Hard to Hold

by Incy Black

  “Easy, Nick,” Will cautioned, steadying her as her heel snagged a loose paving stone. “She’s had as big a fright as you, and right now, she’s in no condition to fend off another one of your verbal assaults.”

  It might have been a trick of the too-dim orange glow of the streetlights, but for the briefest moment she could have sworn Nick looked sick. Not with remorse, with self-disgust.

  His next words, delivered coldly, brutally, changed her mind. “Just get her home, and make damn sure Fortress understands they’re back on high alert. And that the emphasis has changed from protection to house arrest—hers—until the Service sends in agents to relieve them.”

  …

  Alone on the pavement, Nick unclenched his fists and waited for his chest to re-expand. It should have been him easing Anna into the black Land Rover, not Will. It should have been his jacket draped across her shoulders, his arm wrapped around her, and him whispering a frantic apology for how things had suddenly spiraled out of control.

  Trouble was he’d lost all right to touch and comfort her. The night he’d chucked her out, and then again just now, when he struck out and referred to her baby as a “thing.” Because it was easier for him to rage at her—to cut deep and cut nasty—than admit to being scared shitless.

  For her.

  He’d killed men in the past—so many he’d lost count—and he’d done so coldly and calmly, never letting emotion get in the way. But with Anna it was different: she ignited the darker part of him he suppressed but dared not ignore. She sparked his temper in a way no one else ever had. She hadn’t recognized the danger; he had.

  He just turned six when he’d watched his father, “Mad” Mickey, livid and out of control, kick and punch his mother to death. And he’d been lucky to escape with his own life for the five years of beatings he’d endured after that.

  He hadn’t wanted to recall the punches and kicks—the sound of flesh splitting and bones crunching—but he’d done it anyway. Every night before he’d fallen asleep. Every morning when he awoke. And every spare moment in between. Lest he forget. Forget he shared his father’s genes. His temper. The reason Nick refused to father children of his own. And damn it, that’s all Anna had ever wanted and deserved. A family. He’d just been the wrong man to give it to her. Still was.

  But placing her under house arrest was a dumb thing to do. Imprison Anna, and she’d eventually kick the walls through. That’s the reason she hadn’t come back. Hadn’t even checked in once, in the five years they’d been apart, although he’d long gotten over his fury at her stumbling in at four in the morning, all haggard, pale, and clearly exhausted.

  And he didn’t blame her one bit. He wouldn’t have wanted to stay married to a bastard like him either. But knowing that didn’t stop his gut from clenching, nor did it dull the compulsion to drive his fist through a wall. The only thing he’d done right tonight was get her out of his sight. He couldn’t afford to be around her. It made him feel too damn much, and none of it good. Not for her.

  …

  Will must have sensed her need for space and let her hold her silence undisturbed. She stood to one side so he could enter the code needed to release her front door.

  He stepped aside, allowing her to pass, a concerned frown on his face.

  “Ignore me,” Anna smiled weakly. “It’s not you. It’s him, Nick-bloody-Marshall.”

  “Thought it might be.”

  “He can’t just put me under house arrest on those trumped-up charges,” she protested, flicking on the lights. Unbidden her hands rose to cover her mouth. “Oh. My. God.”

  Two effigies, one of her—that was certainly her favorite red dress—the other of an infant, hung from the high central cross beam transecting her warehouse home. Mashed wreaths of black roses, petals strewn, littered the floor. A single, perfect yellow bloom lay dead center amid the ugly scattering.

  Antila! He had a thing about yellow roses. God knew he’d sent her enough of them these past weeks. This was another message from him. A reminder he could reach out and touch her whenever he chose, even here, in her own home, the one place she should feel safe.

  Will eased her forward and parked her gently in an armchair, apparently uncaring that in doing so he was contaminating a crime scene. He walked over to her front door, threw it open, and ordered the two men inside. “Check the entire damn place; don’t disturb a thing unless you have to. You know the drill. And one of you get ahold of Marshall. Let him know she’s had a visit. Anna, have you got anything stronger than coffee or cooking wine around here?”

