If that’s your plan, I’d rather you put a bullet in my head.
Christ. The fear and resignation in her raggedly uttered demand had nearly brought him to his knees. Just as Senator Hawley had claimed, she was courageous, honorable, and giving, protecting herself and those she loved through sheer willpower and grit. The will she’d left with the Maxwells proved she didn’t expect to survive the coming confrontation with Everson, yet when Rhy had asked for her trust, she’d given it freely, along with her heart and sweet body.
Shame squeezed his chest like an iron band.
From the day he’d turned eighteen and become a Marine, he’d lived by the code of honor, courage, and commitment. Those truths were the foundation for every decision he made, so ingrained he’d lost Pamela rather than break his word to his team or his client. He’d lived his life with the belief that a man’s true character is defined by “what you are in the dark.” But the man in the dark, the man he’d become in the past four years, wasn’t honorable or courageous. He was an asshole and a coward.
Afraid of compromising his mission, he’d kept the truth from Nicky, despite learning of her innocence. Despite falling in love with her. As it had with Pamela, love came in a poor second to the mission. Witnessing Nicky’s bone-deep honor over the past few weeks, he wished he could be something different. For her. With her. But the truth was, he was honor bound to stand between the innocent and the evils of a dangerous world.
In the end, his skills and commitment in dangerous situations were the best part of him. The job was all he had. All he would ever have.
The fear and hurt in Nicky’s eyes as she’d confronted him with Tim’s report deepened the gaping void in his soul, but better she learn the truth earlier rather than later. He’d fought the tug of war between honor and love once and had barely survived the fallout. A smart man knew his limitations, and though he yearned for the life Nicky and Alex represented, he knew better. Claiming Nicky and her son as his would only lead to heartache down the road. He’d fuck it up eventually.
Not that it mattered now. His betrayal had no doubt killed any feelings she might have had for him. He no longer had to fear loving her, because she’d be gone soon enough. He’d make sure she and Alex never had to fear Everson again, and when they walked out of his life, he’d live with the yearning as a just penance for all the fear and hurt he’d caused her.
The cell phone clipped to his waist chimed. Nicky jumped and spun around. Holding her gaze, he took the call from Lyndsay.
“Everson’s been spotted.”
Every muscle in Rhy’s body tensed. “You’re sure it was him?”
Nicky’s eyes went wide with panic.
“Pretty sure.”
Rhy crossed the room, gripped her arm, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She stiffened but didn’t try to pull free.
“Where? When?”
“Oklahoma City, about a half hour ago. He stopped for a cup of coffee at a convenience store. The counter clerk recognized him from the newscasts and called nine-one-one, but he was long gone before the local boys arrived.”
Rhy checked his watch. “What about the feds?”
“They’re there now, and they’d love to know where he’s headed.”
“I’m sure they would, but we’re only assuming he’s on his way here, and too much of a presence might scare him off. The minute he shows his face, Tim will notify the local FBI.”
Lyndsay grunted. “I’ll keep you updated if anything else comes up.”
“Thanks.”
“Where is he?” Nicky demanded before Rhy had disconnected the call.
Though her face was pale and a slight tremor shook her body, she didn’t interrupt as he filled her in on the details. “He’s in Oklahoma, and we have to assume he’s driving. Which means we have ten hours, eight at the least, if he doesn’t go to ground somewhere and if the Feds don’t find him first.”
A tiny whimper escaped as her eyes slammed shut.
“Hey.” Cautiously, he slid his arms around her and tucked her close. She didn’t object, but she didn’t cling, either. Her arms hung at her sides. The vanilla scent from the shampoo in the upstairs bathroom tickled his nostrils, taunting him with the memory of the hours they’d spent in each other’s arms. He did his best to ignore his reeling heart, raging at the sense of loss, and rubbed his cheek over the top of her head. “It’s going to be okay. Knowledge of Everson’s whereabouts is a good thing.”
Her chest swelled on a heavy breath. “I know.” She stepped out of his arms, and he curled his hands into fists against the primal need to grab her back. “I just want this to be over.”
