by Susan Stoker
He’d had them at one time, his teammates, and he’d thought he’d lost that forever. But spending time recuperating in Austin, and getting to know Truck and his team of Delta Force operatives, had gone a long way toward healing him. But it hadn’t made his PTSD go away.
Being in crowds, around people, was tough. Intellectually, Dane knew it was highly unlikely someone would ambush him from behind. Or that there would be a bomb hidden in a parking lot full of cars. But emotionally, it was a different story. He could handle fireworks, gunshots, blood…even the phantom pains from his hand that wasn’t there any longer didn’t faze him. But being around people, and the occasional thunderstorm, was something he was still fighting to overcome. It had gotten worse ever since Kassie, his friend Hollywood’s woman, had been kidnapped a few months ago.
He’d moved to Idaho hoping to finally find some peace, but his paranoia was getting worse, not better. It was much easier to get any errands done in the middle of the night, when there were less people around.
“You haven’t started drinking blood or anything, have you?” Truck teased.
“Not yet,” Dane drawled. “You call to ask if I’ve turned into a vampire?”
“Pretty much.”
“Shit,” Dane drawled. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Good, ’cause you’re too fucking old for one.” Truck never missed a beat.
Movement to his left caught Dane’s eye. He turned his head and saw one of the employees of the store stocking shelves. He narrowed his eyes in irritation. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen this particular woman. Every time he shopped, she seemed to be following him around the store. She never really looked straight at him, but stayed at the end of whatever aisle he was in, pretending to straighten the shelves. He was working on overcoming his paranoia, but knew he wasn’t imagining her following him.
Dane didn’t turn his back on the woman, but sidled up against the shelves and side-stepped away from her. “Look, something’s come up. I gotta deal with it.”
Truck’s voice lost its easygoing, teasing tone. “Sitrep,” he demanded.
“Don’t lose your shit,” Dane warned in a low voice, knowing he needed to calm Truck down before he called in reinforcements. He didn’t know where the other man was at the moment, but knew without a doubt that he’d be able to get assistance to him all the way out to bumfuck Idaho in fifteen minutes or less if the need arose. It was the bone-deep knowledge that the man, and his team, had his back that helped Dane keep himself together. “It’s a chick who has been following me.”
There was silence on the other end of the line for a beat. Then Truck asked incredulously, “A chick?”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck me. That’s awesome.” Truck’s voice lightened and even sounded excited. “Don’t scare her away, Dane.”
“It’s not like that. She’s been stalking me.”
Truck’s voice had warmed again, and didn’t lose any of that warmth with Dane’s pronouncement. “If she’s interested, you need to go for it. Break that dry spell you’ve been on.”
“Did you not hear me, you prick? She’s stalking me.”
“What’s she look like?”
Dane sighed in exasperation. Truck wasn’t going to let it drop. “Not that it matters, but she’s about a foot shorter than me, ugly as sin, and creepy…since she’s been following me around the store every time I’ve been here.”
“Sounds like she’ll fit against you perfectly. Trust me, there’s just something about having a woman against you who’s smaller that makes you feel as if you’re the only thing standing between her and the world.”
“Fuckin’ A, Truck. She’s goddamned stalking me.” Dane knew the man had a thing for the best friend of one of the other men’s women, but trying to get him hooked up with someone who was stalking him was ridiculous.
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“This conversation is over.”
“Call me tomorrow and let me know how it goes,” Truck ordered Dane.
“Prick,” Dane murmured and clicked off the phone. As much as he liked the other man, he could really be a pain in the ass sometimes.
Thinking over the last few weeks, Dane realized exactly how often he’d seen the grocery clerk…without actually seeing her. It shouldn’t have been too surprising, considering how little he’d changed his routine since moving to the small town of Rathdrum, Idaho. It was a tiny community outside of Coeur d’Alene. Small enough that he didn’t panic when he had to get out and do business, but not as large as the nearby city. He could still get lost, but not feel as if he had to watch his back every second of every day.
But he didn’t like the feeling crawling up his spine now. The slip of a woman had managed to fly under his radar. Was she the reason his senses had been in overdrive? Even as he pretended to look at the shelf in front of him, he saw the clerk turn her head to look down the aisle at him. She had a serious look on her face, one filled with compassion.
Fuck that. He didn’t need pity from anyone. Never mind someone as nondescript as her.
Dane hadn’t lied to Truck. She was a tiny thing, at least compared to him. Her hair was brown and pulled back into a long, low ponytail on the back of her head. She was wearing a pair of jeans and the sneakers on her feet had seen better days. A brown apron with the store’s logo on the front was wrapped around her waist and tied in the back, the strings hanging down to almost touch the floor. She had on a long-sleeve navy-blue T-shirt. Dane couldn’t tell what kind of body she had, as the apron hid any curves she might have.
He was a ways from her, but if he had to guess, he’d say she was probably at least a foot shorter than his six-one.
He probably shouldn’t be as weirded out as he was, it wasn’t as if she was an actual threat to him at her size, but she made him feel uncomfortable, and the sudden realization that she’d been lurking around every time he’d been shopping brought back all the times while deployed that he’d felt watched…and hunted.
