Time and Space

by Rachel Robinson

  Table of Contents

  Time and Space

  Copyright

  Lainey Rosemont

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Acknowledgements

  Other titles by International Bestselling Author, Rachel Robinson

  Time and Space

  By Rachel Robinson

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2015 Rachel Robinson

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Image by Darren Birks Photography

  Cover design by Kari at Cover to Cover Designs

  http://covertocoverdesigns.com/

  Edited by Emily A. Lawrence at Lawrence Editing

  http://www.lawrenceediting.com/

  Formatted by

  CP Smith at Affordable Formatting

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  I shut my eyes. It fades to black

  A wilted flower never coming back

  A jaded heart torn in two

  A life with him, a life with you

  Sorrow stalks on windswept trees

  A troubled whisper finds the breeze

  A dirty window looking out

  Hear me, see me, it’s a silent shout

  A hint of promise never made true

  A life with him, a life with you

  -Lainey Rosemont

  Chapter One

  Prologue

  Cody

  If you were to open my mind and look inside you’d find binary code, formulas, and endless lines of script—things that make the average human’s brain twitch away in protest. Inside my skull also resides knowledge, practicality, and wisdom. If you were to crack apart any of my two hundred and six bones, you’d find her. That’s how deeply she’s rooted inside. She’s hidden away, tucked neatly in a place where not even time can touch her. Dementia and other human ailments are capable of stealing the confines of the mind. Bones? They protect everything. You get to take them with you to your grave.

  Lainey Rosemont is the woman who owns my bones. When I met her she had this peculiar way about weaving herself into my life: a life that no one else could penetrate, but still she coiled herself around me all the same. Her wild blue eyes and soft demeanor challenged my good side. My bad side merely wanted to devour her whole just to make her mine forever. I knew from the moment I laid eyes on her that my life would forever be changed—complicated, contented.

  I met her during the time in my life when I walked the straight and narrow. I did what I was supposed to do—what was expected of me as an upstanding Naval Officer. I’ve long since left that life behind. The Navy SEAL ethos is too strong for a decent man to break. Good men are SEALs. I was a good man for a long time—a leader of some of the best men in the world. And then I got out of the Navy because I simply wasn’t meant to be good and moral anymore. My talents were merely more desirable elsewhere. I still hunt down high value targets, mind you, and my aim with all firearms is just as lethal, but now I don’t answer to anyone. That strong ethos I used to live by had to die a slow death for me to fulfill my new purpose in life. The people who now answer to me are usually seconds away from death.

  I’m a gun for hire. A consultant. A contractor. A computer genius. A jack of all trades.

  Mostly I’m a hand for hire these days, or a knife for hire, or any other way you can dream up to kill a human. My new ethos is much less demanding. Confirm the evil, kill the evil, and never dwell on a job for too long. I’ve reached the point in my life where my name carries as much notoriety as my long list of snuffed targets. My physical skills combined with my love and proficiency with technology make for a pretty spectacular, lethal pair. I founded, own, and run the newly established Ridge Contracting, which just so happens to be a very legal business. As long as you have wise, discreet people backing you and helping run operations, everything stays on the up and up. Ridge Contracting is comprised of men with all of the above mentioned characteristics and more, because the men are exactly like me. Most of them are former SEALs, hungry for a life they left behind, yearning for the same rush that comes from no other workplace. I’m happy to offer them the opportunity to taste that familiar adrenaline rush. Although it’s fairly new, the success rate of my company is unparalleled. I can work from anywhere. It’s a blessing and a curse.

  Currently, I’m in my NYC apartment among the clouds and smog of a city too busy to stop and acknowledge it. I prefer NYC over my other residences because I can blend into the background, hidden by the influx of life. Lainey frequents NYC on business, which also makes this apartment one of my favorites. I can stalk her. Well, not crazy, asshole stalk, just keep tabs on her every once in a while—remind myself of what used to be before I worked my life away. With my knowledge of technology, I could do far more than keep tabs on her, so that fact helps me sleep at night. I miss companionship, my old life, but most of all, I miss Lainey.

  I keep the TV on. It’s always muted, only there to shine light into my dark apartment. It masks my sense of loneliness. All I have to do is glance up and see familiar faces smiling on a popular sitcom, or even the overacted gestures of a reality star to give me a dose of humanity. Not that I can be proud of what society has lumbered to, but that it’s what most people find normal. I don’t need to hear their voices. Human features are enough for me.

  “Don’t trust him,” I say, smirking at the television. The actress will undoubtedly end up heartbroken with more baggage than any decent man wants. She doesn’t realize it. They never do.

  I tap on my keyboard while chewing the end of the plastic spout of my water bottle. It dangles from my mouth like a dog with a bone. It’s not water. Taking a pull of liquid, I glance at one of the three computer monitors when it pings an alert. “Oh, fun,” I growl around the bottle spout. A new job. Saving information to an encrypted hard drive, I formulate a plan. Not all jobs require the same tactics. If Ridge Contracting is hired, then one thing is for sure: secrecy is key and the target is a high profile bastard. I’ve always killed bad guys. My job isn’t much different in that way. Now there’s no media backlash or mountains of paperwork. I reply to the message, letting them know I have what they need.

