A man followed behind Annalise, clumsily copying her movements and sending the girl into fits of laughter. His laugh boomed in the high-ceiling room. This must be Annalise’s dad, Larissa’s son. She’d heard a lot about him, but he traveled for work and she’d only ever seen pictures of him.
Smiling, Natalie wiped sweat from her eyes and scooped up her water bottle as she crossed to them. “You look like you could use some lessons…” He turned, and her mouth went dry despite the sip of water she’d just taken. “Greer?”
He was the absolute last person she’d expected to find here. And goofing around, no less. This was the first time she’d even seen him smile—really smile like he meant it. It softened his features, crinkled his eyes, and carved dimples in his cheeks. He looked younger, and so much more like his brothers. It was like peering into an alternate reality and getting a quick glimpse of the man he would’ve been had his circumstances been different. A glimpse at the kind of father he’d have been.
And, dammit, the wall she’d spent the afternoon constructing around her heart began to crumble. She crossed her arms over her chest as if that would keep the pieces in place. “What are you doing here?”
That beautiful smile started to fade, replaced by wariness. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
She opened her mouth, intending to tell him to leave, because she didn’t want to soften toward him. She didn’t want to care about him or his mission. She didn’t want to worry because the shadows in his eyes seemed to have deepened since she last saw him. She didn’t want to care, period. He was out to hurt her nephew, so he’d made himself an enemy.
Except she couldn’t send him packing. As much as she didn’t want to, she did care.
Larissa hurried in, saving her from having to say anything. Maybe she wouldn’t have been callous enough to tell him to go away when he looked so lost, so in need of a friend, but she was glad for the interruption. Now she’d never have to find out.
“I’m so sorry I’m late, baby.” Larissa bent over to kiss her granddaughter’s head. “Thanks for staying with her, Tally. There was an accident on the freeway, and they were detouring everyone off at one of the exits. Traffic is a nightmare right now.” She straightened and finally noticed Greer. Her smile of greeting faltered, and she slapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened behind her square-frame glasses. “Oh my God. You’re one of Meredith’s sons. You’re her oldest? Greer, right?”
“Yeah.” Greer looked as if he’d rather gouge out an eye than have this conversation.
“Look at you! All grown up and as big as your daddy was.” Larissa enveloped him in a hug. Next to him, she was as thin and petite as a sapling branch, but Natalie knew from experience the woman was stronger than she looked. Decades of ballet had honed her muscles, and she was in better shape than a lot of twenty-year-olds.
Greer didn’t move.
“Oh.” Larissa stepped back and offered a watery smile. She wiped at her damp eyes with shaking hands. “I’m sorry. You probably don’t remember me. I’m Larissa Schaffer. Your mother and I opened this studio together. She taught while I was touring and vice versa. Last time I saw you, you were…oh, barely a teenager, I’d imagine. All gangly, hadn’t grown into your feet yet. And look at you now. You’re the spitting image of your daddy.”
Finally, Greer showed a flicker of emotion. “You knew my parents?”
“Well, of course. Meredith was one of my very best friends, but I didn’t see much of her in those last few years before she died. Life got in the way. We’d known each other since we were little more than kids. I was a bridesmaid in her wedding. At the time, I wasn’t happy about it. I thought she was throwing away her career. But, oh, she loved your father. Then you boys came along…” She smiled, but it was tinged with sadness. “I still remember going to the hospital right after you were born. I’d never seen her happier. She was so proud of you.”
“I know,” Greer said, voice tight.
Good. This was good. Larissa just had to keep talking and remind him of the kind of people his parents were. Good people, who wouldn’t have condoned his revenge scheme.
“When we lost her…” Larissa shook her head. “It tore out a piece of my soul. I can’t imagine how hard it was for you boys to cope.”
“We managed.”
“I sent money to you, donated food and clothes, whatever I could manage. I hate that the person responsible was never caught.”
“He will be,” Greer said, implacable as stone again, all hint of emotion gone.
Larissa blinked and took another step back. “What?” She glanced over at Natalie, then to him again. “Are they reopening the case?”
“It was never closed. It just went cold.”
“So they’re investigating again? Is there new information?”
Greer gave one of his noncommittal grunts. This conversation was devolving fast, but luckily Annalise spoke up before it had a chance to continue.
The girl tugged on her grandmother’s hand. “I’m hungry.”
“Okay, baby. Go get your coat and we’ll stop somewhere for dinner.” She gave Annalise a gentle pat on the back and waited until the girl was gone before returning her attention to Greer. “Please keep me updated? If there are any breaks in the case, I’d love to know.”
Another grunt from Greer. Neither a yes nor a no, but Larissa must have taken it as agreement, because she nodded and followed her granddaughter out. Their footfalls creaked on the old staircase. Annalise chattered happily until the door cut her off.
Silence fell. Despite the large size of the studio, it was suddenly too tight, too close, Greer’s big body taking up too much space. Natalie put distance between them on the pretense of gathering her purse and change of clothes from the little office where she’d locked them before class started.
