“Yeah. Last I checked, I was the medic and you were the kid with the keyboard.” Liam took Parker’s wrist, checking his pulse. “How about we stick to those roles for a bit longer?”
Georgia tried to step aside, give him room to work, but Parker’s grip tightened until the bones of her wrist rubbed together.
Parker sighed and visibly slumped. “Fine. I’m too damn tired to argue with you.”
“Well, yeah,” Ortiz said, appearing beside Parker, a hand going to his shoulder. “I thought we agreed, no solo fieldwork for you?”
“Buddy system’s for kindergarten and night swims,” Parker mumbled, a half-hearted grin stretching his mouth.
“We should really get you to the hospital and checked out,” he said, inspecting the torn flesh at Parker’s wrists. “No stitches, but we definitely need to get this cleaned up.”
“Can’t you just do a field dressing?” Parker asked. “I want to go home.”
“Humor me.” Liam accepted a blanket from the paramedics who entered the room, but he waved off the stretcher they were wheeling in. Smart. Parker looked ready to put up one hell of a fight. Dropping the fabric across Parker’s shoulders, then patting his back as Parker pulled it tighter around him, Liam said, “From the look of things, Brandt came at you pretty hard and over a long period of time.”
Parker nodded quietly. “Hours, I think. I lost track of time.”
“Hours?” Ryan asked, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. “That fucker went at you for hours?”
Jesus. Georgia repressed a shudder. She’d never had the displeasure of being waterboarded. But as former special ops, Liam, Ryan, and Ortiz most certainly would have as part of SERE training. But hours? Of agony and panic and desperation?
“Yeah. Felt like fucking ages, though.” Parker shuddered, water dripping from his hair and sliding down his neck. “Brandt didn’t really waste any time.”
“Shit, Parker, don’t you get it?” Ortiz asked. “Typical interrogations usually last twenty minutes—a half an hour at most. Some advanced SERE training might go for longer, but not like this.” Ortiz shook his head. “Fuck, I barely made it through one round of this shit, and that was in training.”
“What’s the difference?” Parker asked, exhaustion starting to creep into his voice and steal across his shoulders until they slumped beneath the weight of it.
“The difference,” Ryan said, “is that in SERE training you know they aren’t going to kill you. You know it’s going to stop. Maybe not when you want it to, and yeah, it doesn’t make the moment any easier. But you still know what day you’re heading home. You just have to last.”
“How the hell are you still holding it together?” Ortiz asked, watching Parker with the expression of someone taking a long, hard second look at a man he thought he knew.
Parker glanced up, surprise and confusion flooding across his face. “Lack of alternative appealing options?”
“Did you lose consciousness?” Liam asked, gently bringing Parker’s attention back to him. He picked up Parker’s hands, inspecting his fingertips. Still a bluish-purple in color and trembling.
“I don’t think so,” Parker said hesitantly. “Things got . . . distant a few times. Fuzzy. But I don’t think it ever got past that.”
“Yeah. You’re going to the hospital,” Liam said. “No arguments, Parker. You should never have been subjected to that for so damn long. I want you monitored for secondary drowning and treated for early-stage hypothermia.” When Parker opened his mouth to object, Liam cut him off. “Twelve hours, Parker. That’s all I’m asking. Then you can go home and sleep for a week.”
“Please,” Georgia said when Parker looked unsure. “Let them take care of you.”
Parker reached for Georgia’s hand, squeezed her fingers. “Hey. I’m okay. You found me, and it’s over.”
Georgia tried to ignore the fact that Parker, who’d just been tortured, wanted to make sure she was okay.
Damn him.
Clutching the blanket tighter, Parker sighed. “Fine. I’ll go.”
Georgia slid in next to him, hovering as Parker stood on shaky legs and took his first unsteady steps out of the room. Shit, he was barefoot, in wet jeans and a soaked shirt. He’d freeze to death before they got to the car. She should have thought of that. Brought him his things. And where were his glasses? Could he even see well enough to walk? She should have planned better. Anticipated . . . everything.