  “In the lacquered chest over there. There might be some brandy left over from when we celebrated signing our millionth Hinterland subscriber. Why?”

  The two suspended figures held her transfixed. Her hand rose to still the agonizingly slow twirl of the smaller figure. Realizing what she was about to do, she pulled back as if bitten and sat on her hands.

  “Because, sweetheart, right now you look like you need a stiff drink.”

  “I’m pregnant, remember?” Her voice again sounded eight hundred miles away. She wasn’t even sure it was her own.

  “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking… Do you need to see a doctor?”

  She shuddered, the brutal image of her gynecologist and what had been done to him flickering across her mind. “No, I’ll be fine; the baby’s fine. But open a window, would you? The scent of those flowers…” She stifled a gag. He squeezed her shoulder, then crossed the loft space to do as she asked.

  Nick arrived a little over thirty minutes later, a troop of forensic technicians in his wake who complained at having to hoist their equipment up her ladder. She might hate him right now, but she still winced when he snarled at them to keep it down and get the job done. He had never learned to use charm and diplomacy to his advantage. He’d claimed both were a waste of his time and that getting the right result was what mattered.

  Apart from allowing his eyes to skim over her, he ignored her. Not a word of greeting or comforting platitude passed his lips. Instead he directed Will to join him in the kitchen with a wordless, less-than-discreet gesture of his head.

  She could hear their quiet murmurings but couldn’t make out what was being said. Not that she cared. For once her insatiable curiosity had ducked out. Antila had violated her private space. Touched her things. Invaded her home. Revulsion fueled the anger coiling in her stomach. Just as soon as the strangers in bizarre white jumpsuits vacated her home, she’d start scrubbing and she wouldn’t stop until she’d obliterated every trace of the vile intrusion.

  She looked up in surprise when Nick dropped to his haunches in from of her and smoothed back an errant strand of hair, tucking it behind her ear. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Her ex-husband didn’t do sympathy any more than he did charm.

  “I need you to grab a few of your things. Will’s looking for you to stay somewhere safe.”

  Safe? Where would that be? And if he cared, he’d be finding her somewhere safe—once would have done so. Instead he was leaving it to Will. Bloody Will. Who’d tried to reason away Nick’s cruelty that had ended their marriage with the excuse that he’d been scared. Well, she’d been scared, too.

  A white-hot anger forked through her veins. Directed at Nick for striking out at her rather than confessing to her—his wife, his lover, for Christ’s sakes—that he’d been scared not to find her at home after receiving an alarm call. For that alone, he hadn’t deserved any explanation of where she’d been, what she’d gone through. And directed at Will, her friend and confidant, for daring to defend him. She was better off without either of them. Men who worked for the Service were damaged. Emotionally nuked. She’d rather fight on her own.

  “No. I’m not leaving. This is my home.” She pushed to her feet and crossed to the wall dividing the open-plan sitting area from the kitchen. She smoothed her fingers across the exposed red brick in a loving caress. “I sandblasted and repointed this wall myself. And those beams,” she said nodding to the thick wooden struts tr
ansecting the high ceiling, “I hand-stripped every one of them. I personally salvaged these floorboards, sanded back and polished every length. That alone took me weeks. I slaved for this. Sweated and bled for it. I wanted a home of my own, and now I’ve got one. I won’t be driven out.”

  She wasn’t about to share with him the fact there was nowhere she could go, nowhere she could hide. Not from Antila.

  His lips tightened into a stubborn line, two telltale lines creased the area between his brows. “What I’m suggesting is temporary. All this will still be here when you get back.”

  “It won’t be the same. I’ll have run out on it. Deserted it.”

  “It just bricks and mortar, Anna.”

  “No, it’s so much more.” She swiped furiously as a lone tear trickled her cheek, shock finally catching up with her and shaking her stoicism. “You don’t understand. This warehouse is me. The day I moved in, I swore I would never again face rejection. If I run, I’ll be running out on myself.”