So did he, but then, when it was, she’d be gone. Nothing he could do about the sting piercing his heart. Rhy shook himself inwardly. She wasn’t gone yet, and until that day, she was his to protect. Their time together was limited, and while he’d prefer spending every moment making hard and fast love to her until the memory of him was imprinted on her body, mind, and heart, he no longer had that right.
He studied her face, still pale but for the twin flags of color riding the high slash of her cheekbones. Tension showed in the fine lines bracketing her tightly pulled lips. A cool, brilliant green, her exotic eyes sparkled with distrust, but she didn’t look away.
A sad smile teased the corner of his lips. That was Nicky. She might run when she had the chance, but when cornered, she didn’t back down. Too brave for her own good, she’d done okay on her own, until he’d tripped her up in his blind race to repay an unwanted debt. Once Everson was dealt with, she and Alex wouldn’t have to run any longer, but the world was still a dangerous place. There were things Rhy could show her to help keep them safe. He meant to use their remaining time together to do just that.
He dipped his chin in a nod. “When was the last time you handled a weapon?”
She blinked, as if the question surprised her. “Not since I was in my teens. Dad insisted I take lessons. Why?”
“We’ve got several hours of sunlight left. Enough time to get in some target practice, and there are a few self-defense moves I can to teach you, if you’ll let me.”
Panic flared in the gaze she swung toward the window.
“He won’t get close to you, Nicky,” he added quickly. She turned back, and the doubt in her eyes cut deep. His shoulders sagged on a sigh. “You have good reason to distrust me, but I swear to you on Emily’s grave I’m not working with him. In the meantime, knowing his location gives us a window of opportunity we should use wisely.”
For a long moment she remained silent, and he was afraid she would refuse. Finally, some of the stiffness in her shoulders loosened as she shrugged. He wasted no time cuing Tim on the radio to let him know they’d be doing some shooting, grabbing a box of rounds from a cabinet in the kitchen, and leading her outside.
An old tree trunk at the edge of the backyard clearing served as their target. Rhy placed a soda can he’d pulled from the trash on top, then retraced his steps to Nicky where she waited twenty yards away. Pulling his spare weapon, a twenty-two revolver, from the waistband of his jeans, he passed it to her.
He watched closely as she turned toward the target. Although she had good form, her first shot went wide. The following five were closer to the target, kicking up dirt on the ground in front of the stump. He reloaded the weapon, and she returned to her stance.
Stepping behind her, he wrapped both arms around her shoulders to steady her hands. “Relax and don’t forget to breathe.” He adjusted her arms so there was more bend in her elbows, and his chest brushed her back. He repositioned her hands, dismayed to find they shook slightly. Suppressing a guilty groan, he dropped his head until his cheek rested against hers, and spoke softly. “I’m so sorry, Nicky.” He backed away.
The weapon coughed in her hand as she squeezed the trigger. The can flew from the stump. “So you’ve said.” Four shots struck the stump in quick succession, sending bark and wood chips flying. She dropped her arm to the side, barrel toward the gro
und, and glanced over her shoulder. “I guess it’s like riding a bike. You never forget.”
Or anger focuses your aim. He arched an impressed brow, eyeing the close grouping of the shots before turning back to her. “I guess so. You’re a crack shot. Why haven’t you armed yourself all these years?”
She turned back toward the dead tree. “Purchasing a firearm requires filling out forms and leaves a paper trail, and I’d witnessed the evil of the black market through Jonathan. I wasn’t about to start shopping there.”
“Understandable.” Rhy grunted and counted out six more rounds. “Still, a firearm evens the playing field. I expected you to be carrying when I—” Her entire body stiffened, and he could have bitten his tongue. Shit, wrong thing to say.
She slowly turned to face him, and her eyes simmered with heat. “When you followed me back here and broke into my house?”
He winced at the sarcastic bite in her voice, but at least she was talking to him. His shoulders slumped, and he shook his head. “He had documents, Nicky.”
