A punch of guilt stabbed him in the ribs.
“It took a long time, but things got better. We saw each other regularly.” It hadn’t lasted, of course. A reality that no longer brought him anger, only a resigned sadness he could never quite shake. “The sad truth is most people diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder don’t stay on their medications. Those moments, however long they last, are like living in the eye of the storm. Eventually, things are going to turn dark and ugly again.”
“What happened?”
Parker shrugged. “I don’t have all the details. But not long after I started working with the CWU, things changed. We went longer and longer between visits, until eventually I lost all contact with my mother. I couldn’t find her. Turned out she’d lost her job, been evicted. She disappeared entirely.”
“That must have driven you crazy.”
“Yeah. By then I was old enough to understand what was happening—and determined not to abandon her again.”
“Hey,” Georgia said, running a finger along the rough stubble of his jaw. “You didn’t abandon her the first time. You didn’t know, and even if you had, you were too young to do anything about it.”
Parker tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Regardless, I couldn’t do it again. Run off, start a new life, pretend she didn’t exist. I drove myself into the ground trying to find her.” He slid a hand down over her shoulder and along her back. “Finally, Ethan noticed. Intervened. He found my mother in some backwater county jail. Got her released. Helped me with the legalities of getting her into a state-of-the-art assisted-living center and back on medication. I didn’t ask for the help—at first I didn’t even want it. But you know Ethan.”
“Stubborn? Almost condescending in his certainty he can take care of things? Yeah, I know him.”
Parker smiled. “Thing was, for the first time, I didn’t have to go it alone. When I was walking through hell, wondering if there was ever going to be a light at the end of the tunnel, Ethan was there, making sure I got to the other side.”
“As you were for him.”
“Right.”
Georgia sighed. “That certainly explains why you two are so close, but not why you’re so deferential to him. It doesn’t explain why when you’re with him, your confidence withers. Why you seem so unsure of your own capabilities.”
“I think it’s just easiest sometimes. To play the role assigned to me. To let Ethan take the lead, to be who he expects me to be.”
“That’s not fair to you, though.” The fierceness of her reply broadsided him. “I don’t care what Ethan’s done for you or how well he knows you. He doesn’t get to make you feel less than the capable man you are. No one does.” She forced him to look up at her, to hold her gaze. “You don’t have to water down who you are just to make it easier for other people to like you, Parker. You don’t owe anyone that much; I don’t care who they are or what they’ve done.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that I think of myself as less or that Ethan undermines my confidence. It’s just that at the end of the day, I know who I am. And who I’m not.”
She leaned back to look at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’m attached to a highly trained, incredibly smart, could-kill-you-with-two-fingers-and-a-paper-clip special-operations team.” He used the edge of his thumb to rub away Georgia’s frown. “Every one of them brings a technical specialty to the table, an area of expertise.”
“So do you.”
“Yes.” He nodded, resisting the urge to lick a stripe up her neck. “But I don’t have the field experience. I’m not the guy people want in their corner or the one they call in an emergency.” He chuckled. “Well, if the cable goes out, the Wi-Fi goes down, or the printer decides to be a little bitch, then yeah, I’m your guy. But I’m not . . . capable. Physical. I can shoot, but only because Ethan insisted. But in a fight? Hand to hand, life or death? I’m not the winner. I know it, and the team knows it, too.” Parker sighed, running his fingers along the shell of his ear. He didn’t have to wonder how he’d have reacted in Will’s position. He wasn’t a warrior. Couldn’t hope to maintain his composure, his resolve, under such a threat. “And even though they’d never say so, even though Ethan would never directly imply it, there’s always going to be a question about whether or not I’m a liability.”
“Liability,” she said, as if she couldn’t quite believe what he’d just told her.
He shrugged. “I’m not Special Forces. I’m glorified tech support.”
“You’re a damn drama queen is what you are.”
He glanced up, surprise sitting him up straighter—and nearly depositing her on the floor. “What?”
“Come on, Parker. Surely you’ve thought this through.”
“Let’s assume I haven’t.”
“You make it sound like what makes someone special is their physical ability. That’s crap.”
“I know a joint task-force unit made up of SEALs and Delta guys who’d disagree with you.”
“If you believe that, you don’t know shit.” She used her open palm to thump him against the forehead. “Come on, Parker. Use that big brain of yours. How many guys go into the service every year? And how many of them swear up and down they’ll be going Special Forces? And yet, how many are actually recruited, let alone make it through training?”
“I don’t know,” he said, gripping the backs of her thighs and pulling her close when it felt like she was about to spring up and start pacing.
“It’s a tiny number.”
“Because the training is so demanding.”
“Yeah. But it’s not the physical part that defeats candidates.” She looked at him like he was an idiot. “They’re all fit,” she said, smacking the back of her hand against his abs as if to remind him he was, too. “It’s the mental struggle that separates those who can from those who can’t, Parker. The body can be trained to do just about anything—but the mental willpower to function under extreme conditions, to keep going when it hurts, when you know you’re losing, when you’re terrified . . .” She shook her head. “That’s a decision that’s made here”—she flicked his forehead—“and here,” she said, pressing her palm against his heart.
