Blindsided

  She moaned but didn’t open her eyes. “Valerie?” His voice was stretched tight with fear.

  The overhead light glinted off a wet puddle under her leg. Scott’s stomach dropped. Her pants were wet and sticky. His fingers came away red. Oh, God, no.

  He patted his pockets, searching frantically for his phone, fear lodged in his throat like a fist.

  Footsteps pounded across the gravelly street. “Hold it right there!” “Hands up!” Shouts came from all sides as they were swarmed by half a dozen men in uniforms wielding guns. Finally.

  “She needs an ambulance,” Scott yelled as his arms were wrenched behind his back for the second time in a week.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Annandale, VA

  Wednesday, 11:00 a.m.

  WEDNESDAY MORNING, AFTER SHE WAS released from the hospital, Valerie stood before Scott’s apartment building, her stomach tied in knots. Scott hovered like a father watching his baby take its first steps, while she moved awkwardly on crutches down the wet sidewalk.

  Duncan’s knife had damaged her muscles, nicked her femur, and made her bleed a lot, but she’d been lucky. They both had. Still, she cringed in sympathetic agony at Scott’s broken nose. She wanted to strangle Duncan with her bare hands for everything he’d put them through.

  Luckily, she didn’t have to. He was in jail awaiting sentencing. He’d struck a deal in exchange for a guilty plea, so the death penalty was off the table, but no one expected him to get less than a life sentence.

  And she and Scott were finally, truly free.

  “At least I’m on the first floor,” Scott said, opening a glass door that led to a heated foyer and open staircase.

  Yes, thank God, because he’d probably insist on carrying her up the stairs. Which would be nice, but also mortifying.

  A trim blonde in her early twenties jogged down the steps in long tights and a fleece jacket, earbuds in her ears. She stopped in her tracks at the sight of them. Her eyes widened in recognition, and she nodded to Scott. “Hey.”

  Hers was that careful kind of greeting you give to someone you don’t really know, but see often enough that it would be weird to ignore them. Like the guy who’s always out walking his dog when you go for a run, the cashier at the mini-mart where you shop for late-night cookie dough, the woman in another department at work who likes the same section of the office parking lot.

  “Hi.”

  The blonde kept her gaze down as she slid behind them and out the door. She was probably making a mental note to verify that her antivirus software was working, and to set her alarm when she got home.

  “I think we’re bringing down the property values,” Scott said, pointing at a door to the left marked 1B, his voice half amused, half irritated.

  The bridge of his nose was dark and swollen, with a butterfly bandage holding the split skin together, and purple bruises had spread like strokes of paint beneath both eyes. His sun-streaked hair was still shaggy, but he’d shaved this morning, revealing his sharp jaw and high cheekbones. Even his injuries couldn’t hide how handsome he was.

  “Having you around should drive them up,” she said.

  “Trained killers tend to make people nervous.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open, gesturing for her to enter.

  “Injured people make people nervous,” she said. “They feel bad that they’re healthy and can’t help you, and also have an irrational fear that being around you might cause them the same fate.” The crutches were starting to make her armpits sore, but she swung through the doorway into Scott’s living room far enough to let him shut the door behind her.

  “Wow.” The living room’s standard white walls were hung with professionally framed photos of all kinds. Arresting black-and-white shots of old bridges and buildings complemented gorgeous color images of waves breaking against a dark cliff and red rock structures from somewhere in the southwest. On the other side of a tan couch, the dining room boasted a thick, rough-hewn wooden table and chairs. “I expected something—”

  “Cleaner?”

  “No.” She laughed because the place was intimidatingly spotless. No dust, no stains, no clutter. “Plainer.” Gesturing to the pictures, she asked, “Did you take all these?”

  “Yeah,” he said, removing his parka to reveal a Lumineers concert T-shirt, and then helping her with her own jacket. He stashed them both in a coat closet stuffed with camera equipment, an electric guitar, and three pairs of running shoes.