What was she going to do about him? She couldn’t stay away, but she genuinely feared for her nephew’s safety if Greer got to him first. So she’d just have to convince him working together was the best option for both of their causes.
Yes, that’s what she’d do. Then she’d be there when he found Andy and could play referee.
When she returned to the studio, Greer hadn’t moved. He stared at the door. “That little girl. Annalise. Make sure she doesn’t give up.”
She stopped short. Out of all the things she’d expected him to say, that was nowhere on the list. “What makes you think she will?”
“She said her mother doesn’t believe she should be dancing. That ‘black girls don’t dance ballet.’ Tell her that’s bullshit and if she loves it and wants it, she can ballet as well as any white girl. Tell her to dream big, and never let anyone—not her mother or anyone else—tell her she can’t.” He shifted his gaze to the wall of photos. “It’s what Mom would have said to her.”
Holy shit. Had Larissa’s stories about his parents gotten through to him? The Greer she’d known a few days ago wouldn’t have cared about a little girl’s hopes and dreams. He’d been too focused on revenge. Was he changing his mind?
She cleared her throat, made sure her voice was light. “Yes, her mother’s a piece of work. Her father travels too much for his job, so Larissa has custody. Kind of like—” She cut herself off and mentally kicked her own butt.
“Like?” he prompted.
She’d been so careful not to mention her nephew. Now what did she say? If she deflected the conversation, he’d know something was up. Better to keep it casual. “Uh, like Andy. His mom walked out and left him with my brother, who isn’t what you’d call a…stable person. My parents have full custody of him.”
He faced her. “I’m not going to harm the kid.”
“I can’t know that for sure.”
“Don’t trust me?” If he was hurt by her doubt, he didn’t show it. Not that she expected him to. Nope, he was back to his old unreadable self. Amazing this was the same man who had played with Annalise minutes ago.
She lifted one shoulder in a helpless shrug. “What do you expect? You
told me you plan to kill someone, Greer. Whether or not he deserves it is moot. Anyone who can kill another human like you’re talking about—”
“Is not a good person?” he finished, jaw tightening, a muscle jumping below his temple. He strode for the door. “Yeah, well, I already knew that about myself. Time you learned it, too.”
“Greer.”
He paused but didn’t look back.
Dammit. She hadn’t meant to call out and searched for something more to say. “You are a good man, Greer. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t care about Annalise. You wouldn’t care about keeping me or your brothers safe. You just…need help.”
He left without so much as one of his usual grunts.
Natalie let her bag fall off her shoulder. It hit the studio’s wood floor with an echoing thunk a second before the downstairs door smacked shut. She closed her eyes and rubbed her hands over her face.
She’d told him the truth. She didn’t see a bad man when she looked at him. What she saw was a man spiraling. A man who needed help. But she couldn’t do a damn thing until he admitted it. A desperate man, on a desperate quest—and that was the crux of the problem. Desperation drove normally good people to do horrible things, and she didn’t know how to stop him. She doubted even his brothers could talk him out of it now.
With a sigh, she scooped up her bag and hit the studio lights. On her way out, she passed the wall of photos, and stopped next to the magazine cover featuring his mother. A woman she’d never known, but hugely respected.
She touched the frame. “How do I help him, Meredith?”
Of course she didn’t get an answer. Only silence. Shaking her head at herself, she locked up the studio.
Apparently she was on her own.
Chapter Twelve
He should be dead.
It was Greer’s first coherent thought as he peeled his eyes open and saw the world had exploded around him. His ears rang. A coating of dust covered him, rattled around in his lungs, and made his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. There was no ceiling on the building anymore—nothing but a sky heavy with dust and death. Fires from around the war-torn city licked at the undersides of dirty clouds.
He absolutely should be dead right now.
The fact he wasn’t came as both a shock and a disappointment. Dead would be easier—but he wasn’t, so he had to move. Just keep moving, like he always did.
He clambered to his hands and knees, rubble and concrete dust falling off him like a fine snow. He was bleeding. A thin, hot line leaked from a small entry wound low in his chest. He vaguely remembered taking the bullet in the millisecond before he blew the shooter’s head off. He didn’t think it had hit anything major, but it had definitely done some damage to his ribs. Every breath caught in his throat and sent pain singing through his chest.
He could lie back down. If he stayed here long enough, maybe he’d bleed out. Or die of infection. Or thirst. He was so damn thirsty.
But that was too close to surrender. And surrender was not a Ranger word.
He started a staggering crawl forward as the ruins of what had been a CIA safe house crumbled around him in large puffs of dust.
Had he been alone when the world exploded? His head was so muddled, he couldn’t recall. But as he moved, new pain sliced through him, and with it came a bright sense of clarity. He spotted an arm, limp underneath a pile of concrete.
He hadn’t been alone.
In the dim light of gathering dusk, he reached for Sergeant Dustin Williamson’s hand and tried to pull the man free of the block of concrete crushing his body.
It was a futile effort. He knew it was, but he had to try. He never left men behind.
Dustin’s hand was limp, slick with blood. Greer wrapped his fingers tight around his wrist and pulled with all he had in him. Something gave with a sickening ripping sound and he fell backward, holding nothing but a detached limb.
