Caught in the Crossfire

by Nichole Severn

  Recognition flared.

  “Ryan?” Kate walked out from behind her desk, fully aware of her arm brushing against Declan’s as she passed and wrenched open the door. The weight of Declan’s gaze settled between her shoulder blades as a wall of black and white filled her vision.

  Due to his six-foot-four height, she craned her head back to look up at Special Agent Ryan Dominic. Studying the hallway past his mountainous shoulder, she spotted both Anthony and Vincent as well as Dominic’s partner, Kenneth Winter, waiting for her to raise the alarm. “What are you doing here? I got pulled onto your case this morning. I haven’t started—”

  “You weren’t answering your phone.” Ryan stared down at her with the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. Brown, almost black, but it was the control he kept over his expression that struck fear into the hearts of the violent offenders he hunted for the Bureau’s Behavior Analysis Unit. Absolutely deadly. Made him one of the best agents on the government’s payroll with higher arrest rates than any other agent. That technique had given him a nickname nobody dared say to his face. He was a good agent. A good friend, one she’d relied on since that dreadful night. She’d lost her husband in the shooting. He’d lost his partner.

  “I had to hear about the shooting at your house from Anchorage PD.” Dominic set both hands on her shoulders. “I came as soon as I could to make sure you were still alive. Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Good to see you again, Kate.” Special Agent Kenneth Winter, in all his uptight glory, nodded around his partner’s shoulder. He had medium length brown hair, thick eyebrows and steely brown eyes close to Dominic’s in color. She didn’t know Kenneth as well as his partner, but if the rumors she’d heard were true, Ryan had himself a go-getter on his team. Desperate to prove himself and to climb the internal ladder, Kenneth lobbied for the most violent and taxing cases. Usually with success. “This seems personal. I’m going to find a vending machine until you get your stuff sorted out.”

  “Thanks, Kenneth. It’s fine, guys. I can take it from here.” She waved toward Anthony and Vincent to take the physical tension filling the room down a notch. Pulling Dominic into her office, she closed the door behind him. “I’m alive and the team is running down leads with Anchorage PD as we speak. You didn’t have to—”

  “You’re going to want to back away, friend.” Declan moved beside her. If he’d had fur, his hackles would be raised.

  It seemed every muscle Dominic owned stiffened. His hands curled into fists at his side. The special agent took a single step forward as he studied his former partner. “I don’t believe it.”

  Declan watched every move Dominic made, blue eyes creasing at the edges like the investigator she remembered hunched over the dining room table, working his way through his most recent case.

  “Right. Declan, this is Special Agent Ryan Dominic of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.” She set her hand on his shoulder, throttling the warmth settling deep into her bones from the contact. “Your former partner.”

  * * *

  PARTNER? THE AGENT standing in front of him sure didn’t feel like a partner.

  Declan eyed the Glock Dominic kept in the shoulder holster beneath that perfectly pressed suit. He didn’t have any idea how he knew the agent’s choice of service weapon, but the information was there, in the back of his head. Dominic worked for the FBI. Given the file on Declan’s life, it stood to reason they’d met, but Dominic’s body language said it wasn’t a friendly relationship. Let alone a partnership. “You know me?”

  Confusion cracked that carefully controlled expression, and the stiffness between the agent’s shoulders and neck disappeared. Dominic widened his stance, hands on his hips. Close enough if he had to reach for his weapon. He brushed his jacket out enough for Declan to get a peek at his service weapon. A Glock. “I sure as hell hope so. We were partners for six years. Is this a joke?”

  “No,” Kate said. Her light vanilla scent clung to him, to his clothes, his skin, threatened to drag him deeper into the past his brain had barred him from remembering. The burn of her hand on his arm grounded him, kept him in the moment, but then it was gone. Again. He didn’t blame her. She’d made it clear before the FBI had walked through her door. He wasn’t her husband. At least, not the one she’d been expecting to come walking back into her life from the grave. “Ryan, Declan doesn’t remember anything before the shooting. The trauma erased his memories.”