  “They’re beautiful. They should be in a gallery somewhere.”

  “It’s just a hobby.” With his injuries it was difficult to tell, but she could have sworn he was blushing.

  She shook her head in disbelief and swayed a little. The pain meds made her a bit lightheaded.

  Scott leaped toward her and grabbed her shoulder. “Hey, why don’t you sit down? I’ll get a pillow so you can put your foot up. I even bought Skittles.”

  “In a minute,” she said with a laugh. “I want to see the rest.”

  His apartment was a typical four-room layout with a bathroom tucked between the kitchen and the bedroom, high ceilings, and maybe five hundred square feet. They ended their short tour in the bedroom, which held a stocky wooden queen bed and matching highboy dresser. An emerald green duvet draped neatly over the mattress, and she imagined them wrapped up in it.

  “Are you sure you’re okay with staying here?” Scott asked, studying her with his bruised sapphire eyes. “It was one thing when we were thrown together and on the run, but everything’s different now, and I don’t want you to feel trapped.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, we haven’t even been on a real date, and I’m already asking you to move in with me.” His careless laugh didn’t fool her. The answer mattered to both of them.

  She chose her words carefully. “We have a lot to learn about each other. But that’s going to be part of the fun. The little idiosyncrasies and unexpected interests, the weird habits.”

  “I don’t have any of those,” he deadpanned.

  Valerie grinned. “Right. Me either.”

  “Actually, I make origami swans.”

  She laughed, not sure if he was serious or not, and balanced carefully on her left foot as she leaned her crutches against the wall. He instantly caught her around the waist for support, and just that touch sent tingles of delight down to her toes.

  Running her fingers through the hair at his temples, she said, “I know the things that matter, Scott, and I love you for them. There’s nowhere else I want to be.” Her gaze locked with his. “I’m not afraid of moving this fast, are you?”

  He shook his head and kissed her, searing her with his soft, searching lips before breaking away. “Outside of a war zone, no one’s ever fought for me before,” he said, his voice light with wonder. “Not my dad, not my mom, not my sister. But you did. You tried to put yourself between me and Hollowell—which I’m pissed as hell about, by the way—and I don’t even know how to accept that. No one’s ever loved me enough to make that kind of sacrifice.”

  Tears threatened, tickling her nose, but she blinked them away. “I’m sorry I was the first. You deserved better.”

  “I got the best,” he said, tracing her temple and cheekbone, down to her jaw with the tips of his fingers. “I love you, V. And now that you’re here, I’m not letting you go. You know that, right?”

  Thank God. She nodded and gave him a sly look. “So now that we’re living together I won’t need to get on my knees to beg for sex?” Just the memory of her bold move in New Mexico made her warm all over.

  Lust darkened his face, and he hugged her close, enveloping her in his intoxicating scent. Warm breath brushed across her ear as he said, “Baby, once you’ve healed, you are welcome to get on your knees anytime—and I’ll be happy to return the favor—but you will never, ever have to beg.”

  Over his shoulder, a framed picture caught her eye. It was a print of the close-up he’d taken of her outside of Janus, the wind blowing her long hair back, a huge smile on
her face that echoed how she felt right now in his arms. “You framed it.”

  He pulled back and followed her gaze, ducking his head. “Yesterday. I promise it wasn’t there before.”

  “So is that your way of telling me to grow out my hair?”

  He apparently missed her sarcasm because he frowned and grabbed a strand of her short hair between his fingers. “You can do whatever you want with it. You’ll still be gorgeous.” Glancing over his shoulder at the photo, he said, “I just love the expression on your face. That pure joy and sense of triumph. I can see your inner fire in that photo.”

  Her inner fire? Maybe the meds weren’t behind her sudden need to swoon.

  Scott’s gaze met hers. “My goal is to make you that happy every day of your life.”

