Striking Distance ti-6

by Pamela Clare

And for a moment Javier forgot about Laura.

  Women’s laughter drew McBride’s gaze. He gestured with a nod of his head toward a pretty dark-haired woman who was sitting next to Megan, the two of them reading something. “That’s my wife, Natalie. She’s decided she wants to write fiction—romance novels. I hope that means I get to help with the research.”

  Two heads came up, and Natalie glared at McBride. “The books are not just about sex.”

  Javier lowered his voice. “I guess you said the wrong thing, man.”

  The doorbell rang again, and Megan rose to answer it.

  Javier’s pulse skipped.

  You’re excited to see her, chacho. Admit it.

  Sure, he was. Not a day had gone by since Dubai when he hadn’t thought of her. Yeah, he was excited to see her again. And more than a little tense.

  When Megan returned, it wasn’t Laura walking beside her. Instead, Javier was introduced to Julian Darcangelo, a tall son of a gun with a dark ponytail who’d once worked with the FBI but was now head of Denver’s vice unit. He’d brought his family—his wife, Tessa, a sweet thing with long, curly blond hair and a mother’s soft curves, and a little girl and a baby boy.

  The doorbell rang again.

  This time it was Reece Sheridan, the state’s newly sworn-in lieutenant governor, his wife Kara McMillan, and their three school-aged kids. They were followed not two minutes later by Kat James, a pretty Navajo woman, her husband Gabe Rossiter, and two little ones under the age of two. Then Nate’s brother-in-law, Marc Hunter, Denver’s SWAT captain, and his wife, Sophie, arrived with their two kids.

  Between the adults talking and children running and squealing, it was chaos. It might have bothered some guys, but Javier felt right at home. He came from a big family with two brothers, three sisters, six nephews, and nine nieces, not to mention aunts, uncles, and a few dozen cousins, most of whom had kids. When they got the whole family together—which they did whenever Javier was on leave—the laughter, music, and conversation were loud and lasted late into the night.

  He found himself outside on the deck shooting the shit with Hunter and Rossiter, while everyone got ready for an afternoon of skiing, snowshoeing, and sleigh rides.

  Rossiter, who was a climber and former park ranger, was talking about his grand plan for the afternoon. “You can ski some incredible places with a paragliding sail strapped to your back. It’s like flying, BASE jumping, and skiing combined.”

  Ski paragliding wasn’t a sport that interested Javier, in part because he couldn’t see the point. He shook his head. “I don’t know—strapping some kind of ’chute to your back and letting the wind pull you down the mountain? Either ski or jump.”

  Hunter chuckled, pointing to Rossiter. “You wouldn’t believe the sick shit I’ve seen this guy do. If a sport involves gravity, snow in any form, and a high likelihood of death, he’s in.”

  A flash of short platinum-blond hair—and a body that could kill.

  It wasn’t Laura Nilsson, but . . .

  Javier gave a low whistle.

  Hunter and Rossiter looked over their shoulders, then back at Javier.

  Hunter shook his head. “Oh, no. No, no. Don’t even think about it.”

  “He’s human. He’s male. He’s going to think about it.” Rossiter grinned. “That’s Holly Bradshaw. She’s one of the paper’s entertainment writers. She’ll chew you up and spit you out.”

  That didn’t sound so bad.

  Hunter looked over at her. “What she needs is to fall for a man who refuses to sleep with her.”

  Javier was about to say a guy would have to be gay as a daisy to turn down a woman like Holly, when suddenly she was there.

  His heart skipped again—and gave a thud.

  Wearing jeans and a white blouse beneath a blue angora cardigan, Laura shook hands with Nate and McBride, then Natalie, her pale blond hair catching the light, the smile on her face hitting Javier in the gut. She shook Megan’s hand, then knelt down to talk to Emily, giving the little girl her full attention.

  ¡Ea Diablo! She was beautiful!

  Hunter and Rossiter saw her, too.

