He couldn’t forgive himself. Neither could he forget. After he’d returned to the States, he’d gone to see the families of the two men who died. In a swirl of barbed-edged memories, he recalled the awkward meetings with the grief-stricken families. They hadn’t blamed him, but neither had they wanted to stay in touch.
Why would they? He was a reminder of all they had lost.
“I started acting stupid. Taking risks.” The stew of grief and guilt deepened as he recalled the risks he’d taken that endangered not only himself but the men under him. When he finally accepted the inevitable, he knew it was time—past time—that he resigned his commission.
Nicco stopped abruptly, wishing he could snatch back the last minutes. What had he been doing, confiding in Scout that way? He’d never shared the whole story with anyone, not even his family.
Saying the words aloud put a name to the pain he still carried. It had been better to keep it locked away. Exposing it to the light of day didn’t help.
He thought of Scout’s declaration of faith and his own lack of it. For him, it wasn’t so much a loss of faith as it was a break of faith. Or maybe it was him who was broken. He’d felt broken inside ever since he’d returned from the Stand.
Ironically, he’d received a commendation for successfully completing the mission of securing the asset and his eventual exfiltration. With 4-stars, members of Congress and other dignitaries on a stage to honor him, Nicco had never felt less worthy in his life.
It was that event, along with the acknowledgment that he was risking his men’s lives with his self-destructive behavior, that had finally prompted him to leave the Rangers. It had ripped the heart from him, but he hadn’t had a choice.
What he’d believed, in the job, and, more important, in the Lord, had gotten all twisted up in his mind and soul.
The worst part was disappointing his mother. Rosa Santonni had brought her children up to believe in God and to worship Him at church whenever possible.
Nicco’s refusal to set foot inside a church since his return to the States had caused her infinite heartache. He’d rather cut off an arm than cause his mother a second’s distress, but he couldn’t be a hypocrite and that was what attending church felt like.
Sometimes he struggled to bring up Ruth’s face in his memory. How could he have forgotten? He had a photo, tattered and bent from being tucked inside his wallet for over three years, but shouldn’t he be able to remember what she, the love of his life, looked like without a reminder?
If he did succeed in having romantic feelings for another woman, he would welcome them gladly, but the pain of losing Ruth and his guilt were obstacles he doubted he’d ever be able to overcome.
“There’s more,” Scout said, bringing him back to the here and now.
He took a moment to collect his thoughts before he began speaking. “Ever since it happened, I’ve been thinking a lot about good and evil. It should be white and black, yet too often we live in a world of gray. How do we know which is which?”
“The Lord tells us. When we’re on the right path, He lets us know. Just as He lets us know when we’re on the wrong one.”
“How?” He realized he really wanted to hear her take on it.
She placed her hand on her heart. “We feel it here. If our heart is full of positive energy, we know we’re on the right path. If we feel darkness, we know we’re headed in the wrong direction.”
“You sound very sure.”
“I am. It’s the only thing in this world I am sure about.”
The certainty in her voice reached deep inside him and touched his heart. He understood Scout well enough to know that she didn’t take such matters lightly.
“I wish I had your faith.”
“All you have to do is to ask Him.”
The simplicity of it caused him to wonder if he had the courage to do as she said. Could he ask the Lord for faith when his own had been MIA for so long? The ramifications of doing as she said settled in his gut like spoiled milk. If he did, then he had to live up to his part of the bargain.
He had lost an essential part of himself. Before he knew what he was doing, he was voicing his thoughts aloud.
“You don’t have to stay lost,” Scout said softly. “The Lord welcomes all His sheep. Especially the lost ones.”
It was too much. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready for her. “Enough.” He quieted his voice. “Just...enough.”
* * *
Scout understood all too well the hold the past could have. She had tried to break its grip too many times to remember, but it had proved stronger than she was.
The only way out of the pain was to hand it over to the Lord and to beg for His mercy. He was the one with power. Once she’d realized that, much of her burden had been lifted.
She wanted to share more of her faith in His power and mercy with Nicco, but she knew he wasn’t ready to listen. Not yet. Instead, she could only pray that someday he’d be ready to hear the truth. To accept it.
When this was all over, Nicco would return to his life and she to hers. Whatever happened between them, she wished with all her heart that she could help ease the burden he carried and restore his faith.
And then she realized that it wasn’t up to her. That was the Lord’s privilege. She dipped her head in humility at the gentle chastisement. What had she been thinking, believing that she could fix the burdens that Nicco carried? What arrogance on her part to believe that she could do what only the Lord could accomplish.
She raised her head to meet his gaze and felt instantly foolish. Everything about him shouted independence, strength and courage. She doubted anyone looked less like they needed someone to worry over him.
He had rolled up the sleeves of his T-shirt, revealing arms ropey with muscle and sinew. He looked tough and able to handle whatever life threw his way, reminding her of the zing of attraction she’d experienced upon first meeting him.