  She kissed him over and over, lapping at his soft lips until he groaned and held her tighter. “I love you,” she whispered, her body in free fall.

  “I love you too.”

  “Goal achieved.”

  THANK YOU!

  Thank you for reading Blindsided. I hope you enjoyed it!

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  Did you miss how it all started? Continue reading for a preview of Mick and Jenna’s story, Blind Fury.

  Thanks!

  gwenhernandez.com

  Blind Fury (Men of Steele #1)

  Blind Ambition (Men of Steele #2)

  Blindsided (Men of Steele #3)

  BLIND FURY EXCERPT

  SHE’S DESPERATE TO LEARN THE TRUTH

  When always-play-it-safe Jenna Ryan starts questioning how her brother died in Afghanistan, someone decides she must be stopped. Permanently. Her brother’s best friend—a sexy thrill-seeker she can’t stop thinking about—won’t reveal what he knows about the fatal shoot-out, putting Jenna at odds with the only man she trusts to keep her alive.

  THE TRUTH IS THE ONE THING HE CAN’T GIVE HER

  Former special forces operator Mick Fury would give his life to keep his best friend’s irresistible sister safe. He took an oath to stay silent about their last mission, but Mick’s will is tested by the white-hot attraction to Jenna he’s tried to ignore for years. Now he must risk everything—even falling in love—to protect her from the truth that could destroy them both.

  CHAPTER ONE

  In the land of dust and sand, things got messy when it rained. Mick Fury’s boots made sucking sounds in the mud left behind by a morning shower as he strode along the graffiti-covered blast wall that ran the perimeter of Kandahar Airfield.

  He kept pace with Rob Ryan, ignoring the kerosene scent of jet fuel assaulting his nose as they headed to meet up with their Claymore Security teammates. They were scheduled to train local police recruits in tactical shooting techniques today. A worthy exercise if the trainees stayed alive long enough to use their new skills. Unfortunately, cops in Afghanistan were one of the Taliban’s favorite targets.

  Rob waggled a large rip-proof envelope addressed to his sister in Virginia. “Let me drop this in the mail on our way.”

  They detoured to the makeshift post office. “Did I forget Jenna’s birthday or something?” Mick asked.

  “Have you ever remembered it?” Rob ribbed him.

  Actually, he had. Every year. November twenty-fifth.

  “No,” Rob said when he didn’t answer. “It’s just some notes and stuff that I don’t have room for in my bag.”

  “So you’re really not coming back?” A lead weight settled on Mick’s chest. He and Rob had been best friends and teammates for twelve years. They’d had each other’s backs through boot camp, pararescue training, and now at Claymore. If Rob left in two weeks like he planned, then Mick would be left here with only his friend Dan Molina and a bunch of assholes, the kind who thrived in an industry where the rules of civilization didn’t apply.

  The brotherhood he’d experienced in the Air Force—putting the members of the team above all else—had been hard to find in the world of private security contracting. Any one of them could walk away at any time, and some of the guys were outright criminals who’d never be allowed to carry a gun in the States.

  “I’m really not coming back,” Rob said, stuffing the envelope into a slot in the shipping containers that masqueraded as a post office. “And you shouldn’t either.”

  It was an old argument. The constant stress, the poor management, and the barren surroundings chafed like a tight shoe. But there was no substitute for the adrenaline rush. There was something about cheating death that made him feel alive like nothing else could.

  “What else can I do?” Mick asked. “Every time we go home, I’m happy for about two weeks. And then it all starts to seem so pointless, so boring.” And quiet. There was nothing worse than being left alone with his thoughts. At least here in this hellhole he knew without a doubt that he was good for something.

  Rob shoved his hands in his front pockets and rubbed a heel in the mud while they waited for the others to show up. “You think I don’t feel the same way? But every time I leave, the look in Jenna’s eyes nearly rips my heart out. I can’t do that to her anymore.”

