by Misty Evans
Gazing down at Shelby now, he wished he didn’t love her anymore. Didn’t think about her every hour of every day.
He wished he could truly let her go so she could find the man she deserved.
The dragon yawned, bored with the same old script.
He’d tried to let her go. He’d signed those damned divorce papers and bled a bucket of his soul when he did, but he’d given her her freedom. She deserved better than him. Far better.
Yet in his heart, he’d never really turned her loose. He’d quit the SEALs, traveled all over the world, and joined SFI trying to forget her. Nothing had worked. He couldn’t forget her or the love they’d shared. Not ever. He could never move on with his life, even if she’d moved on with hers.
She is my life.
He knew with certainty that the only reason she’d called him back here was to help solve her case. The FBI came first. Her career had always been the most important thing outside of her mom and dad. Once he helped her with the case, she’d sayonara him and send him on his way.
He should have had the balls to walk away with dignity. If he were smart, he’d introduce her to Beatrice and let the two of them figure it out. Shelby didn’t really need him; what she needed was solid intel. Beatrice and Rory could dig into sources outside the Bureau’s perfect square box of legalities.
Colton set down the tea and shooed Salisbury off Shelby’s lap. Gently, he scooped her up into his arms.
“What…?” She blinked her eyes a couple of times. “What happened?”
“It’s okay, Shel. I’ve got you. Go back to sleep.”
As if her eyes couldn’t stay open, she did just that, tucking herself into his arms.
A killer was on the loose and that killer might be the shooter who’d tried to silence her. No way was he walking away until he knew she was safe.
Enjoying the soft feel of her body against his, he carefully climbed the stairs to their bedroom.
The third step from the top squeaked and he hesitated for a second, a grin of familiarity spreading across his face. How many times had he chased Shelby up these stairs? How many times had he heard that squeak when she’d brought him coffee at zero dark thirty in the morning?
She sighed softly, snuggling her head into his shoulder, fingers clasping his shirt like a child clutching a teddy bear. Her hair smelled like lilacs and gardenias, another blow to his senses. In his lower regions, his cock woke with gleeful abandon, shoving itself against his zipper.
Salisbury clambered up the stairs, passing him and jetting for the bedroom. Colton managed to climb the final few steps, ignoring the tightness in his jeans, and followed.
Late evening sun graced the southern facing window, spreading a soft glowing light on the king size bed. The comforter was the same blue and white quilt, although now a dog decorated the center star. Colton deftly flipped the corner of the quilt back and eased Shelby onto the bed.
She half-woke again, shifting herself on the pillow and shooting him a loopy grin before resuming her snoring. Salisbury cuddled next to her, dropping off to sleep just as fast.
The bedside table held a lamp and a couple of well-worn nonfiction books on serial killers. A pair of house slippers were tucked near the end of the bed.
He turned to survey the rest of the room and his heart stuttered for a moment as he saw the framed photo on top of the chest of drawers.
It was from their honeymoon on the shores of St. Croix. Colton crossed the room, touching the picture of the two of them laughing, noses sunburned and umbrella drinks in their hands. The beautiful water sparkled behind them.
God, they’d been so happy once. So alive with each other. For the hundredth time, Colton wondered how he could have done things differently. Not just that one moment inside a 12 September compound, but a hundred others leading up to that. If he’d only realized then, on his honeymoon, how precious love and laughter with this woman really was.
The dragon chuckled, laying its massive, fire-breathing head down as it closed its eyes.
Shelby, Salisbury, and the dragon all snored. For now, it was best he let sleeping federal agents, as well as his beast, sleep.
Giving his beauty queen one more look, he left her alone and went downstairs to find some shut eye for himself.
A RUMBLING NOISE woke her from a deep sleep. At first, Shelby thought it was thunder.
As the sound weakened, then quit completely, she roused herself up onto an elbow, realizing she was in bed. Her own sweet king size bed. Not the one at the therapy center.
