by Misty Evans
The porch had an enclosed railing and she was half-hidden in the swing from anyone who might see her. “No one even knows I left Premiere yet. I’m not going inside until I get some good, fresh Oklahoma air in my lungs.”
Colton shook his head and headed for the truck once more, continuing to scan the area.
Salisbury sniffed the bushes along the driveway, marking several on his way to the porch. He stopped halfway up the steps and sniffed at a stain.
My blood.
Shelby’s stomach turned. The stain was faded to a dull brown color. Her doctors believed part of her brain injury wasn’t from the impact of the bullet and the subsequent swelling, but from the trauma of hitting her head on the concrete steps.
Closing her eyes, she tried to remember standing in that spot, seeing Colton getting out of his truck.
Nothing.
Shelby opened her eyes. Her mother had probably tried to wash the bloodstain away. She was surprised her father hadn’t simply repainted the steps. He was such a busy man, though, he probably would have sent Daniel to do it.
I’ll do that when I’m back on my feet.
Or maybe she would have her new nursemaid paint them. Her eyes lifted to watch Colton snagging her walker and suitcase from the truck bed.
He was as long and lean as always, muscled in all the right places. Whistling while he gathered her things, she watched the autumn sunlight filter through his too-long hair.
He was the most annoying person in the world, but God, she had missed him so much.
If only they’d found a way to just be Colton and Shelby, not a SEAL and an FBI agent at odds with each other over everything. Especially over that one mission.
Why couldn’t she remember what had happened that day?
Absently, she played with her braid, watching the way his muscles moved under his tight T-shirt. The way his jeans hung loose on his hips.
She licked her lips.
Salisbury sniffed the pot of flowers by the door. Someone had planted and been watering them. Probably Shelby’s best friend, Jaya.
“Don’t even think about it,” she scolded Salisbury as he started to lift his leg.
He looked at her through his bushy eyebrows, seemed to decide his odds at getting inside hinged on whether or not he used the flowers as a watering spot, and made the right decision.
Colton took the steps two at a time, setting her gear down by the door. Then he fished in his front pocket and brought out a key.
“You still have a key to the front door?”
He shot her an innocent look. “Was I supposed to turn that in?”
A part of her was glad he hadn’t. “I’m a bit surprised you didn’t throw it away.”
“Yeah, well,”—he opened the door—“you know me.”
Rebellious, defiant, cheeky. Boy, did she know him. But he was also honest to a fault and equally as loyal to those he loved.
She could count on one hand how many people Colton Bells had ever loved. And one of them was technically a dog, not a person.
Although, Salisbury might add to that list. Colton seemed pretty attached to the mutt.
“Give me my walker.”
He started to swoop her off the swing. “I got you, Shel.”
“No.” She held up a hand to stop him, although a part of her wanted to be back in his arms. Her legs were exhausted, her head ready to split. The temptation to let him take care of her was overwhelming.
Lord, lead me not into temptation. “I want to do this. I have to.”
He raised his hands in acquiescence and stepped back, his eyes shuttering with that look she’d seen a million times. If there was one thing about Colton, he needed to be needed.
Another of their issues—she was Miss Independent and hated relying on anyone.
Look what good that had done her.
Colton was the one person she’d kidded herself into believing she didn’t need.
Tiredness and frustration burned in her veins, but she grabbed the metal of the walker and hauled herself to standing. Her leg was dead weight, but the fresh rush of adrenaline in her veins gave her a burst of strength. She made it the three steps to the door, Salisbury wagging and Colton watching her every move, hands hovering near her waist in case he needed to catch her.
Satisfied with her accomplishment, she smiled at him with a see? I did it look. He opened the door, the dog ran inside, and she let him help her across the threshold.
Snails moved faster than she did, but she huffed and puffed and got herself into the house, the cool interior a welcome relief after the heat outside. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck and her whole body trembled.
“Living room?” Colton asked, glancing around. “Bedroom? Where do you want to land that cruiser?”
For half a second, her vision went white. Her stomach did a jig, threatening to bring up her earlier dinner. Too much stress.
The living room was closest. She blinked hard a few times, her vision returning. “Couch.”
“Couch it is.” Colton tossed his key on the hall table and whistled softly. “Love what you’ve done to the place, Shel.”
She followed his gaze to the long wall under the stairs. During their marriage, she’d hung family portraits from one end to the other, highlighting her and Colton’s wedding pictures in the center. It had been her version of a family tree and she’d pointedly left spaces for future little Bells.
Now the center of the wall was bare, only the faintest of outlines visible where the wedding pictures had hung.
She’d had to do it—remove those memories of a smiling, happy couple who had no idea what the coming years would heap on them. Every day when she’d passed by that couple, it had broken her heart all over again. Day after day, she’d died a little, until finally, she’d hit rock bottom, throwing the framed pictures to the floor and smashing the glass in every one of them.
It had been a childish thing to do and she’d felt worse after her temper tantrum. She’d ended up rescuing each of the photos and placing them in an album that now sat in her closet.