  “Oh, hey, she came.” Hunter sounded surprised to see her. He lowered his voice. “Sophie said she didn’t think Laura was going to make it. Derek Tower—the asshole who owns the security company that was supposed to have kept her safe in Pakistan—accosted her in the parking lot outside the paper last night. He forced his way into her car. She drew on him—a double deuce—but he tore the weapon out of her hands, even left bruises. She filed a report with DPD last night. Uniforms went looking for him but haven’t found him.”

  Javier had heard of Derek Tower, hadn’t known what to think of him. Now he hated the bastard. His gaze snapped back to Hunter. “Doesn’t she have protection—a bodyguard?”

  Hunter shook his head. “Sophie says the FBI doesn’t believe she’s in any real danger, and she can’t afford to pay for protection herself. Sophie wants me to talk to Old Man Irving—Denver’s chief of police—and have our local boys fill in.”

  “Not a bad idea.” Javier had never understood how the federal agencies worked. It all seemed like red tape and bullshit to him.

  “Let’s go say hello.” Hunter opened the sliding patio door and walked inside, Rossiter behind him.

  Javier followed the two men indoors but hung back, watching while the others introduced themselves.

  She probably doesn’t even remember you.

  “Welcome to the Cimarron. It’s a real pleasure to meet you. Make yourself at home.” Jack pressed her hand between both of his. “Can I get you something to drink—wine, beer, scotch, soda, some overpriced bubbly water?”

  Laura smiled, a genuine bright smile that put dimples in her cheeks. “Overpriced bubbly water would be lovely. Thank you.”

  Jack turned back to the kitchen.

  Hunter stepped forward, held out his hand. “Marc Hunter. I’m Sophie’s husband. Sophie has said great things about you.”

  “Thank you. She’s said good things about you, too.”

  “All true, I’m sure.” Hunter grinned.

  “I’m Julian Darcangelo. I head up the DPD’s vice squad. My wife, Tessa, is a big fan of yours. She’s an investigative journalist herself and has written a few books. She used to be on the I-Team before she went freelance. I can’t believe she hasn’t found some excuse to visit Sophie at the paper so she can meet you.”

  “Sophie has mentioned her.” Laura’s eyes narrowed. “You say she’s written books? Wait—is her name Tessa Novak?”

  Darcangelo nodded. “That was her maiden name. She still uses it for journalism.”

  “I’m a fan of hers. I read the two books she wrote about human sex trafficking. She inspired me to look into the issue in Pakistan and India.”

  “Hearing that is going to make her day—hell, her entire year.”

  Rossiter pushed his way forward. “Gabe Rossiter. I’m Kat’s worse half.”

  Laura took Rossiter’s hand and smiled that beautiful smile of hers. “I’ve heard about some of your adventures.”

  “He’s the most famous one-legged extreme athlete in the world,” Hunter quipped. “Just ask him.”

  That made her laugh.

  Her gaze shifted to Javier. The color drained from her cheeks, and her eyes went wide, her lips parting as she stared up at him. “It’s . . . It’s you!”

  * * *

  LAURA COULD HEAR nothing over the thrum of her own pulse, her gaze fixed on the face of the tall man who stood before her.

  Javier Corbray.

  Somehow, he was standing right here in this room with her.

  “Hello, Laura.”

  A feeling of light-headedness swamped her, the floor tilting.

  Strong hands caught her shoulders, steadied her. “Are you okay? Why don’t you sit down for a sec?”

  He wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders and led her over to the leather sofa in front of the fireplace, sitting on the coffee table across from h
er, his gaze fixed on her, his two big hands taking hold of hers.

  She found herself staring back at him, this man from her memories—memories from another life. He seemed out of place here, her past now standing right here in her present. A trill of panic shot through her.

  She drew her hands away, words spilling out of her. “I didn’t think I would ever . . . I never expected . . . I didn’t know you’d be here, and . . .”

  “Small world, isn’t it?” He smiled. “Nate and I are old friends.”

  It was then she noticed that the room had fallen silent, apart from the chatter of children playing down the hall. She looked up to find everyone watching her. Feeling strangely exposed, she shifted her gaze to the fireplace.