Car doors slammed outside. The hinge on the front screen rasped as someone opened it.
Shelby pushed herself into an upright position, her legs heavy and unmoving. A scruffy face stared up at her, Salisbury weighing down the blanket over her legs.
Voices sounded from the front porch—Colton and her dad’s, rising in argument. Her mother’s trying to soothe them.
The last few hours came back in a haze. Her short-term memory took a few minutes to come online these days.
As the argument became more heated outside, she moved Salisbury and slid her legs out from under the blanket, steadying herself on the edge of the bed. A warm sensation flooded her body…an impression of strong arms and the comforting sound of Colton’s heartbeat.
Fragments of how she’d ended up here played hopscotch in her mind. He’d carried her upstairs. Put her to bed. The far off whisper of I love you teased the edges of her memory. Had he whispered it after he’d tucked her in a few hours ago, or was it a latent memory of an easier, gentler time?
Her walker was next to the nightstand. Grabbing it, she brought it close, took a steadying breath under the watchful eyes of the dog, and hauled herself to standing.
Salisbury jumped up and barked, turning a circle in the tangled bed sheets. Was he congratulating her? Egging her on?
Or was she simply losing it?
Since she’d woken six weeks ago, it seemed like everyone had done nothing but encourage and prod her to do more. Maybe she was projecting onto the innocent dog.
Shaking her head, she slid the walker across the floor and coerced her leg to come with her. It didn’t exactly rush to catch up, but it did manage to tag along.
Slide, pull. Slide, pull.
The window revealed the front yard and driveway. Colton was trying to keep his voice down, but it wasn’t working under her father’s domineering anger. Leaning forward, she saw Colton standing on the top step, blocking her mother and father from the porch. Daniel Mitchum’s blond hair shone in the dying sunlight as he stood behind them, a Bible in his hands.
“Keep your voice down,” Colton said, arms crossed, his stance one that brooked no argument. “She’s sleeping, which is exactly what she needs.”
“Don’t tell me what my daughter needs,” her dad countered. “I’ve taken care of her for twenty-eight years. You had no right to remove her from the facility.”
“She asked me to.”
Her father threw his hands into the air. “She’s a patient with episodes of mental lapses. She doesn’t know what she should and shouldn’t do.”
While Shelby couldn’t argue the fact that her memory had holes in it, righteous indignation poured through her.
Salisbury jumped into the chair next to the window, setting his front paws on the ledge and wagging his tail as he also took in the scene below.
“We’ve already been through this, Jack,” Colton continued, still not moving. “She needs protection and wanted to come home. I’m here and can take care of her.”
“Screw that,” her dad countered in his booming hell-and-brimstone voice. “You can’t even take care of yourself.”
On one hand, that wasn’t accurate—Colton had been a Navy SEAL for nearly eight years of his life. He’d done and seen more, as well as taken care of numerous people that she nor her parents had a clue about.
On the other…
Colton was a bit of a renegade outside the Navy. Always had been, and after leaving it, still wa
s. Shelby hadn’t stopped tracking his whereabouts when he’d left. She’d tried not to care where he went or what he did, but she’d failed miserably.
Her mom moved around Jack, lifting up a crockpot. “I made a pork roast and potatoes. You two need to eat and it’s past dinner time.”
“Martha, for Heaven’s sake,” her dad boomed.
Shelby couldn’t see Colton’s face clearly, but she heard the patient smile in his tone as he accepted the crockpot. “Why, thank you, Martha. That’s mighty nice of you. I’ve certainly missed your home cookin’.”
Her mother’s eyes lit up at the compliment.
“I can’t believe you’re offering him food,” her father yelled. “He kidnapped our daughter!”
Shelby, having heard enough, set the walker aside and opened the window, leaning on the ledge. The scent of warm pot roast drifted up. “Thank you for the dinner, Momma,” she yelled down. “Smells delicious.”