  “Your life could be at risk. For God’s sake, it’s a building.”

  “Yes, my building. And my life, too. There are three guest rooms back there. I’ll move people in if I have to, but I’m not leaving.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know.” She threw her hands high. “Friends, maybe. You met them the other day. Big. Protective. Sam, Rudge, and Pete.”

  “For how long? We could be talking weeks, maybe even months here.”

  “Exactly. Which is why I’m staying put. And I’ll be safe with those three around.”

  “You sure about that? I’m guessing you’ve only told those close to you about the baby. Right now you can’t trust anyone.”

  “I can trust them; they’re excited about the baby. They waited in the waiting room while the procedure was done and have been acting like expectant fathers ever since. They’d never refer to my baby as a thing.”

  Nick stared at the floor, nodded slowly, then made direct eye contact. “Okay. I offended you with that remark, and I’m sorry. I was angry, and the words came out wrong.”

  “You didn’t offend me, you saddened me. It proved you haven’t changed and never will.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, there’s no saving you, Nick. You never wanted kids; you were adamant about that from the start. Mention children in your presence, and you turn to ice. What the hell is it that scares you so much?”

  She didn’t expect him to answer. She doubted he had the words to describe what he was running from. But she saw the flash of anguish in his eyes before he brought the shutters down.

  And her heart fractured. Nick Marshall was his own worst enemy. Yes, he was tough. Dedicated. Driven. But she wondered if he even realized he was also the loneliest man on the planet. Some misguided penance for God alone knew what. Totally self-imposed.

  He straightened when Will approached.

  “Safe house is arranged. I can take her anytime she’s ready.”

  “Bloody waste of time. She’s refusing to go.”

  “Great, so now what?”

  Nick shrugged his shoulders, dropped his head back, and heaved free a huge sigh. “So now I move in.”

  She gasped breaking the shocked silence. “Over my dead body!”

  He turned his head toward her, almost in slow motion, “Not on my shift and not while you’re under my protection.”

  Dear God, it was like a replay of the conversation she’d had with Antila. Two men both determined to protect her, uncaring of how she’d survive their attentions. One wanted her baby, the other…well, she didn’t know what Nick wanted or what the hell he thought he was playing at.

  Will stepped forward, halting only when he was shoulder to shoulder with Nick. “You know, it makes sense, Anna. With Nick here, you’ll be safe and hopefully, so will he, given it would appear he was tonight’s target. We can lock this place down tighter than Fort Knox without spreading resources too thinly. You’ll still be able to work, and Nick’s off the clock until we figure out what’s going on. Commander’s orders.”

  It was the first time he had shown her his steely, uncompromising edge, and she finally appreciated why it was Nick had appointed happy-go-lucky Will as his second-in-command.

  “Great. So the bloody Service is muscling in now.”

  “Absolutely. We don’t appreciate someone taking potshots at one of our own. And no way is the Commander about to let anything happen to Nick. He thinks of him as his own son, though Nick would rather die than admit it.”

  “So you move in, Will. Make Nick stay in the safe house. Please.” She didn’t care how urgent she sounded or how Nick might misinterpret her desperation. If it kept him safe, she’d insult and trample his pride, even cut his heart out with her words if necessary.

  “Not going to happen, Anna. Take a look at Nick’s stony expression. It’s already taken a double decade off my life. I could promise him you and I are just friends. He wouldn’t believe it. Nope, no man is getting cozy in your home, except him. He won’t tolerate it, and as much as I’m fond of you in a brotherly kind of way, he’s still my best friend, and I don’t want him thumping me.”

  She damn near turned and thumped Nick herself when she heard him snort.

  The nagging throb in her head kicked up to a pound. Hiding Antila’s identity. Protecting Nick. Stewing over the thought that someone else connected to Antila wanted her dead and not understanding why. Feeling sick with fear at the thought she might be carrying a girl. She was holding too many secrets. There’d been a time when she wouldn’t have hesitated to unburden the lot on Nick. Long ago when they’d been allies. Him and her, spine to spine, fighting the world. God, she hoped she was strong enough to fight the regret at what they’d lost—she’d lost—flooding her chest. With their lives at stake, she daren’t weaken.