  Javier leaned in. “Why don’t we find someplace quiet where we can talk?”

  A chance to talk with him in private. “Yes.”

  “Try the library,” she heard Nate say.

  She got to her feet, following Javier down the hallway and into a spectacular two-story library with its own fireplace. Under normal circumstances the room would have made her smile with delight. Today, it was just a room. She sat in front of the fire in a soft leather wingback chair, her gaze drawn to him. He sat down not in the chair beside her, but across from her, as if to give her room to breathe.

  She needed it. For so long he’d been just a memory, a man with whom she’d spent one precious, luxurious, uninhibited weekend. And now he was here.

  “Are you okay?” His eyebrows pressed down in a concerned frown. “Can I get you something to drink—that bubbly water Jack promised you?”

  “No, I’m fine. I was just . . . surprised.” An understatement.

  “Sorry to give you a shock. I had no idea there was any connection between you and Nate until he told me you might come to the barbecue.”

  “Please don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.” She allowed herself to look at him, to really look at him. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  Oh, he was a beautiful man—dark, exotic, sensual. Some men were intelligent. Some were tall. Some were sexy. Some had thick hair or broad shoulders or natural athleticism. Some had lips that made women long to kiss them.

  Javier had it all.

  His short, dark hair had a bit of curl, his nose straight, his jaw strong. High cheekbones, full lips, and long lashes added a boyish touch to his otherwise masculine face. He was muscular without being bulky, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist.

  She’d noticed him the moment she’d walked into the restaurant in Dubai. Wearing a dark T-shirt that stretched across the muscles of his chest and shoulders, he’d stood out in a room full of European businessmen in suits and Arabs wearing traditional kanduras and gutras. When he’d come to her table to rescue her from those drunk Russians, she’d known they would end up in bed. Despite what Derek Tower might think, she didn’t make a habit of sleeping with men she met in bars. Javier was the exception, and she hadn’t regretted it. He’d been the most giving lover she’d ever had—sensual, focused, attentive to the smallest details.

  Something stirred inside her at the memory, something she hadn’t felt in a very long time—physical attraction.

  And her sense of panic grew.

  She’d thought about him for so long, wondered what it would be like to see him again. Now she knew. It was like being slapped in the face with the life she’d lost, with the life that Al-Nassar had stolen from her.

  “Neither have you.”

  She gave a little inadvertent laugh. “We both know that’s not true.”

  “I’m so sorry about what happened. I saw the news broadcast when you were taken. I . . . I’ve never felt so damn helpless in my entire life.”

  Laura didn’t know what to say. Most people avoided mentioning her abduction and what had followed.

  He stood, walked to the fireplace, added wood to the blaze. “I followed your story. What you did took brains and guts. Speaking to them in their own language. Using their culture and beliefs to force them to see you as a human being. Yielding on the outside but fighting to stay strong on the inside.”

  He spoke the words matter-of-factly, but when he turned back to face her, his gaze was soft with sympathy.

  Laura looked away, his praise making her uncomfortable. She didn’t deserve it, any of it. “I’m just lucky I was able to speak Arabic and—”

  “Luck had nothing to do with it.” His tone was adamant, brooking no challenge. “I have a world of respect for you, Laura.”

  She looked up, willed herself to meet his gaze again. If those words had come from anyone else—her mother, her grandmother, her therapist—she would have dismissed them as nothing more than attempts to distract or console her. But coming from Javier, they seemed to slip inside her.

  “I would have gotten in touch with you a long time ago, but I’ve been out of the country most of the past two years. And when I didn’t hear from you, I thought maybe you didn’t want contact.”

  “We said no strings.” She changed the subject. She couldn’t go there. She just couldn’t. “How do you know Nate?”

  “He and I served together in Afghanistan.”

  “So you are military.” She found herself smiling. “I knew it.”

  A dark eyebrow arched. “Oh, yeah? What gave it away?”

  “You just have that look.”

  The other brow arched. “What look?”