Salisbury, still wagging his tail, licked her cheek. He could smell the meat too.
Shelby patted his head as all four people below looked up, startled.
Daniel lifted a hand to wave at her.
Shelby waved back. “You all go home now. I’m fine, but tired, and I want to enjoy being home in my own bed tonight. I’ll call you first thing in the morning.”
“But…” her dad started.
“I could stay,” Daniel said, lifting the Bible in his hands, “and read a passage or two for you.”
Colton frowned up at her. “Get away from the window.”
“Thanks, but no,” Shelby said to Daniel’s offer as Colton turned back to Jack and Martha. “You heard the lady. She needs peace and quiet. I’ll help with her physical therapy, and keep her safe from whoever might still be out here looking to do her harm. You have my word, Jack.”
Her dad opened his mouth to say something about Colton’s word, but her mom grabbed him by the arm and jerked him back toward their car. Daniel reluctantly followed.
Her mom waved up at Shelby. “Get some rest, darling. We’ll check on you tomorrow.”
Shelby glanced around, Colton’s words ringing true that the person who’d shot her was still out there. The window felt heavier as she closed it, watching her parents and Daniel get in the car and drive away. Colton disappeared and she heard him moving around in the kitchen a moment later.
“You all right up there?” he called. “Need help getting back into bed?”
She felt pretty good after her nap, and now, after smelling her mother’s famous pot roast, she was famished. “I could use some of that chow,” she called back.
By the time she’d crawled under the covers, Colton entered with two steaming plates of food and a bowl for Salisbury.
He propped her up against the headboard and served her first. “Stay clear of the windows, Shel, and why don’t you have a security system? We talked about this. You don’t take your safety seriously enough and you never have.”
“It’s Good Hope. The most crime we have here are kids vandalizing the cemetery at Halloween.”
“True, but…” He set the bowl on the floor for the dog before he took the chair and the last plate. “You were shot on your own front steps.”
This was familiar territory, him playing the role of protector, and never happy with her view on life and freedom. She’d grown up in the public eye, often surrounded by bodyguards—discreet ones because her dad didn’t want to admit the Lord might not always protect him from harm, but bodyguards nonetheless. She valued her freedom now as an adult and she had the skills to stop most any attacker.
Most any. The key words.
The pot roast was tender and melted in her mouth, nearly making her moan in ecstasy. Premiere’s chefs could learn a thing or two from her mother. “I’m a trained FBI agent with a near-perfect record,” she said, swallowing a bite, “and as much defense training as you.”
He snickered. “In your dreams, Claiborne. That crap the Bureau feeds you about being on the same level with Special Ops soldiers in the field is a bunch of shit and you know it. And need I remind you, that yes, you’re an FBI agent, but one currently using a walker to get around. I’m putting in a high-tech security system tomorrow. The best available. My boss is shipping it overnight. Should be here first thing in the morning.”
While she’d encountered plenty of people in her life with the stubborn gene and some rock-solid ideologies about life, death, and how the world worked, she’d never been able to sway him from his convictions and principles.
The world according to Colton Bells. It wasn’t all bad, and he had some tried-and-true canons, but his inability to compromise, or give, even a little, had put a strain on their marriage like so many other things.
Rather than argue, Shelby decided to try a different tactic. “Thank you. Please let your boss know I appreciate his helping us out.”
“Her.”
She scooped up another bite, and wiped at her lips. “Excuse me?”
“My boss is a woman. Her boss—the guy who actually built the Vesper EX—is the owner and CEO of the company, but Emit likes to tinker with gadgets and build software. Beatrice likes running things. She’s a genius by the way. An honest-to-God real one with a staggering IQ and photographic memory. Just had a baby a few weeks ago and she’s already back to making my life hell.”
Shelby grinned. “She sounds awesome.”
He paused with a forkful of food halfway to his mouth and arched one brow. “Watch it, there, Claiborne, or I’ll take your chow away.”