This time, when the panic swelled, threatening to send her to her knees, she recognized it for what it was. She beat it back. Barely. There’d be time to process everything. To feel all of it. The relief, the anger, the worry, and the sadness. There’d be questions, many without answers, and decisions. So many decisions. But she just couldn’t deal with it all right now. It was too much.
“How did you find me, by the way?” Parker asked as they made their way down a poorly lit hallway, then up a set of stairs, before finally emerging into a parking garage.
“I wounded one of the men at Isaac’s townhome—he eventually provided the coordinates,” Georgia explained, wincing at the memory of what she’d done to try to extract that information in the first place. Not that it had mattered. In the end, Ethan had arrived, pale and exhausted but determined to work things out. As usual, he had. “Turns out the State Department has been looking into Charles Brandt for some time now. Had even managed to place a few people close to him—including Henry.”
“Who?” Parker asked.
“One of the guys who led the assault on Isaac’s townhome—undercover for one of the alphabet agencies, apparently. Would have been nice if he’d said as much before I started digging around in his bullet hole.”
“What?” Parker choked.
Georgia waved him off. “He wouldn’t say where Brandt had taken you until Ethan got involved. Some bullshit about clearance. Anyway, we’re still working out who knew what, if this was just a case of following orders or if some of these guys were being paid off.”
“It’s not over, Georgia. Brandt wasn’t in this alone.”
“I know,” she whispered, placing the palm of her hand against his back, letting the heat of him soak into her skin and loosen her muscles. “Henry implied as much. Ethan’s working that angle—he’ll get the answers eventually.”
“Am I safe?” he asked, his voice quiet and small, as if the question was both necessary and terrifying.
“Ethan seems to think so.” In that, it really did appear Brandt had acted alone. And now that he’d been caught, his under-the-table deals brought to light, anyone working with him wouldn’t risk exposure. Parker, it seemed, had gone from one of the most hunted men on the planet to one of the safest.
She only wished she could say the same for Will.
“What do you think?” Parker asked, trailing his fingers along her hip.
“I think there’s time to deal with all of this later,” she said, resisting the urge to wrap her fingers around his wrist, to count the steady beat of his heart and remind herself he was okay. “Until then, someone will be there.” Ethan would make sure, which would give her the space to catch her breath.
She’d spent so much time pacing Isaac’s kitchen, waiting for answers, imagining the worst. Anticipating the moment someone showed up, their face calm and void of expression as they explained nothing could be done. That Parker was gone. It had been its own sort of hell, standing around, desperate to do something, anything, yet knowing the only thing she could do was wait on the actions of others and hope and pray and bargain that she wouldn’t have to attend one more funeral.
“You’re coming with me, right?” Parker asked, refusing to release Georgia’s hand as he slid into the back seat of a waiting SUV. “To the hospital.”
She wanted to say no. Wanted to go home, take a hot shower, and drown herself in a Jack and Coke until the last few days were nothing but a distant, fuzzy blur. It wasn’t that she wanted to forget, not really, but she missed the numbness, the disconnected way sh
e’d been floating through life. It was bland and boring, but it also didn’t hurt so damn much. But looking at Parker, at the naked desperation on his face, she just couldn’t do it. She slid into the back seat with him, repressing a flinch as Liam slammed the door shut behind her. “Sure.”
“And you’ll stay?” Parker asked, his voice quiet and vulnerable. “I—there’s so much I need to say. I have to explain why I didn’t—I promise, I promise I’ll bring him home.” Georgia pressed her fingers to his mouth and shook her head. She couldn’t listen to him make that promise, no matter how well intentioned. Right now, no one could guarantee anything, least of all Parker. And worse, if she let him have his say, let him convince her of all the things he could and would do, let him teach her to hope—she’d do something stupid. Something she’d only live to regret. She needed to wait until the fear, the cloying need to assure herself he was fine, left her. Until she built up the defenses Parker had swept aside as if they’d never existed at all. Until she was strong again.
“I’ll stay.”