“Fake documents.” Anger and resentment glittered in her eyes. “God. Embezzlement? I took nothing but the clothes on my back when I left DC. In fact, I would have paid him if it meant I would never have to see him again.”
“I get that now, but at the time—”
“Save it. I’m not interested.” She held out her hand. “I’m empty. Give me some more ammo.”
So she could put a hole in him? Not a chance.
He slid the twenty-two from her fingers and tucked it into his waistband. “I’m not sure it’s safe for you to have a loaded weapon in your hand right now.”
She bared her teeth in a false smile. “Safe for whom?”
Bull’s-eye. Once again, his attempt at an apology had fallen on deaf ears, but what the hell had he expected? He’d known from the beginning she was going to be pissed. Still, with Everson on his way, anger was a much safer emotion than hurt. He grunted and snatched up the box of shells. “Come on. Since you’re out for my blood, those self-defense lessons I mentioned are the perfect opportunity to get what you want.”
“I thought you said Jonathan wouldn’t get close.” Locked tight against the front of Rhy’s body, Nicky slammed her head back the way he’d shown her. He knew the move was coming and avoided the blow.
“Even the best-laid plans go awry on occasion. Survival is more likely if you’re prepared for any contingency.” He wrapped his fingers around one of her wrists. “Besides, every woman should know what to do if someone grabs her.” He drew her hand down to her side until her palm was pressed against his muscled thigh and tightened his arm in the choke hold circling her neck. “You’re tiny, and chances are an attacker will have the advantage of strength. Don’t waste your energy trying to pull him off. Scream your head off, and go for the vulnerable areas within reach. Eyes, nose, the kneecap.”
He slid her hand over his crotch. She gulped and swallowed at finding him hard.
“If his balls are your only option, like now, don’t hesitate. Grab hold with everything you’ve got. Use your nails and twist as hard as you can. When he reacts, utilize the head butt, and once he goes down, keep kicking until he stops moving. The point is to give yourself a chance to gain your freedom.”
He released her hand and dropped the arm from around her neck. She stepped clear and was grateful for the distance. She curled her tingling hand into a fist and turned. His back to her, he crossed the room to the water bottles on the coffee table he’d pushed against the wall to make room. She sucked in a ragged breath, relieved at the short respite.
All business since they’d come inside, the erection pressing against her palm surprised her, though it probably shouldn’t have. For the past thirty minutes, he’d been far too close for comfort, manipulating her body as he schooled her in the art of escape, and he’d never hid the fact that he found her attractive physically. Quite the opposite. Despite the righteous anger boiling in her veins, her traitorous body insisted on blurring the lines between lesson and pleasure, delighting at the touch of his calloused hands and the press of his solid chest and thighs. Why should he be any different?
He hadn’t attempted to apologize again, which suited her fine. What would be the point? No excuse in the world would change the fact that while she’d been falling in love, he’d been doing his job. He’d said so himself as he’d spoken of his marriage after making love that first time. The mission came first.
If only her heart would get the picture. Oh, Dad. I wish you were here. I need you so badly.
Grief and sadness frayed the edges of her anger. Like most women, she longed for the love of a good man, an honest man who wanted the same things most people did. A safe, peaceful life full of laughter and love. A family. Against all reason, her heart had decided she’d found that man in Rhy, but she was wrong. Just as she’d been wrong with Jonathan.
The unfairness of the comparison tugged at her conscience. Okay, so Rhy had lied to her, but he was nothing like Jonathan, nor would he ever be. Like most men, Rhy was guided by his pride and his priorities, doing the best he could in spite of his limitations, but he wasn’t evil. The horror in his eyes when she accused him of planning to turn her over to Jonathan only added to the pain in her heart.
His cell phone jangled at his waist, and she jolted.
His gaze rose to hers as he answered. “McLean.” His shoulders relaxed visibly along with the hard planes of his face. The smile he shot her was the saddest thing she’d ever seen. “I miss you, too, sport.”