He stared at her, looking for the platitude, evidence of the verbal participation trophy she was offering him. Truthfully, he’d never actually thought about what it took to be like Ethan or Ortiz or Jones. He’d always just stopped at the assumption he didn’t have what it would take. But now . . .
“Are you really going to sit there and tell me that, when push comes to shove, there’s anything you couldn’t do if you decided you wanted it badly enough?”
He grinned up at her. “I might if it means you’ll keep stroking my ego like this . . .”
She rolled her eyes and moved to climb off his lap. He grabbed her by the hips and pulled her toward him until he could slide his tongue against a path of skin along her throat. A sensitive spot he’d discovered earlier. One he wouldn’t forget.
A breathy little sound escaped her. She leaned back but settled against his thighs.
“And for the record?” She trailed her hands through his hair. “You’re the guy I want at my back.”
High praise he didn’t deserve and would never be worthy of.
If he lived a thousand years, he’d never understand why the universe had dropped Georgia into his lap—for the life of him, he couldn’t fathom what he’d ever done to deserve her. God, he didn’t want to lose her. He inhaled, breathing in the fresh, clean scent of her. He just wasn’t ready to give her up. Wanted to keep her for as long as life would let him. It was the cruelest of catch-22s. Lie to her and destroy everything building between them. Tell her the truth and watch the agony, the uncertainty; destroy the woman she was.
In the end, it was an easy decision. Parker would never, ever be the reason Georgia lost herself. Even if that meant he’d have to give her up. Even if that meant she’d eventually come to hate him.
But n
ot yet.
She shifted closer, and he let his hands run along the cotton-covered length of her back. Let one palm slide over the taut muscles of her ass until he could cup his fingers against her, rubbing back and forth, encouraging her to rock against his hand. When the shirt she wore rode up and he discovered she wore nothing beneath, he moaned.
He’d tell her everything, but only when he was in a position to do something about it. Only when he could offer her a path forward—and the head of whoever had set this all in motion.
“Feel like maybe you’re ready to come back to bed?” she asked.
He nodded as he gripped the hem of her stolen Henley and pulled it up, exposing a wide expanse of soft, pale skin. When she lifted her arms, he pulled it over her head, licking a stripe up the exposed side of one breast as he did. Ditching the shirt, he ran his hands back down her sides, cupping her breasts, scratching at the sensitive skin along her ribs. He watched as she shifted, fought the urge to moan, succumbed to the desire to shift her hips against him.
Slapping the lid of his computer shut, he rose, gripping both globes of Georgia’s ass, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist. As he headed back toward the bedroom, he slid his fingers along her cleft, finding her soft and warm and wet and ready. In the welcoming heat of her body, oblivion beckoned. If this was a test of his strength, of his character, Parker knew he was doomed to failure.
He didn’t know how, but he’d find a way to tell her.
And pray she forgave him for it.
CHAPTER TEN
In her entire career, Georgia had never had a client she wanted to both strangle and seduce in equal measure.
Just another way Parker excelled at setting himself apart. Jerk.
One minute he’d be all soft lips and sleep-mussed hair. Warm. Inviting. Enticing in the worst way. A way that invited Georgia to press herself close, to taste and touch. To tease and torment. To fall into Parker until the rest of the world faded away beneath a haze of languid lust it would be all too easy to get lost in.
But in the next minute? Then she wanted to do far more creative things to the man. Bamboo shoots, water torture, electroshock—all too good for him. Oh no. When Parker fell into his snarly, surly funk, she wanted to do far, far worse. Like force him to walk barefoot over a field of LEGOs. Or hide his coffee.
Better yet, brew a fresh pot and refuse to share.
Yeah, she thought, watching Parker as he stared at his computer, a pad of paper and a half dozen pens at his elbow, the detritus of dead ends and failed scenarios scattered across the linoleum floor, she wanted to hurt him. Or kiss him.
Tough call, really.
And it wasn’t like she didn’t understand his piss-poor mood. Nearly seventy-two hours had passed since they’d arrived—she’d hoped for answers by now. Judging by the tense set of Parker’s shoulders, so had he.
Georgia sighed. If something didn’t change, and soon, Parker was going to crack under the pressure. He wasn’t eating well; sleeping only in short, restless stretches; and consuming caffeine by the caseload. It wasn’t sustainable, but Georgia didn’t know how to help him. She’d tried going through some of the files, looking at the notes he’d made, but without any idea of what to look for, she’d basically been useless. A fact Parker had, rather condescendingly, pointed out two hours ago in a fit of frustration.
In any case, the tension and irritation and unending monotony were better than the alternative. For a bodyguard, boredom was always preferable. It meant no one was shooting at them.
Georgia gathered the wreckage of Parker’s frustration. Empty energy drinks littered the table, and a half-eaten ramen cup sat at his elbow, no doubt hours cold. Parker needed a break, a fresh perspective, but the last time Georgia had tried to coax him away from his computer, he’d damn near bitten her head off.
Disposing of the trash, Georgia grabbed two cold bottles of water from the fridge and the bag of M&M’S she’d secreted away and joined Parker at the table.
