Tatum owned a vintage Mustang. That was his girl, always appreciative of the power and precision of a well-made car.
There had been a time, in their younger years, when she’d have opened it up, letting the car eat asphalt. They’d both loved the adrenaline rush of going fast. It wa
s something they shared.
Whether it was the unpredictable weather and slick roads or something else, he wasn’t sure, but tonight Tatum kept the car at a respectable pace as she led him through town, down a quaint little Main Street lined with shops and boutiques and into a neighborhood of cookie-cutter houses.
The entire town looked like a gingerbread house had thrown up all over it. Everywhere he looked, there were candy canes and blinking lights, wreaths and evergreen garlands strung with glittering tinsel.
It was idyllic. The kind of place that should be the setting for a made-for-TV movie about the magic of Christmas. The whole place made the spot right between his shoulder blades itch.
He wondered how Tatum felt about the obvious, in-your-face peace on earth and goodwill toward men theme Sweetheart had going.
This time of year had always been difficult for her. A reminder of everything that had gone wrong and all she’d lost. When they had been together, Evan had always gone out of his way to keep a smile on her face from Thanksgiving to Christmas. Leaving little notes and surprise gifts. Nothing fancy or expensive. Trinkets. Toys. Whatever would lighten her heart just a bit.
He wondered who was helping her keep the grief and guilt that she struggled with at bay.
Tatum turned into a driveway halfway down the street. The door for the garage rose and she maneuvered the Mustang inside. Without stopping to think about it, Evan pulled into the space beside her, which was mostly empty except for a row of plastic bins, a ladder and a mountain bike with a helmet hanging from one handlebar.
Kicking out the stand, he let the weight of his Harley settle beneath him as the engine went silent. Behind him, the garage door whirred shut, plunging them into a murky darkness that was alleviated only by the diffuse light of a single bulb above them.
Tatum sat in her car, hands gripping the steering wheel as she stared straight at the back wall of the garage. For a brief moment, he thought about walking around and pulling her out, but decided it was better to let her set the pace of this conversation.
Bring Me to Life Page 2