Okay. Scratch the worry and focus on finding out who killed her parents.
Tentatively, she touched his arm. “You’re a good man, Nicco Santonni. You aren’t responsible for Ruth’s death or those of your men any more than I am for my parents’.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. You didn’t give the order for your parents to take that road the night they were killed. I gave the order and the woman I loved and two of my men died because of it.”
He shook off her hand. His voice roughened. “Still think I’m a hero?” What might have been shame crossed his face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. It was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter.”
Not so long. And it mattered very much. For all the bits and pieces of information that she had processed in the last few days about Nicco Santonni, this was by far the most important.
Because Nicco had become important. The admission gave her pause. When had that happened? More important, what did she do about it?
Bradley had dumped her with no more thought than if he’d been tossing away a used tissue. It had broken her heart; more, it had shattered her trust and her belief in herself.
“Because you didn’t know that a bomb was buried in the road. You weren’t to blame.”
“Then who is?”
“What about the people who put the explosive there? They’re the ones to blame.”
She willed him to believe her. “The Lord has given you some pretty extraordinary gifts. He’s given you some burdens, too. It’s up to you to decide which will win out.”
“What do you know about what the Lord’s given me?” Resentment slashed through the words. “You don’t know me. Don’t know what I’ve seen, what I’ve done.”
“I see the goodness in your eyes. I hear it when you talk about your family.”
“The Lord turned His back on me a long time ago.” He shook his head. “No. It wasn’t that long. Only three years. B
ut it seems like an eternity.”
She supposed it was an eternity when she considered that he’d been without the Lord in his life during that time.
“Are you sure?” She waited a beat. “Or did you turn your back on the Lord? He knows the truth. He knows what you’re going through. He watches you go through it alone, and He weeps because you don’t have to. He is the restorer of faith, the protector of the innocent. You are not alone. Not now. Not ever.
“Sometimes...sometimes it’s too much to take in, the enormity of His love for us. How can it be that the Savior sacrificed everything for us and that He took our pain onto Himself?”
“You say you want to help. If that’s true, leave it be. You can’t change anything.”
“You’re right. I can’t change anything. But there’s Someone who can.”
“Leave. It. Be.”
“If that’s how you want it.”
“That’s how I want it.”
The roughness of his voice had Scout drawing back. Stiffly, she got to her feet. “I think I can sleep now,” she said. “Thank you for staying with me.”
“No problem.” Nicco stood as well. “Like I said, yell if you need anything.”
“Okay.” But she knew she wouldn’t.
After showering away the soot and smoke, Scout dressed in the sweats she’d brought with her.
Exhaustion pulled at her. Despite her assurance to Nicco that she could sleep, she doubted she’d be able to find any peace in closing her eyes. Too many emotions swept through her. Shock when Nicco had grabbed her hand and pulled her from the house. Fear as she’d crouched behind the bushes. Uncertainty of her feelings for the man who had become so important.
It was the last that kept her awake far into the night.
TWELVE
Over breakfast at a fast-food place the following morning, Scout felt Nicco’s withdrawal.
“What’s going on?” she asked when the tension between them had mounted to an unbearable level.
“I’ll keep you safe, Scout.”’
No fancy speeches for Nicco Santonni. The no-thrills statement had the sound of a vow. He wasn’t the type to make promises he couldn’t keep, and something told her that if he did make a promise, you could count on him to walk through an inferno to make good on it.
But then she’d been wrong about a man before. Bradley was Exhibit A.
“But no more talk of God. Don’t expect to change me,” Nicco continued as if there’d been no pause. “God and I parted company a long time ago. I figure He’s not any more anxious to change that than I am.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
“No more.” His voice had a note of finality, and she backed off.
Probably a good thing. She wasn’t looking for a relationship, especially with a man who made it clear that he had no room for the Lord in his life. The Lord’s role in her life was the most important part of her being.
Given that difference, it made sense to keep Nicco at arm’s length.
Yes, she was attracted to him, but her radar regarding men had proven faulty in the past. Make that dismal. She’d become engaged to her former fiancé shortly after her parents were killed and realized in retrospect that she hadn’t been thinking clearly. Bradley had been a safe harbor in the worst storm of her life, and, in the end, he had used her, then abandoned her.
Why couldn’t she have seen what he was? And how could she ever trust her own judgment again?
Nicco took her elbow, steered her out the door of the motel, and helped her into his truck.
A sprinkle of rain felt good against her skin. Apparently she was not the only one to appreciate it, as others shunned umbrellas and lifted their faces to the caress of the barely-there rain.
She chanced a look at Nicco, noted how the mist glistened in his inky black hair and glazed his face with a light sheen. “Admit it. You didn’t like me when we met.”
“I didn’t know you,” he corrected.