For now.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Seventy-Two Hours Later
“I said I’m coming,” Georgia yelled in response to the insistent knock at her door. She shot a glance at the boneyard of take-out containers strewn across her kitchen counter and littering the coffee table, then shrugged. She hadn’t invited anyone over, and there was no one she wanted to see, so her unannounced visitor could deal with the mess. In any case, it was probably Ethan, and until he was willing to talk about the only thing that mattered—finding Will and bringing him home—she saw no reason to continue to be cooperative or to accept his platitudes of “It’s going to take time” and “I’ve already got people working on it.” He could deal with the mess.
She shoved her fingers through the wild tangle of curls—she hadn’t bothered to dry her hair—then swung open the door on an irritated huff. “What do you wan—”
Isaac.
What. The. Hell.
“Hey,” he said, a bunch of peonies resting on top of a pastry box.
“Hey.” She stared at him, trying to make sense of the man before her. Dressed in jeans and a chunky sweater pulled over a collared shirt, he was the most casual she’d ever seen him. “Your khakis at the dry cleaner or something?”
He flashed his thousand-dollar smile. “Or something.” He glanced behind her, though to his credit, his lip didn’t curl at the mess plainly visible. “Going to invite me in?”
“I’m not really in the mood.” The last thing she wanted right now was company. There’d been a steady stream of calls and e-mails and texts, none of which she gave a damn about. While sitting around with her thumb up her ass was driving her crazy, the only thing that sounded worse was killing time in any sort of social situation. And anyway, what was Isaac—or this parallel-universe version of him—even doing here?
“What do you want, Isaac?” she asked on a tired sigh. She hadn’t slept for shit in days, and she didn’t have the energy for . . . well, for whatever this was.
“I want to talk.” He dropped the practiced grin, his face softening into something honest and relaxed, something Georgia wasn’t sure she’d ever seen from him before. “Please, Georgia. There are things that need to be said.”
Eyeing the pastry box, Georgia asked, “That from Baked and Wired?”
Isaac nodded. “I was worried the flowers wouldn’t get me through the door.”
They certainly wouldn’t have. What was she going to do with a bunch of flowers? She didn’t own a vase, could only imagine Isaac’s face when she stuffed them into one of the many plastic cups lining her shelves.
“You’ve never bought me flowers, Isaac.” God forbid he act the boyfriend in even the most casual ways. She couldn’t fathom why he’d bought them now.
“Just one of the things I need to apologize for.”
“You are going to apologize?” What sort of screwed-up world had she woken up in? “This I have to hear.” Then she could kick him out. She turned to head back into the house, letting him catch the door before it swung shut in his face. He followed her into the kitchen, setting the flowers and the bakery box on a clear span of countertop. That was when she noticed the huge envelope tucked up under an armpit. That, he set next to him. Large and puffy, it was one of those eight-and-a-half-by-eleven mailing envelopes lined with Bubble Wrap. It was completely blank but for the messy scrawl of her name across the middle. She’d recognize the handwriting anywhere.
“I called,” Isaac said, hovering between the living room and kitchen. “A couple of times.”
Him and everyone else. Ethan. One of the secretaries from Somerton Security. Even Ortiz.
Everyone except Parker. Which was good, she reminded herself. They needed the distance, and she needed the perspective. She just hadn’t expected to miss him so much. To hate the smell of freshly brewed coffee because there was no one there to snake her mug. To roll over in the middle of the night and wake to only cold, empty space where she’d anticipated a warm, welcoming body. To be so angry she couldn’t think straight one minute and so lonely in the next that she hated herself for the weakness. For missing him. For wanting him.
“I’ve been busy.”
“You look good,” Isaac said, casually flicking some containers that had once held last night’s kung pao chicken out of the way.