  I take a long pull out of the spout hanging from my mouth while looking at the TV again, and whisper, “I told you so.” Shaking my head at the obvious conflict. No one gets happily ever afters anymore, I think. Not even the bastards on TV. I had mine back when I was a good, upstanding man. Unfortunately, it didn’t last forever. And it tasted so swee
t while it was mine. All I have now is memories of Lainey Rosemont: her head thrown back in laughter, her straight, white, mischievous smile moments before she takes me into her mouth, the way she worries her lip when she reads her emails, the smell of her hair after she showers, the way her eyes become soulful and clear when she whispers, “I love you, Cody Ridge.” I swallow down the lump that forms at that last memory. I can’t blame her. No, Lainey is not to be blamed for our ill-fated love story. The blame lies squarely on my own shoulders. Absentmindedly, I reach down and rub the deep, jagged scars on my ankles and wince at the nightmare they force to the forefront of my mind.

  “The motherfuckers are hiding over there. I know it,” Steve growls, sweat pouring down his face, marring the black face paint swiped on his forehead. The terrain is a huge, hot jungle. Humidity was born here and I think I may fucking die. Intel told us where the fuckers would be. Bad weather, which wasn’t anticipated, rained on that fucking parade. Literally. Now we’re off target and I’m scrambling to spiff up plan B. It’s no big deal. I have this. Severe and extensive training drilled into me over the years served me well. Everything will be okay because it has to be. Lives depend on my decisions.

  “No, they’re not. Keep your voice down!” I return as quietly as possible. I glance where he motioned, but immediately decide he’s wrong. We’ve covered that area already. Didn’t we? So much fucking green. It all looks the same at this point. I squat down next to some kind of fucking jungle plant that looks like it could kill me if the assholes we’re after don’t do it first. All I can do as the person in charge of this shit show is to thank God that time isn’t of the essence. We have time. I just need to recalculate. I pull out a small tablet and try to decipher where we landed and where our pickup boats are located. We can come back another time. Holding down the button on my headset, I communicate to leadership back at base to tell them the current SITREP—the situation report—might as well be labeled “fucked”. “Affirmative,” I reply, straining to hear over the pelting rain and foreign animal noises echoing through the humid jungle air. I squint my eyes at the canopy of neon green above me. The rain beats down harder and harder. I motion to Steve and Maverick as they point downrange to the slight wake of the water in the river. Our boats are finally coming, thank fuck. I motion to them to let them know I’m going to head to higher ground. There is a medium-sized clearing, which should lend to more efficient communication.

  Maverick nods, smiles, and raises his gun to cover my position. Steve automatically aims his weapon to cover the opposite direction. Our teammates farther down the river follow suit—all following my silent order. They head to the boats. Making my way to the clearing, I move as silently and swiftly as possible. Heavy gear weighs down my steps in the thick mud. I groan, swat at the huge bug trying to fly down my throat, and start giving details over the radio. After a few minutes of conversation I begin breaking down my antenna and repack my radio. It’s time to get the fuck on with this. I’m ready to be out of the rain.

  It’s these moments of minimal distraction that cost me everything. I feel his hot breath, a sharp prick on my neck, and then absolutely nothing. My body goes numb. I fall sideways to the ground. Fuck! Panic rears, and it’s what’s supposed to help me do my damn job, but in this moment, the only moment that counts, it doesn’t. Through clouded vision I see the boats pull up and my brothers board safely. They’re safe. The boats appear far away as they drag my limp body through stinking mud, my gear leaving sharp indents in the muck. From all the fucking gear that is utterly useless to me. It’s sick irony. They’ll see me. My brothers have to see me. I can’t yell. I can’t move. I’m over here! I think, praying they glance this way. Far away from the shore, my only hope for survival vanishes. They’ll realize I’m gone when they do headcounts. A guy will come back and look for me, but I won’t be here. More guys will come, but it will be too late. I’ll pay the ultimate price for a single decision. I’m dragged farther into the neon green, farther away from safety. For the first time I envision this as my end. The ultimate fucking demise with a coup de grâce exit. Will they slit my throat? I probably won’t even feel it. Will it be fast? Or will they torture me endlessly? They’ll want information. They’ll keep me alive. I hear my brothers calling out my name. Their voices seem so far away. My life flashes before my eyes and the prevalent vision is that of Lainey. My beautiful Lainey. I cling to a vision of her laughing, her arms wrapped around my neck, her body pressed against mine so tightly that her perfume invades my oxygen. I can taste her like her mouth is on mine. That’s what I ensconce myself in because she’s what matters most in my life. My heart beats for her. For however many beats it has left. I focus on those beats: Lai-ney. Lai-ney. Lai-ney.