“I could use some tea,” she said, hoping to get out from under the judgmental air hanging between them. “Kettle is on the stove.”
He turned without looking at her. “Let’s get you settled first.”
She knew it took a lot for him not to insist on picking her up and carrying her to the couch, but he didn’t, standing nearby as she shuffle-walked at her snail’s pace into the living room.
That couch, though, was too damn far away. The shaking in her legs moved to her arms, her fingers white from gripping the walker so tightly.
Biting her lip and blinking away the tears of frustration stinging her eyes, she looked down at the floor, trying with all her might to will her leg to move.
“Recovery is a bitch, ain’t it?”
For once, his voice wasn’t sarcastic or teasing. It was soft, earnest. She met his eyes and saw the sincerity there.
“I think I may need…”
Help. The word choked her throat. “Dicks.”
His brows shot up. “Sorry?”
God, not again. Where had the word been earlier when she’d needed it? “Not…dicks. I can’t… The word… Gah!”
Raising a finger, he said, “Stay there for one second.”
She obeyed as he grabbed the nearest upholstered chair and slid it across the floor.
“If Mohammed can’t come to the mountain…” He let the rest of the saying hang as he held an open hand over the chair.
Instead of rushing to her rescue, he was allowing her a bit of dignity.
The relief was immediate and as he snugged the chair up against the back of her knees, she released her death grip on the walker and sank into it. “Thank you.”
A solid footstool was in front of the couch and he easily slid that over and helped her prop her feet on top.
“I’ll get that tea,” he said and disappeared.
Always taking care of me. If only she could go back and fi
gure out where she’d gone wrong with him. Where she’d turned left and he’d gone right. Was it one thing or many over time that had worn them down?
Shelby played with her braid. If her memory didn’t return, how would she ever know?
Chapter Four
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SHE TOOK DOWN the pictures.
Colton stared out the kitchen window, seeing the backyard tire swing, memories of a sultry July night and Shelby on the swing taking him back a few years.
So many memories. They assaulted him from every room, every view. Shelby’s ghost—the old Shelby who laughed and teased him mercilessly—called to him around every corner. Remember. She danced away each time he reached for her or tried following her through the house.
The teakettle whistled softy. For a second, he had to reorient himself, not remembering why the bloody thing was even on.
Tea. For Shelby. Get it together, Bells.
His phone went off with the ringtone from Green Day’s song, Espionage. ‘Queen B’ showed on his screen.
Beatrice. For half a second he considered not answering, making work out of finding a mug—at least the cups were still in the same place—and a tea bag.
Southern Mint. Shelby liked that one.
But within seconds, he couldn’t resist the beat of the song, his curiosity getting the best of him, not to mention his loyalty to the woman who’d given him, and so many of his friends, a second chance.
“Hey, boss.” He glanced at his watch. “Last I checked, my seventy-two hours aren’t up yet.”
“Save the cheekiness for Cal.” As usual, she was all business. “Rory got a hit on you. You’re raising flags with the locals. Want to fill me in on why the Feds are running a background check on you?”
He scratched the back of his head. His hair was two months past a good trim. “No, ma’am. I’ve been on my best behavior.”
Which Beatrice damn well knew meant he was hip-deep in trouble.
“Are you in need of assistance?”
If assistance meant bail money, she might be spot on. “Not at this time.”
“I don’t like to threaten, Colton.”
“No, ma’am, I know you don’t.”
“I’m going to anyway. If your escapades with your ex-wife bring heat on you from the Bureau, that brings heat on Rock Star Security and SFI. We’ve had enough attention from government entities lately.”
He wanted to promise her he wouldn’t do anything stupid. He really did.
“I understand,” was all he could say.
“Do you, Colton? Do you understand that if we get involved in yet another snafu with the US government, they could shut us down? The interim president likes us, but we have a lot of enemies itching to put us out of business. If they do, your SFI brothers will be out of jobs again. Rock Star Security will close.”
“No one’s going to shut us down.”
“You can’t guarantee that.”
“Let me rephrase that—Rock Star, and ergo, Shadow Force—won’t be shut down because of me. Shelby’s boss is investigating a case she was working before she was shot. She had a photo of me in the file and he thought I was a suspect. I’m not. Case closed. He ran a background on me because he wants in Shelby’s pants and I just brought her home.”
There was a slight pause. He heard rustling and then the sound of little Sloane making faint hiccupping sounds.
“Male jealousy has landed more than one man in prison,” Beatrice said. “Need I remind you, it has started wars and toppled countries.”
He sighed, pouring water into the cup and watching steam rise. “Point taken.”
Ingram was such a dick, it wouldn’t surprise Colton if he was watching the house right now. “I’ll do my best to be a law-abiding citizen and keep my nose so clean it shines.”
“I don’t like to lay down ultimatums any more than I do making threats, but I’m afraid I have to. If you step out of line—even so much as kick that proverbial line with the toe of your boot—I’ll put you on suspension. Are we clear?”
Irritation burned in his chest, the dragon itching to breathe fire. “Have I ever let you down?”