Making a decision, he clenched his teeth and turned toward her, walking quickly down the aisle. He’d nip this in the bud right here, right now. No one stalked Dane Munroe. Not anymore. Not ever again.
* * *
Bryn Hartwell straightened the boxes of pancake mix as if her job depended on it. She’d learned over the last few weeks that if she looked busy, the man wouldn’t notice her. The first time she’d seen him was about a month ago. She’d just started at the store, needing something to keep her busy at night, and he’d strode through the automatic doors at the front of the building as if the hounds of hell were behind him.
He’d wasted no time wandering up and down the aisles, grabbing typical bachelor-type food with his right hand. He kept a basket hooked over his left elbow. She probably wouldn’t even have taken a second glance at him if it wasn’t for the haunted look in his eyes. They never stopped moving, checking out the area around him. Whenever he saw another shopper, he’d skip that aisle and come back when it was empty. If there were too many people in the store, he’d simply turn around and leave, preferring to return when it was nearly empty.
Something about him drew her. She didn’t know his story, but she had no doubt he had one. It wasn’t until a later visit, when she’d seen the prosthetic on his left arm, that she’d connected the dots. He was a well-built, handsome, broken soldier. Or former soldier. He’d fumbled with the basket on more than one occasion and only reached for his groceries with his right arm. He only filled it with what he needed in the short term, which was why she saw him so much.
Bryn had memorized what he liked to eat after only three visits, then she’d spent the next two days rearranging everything he usually bought so those items were on the middle shelves, and not the top or bottom. She’d noticed with satisfaction that he no longer had to stretch to reach anything, nor squat on the ground either.
Also, he didn’t like to be around other shoppers, Bryn had done her best to divert the few patrons that shopped late at night
away from the aisles he happened to be in. It wasn’t easy, and she knew the others thought she was insane, but so far it’d worked. The soldier looked more at ease when he could get in and out of the store without having to be around anyone else.
She got it. She didn’t do too well with others herself. She couldn’t relate well with most people, and the feeling was obviously mutual.
She’d spent her entire life in special classes. Those that were supposed to nurture her and help her grow into a productive member of society. Someone who would go on to do great things…cure cancer, find lost planets, discover new species. But the only thing Bryn had ever wanted to find was a friend. Someone who wouldn’t look at her as if she was a specimen under a microscope. Who she could laugh with. Shop with. And simply sit on a couch and watch a silly movie with.
But being able to multiply three-digit numbers in her head when she was four had made that goal unattainable. Her parents didn’t understand her. Her teachers had been uncomfortable around her, simply shoving worksheets at her and telling her how smart she was…then passing her on to the next grade.
She’d been evaluated by a clinical psychologist when she was around eight, and her parents were told that she tested on a genius level with borderline Asperger’s tendencies. It meant nothing to Bryn, but they’d been upset by the report. Ultimately, there were some facets of Asperger’s that were one hundred percent Bryn, like being the last to understand the punchline of a joke, or getting completely absorbed in one thing and losing sight of everything else. But there were also a lot of things that most children with Asperger’s felt and did that didn’t apply to her, like noticing small sounds others didn’t, being fascinated by dates or numbers.
The psychologist had told her parents she was extremely smart, but had a hard time using common sense. Basically, it was explained that Bryn had a brain that was wired differently than most people’s.
She had no idea if that was true or not, but she tended to get lost often and sometimes forgot to fill her car with gas when it was near empty. By the time she was sixteen, she had two undergraduate degrees, her graduate degree in physics, and had started on her PhD.
The day she turned eighteen, Bryn left her parents’ house in Baltimore, Maryland. She’d moved around the country living in one small town after another and finally ended up in Idaho. Her parents had told her she couldn’t live on her own, that she needed a caretaker, but she’d been determined to prove them wrong. She didn’t want or need someone hovering over her all the time. She might be different, but she was perfectly able to live on her own.
Bryn actually didn’t know her folks that well, since she’d spent most of her life away from them at special schools. She’d only moved back in with them while she’d been working on her PhD. Then she’d left Maryland and everyone who knew her. To start her life anew. But it hadn’t been easy.
She was still odd.
She didn’t fit into society.
At all.
And everyone knew it.
Most of the time it didn’t bother her, but there were moments when she longed to fit in with others. To blend into the woodwork.
She had a feeling the amazing man felt the same. Something inside her wanted to protect him from what was making him uncomfortable. She didn’t know why. Only that she needed to do it.
It was crazy, really. The man was tall and built. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t protect himself. He had short dark hair, a five o’clock shadow, wore black boots and jeans. It was spring and still a bit chilly, and she’d never seen him in anything but the black leather jacket he was currently wearing. If Bryn met him anywhere but here, she would’ve been scared out of her mind, he was that intimidating. But watching him shop for things like SpaghettiOs, canned chili, and toilet paper—he preferred the strong and soft expensive mega rolls over the cheaper single rolls—she saw him as a person.