She hugged the plate closer, trying not to spill juice on her shirt. “You wouldn’t.”
“I most certainly would.”
Something sparked between them. Shelby felt it buzz along her skin. “I’m glad you’re here.”
His eyes went a soft, liquid brown. The color of spiced rum. “Me too.”
But then he dropped his gaze and went back to gobbling his food. Salisbury had already finished his dinner, and sat nearby, wagging his tail and panting as he eyed her plate. His tongue hung out the side of his mouth.
Apparently both of the males in the room were after her prized pot roast.
Once she finished, Colton said little, taking the plates downstairs and returning with a glass of water for her.
“I’m going to wash up,” she told him, using her walker to stand. “You know where the linens are if you want to make up the bed in the spare room.”
Something close to chagrin passed over his face and he nodded, his gaze going to the floor. “I can sleep on the couch.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You need sleep and the spare bed is available. Besides, this way you’ll be close by if I need help.”
He held her elbow as she crossed to the bathroom and made sure she had clean pajamas. Then he stood by the door. “I’ll be right out here, in case.”
Someone had been with her 24/7 since she’d woken from the coma. It had driven her nuts these last few weeks, but it had also been a safety net. If she tripped or fell, someone was there to rescue her. She hated being weak, but her body had a mind of its own.
So a part of her was relieved he’d be so close. The memory of him carrying her to bed, his solid heartbeat in her ears, relaxed the anxiety humming under her breastbone. “I won’t be long.”
“Take your time. Salisbury and I are at your beck and call.”
His smile didn’t make it to his eyes. He was dead on his feet.
Shelby did her best to hurry through her bedtime routine, but it didn’t help that the bathroom sink backed up while she was brushing her teeth. Leaning across her walker, she opened the door. “While you’re here, can you look at the sink? It still backs up all the time.”
He was sitting by the door, the dog in his lap as his long legs splayed across the wooden floorboards. The light on the nightstand sent a soft glow over the room.
He eyed her in the silk pjs, then ran a hand through his hair. “Didn’t you ever call a plumber about that? I told you I don’t do drains or t
oilets.”
“Actually, I did, Mr. Know-It-All. He plunged it and put some gooey stuff down the hole—which I could have done—and it worked fine for about two weeks. The sink and tub both started backing up again after that and now, since I’ve been gone for so long, they seem to be even worse.”
He thunked his head back against the wall and Salisbury glanced up at his face. “It’s your long hair. It always jams up the pipes. I imagine no one ran the water while you were away so the pipes are dried out. Nothing’s flowing right.”
She knew the feeling. Her body and mind weren’t either.
The itch to touch her short locks made her fingers twitch. She’d already brushed out her braid and the unbalanced look of her head in the mirror made her want to do that side again. Like all her other issues, the doctors had assured her this obsession with her hair would wear off eventually.
She purposefully gripped the walker with both hands and refused to look at her reflection. “So can you fix it or what?”
He hefted Salisbury out of his lap and slowly got to his feet. “I’ll look at it tomorrow in between installing your new security system, keeping your parents at bay, helping you with your physical therapy, and oh, yeah, trying to figure out who shot you.”
“Snarky much?” Her fingers went to her hair, twining in the longer strands and twisting, twisting, twisting. “Sorry I asked. I’ll have Daddy do it.”
Zing! That got him. He pinned her with a challenging glare, opened his mouth, and…
Snapped it shut again.
He clenched his teeth, making a muscle in his cheekbone jump.
His gaze slid to the chest of drawers. His voice came out low and gentle. “I don’t want to fight with you, Shel. I don’t want to…do what we did to each other all over again.”
Her zing boomeranged right back to her. She hadn’t expected him to say that.
For a moment, she stood in silence, wondering if she should come clean. The words hopscotched around on her tongue, but when she opened her mouth, they wouldn’t come out. “I…I don’t want that either.”
Without another word, he helped her to bed, but the whole thing felt awkward, like he was holding something back.