  But there was something important she needed to say. “It’s good to see you again, Javier, but you should know that I . . . I’m not the same person I was in Dubai. Too much has happened since then.”

  She hoped he understood what she was trying to tell him. This wasn’t going to be like last time. She wasn’t going to rip off her clothes and fall into bed with him. Even if she’d wanted a relationship, a lover, she couldn’t have one. She didn’t think she was capable of enjoying sex right now. Besides, her body had changed.

  If they slept together, he would discover the stretch marks on her belly, and he would know she’d had a baby. She couldn’t share that secret with anyone—not yet, not until Klara was safely with her here in the U.S.

  “I’m not going to make demands of you. I’ve got no expectations.” His lips curved in a lethal lopsided grin. “But it is good to see you, too, bella.”

  Bella. Beauty.

  That was what he’d called her in Dubai.

  She looked away. “So . . . what branch of the military were you in?”

  “The navy.” He seemed to hesitate for a moment. “I’m a SEAL.”

  * * *

  “YOU’RE A . . . A SEAL?”

  “It’s not something I’m supposed to spread around.” Javier watched some of the tension leave Laura’s body and found himself feeling both pride at her reaction and annoyance at the fact that she seemed more at ease with him as a frogman than as the man who’d made love with her.

  “I’m sure you already know this, but a team of SEALs saved my life. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her motions revealing dark bruises around her wrist where that bastard Tower had grabbed her.

  Someone needed to deal with him.

  But before Javier could give any thought to that, he found himself in the awkward position of listening as she described her rescue. How she’d woken up to screams. How hearing American accents had made her panic. How the other women had held her back, the one Javier later killed threatening to cut out Laura’s tongue if she spoke. How she’d realized with a shock that she was American, too. How the sight of “the tall SEAL” walking toward the helicopter had pushed her into shouting out.

  And Javier realized she was talking about him.

  “I didn’t think he’d heard me, and I knew Zainab would kill me, but then he turned. He shouted at me to stop and get down, and I thought he was going to shoot me, but he shot her instead. He killed a woman. He didn’t even hesitate. He tore off my burka, and the next thing I knew, he was carrying me onto the helicopter.” Lau
ra’s hands balled into fists and pressed together tightly in her lap, the only outward sign that talking about this was hard for her. “He punched Al-Nassar in the face when Al-Nassar threatened me again. He was my hero.”

  How do you like that, Corbray? You’re upstaging yourself.

  Javier cleared his throat. “I bet he remembers that night, too.”

  Oh, he did. Yes, he did.

  “He and his men were all so kind to me. I never got to thank them.”

  Javier wanted to forget he’d ever heard of OPSEC and tell Laura that he was the tall SEAL, that he had carried her out and punched that bastard in the face. He wanted to tell her that no mission had ever meant as much to him as that one, that rescuing her had been the highlight of his career as an operator. God, he wanted to tell her. He knew she wouldn’t run to the press or write an article about it, but he’d been ordered not to discuss the mission with anyone who hadn’t been a part of it.

  He fought to keep his voice and his facial expression neutral, choosing his words carefully. “I was amazed to find out that you were alive—and damned grateful.”

  Laura’s eyes went wide, and she stared at him.

  You gave it away, cabrón! She knows. She figured it out.

  “You could do it! You could thank them for me, couldn’t you?” She looked at him with such hopefulness. “Naval Special Warfare wouldn’t give me their names, but they’d pass on a message for you, wouldn’t they?”

  “Uh . . . You want me to thank them for you?” Okay, this was too fucking surreal. “Yeah. Sure. I can do that.”

  You bet he could. He had the surviving members of the team on speed dial.

  She gave him a relieved smile. “That would mean a lot to me. Thank you.”

  There was something fragile about her now that hadn’t been there in Dubai, a vulnerability that put an ache in his chest. He clamped down on the urge to walk over to her and take her into his arms.

  “Hey, no problem.”

  She looked toward the fire. “I pray for him, for all of them, every night. I’m not religious, but those men are out there somewhere in danger, putting their lives on the line. They risked everything to save me. Who knows? Maybe prayers help.”