  Mick knew that look. Had memorized it long ago, along with everything else about the one woman who was off limits to him…and not just because Rob had threatened to permanently end his sex life if he tried anything.

  He couldn’t toy with the heart of a woman who’d suffered so much already. Jenna was the kind of girl you married and took home to Mom. Not Mick’s usual type. She was smart and sweet, hardly a seductress. But somehow he couldn’t get her pale, almost-gray eyes and schoolgirl freckles out of his head.

  “What will you do?” he asked Rob, bringing himself back to the ugly reality of Afghanistan. “I can’t see you settling down to a desk job and a white picket fence.”

  Rob laughed, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “Screw that. I was talking to Dan, and he knows a guy who’s a flight medic for one of those MedEvac helicopters. They also do search and rescue missions. I’ll have to go to school first, but it’ll be worth it. It will be like being in the PJs again, but without anyone shooting at you.”

  “Then where’s the thrill?” Mick asked, not entirely joking. He plastered on his trademark carefree smile and tapped his rifle. He never should have left pararescue, but the money he’d been offered to join Claymore had been impossible to resist.

  His friend shook his head. “Just think about it, okay?”

  “Sure.” He’d think about it. In fact, he already thought about it almost daily. Jesus, why couldn’t he be normal? When he was here, he wanted to go home—drive his new Camaro, flirt with girls, party with his friends; and when he was back in Virginia he could hardly stand it. The tedium and pettiness of Stateside life was suffocating. At least things made sense here.

  His job was to survive. Simple as that.

  “Hey.” Rob grabbed Mick’s arm as a large armored vehicle rumbled past, leaving deep grooves in the mud. “Promise me one thing.” He looked way too serious for Mick’s taste. Even more serious than usual.

  “What’s that?”

  “If something happens to me, you’ll leave Claymore and take care of Jenna.”

  Oh, hell no. They were not going to have this conversation. Not right before going outside the wire. He bounced his eyebrows at Rob and forced a smile. “Take care of her, huh?”

  “Yeah, and that includes protecting her from guys like you.” Rob ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. “Come on, man. I mean it. I’ll feel better knowing that she wouldn’t be left alone.”

  “We’ve been here for two years. Why are you asking me this now?” Mick wrinkled his nose
as the wind shifted, bringing with it the pungent odor of the sewage treatment plant—aka The Poo Pond. “Did something happen?”

  Rob glanced around and shook his head with feigned indifference that didn’t fool Mick for a second. “No, I’m just being, you know, superstitious now that I’ve given my notice. If I don’t leave any loose ends, then nothing will happen.”

  He was full of crap, but Mick let it go. “Dude, you don’t even have to ask. She’s the closest thing I have to a sister of my own.” Except for the very un-brotherly thoughts he had about her. “But you’re the one who’s going to be there for her, so it doesn’t matter. You’re going to go home, find a job, get a dog, and meet a girl. In another year, I won’t recognize you. You’ll probably even own a minivan.” Mick pulled a face, like he couldn’t imagine a worse fate.

  Rob’s shoulders visibly relaxed and the line between his eyebrows softened. What the hell was going on with him? He’d never been this tightly wound before.

  “Thanks. I owe you one.”

  Mick consulted his palm as if it were a notebook, and pretended to cross something out. “By my calculations, that makes us even.” He grinned. “Hell, if I’d known you were this easy to get square with, I would have offered months ago.”

  Rob finally laughed, and the knot in Mick’s chest loosened.

  “Hey, ladies. You ready to run the gauntlet?” Three of their crew trudged toward them, nine millimeters in their thigh holsters and M4s strapped to their chest rigs, always at the ready. Dressed in khaki pants and polo shirts, they looked like an army of muscle-bound frat boys.

  Mick and Rob fit right in.

  “As long as you brought your diapers this time, Beavis,” Mick called out, using the nickname the man had earned for his rat-like resemblance to the animated character. “I don’t want shit to get all over the seats if we take fire.”