Nicky’s chest convulsed, and she turned away. Alex. Caught up in her own disillusionment, she hadn’t considered what Rhy’s betrayal would mean to her little boy. Crossing the room, she perched on the edge of the couch.
Rhy lowered to the coffee table, sitting with his legs spread. He dropped his head to hang between his shoulders. “No way. Ten feet? I didn’t think a horse could jump that far. Are you sure he’s not a unicorn?” He straightened, his eyes closed as he dragged a palm over the back of his neck. “Sure they’re real. They’re just shy, like roadrunners.”
Childish laughter reached her ears, and the rusty scrape of Rhy’s chuckle brought the sting of tears to her eyes. Whatever his priorities, whatever limitations he had, the affection between Alex and him was mutual. She and her son weren’t the only ones who would suffer the pain of missing someone when Rhy’s mission was complete.
As if she’d spoken the thought aloud, he opened his eyes and met her gaze. “You can show me in a couple of days.” He stood and crossed to her. “She’s sitting right here. Tell Lyndsay I’ll call him later.” The smile slid from his face as he passed her the phone. Without another word, he turned and left the room.
Chapter Twenty
Twenty-four hours later, Rhy leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, and watched Nicky prepare a meal neither of them wanted. With no new word on Everson’s whereabouts, tensions were high. From her jerky movements, it was clear her nerves were stretched so thin they were ready to snap. She cast him a furtive glance then quickly looked away.
With a hum that resembled more of a growl, she pulled the casserole she’d made from the oven, slammed the hot pan onto the stove top, and whirled on him. “What?”
He arched a brow. “You tell me.”
She spoke through clenched teeth. “You’re driving me nuts!”
“I haven’t said a word.” When she spun away, his sigh was heavy. He kept his voice calm and reasonable. “It’s just nerves, Nicky.”
“What do you know about nerves?” She turned, glared at him, and flung out an arm. “You’ve been standing there for an hour, watching me like a damned cyborg.”
For the first time since he’d walked into her bedroom and found her with Tim’s report, he wanted to laugh, struggling to limit it to a smile.
Teeth gritted, she yanked the oven mitts from her hands and threw them down beside the hot dish. “Don’t you dare laugh.” She held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “I’m about
this close to clobbering you over the head with something.”
He dropped his arms to his sides. “If picking a fight with me helps, have at it.”
“I don’t want to pick a fight with you. I don’t want anything from you. I just want this to be over!”
She headed for the door, but Rhy cut her off, blocking her exit, and she skidded to a halt. She jumped back and slammed into the stove. Her elbow sent the hot casserole dish skittering over the cooktop.
“Jesus. Calm down before you hurt yourself.” He wrapped his fingers around her arm and pulled her to the table, where he manhandled her into one of the chairs. When she started to pop right back up, he slapped a hand to her chest and shoved her back down. He leaned over her, hands on both arms of the chair, until they were nose to nose.
“I know you’re pissed, but I’ve tried to apologize, and you’re not willing to listen. Fuck that. We’re going to have this out whether you like it or not. Until we do, you’re not going anywhere.”
He expected her to throw a punch or, at the very least, fry him with a glare. She did neither. Cringing back in the chair, her face lost all color, and her chest heaved as if she couldn’t breathe.
Her voice trembled in a whispered croak. “What did you say?”
“What the hell?” Rhy shoved off the chair and straightened to his full height. Confusion blasted him. What had he said?
The pulse point at the base of her neck fluttered violently, and her eyes were wide with fear. She dropped her gaze to stare at his chest. “I’m not afraid of you.”
He jammed his fists to his hips. “Damn right you’re not, so what the hell’s going on?”
“Nothing!”
“Bullshit! You’re as white as a ghost.”
She clamped her lips shut and refused to look at him, but her false bravado was evident in the visible shaking of her slender body. What the fuck had he said? She acted as if she expected him to hit her or something.
A chill ratcheted up his spine, and he dropped his gaze to her neck. She stared past him and fingered her throat, just as she had when she’d told him about the night she confronted Everson. She’d called her ex a monster.
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