He stared at the tattoo inked on the arm’s inside forearm. The Army Ranger Crest, a blue and green shield bisected by a red lightning bolt, a twelve-point sun in the upper left and a star in the lower right. He had the exact same design on his arm.
He remembered now. The mortar bomb had hit Dustin before exploding. The arm was likely all that was left of him.
Boom!
The building shook. Debris fell. Gunfire ripped through the street below, sounding like fireworks.
Greer didn’t care. He sat there, staring at the arm, and all he could think was, it should have been me.
Chapter Thirteen
It should have been him.
Greer bolted upright from his bedroll on the floor of his apartment, sweat pouring off him. He still felt Dustin Williamson’s dismembered arm in his hand. Felt the thick, dusty air rattling around in his lungs. Felt the flames licking at his skin and the agony of a bullet wound in his side. The sick-sweet stench of death surrounded him.
No. He wasn’t there anymore. He was home, and he’d only had a dream. All just a dream. Another fucking one.
Greer scrambled for his phone, scrolled through the names, and nearly hit send when he found Seth Harlan in his contacts. Seth, his youngest brother’s best friend, had seen some shit overseas. He’d come back from it damaged, and for months he’d been Greer’s sympathetic ear on nights like tonight. Seth knew what it felt like to wake up with your heart pounding out of your chest and a cold sweat soaking your bed. He knew what it felt like when the nightmares got too fucking real.
Except now…Seth was healing. He had a good thing going and had a good woman by his side to help him through the rough nights. Calling him, dragging him back into the darkness, seemed like an act of cruelty.
Greer set the phone down. He didn’t need to call for help. He’d handled everything in his life on his own, and he could handle this. It was just a nightmare. Just. A. Nightmare.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but the image of Dustin’s arm was right there, burned on the back of his eyelids. The limb had been surprisingly light, no more than ten pounds.
Shit.
He had to talk to someone, even if only to take the tremble out of his hands, and it sure as shit wasn’t going to be his brothers. Or Natalie. He grabbed his phone again, scrolled past Seth’s name, found another contact, and hit send.
A slurred voice answered. “Yeah?”
Greer checked the time on his phone’s screen. Nearly six in the morning, so on the West Coast it was closing in on three a.m. “Did I wake you?”
“You fucking know the answer to that,” Zak Hendricks grumbled.
Yeah, he did. A resounding no. Zak slept about as much as he did, and these late-night chats were getting to be all too common between them. “How’s the leg?”
Zak gave a laugh tinged with bitterness. “It’s still gone.”
Christ, it killed Greer that he hadn’t acted soon enough, had obeyed orders for too long, and because of that Zak hadn’t made it home in one piece. The image of Dustin Williamson’s detached arm came with such clarity it was like he was in Syria all over again, holding the limb in his hand. He shuddered. Jumped up from his bedroll and paced the length of his room.
The walls were closing in on him.
He threw open his balcony door and stepped outside into the chill spring morning. He gulped in several deep breaths until the image faded from his mind and he found his voice again.
“Is—” Was that his voice, all thin and reedy? He cleared his throat. “Is it healing okay?”
“Feels like it’s still there,” Zak said. “It itches, and I can’t fucking scratch it.”
“Is that why you’re drinking?”
“No. I’m drinking because the world doesn’t suck as much when I’m drunk.” Bottles clanked in the background. “Are you gonna lecture me about it?”
“Will it do any good?”
“Fuck no.”
“Then I won’t waste the breath.”
Silence stretched across the line for several beats.
“I’m assuming you didn�
��t call in the middle of the night to ask about my leg,” Zak said finally.
To be honest, he wasn’t sure why he called Zak of all people. The guy was miserable, and talking to him always hurt. Maybe he was a masochist at heart, who got off on the guilt every conversation stirred up. “I was just thinking about you, man.”
“You’ve been thinking about me a lot in the middle of the night. And I’m flattered, but…” Again, that bitter laugh. “Even if I was into guys, I’m not interested in sex anymore.”
Greer froze. “At all?”
“My sex drive was located in the leg I lost. Who knew?”
He didn’t know how to respond, but Zak sure as hell wouldn’t be talking about it so openly if he wasn’t three sheets to the wind. If Zak remembered this convo in the morning, it’d probably embarrass him. Or piss him off. Or both.
Greer let his gaze travel to the balcony next door. He remembered Natalie all soft and willing underneath him, and his body stirred. For those few moments with her, his mind had cleared, settled. He’d relaxed for the first time since…he couldn’t remember. But she’d given him a precious moment of peace.
And Zak didn’t even have that to help him deal with his demons.
“Uh, have you talked to your doctors about it?”
“There’s no point. Even if my body is still able, I don’t care. I’m…numb,” Zak continued with an odd note of hollowness in his voice. “I can’t bring myself to care about anything. Just flat all out of fucks to give. You should’ve left me over there, man. At least then I’d have died a hero and not a crippled drunk who can’t even pop a boner.”
Too Wilde to Tame (Wilde Security) Page 11