  “What?” A disbelieving laugh broke through the special agent’s control but was gone faster than it appeared. Dominic ran a hand down his face and the stubble along his squared jawline. A hint of Latino heritage gave him the dark hair and eyes, but Declan pegged the agent as local from his accent. “They said you were dead. The FBI buried you, and all this time you’ve, what, been walking around Anchorage without any idea of who you are? Whose body is in your grave?”

  “We don’t know. The surgeon obviously has some explaining to do, but that about sums it up, yeah.” They were wasting time here. The shooter could’ve already started planning another attempt on Kate’s life. Could already be on the way to Blackhawk Security. Although getting through the front doors might take a small army considering how many armed operatives and security measures Declan had noted coming in, but he wasn’t willing to take the chance. Not with the only lead he had to restoring his memory.

  “This is unbelievable,” Dominic said. “What do you remember then?”

  “Ryan, it’s a long story, and I promise I will explain it all later.” Kate swiped the file from the edge of her desk and handed it to Dominic. “Right now, we need to find Brian Michaels and interrogate him about the shooting tonight. If he’s off his meds again, I don’t want him hurting anyone else. Can you pull some strings? Help us out?”

  Ryan. Not Special Agent Dominic. Kate and his former partner were familiar with each other. Explained why the agent had touched her as soon as she opened the door. Declan locked his jaw against the unfamiliar rush of jealousy ripping through his chest. Exactly how close had his wife and Dominic gotten when he died?

  “Michaels is out? This day keeps getting better and better.” Dominic flipped through the file. “All right, I’ll help you track down your shooter, but in the meantime, I’m getting you into a safe house. From this moment on, you’re officially in protective custody.” That dark gaze flickered to Declan as Dominic handed the folder back to Kate. “If Michaels is responsible for the shooting tonight, there’s a chance he’ll keep trying until he gets what he wants. As far as we know, that’s you, and I’m not going to let him shoot at you a third time.”

  “The FBI can’t protect her.” Declan closed the distance between him and Kate, a possessiveness bubbling beneath the surface. Kate had escaped a killer twice. The odds of her surviving another attempt, even while in FBI custody, went down with every second the bastard was out there. Serial offenders only got better at what they did. They learned from experience, and the shooter wouldn’t stop unless he was caught or killed. “I can.”

  Dominic folded his arms, stance wide. “You can’t be serious. You just said you can’t remember anything—”

  “I’m not going into hiding,” Kate said, “and I’m not going into protective custody. I can protect myself, or have you both forgotten who I work for?” She tilted her chin higher, Michaels’s file in her hand.

  In that instant, Declan had no doubt the woman standing in front of him could give the shooter a run for his money. Not just physically but mentally, and for an instant, he sensed exactly why he’d married her in the first place. Profilers were known to put themselves inside the heads of the criminals they hunted, and that meant knowing how the suspect would think, act and what their next step would be before they made a conscious decision.

  Dominic lowered his hands to his sides, took a step toward her. “Kate—”

  “I’ll have my profile on your serial case ready as soon as I can, Special Agent
Dominic.” She motioned him to the door. “Until then, thank you for helping find Michaels. I appreciate it.”

  Dominic’s nut-brown eyes darted to Declan again. Dropping his voice, the special agent leaned closer to Kate, making Declan’s blood boil. “You’re making a mistake. Call me when you realize that.”

  Kate didn’t respond as Dominic wrenched open the office door and disappeared down the hall. Tension visibly drained from her as she faced Declan, but the exhaustion etched into her features didn’t lessen. “He’s not going to look for Michaels,” she said. “My case doesn’t come with an honorary award like the Hunter’s does if he solves it.”

  The Hunter. Was that the serial case the FBI had brought her in to profile? According to news reports, three women had disappeared over the last year, their bodies found in the middle of the woods around Anchorage with a single arrow shot to the heart. All blonde. All athletic and in great shape. Similar to the woman standing less than two feet from him. “You seem sure of that.”