“And now?”
“And now I know that you’re an amazing woman who doesn’t back down even when she’s threatened, even when common sense and self-preservation tell her to.”
“I thought that just made me stupid.”
“Not fair throwing my own words back at me.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You said it. You own it.”
“Ouch. That’s harsh.”
“Is it?”
“I was intrigued. That ought to count for something.”
“If you say so.”
“You don’t give an inch, do you?”
“A girl’s got to watch her back.”
* * *
The precinct station didn’t resemble those on television. There were no chain-smoking detectives barking out orders with guns at the ready. In fact, it resembled an efficiently run office with rows of cubicles bristling with voices meeting at the center bull pen. The air conditioner was apparently out. A fan belched sporadically, sending out the occasional puff of recycled air.
Nicco and Scout had been directed to a small office at the rear of the building where Detective Wagner asked questions. For the last twenty minutes, they’d gone through events leading up to the smoke bomb exploding in her kitchen.
“You didn’t see anything or anyone?” he asked after first Nicco and then Scout recounted what had happened.
“We were too busy ducking bullets to see much,” Nicco said.
“And you, Ms. McAdams?”
“I had my head buried in my knees.”
Nicco eyed Scout with growing concern. The skin stretched taut across her cheekbones. Shadows beneath her eyes seemed to swallow her face.
She was holding it together, he judged, but just barely.
Wagner took them through the events of the previous night once more. Nicco understood the reason for what seemed a tedious waste of time. Witnesses frequently recalled details when they’d had time to think about things.
“I wish we had better news to report, but my officers didn’t find anything. The shooter even policed his brass.”
“A pro,” Nicco said upon hearing that the man had picked up the spent cartridges.
The detective gave a grim nod.
Nicco stood, held out his hand. “Thanks.”
Wagner shook Nicco’s hand, then Scout’s. “We’ll keep on this, but I don’t know how much further we can take it without anything more to go on.”
Nicco and Scout exited the station.
“I’ve got to go to the office,” she said.
He wanted to argue that she wasn’t in any shape to go to work, but the set of her shoulders told him that she wasn’t in the mood to listen. Besides, concentrating on work might help take her mind off last night.
They spent the rest of the morning at the paper where Scout worked on a story and he checked in with Shelley.
“Somebody wants to stop Scout before she finds the answers she’s looking for,” he said after telling Shelley about last night. “She refuses to leave it alone.”
“Did you expect her to?”
“No,” he admitted. But he’d hoped.
“You sound like it’s personal,” Shelley said softly.
At his silence, Shelley let out a long sigh. “It’s like that, is it?” She didn’t give him the opportunity to respond. “Stay in touch.”
To Nicco’s relief, Scout worked at the office for the rest of the day, and they ordered in lunch. The paper wasn’t the best place to protect her, but having her remain in one place was better than having her out on the streets sniffing out a story.
She interested him far more than any woman had since Ruth. Her independence should clash with her faith; instead, the two complemented each other in unexpected ways.
She could be quiet when the situation called for it. She could also be
brash and opinionated. Both were parts of the whole. And the whole was entirely engaging. If he didn’t watch himself, he could fall for her in a big way.
That wasn’t on his agenda. He’d taken the job with S&J to prove to himself that he wasn’t just a one-trick pony.
He’d risen through the ranks in the Army, then the Rangers. That didn’t always translate into success when a soldier returned home. He’d seen too many buddies flounder after they’d left the Army. Some re-upped; others fell through the cracks and ended up on the streets.
Homeless vets were becoming more and more common. When they discovered the hard-earned skills they’d learned as soldiers weren’t valued or even needed at home, they started questioning themselves and everything else.
When he realized that Scout was looking at him with concern, he pulled out of his dark thoughts. “Sorry. Went down a detour.”
“Looked like a pretty dark detour.” She touched his arm, her fingertips a light caress. “Want to share?”
“No. But thanks.”
Why was he trying so hard to convince himself that he didn’t want a relationship with her? She was courageous, intelligent and beautiful. She was also stubborn, foolhardy and, at times, infuriating.
The combination was intriguing and frustrating. Add to that the fact that she was a reporter, triggering memories of the most painful time of his life, and it made for a confusing brew of contradictory feelings.
* * *
“I’m ready to pack it in for the day,” Scout said at a quarter past five. “I hope the cleaning service was able to deal with the smoke damage.”
“I’ll help you with anything that’s left.”
“Thanks.”
On the ride home, they stopped for burgers and fries.
At her door, Nicco pushed her back when it opened on its own.
“Stay back.”
She ignored him and followed him inside.
Weapon drawn, he scanned the front room, moving from right to left, before repeating the pattern in the dining area and the kitchen.
He took the stairs two at a time with her on his tail. “Don’t come in here,” he said when she reached her bedroom.
High-Risk Investigation Page 11