“No,” Beatrice admitted. “That’s why it pains me to play disciplinarian, Colton. You know I care about each and every one of the men on my staff, but in the interests of this business remaining viable, I must look out for the entire SFI family, and that means I can’t allow you, or anyone else, to jeopardize our operations over a personal matter.”
“Like I said, I understand.”
“On the other hand, let me also remind you that you are an important member of the SFI family. If you need anything in the way of assistance in order to secure your ex-wife’s personal health and well-being, or any means of help solving the case of her shooting, do not hesitate to call me. I will move mountains for you.”
Colton couldn’t help the smile that tickled his lips. “Love you too, boss.”
He heard her faint chuckle. “There’s that cheekiness again.”
He dunked the tea bag up and down in the water. Shelby had always hated when he did that, insisting the tea should be left alone to steep. “There is one thing.”
“Name it.”
“Can you get a Vesper EX to me tomorrow? Shelby’s home security sucks.”
The click of fingers on a keyboard echoed through the connection. “Text me the delivery address. You’ll have it by 9 a.m.”
Another thing to love about working for Shadow Force—Beatrice could make miracles out of thin air and she rarely refused to do so when asked for one. She was better than Jesus.
Don’t tell that to the reverend. “Thanks.”
“In exchange, I expect a report from you every twelve hours on the dot. If you fail to do so, I will send Connor after you with orders to bring you home whether or not you’ve finished your business in Good Hope. Are we clear?”
Damn. He never wanted to let her down. She’d believed in him and those that did were few and far between. Not only had she given him a second chance, she’d given his best friend, Connor, one as well.
But checking in like he was an amateur was asking too much. “That’s really not necessary. I can handle this.” Whatever this is.
“Non-negotiable,” she replied. “If you fail to report in, I will send Connor after you. If you evade him, I’ll send Cal and Trace. You don’t want that.”
He sure as hell didn’t.
“And if that happens, you will be on suspension from Rock Star Security and SFI,” she added.
“You’d haul me back just to put me on suspension?”
“You’ll be assigned light duty.” He heard the confident smile in her voice.
“Do I want to know what that entails?”
“Answering phones, opening mail, and bringing me smoothies. We haven’t found a solid replacement for Connor yet and he’s ready for his first overseas assignment when it becomes available. I’m in desperate need of an office manager when he goes, and you’ll do. That also means diaper duty.”
Fuck that shit. “You’re evil.”
“Yes, I am.”
The phone went dead.
Smiling, Colton texted her Shelby’s address and put his cell away. Beatrice was a hardass, and he was, in effect, screwed, but the Good Lord knew he liked a challenge.
His fingers shook as he took the tea bag out and tossed it in the garbage, dripping tea as he went. Too many hours without solid sleep or a shot of bourbon to take the edge off made him feel wonky.
The seventy-two hour deadline was impossible and he’d never really planned to stick to it unless Shelby threw him out on his ear. Then he’d have no reason to stay, and quite honestly, he’d figured she’d do just that. Now he was here and she needed him. He was determined more than ever to find the man who’d shot her.
And just maybe, they could put the past behind them and start fresh.
First, he needed details about
the case she’d been working when this all went down. Then he needed sleep.
Rubbing his eyes, he picked up the mug of tea and went to talk to the woman who held his future in her hands.
In the hall, a snuffling sound met his ears. The odd sound had him looking around for the dog, trying to see what trouble Salisbury had gotten himself into.
It grew louder as he drew near the living room. There were smacking noises too.
“Salisbury, where are you?” he called. There was no answer, no click of nails on the hardwood. Undoubtedly, the dog had found something to chew on—probably one of Shelby’s designer shoes—and both he and the mutt were going to end up with their asses on the front lawn yet.
As he swung into the living room, ready to hand off the tea and hunt down the dog, he pulled up short.
Salisbury was looking at him, ears alert, from the comfy lap of his ex-wife. Shelby’s head was cockeyed against the back of the chair, her mouth open and loud snores emanating from it.
She’d redone her braid again, the side of long hair lying neatly over her shoulder, while the other side was on display. The hair there was only a couple inches long, and she had tucked it behind her ear. Through the blond strands, the ugly pink scar over her ear taunted him.
Why did I ever leave?
Had he actually had a choice?
The words she’d thrown at him that night—the night of no return—still burned inside his skull. The dragon stirred inside his chest.
While he had no outward scar like the one cutting across the side of her head, the internal scars were still bloody and gruesome. He’d been shot, knifed, and burned in the line of duty. Never had he felt pain, or been cowed by it, the way he had over a few simple words.
Reckless. Thoughtless. Selfish.
The venom in her voice, in her eyes, when she’d slayed him with those words had brought him to the rudest awakening of his life. He was in truth the loser everyone always thought him to be.
It didn’t matter how many terrorists he’d nailed. How many Americans he’d saved. How many medals and commendations he’d been graced with.
He was still the loser. Forever the boy with no family, no roots, and nothing to make him respectable in this two-horse town.