  “There isn’t enough room in Ryan’s life for friends and his ego. He’ll work the Hunter case and leave Blackhawk to find our shooter.” She studied him. “You want to know how close we are. Your former partner and your wife.”

  Had she read his thoughts or was his face just that easy to read? “It crossed my mind.”

  “We’re friends. Nothing more. He brought dinners after I was released from the hospital, helped me arrange your funeral so I didn’t have to. Like I said, Ryan doesn’t have room for real relationships. He uses people to get what he wants, which usually involves a case he’s working,” she said.

  Declan didn’t have any right to ask, but the words clawed up his throat anyway. “Has there been anyone else?”

  Her bottom lip parted from the top. “Are you asking because you’re worried it will affect our investigation into the shooter or because you were my husband in a former life?”

  “I shouldn’t have asked.” Taking Michaels’s file from her hand, he headed for the door.

  “After you died, I used to talk to you. Like you were still around,” she said.

  Her voice slowed his escape, prickling goose bumps along his arms. The pain in his side evaporated as he slowly turned back to face her.

  A humorless laugh bubbled past her lips. “It sounds insane. I buried you. I knew you weren’t coming back, but a part of me still held on to hope. Still prayed day after day to some greater power that the shooting, losing you, had all been some sick nightmare I’d wake up from any moment. But the months went by—a year—and I never woke up.”

  Declan couldn’t move, couldn’t think. He worked to swallow the tightness in his throat, but the anguish in her expression held him frozen. If she’d sought comfort in another man’s arms, he had no logical reason to give in to the unexplained jealousy simmering in his veins. He couldn’t remember their marriage, had only glimpses of her in his memories. That wasn’t why he’d come back into her life.

  He took a step toward her. “Kate—”

  “I took my wedding ring off two weeks ago, Declan. There hasn’t been anyone else, but I moved on.” She massaged the line of lightened skin around her ring finger as she stared down at her hand. Lifting her chin, she lowered her hands to her sides and locked out the emotion that’d been there a few moments ago. “We’ll find Michaels or whoever took those shots at us tonight. I’ll help you get your life back, but after that, I think it’s best we go our separate ways.”

  An invisible fist clenched inside his gut. Get his life back. What the hell did that even mean? He’d spent the last year in a shelter, digging into as many records as he could find to uncover his past without any luck.

  According to the few legal documents he’d read in Blackhawk Security’s file on him—combined with the handful of memories his brain had decided to vomit at random intervals—his life was standing on the other side of that desk. Kate Monroe was the key to his past, the only person who knew him before he’d woken up in a hospital bed. His likes, dislikes, if his parents were still alive, if he had siblings, the sources of his scars, how he’d chosen a career hunting criminals, if he’d been a good man, a good husband. A father?

  “I understand.” A lie. He didn’t. The few glimpses of memory he’d had of her had seemed happy enough. Her smiling as he came home, the echo of her laughter as they made a batch of vanilla cupcakes together and the flour had gotten on her nose and cheeks.

  All of those memories combined had given him a mere fraction of the emotion burning through him now. This woman had been ingrained so deep in his neural pathways, not even amnesia had been able to force him to forget her. There had to be a reason.

  Declan took in the lack of photos on her desk and forced himself to nod. He’d sure as hell find out why. “Lead the way.”

  Chapter Four

  Her hand hovered above the dead bolt to her apartment. She’d never brought anyone here. Not the team. Not anyone, but bringing Declan here seemed too...intimate. As though she were inviting him into her life. But he’d been a large part of her life, part of her, too.

  Kate shoved the key into the lock and twisted. Automatically reaching for the light beside the door, she braced for his reaction.

  Stark white walls and furniture, no personal effects, packing boxes everywhere. It’d been nine months since she’d moved in, but the thought of making it permanent had almost been too much. The two-bedroom, two-bath high-rise apartment had gotten her as far across the city as she could get and still stay within range for the team if they needed her.