  As my own name being shouted into the wind vanishes, I’m rewarded with terror. Another prick in the neck. Numbness and blackness this time. Nothingness. I’m gone, but then again so is the terror. Silently, I vow revenge at any cost.

  Those are the last moments of my old life. Thinking back, the line that my limp body caused as they dragged me away might as well have been the literal line in the sand: the line of delineation. Before and after. It was in that moment that I locked Lainey Rosemont in my bones. The thing with that tedious process is that once you lock something there, you can’t get rid of it. No matter how hard you try and no matter how much time passes.

  I was taken as a prisoner of war, or at least that’s what most people think. They held me for three years, six months and four days. The U.S. declared me dead after one year and seven months. I now know Lainey waited three years and two months before accepting a proposal from another man.

  Chapter Two

  Lainey

  The Past

  “If I wanted your opinion, I’d ask you for it,” I admonish, smiling at Dax while I put the shirt he selected back on the rack. He feigns irritation by rolling his eyes, but winks at me in the end. He’s a stalwart shopping companion, actually. Right now he has other things on his mind. It’s obvious by the way he’s stalling this afternoon. He’ll open up and talk when he’s ready. It’s one of his ‘things’ I’ve learned over the years. With the amount of ‘things’ he deals with from me, this is a small thing. I’ve got more baggage than a train full of adolescents headed to wizarding school. Dax Redding is not only the world’s savior as a Navy SEAL—he’s my personal hero. He saved me from my grief of losing the love of my life. It took years of Dax’s merciless convincing, but I’m absolutely positive he’s the only man I’ll ever love. There isn’t another way. This is the way it has to be…the way it’s supposed to be.

  Dax grabs my ass, looking both left and right inconspicuously. “I was merely telling you that you could also wear that shirt as a skirt. A really short one.” He lifts a blond brow, his lips quirking to one side. He’s edible. Perfectly, handsomely, a big bag of muscles, delicious. I laugh as he pulls me toward the lingerie section, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist. “After you pick out the smallest pair of panties known to man, I was hoping we could go grab a coffee. Do you have time before you have to get to work?”

  I mentally tick through this afternoon’s schedule and clear it. Interior design consults can wait. Time with Dax is more than necessary to my survival. I made sure that my workload was light for the next couple of weeks. I want to spend as much time as humanly possible with him. I nod. He runs a hand through his shaggy, beachy hair and offers a half smile. It’s not the megawatt, panty melting smile he’s famous for, that’s for sure. He returned home from a six-month deployment a few days ago and he’s been off-kilter a touch. I chalked it up to him missing me, but I now realize it’s definitely something more. I already agreed to marry him before he left six months ago. What if he made a mistake by asking me? Oh, God. Maybe he’s disengaging himself from me. He regrets it. A lump forms in my throat. I rely on Dax. He’s solely responsible for my happiness. I’m not proud of the dependency, and I’m almost positive it’s not healthy. It is what it is at this point.

  I
don’t want to wait. I grab his arm and lead him to a rack with scraps of black lace, and then I turn to face him. “You’re making me concerned, Dax. Should I be worried about something? I mean, you seemed pretty into me when you were spanking my ass while I bounced up and down on your lap last night,” I whisper, trying and failing to keep a smile off my face. The corners of his eyes crinkle in delight. He loves dirty. When in doubt, use humor. It makes you appear to have the upper hand. “So, I’m pretty sure this isn’t a breakup talk you want to have.” I let the smile fall off my face. My stomach churns. My hand roves over the lace beside me, but I don’t take my eyes off of his. His Adam’s apple bobs as he returns my laser gaze. I widen my eyes, prompting him to spit it out. “Dax?” His name slips from my lips in a whisper.

  He leans down and presses his lips against my ear. “I love you, Lainey. Let’s grab that coffee now. I’d rather have you naked anyways. We don’t need to spend money on panties when your naked body makes my mouth water,” he growls, taking my hand and leading me toward our usual coffee haunt. His words cause an immediate reaction. My breath quickens. But it’s not just from wanting to have sex—I’m mentally calculating the ways he can destroy me on this brisk five-minute walk. Maybe I would survive a breakup. I’ve survived worse. It occurs to me that I’m being selfish. It may have nothing to do with me at all. Perhaps he’s going through something completely unrelated and he needs me to listen to him…to support him. Noisy talking and copious amounts of human bodies flow around us as we make our way. The New York City cabs honk their usual frenzy as tourists clog sidewalks taking photos. It’s so commonplace, so normal when I feel like my brain is on fire with curiosity.

  I squeeze Dax’s hand. He squeezes it back, grinning at me as he surveys the area. He’s always on guard. Especially when he visits me in NYC. This place makes him extremely uneasy, even if he says he enjoys the chaos every once in a while. I know the truth. His training has made him suspicious of ordinary life. He opens the door and I hear his audible sigh of relief when the scent of fresh coffee hits us in a rush. I sit down at our usual table and try not to fidget while I wait for Dax to bring me a caffeine blast with a side of information. I glance at a television in the corner, the top news headlines scrolling across the bottom at a furious pace.