Georgia shot him a disbelieving look as she filled the kettle with water to make tea. “You’re kidding, right?” She had on no makeup, her hair looked like she’d started licking wall outlets for fun, and her sweatshirt-and-yoga-pants ensemble missed cute and landed squarely between mental-ward escapee and sentient pile of laundry. Personal hygiene just hadn’t been a priority. Not while she’d sat through four separate debriefings before she finally started telling everyone to fuck off. Not while she waited for Ethan to get his shit together, to stop asking how she was doing, for fuck’s sake, and start talking about what the hell they were doing to find Will. All of which had rendered her a far cry from the polished visage Isaac preferred. While the water heated on the stove, Georgia grabbed a trash bag and began clearing out the wreckage of the last few days. Something in here smelled.
“No, I mean it,” Isaac said, making himself at home in her kitchen. “Dessert plates?” he asked.
Georgia rolled her eyes. “Small or large, that’s all I’ve got, and they’re in the cabinet above the dishwasher.”
“Right.” He retrieved the plates, then searched until he found utensils and thankfully didn’t comment on the fact that she didn’t have anything dedicated to the consumption of pastries. “I think I got your favorites.” Isaac turned the box around, a hopeful look on his face.
Georgia stared into the box, stunned speechless. Never, in all the time he’d known her, had Isaac expressed an interest in what she wanted, what she preferred. “What the hell is going on, Isaac? Why are you here?”
Isaac slid onto a bar stool. Running his thumb along the edge of the envelope Georgia was doing her best to ignore, he looked at her. “I’m trying to apologize.”
“For what?” For breaking her heart? For treating her like a convenience who was good enough to screw but not good enough to date?
“For so many things, but mostly for being the sort of self-important dick who’d drive away someone like you.”
Gobsmacked, Georgia couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
“You made me happy, Georgia. And to be honest, it scared the crap out of me.” He shook his head, pulled one of the shortbread bars from the box, and placed it on a plate. “I didn’t know how to reconcile you with the rest of my life.”
“Not for lack of trying,” Georgia grunted, pulling her own bar out of the box.
Isaac grimaced. “Yeah. I spent so much time trying to make you fit into my life, trying to make you right for my life, I didn’t stop to think about what it all meant. That maybe, if you were what was working for me, it was my life that had to change. I get that now.”
Georg
ia shook her head slowly as the kettle began to wail. Retrieving a clean mug and bag of Earl Grey, Georgia turned her back on Isaac and set herself to making her tea. What did Isaac want from her? Forgiveness? He could have it. She didn’t have the energy to be angry with him anymore. A second chance, though? Part of her wanted to. It would be easy to sink into the familiarity between them. If Isaac was genuine in his realizations—and she thought he was; he simply wasn’t the type to lie or admit mistakes otherwise—then a future with him was possible.
Possible but not passionate. For all that she’d loved him once, Georgia understood now how shallow, how easy, how unfulfilling that love had been. Isaac wasn’t a man she could share silence with, a man she could be herself with. A man who could be her equal and be okay with that.
She’d rather be alone.
Had it really been only a week ago that the prospect had filled her with a sad sort of resignation? How was it possible for things to change so quickly and so completely?
She blamed the damn near-death experiences.
“You know that ship has sailed, right?”
Isaac nodded, then took an oh-so-proper bite of his dessert. He chewed slowly, swallowed, then said, “I do.”
“Then why are you here?” she asked, grabbing a carton of milk from her fridge. She took a sniff, thought better of it, and put it back.
“Because you could have left me behind, could have left my townhouse with Parker and never looked back, but you didn’t.”
Georgia stilled. “You needed help.”
“I did,” he agreed. “I got my ass handed to me.”
“I couldn’t just leave you there. Not like that.” Though part of her still expected him to hate her for it. To bristle at the fact she’d saved his life again.
“And so I owe you,” he said, no hint of grimace or resentment. “But more important, I’m here because there was a time when we were friends, and I’d like for us to get there again.”
“Why?” Georgia asked. It wasn’t like him to settle for a relationship that didn’t pay dividends on his investment of time and attention. Georgia had nothing she could offer him—no political ties, no valuable insight he couldn’t get on his own.
Defenseless (Somerton Security #1) Page 27