  Beautiful mountain views commanded attention through the wall of ceiling-to-floor windows. The sun had yet to come up, so only the twinkling lights of Anchorage were visible from here. But in a few hours, red, pinks and yellows would crest over the peaks and light up this entire room. She’d never missed a sunrise in this apartment, in love with the idea of starting a new day, a new life. Then again, sunrises were hard to miss when she spent most of the night awake anyway.

  He couldn’t go back to the shelter, and the thought of getting him a hotel room for the night while there was a shooter on the loose pooled dread at the base of her spine. At least here, she could protect him. Kate tossed her keys onto the small table near the door as Declan stepped inside.

  Stress lines, deeper than she remembered, etched across his face. He’d spent the last year in a shelter. Hadn’t really known much else since losing his memories. She couldn’t imagine the thoughts running through his head right now. In the past three hours alone, he’d inexplicably been drawn to a house he’d never consciously stepped foot inside, gotten shot, discovered he’d been married and met a partner he hadn’t known existed. The brain could only take so much before it cracked. She understood that from experience.

  “I think I have a box of your old clothes in my bedroom closet,” she said. “Feel free to clean up while I look for it, and then I can make us something to eat.”

  “That sounds great.” He studied the space, nodding, then headed toward the hallway off to the left with a backpack in tow. “Thank you.”

  She heard the bathroom door close, but instead of the stiffness draining from her neck and shoulders, Kate let herself slip down the wall and onto the floor.

  For the first time since she’d seen him back in their old house, reality set in. Declan was here. Against all odds, he’d survived, and the breath rushed out of her.

  The floor sucked at her, urging her to sink heavier into its supportive cradle, but the blood from Declan’s wound had destroyed his clothes. Unless he felt comfortable walking around completely naked, she had to get up, had to find that last box full of his things she’d held on to.

  Kate tapped the crown of her head against the door. “Can’t stop now, Monroe.”

  The rain-like fall of shower water hitting tile grew louder down the hall as the bathroom door swung open. Pressure built in her chest as Declan appeared in nothi
ng but a towel wrapped around his lean waist. Concern etched his expression as he caught sight of her on the floor, but she didn’t have the strength to move. His dirty blond hair was thick and mussed as though he’d run his fingers through it. His mouth, full and sensual, pressed into a thin line. “Kate.”

  “I’m fine. I’m just...tired.” The confession barely escaped her lips. These last few hours had ripped apart everything she’d worked for over the past year. She’d fought to control the anger pent up at having him taken away, she’d thrown herself into work in an attempt to distract herself, convinced herself she was finally moving on. She’d taken her wedding ring off before coming back to work for Blackhawk Security, but the truth was, she still kept it close.

  Diving one hand into her jacket pocket, she showed him the thin gold band. She studied the inscription on the inside, their wedding date. “I thought taking this off would make it easier, but my finger feels naked without it. I feel unconnected.” She closed her eyes. What she wouldn’t give for a full night’s sleep. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”

  “It doesn’t have to.” Declan came toward her, his bare feet padding across the hardwood floor, and she couldn’t help but admire the view. Wide, muscled shoulders, the ridges and valleys of his six-pack, the outline of powerful thighs through the towel.

  Lowering to sit down beside her, he chased the cold from her bones as he brushed against her. “You don’t have to control anything. Not with me. You’ve been through hell as much as I have. You want to yell, cry, punch me in the face, hate me for coming back into your life? Do it. Do whatever you have to to work through this. Suffering in silence will only tear you apart.”

  A small laugh burst from her chest. “Repressing things is one of my favorite hobbies.”

  When they were married, she’d kept it all bottled up. To the point she didn’t know whether she truly was experiencing emotion or if she only thought she should. She still didn’t know sometimes. Declan had dealt with so much pain, so much sorrow on the job hunting the monsters, she hadn’t wanted to add to any of it. Their marriage had depended on it. She had to stay strong, be there for him when he’d needed it the most, but that left no one there for her.