Bryn had been lost in her thoughts, and had moved to absently straightening the syrup so the bottles were facing out and were all at the edge of the shelf, when she glanced down the aisle where she’d last seen the man. He’d been on the phone and had been scowling at whoever was on the other end.
But he was now taking large strides down the aisle toward her. Directly toward her. In fact, he was staring at her—and he looked pissed.
Bryn gasped and took a step away from the shelf. He’d never looked right at her before. Not once. She’d been pleased that she’d been able to slip under his radar, but obviously he’d caught her. Damn.
He began speaking even before he reached her. “Why are you following me?”
Bryn opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She’d only seen this man from afar, but up close? She could only stare.
He was beautiful.
When he stopped right in front of her, she slowly reached out and poked him in the chest before she thought about what she was doing.
She wanted to see if he was real. To make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
At her touch, he gasped, and his right hand came up and grabbed her finger in a steely grip. He didn’t say anything, but continued to glare at her.
Bryn couldn’t do anything but stare up at his steel-gray eyes. His hand was warm around her finger and if asked, she would’ve sworn that she could feel the heat from his hand working its way down her hand and arm into her chest. Yup. Not a dream.
They stayed that way for a heartbeat, her finger enclosed in his palm, before he broke the spell, thrusting her hand at her and taking a step back. “What the fuck?”
“S-sorry,” Bryn stuttered. “I—”
“Why are you following me?” he repeated, narrowing his eyes.
Bryn did what she always did. She told him exactly what she was thinking. She’d never been a good liar, couldn’t really understand why people did that.
“Because you’re uncomfortable around people. I saw it and wanted to help. I try to keep others away from the aisles you’re in as you shop. It seemed to help. You’ve been calmer recently. Although you don’t look calm now. Does your arm hurt? You don’t have as much in your basket tonight as you usually do. Does your prosthetic go all the way up to your shoulder? I can’t tell, although it’s obvious that it’s still relatively new to you. I’m sorry, by the way. Do you need assistance with anything? I moved the things you usually buy to the shelves in the middle. I was hoping that would help.”
He stared at her, his brow furrowed, so she kept talking. Explaining. Trying to clear up the questions so clear on his face.
“I’m Bryn. I work here. I don’t sleep much, so I took this job a month or so ago. I saw you shopping and realized how uncomfortable you were. So I fixed it. You really should eat better. You buy too much pasta. Experts say you should consume the majority of your carbs in the morning, and after you work out. You should stick with protein late at night though. You really need more veggies in your diet. I know they go bad quicker, but you’re here at least three times a week anyway, so it wouldn’t matter. I could give you some recommendations if you needed them.”
If anything, the man looked even more confused, so Bryn continued, trying to ease his mind. “I don’t know what happened to you, but this really is a safe place. You don’t have to be worried about shopping here. I’ve got your back, so you can come earlier if you want. I start work around eleven and go home around three. It’s only a part-time job for me, but—”
“Stop following me.”
His words were low and hard.
“Oh, but I—”
“I mean it. The last thing I need is a freak like you following me around, stalking me, commenting on the food I buy. I don’t care how much sleep you need or what you think of my eating habits. I do care that you’re harassing me and making me uncomfortable.”
Bryn took a step back, for some reason not expecting the hostility emanating from the man. “I don’t mean to…I—”
He cut her off once more. “If I see you again, I’m calling the cops. This will obviously be the last time I shop here, but
if I see you lurking around me anywhere else, I’ll press charges for harassment and stalking. Got it?”
Bryn looked up into the eyes of the man in front of her and her heart sank. She’d done it again. Freak. She was a freak. Weirdo. Psycho. Head case. Nerd. Dork. Reject. All the names she’d been called over the years swam in her head.
“Got it?” the man repeated in a harder voice.
Bryn nodded quickly. She’d forgotten he was there. She did that all the time. Got lost in her head. Biting her lip, she watched as the man edged around her, leaving plenty of room between them, as if her weirdness was contagious, and walked backwards, not turning his back on her until he’d rounded the end of the aisle and disappeared.
Bryn turned blindly back to her work, not even thinking about her task as her hands automatically continued what they’d been doing before, straightening the shelves.
She’d only been trying to help. He’d almost seemed at ease lately when he’d shopped. But she’d ruined it. Now he’d have to drive down to Post Falls to shop. It was bigger than Rathdrum, but not as large as Coeur D’Alene, and it would take him a lot longer to get to the city and back than it would to just shop here.
That was unacceptable. This was her fault, she had to fix it.
Bryn waited until the man was at the checkout counter. A teenager named Willy was manning the register, and the night manager, a forty-something woman named Monica, was chatting with another employee near the front of the store. Bryn walked up to her, removed her apron and held it out.
“I quit.” She said the words loudly, making sure the man at the conveyor belt could hear her.
“What?” Monica asked, obviously confused. “You just started last month.”
“And today I’m quitting.” Bryn moved her eyes to the man who’d made her hope for the first time in years, then crushed that hope beneath his big black boots. “I won’t be back.” She prayed he understood her.