“Here,” she said, twisting off the cap and pushing a bottle of water toward him.
Red-rimmed eyes looked up at her from an exhausted face. “Thanks.”
He gulped down half the water, then set it aside and tore open the package of M&M’S. Dumping them out on the table, he starting pushing them into piles, organizing them by color. Georgia couldn’t help her small smile of amusement. Parker always had to have something to occupy his hands, especially when he was deep in thought.
“Ever try LEGOs?” Georgia asked, sneaking a few M&M’S from the green pile.
“What?” Parker asked, blinking at her as if she’d spoken Greek.
“As a distraction, a way to reorganize your thoughts.”
“Oh.” Parker glanced down at the neat piles of candy in front of him and shrugged. “I don’t even pay attention. Just like to keep my hands busy.”
“So I’ve noticed.” She shifted, crossing her legs and ignoring the ghostly sensation of Parker’s tactile exploration. As he watched her, heat slid through his expression, then his face fell and he glanced back at the computer. With every passing day, Parker withdrew more and more. Was it merely the stress? Or had something changed the night they’d arrived? It had been . . . intense. Automatically, Georgia’s fingers reached for the bruise Parker had sucked to the surface of her skin. She shivered. It was nearly gone now, but not forgotten. Not even a little.
“There’s just too much information,” Parker said on a sigh. “I need something to work from. Someplace to start.”
Shoving insecurities and emotional entanglements aside, Georgia forced herself to tune in and troubleshoot what mattered. “Ethan said he thought this was an elaborate war profiteering scheme,” Georgia said, careful to keep her tone neutral. More than once Parker had gotten defensive when she’d tried to play devil’s advocate. “No luck running with that?”
“Not really. Based on what I’m looking at, the general idea makes sense.” Parker started in on the blue M&M’S.
“How can you tell?” She’d looked at several different files over the last few days, but nothing had stood out to her; nothing had seemed suspicious. They were all standard military reports—nothing to get excited about.
“It’s the obvious deduction. All these files have three things in common.” He pushed his computer aside and looked at her. “First, all the operations were considered, run through my program, and ultimately rejected as nonviable. The justifications include everything from budgetary issues to too much risk to personnel on the ground, with a hundred reasons in between. But they were all rejected.”
“Okay, I’m with you so far.” And no closer to having a clue what was going on. She might not be traditionally educated, but Georgia had never felt a step behind her peers. With Parker, he was so far ahead of her he was a speck on the horizon. Funny, but it didn’t bring out her competitive side. It just . . . was. Maybe it didn’t bother her because it didn’t seem to bother him.
“Second,” he said, flicking a brown M&M back and forth between thumb and forefinger. “Every single operation eventually got the green light. And every time, the decision was made at the last minute and bypassed the traditional screening process.”
“Traditional screening process?” Georgia asked.
“Yeah, typically if we want to reconsider an operation—which happens more often than you’d think—we run the program again and reconvene a go/no-go panel. A lot can change in very little time, but none of these operations were ever reassessed by anyone.”
Georgia rolled the bottle of water between her palms. “How often did things go wrong because of that?”
Parker flinched. “There were . . . losses,” he admitted. “But mostly, things seemed to go okay. Whether that’s because the details hadn’t changed much or because whoever is doing this is cherry-picking easier operations, I don’t know.”
“And the third thing?” Georgia asked.
Parker sighed. “In every single file, there’s a third party with very deep poc
kets that stands to lose big if the situation isn’t resolved. Ethan was right—those files contain operations that would have benefited companies and organizations across several different sectors.” He flicked through the pages on his notepad. “I’ve seen everything from drug companies to large-scale manufacturing operations . . . but never the same one twice. Nothing to connect them all together.”
“Except for your program,” Georgia said, sneaking more candy from the red pile. “So then Ethan’s conclusion is simply the obvious one. Someone’s using your program and the men and women of the US Armed Forces to get rich.”
Parker nodded. “No question. Nothing else makes sense.”
“So we know why . . .”
“But not who, which in this case is far more important.” Parker shoved away from the table, knocking his chair back a few feet. “Maybe, maybe if I had my program, I could find a pattern, see whatever it is I’m missing. But on my own, with a shitty computer and my own damn program trying to off me, my hands are tied.” He spun, pushing himself into a frenzied pace across the carpet. “Worse, I’m average. Basically useless to everyone.”
“Okay, hold up a second,” she said, reaching for his sleeve as he passed. He jerked away, crossing his arms against his chest, a bullish expression on his face. “Your program is just an extension of you,” Georgia said, rising to follow Parker into the living room. “You designed it—” She waved him off when he opened his mouth to argue. “Yeah, yeah. I know. It’s infinitely complex, doesn’t eat, doesn’t sleep, blah blah blah.” She stopped a foot in front of him, pinning him to the wall so he couldn’t escape her. “But it’s still you. Your brain—and yes, maybe it’s your brain on steroids, but it is you, Parker.”
“I can’t just re-create it, though. It’s the product of years and years of R and D.”
Defenseless (Somerton Security #1) Page 21