  She nibbled at her nails, something she hadn’t done in years. She looked up, caught Nick watching at her, and her heart tripped. Damn the man, he knew. Knew she was hiding something.

  She smiled weakly and forced a mask of innocence.

  He wasn’t fooled for a second. If anything, judging by the tightening of his lips, she’d just made things worse.

  Now he’d be all the more determined to find out what she was hiding and why.

  She held his stare but kept her lashes low. The large clock she’d salvaged from an about-to-be demolished railway station was supposed to be soundless. She’d never heard it before. But its tick, as ominous as a tap-dancing deathwatch beetle, now scratched at her eardrums.

  “I’ve reconsidered,” Anna said. “I’ll move into any safe house you designate, but alone.”

  “Uh-uh,” Nick interrupted with a shake of his head. “Will’s right. We need to conserve resources. Fortress is off the case. The Service has taken over. And you can stop looking so desperate, Anna, it’s insulting. I’m moving in, so get used to it.”

  “We tried living together once before, Nick, and look what a disaster that turned out to be. The only thing that held us together was…” In the one and only time her head had ever skipped ahead of her tongue, she swallowed what she’d been about to say.

  Thank God, Will had retreated to the other end of the loft and was now pretending an interest in her bookcase.

  “Were you about to say ‘great sex’ again? You didn’t hold back last time. But just so we’re clear, I’m moving in, but not to share your bed. At least, not without an invitation, and you’re blushing, Anna.”

  Jesus, she’d never been able to handle Nick in predatory mode, and the damn man was actually enjoying her discomfort. “Really? I wonder why? God, of all the presumptuous, insensitive, arrogant—I was going to say ancient history.”

  He grinned and shook his head. “Liar. I was bang on target the first time, no pun intended.”

  Will coughed and flapped the lapels of his jacket. “Feeling decidedly uncomfortable here, people. Way too hot for me. Forensics left five minutes ago, and I believe I’ll join them. You two obviously have a few groun
d rules to discuss, and I really don’t need to be a party to them.”

  “You embarrassed Will,” she accused hotly as her front door closed with a snick.

  “No, I embarrassed you. Will could barely contain his laughter. By the morning he’ll be running a bet at the Cube as to which one of us survives this arrangement.”

  “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Yeah, he would, even if just to recoup his losses.”

  Either she was going crazy or she’d shifted to a parallel plane. Nothing made sense. “He’s done it before? What was the wager?”

  “On how long our marriage would last. He’s a romantic; he said forever, and he lost his shirt.”

  Before he ducked his head and pretended a fascination in the antique Persian rug beneath his boots, she could have sworn she caught a flicker of regret, maybe even pain, flit across his face.

  Chapter Seven

  Slouching, a large notebook resting on his up-bended knees, Nick adjusted his long frame to ease the nagging protest of his coccyx. Anna’s sofa was too just damned soft and deep for his liking. Especially when he deserved to be lying on a bed of glass. The shards pointing upward, lacerating his back.

  He’d hurt her repeatedly tonight. With his words, with his aggression, with a cruelty he despised. Why, when what he’d really wanted to do was wrap her in his arms and promise to keep her from hurt and harm forever?

  But she made him feel things—alive for a start—he didn’t want to feel. She made him long for things he had no place coveting. Like a special intimacy with a soul mate that far transcended base physical need. But love never walked alone. The threat of loss always followed close behind. And, damn it, he wasn’t strong enough to go through that again. So he’d pushed her away, and he’d keep pushing. Not that she made it easy.

  Dangerous, too-hot thoughts of Anna all warm, soft, and tousled in a bed so close to his own—even though two walls separated them—had driven him to abandon all hope of sleep. Eventually he given up, stumbled his way to her sitting room, and proceeded to mentally grouch his way through too many mugs of coffees in a bid for distraction.