“At some point you’re going to have to take this seriously Connor, or I’ll never be able to clear you for duty.”
Connor bristled internally. Though some part of him realized that he’d been telling himself the same thing out in the waiting room, he couldn’t help feeling like she’d issued a challenge—or a threat even. Now if only he could remind his raging hard-on that he wasn’t happy with her at the moment.
He kept his face deliberately blank—two could play that game—and said, “Okay, Doc, shoot. What do you want to talk about?”
Surprised satisfaction flitted across her face before she answered, “I need you to tell me what happened the day Jonathan died.”
“I think you just summed it up pretty good yourself. He died. Next?”
“We have to talk about this, Connor. Give me something more. What do you remember?”
In a cold voice he recounted his official statement word for word. He knew that it was part of his file, knew that saying the words would give her nothing more than she already had, then she could clear him and he could go back to work, problem solved. She waited patiently, though, the look on her face told him she knew exactly what he was doing. She was silent, and that silence eventually drove him to speak again.
“Fine. There was smoke, noise and blood. Worst day of my life to date, though being forced to come in here and get my head shrunk rates a close second.” He’d meant to be flippant, but pain had lanced through him at the thought of Jonathan’s blood staining the ground, the life fading from his eyes—Damn. He didn’t need this crap.
He looked over at Everly, and the compassion in her eyes made something inside him snap. He stood and walked toward her, then crouched before her. He smiled without mirth when his closeness made her flinch.
“Gosh, Everly. I feel so much better already.” He broke off with a harsh laugh when she hesitantly reached toward him. “What do you know about a man dying anyway, Doc, laying in a puddle of his own blood?”
He saw the raw pain that had flashed in her eyes, but the same self-destructive streak that led him to drive away everyone else—everyone besides Jonathan, and look where that had gotten his friend— had him pressing on anyway.
“I can see why you’re concerned. Enough to drive a man crazy, right?”
He leaned in so close that he could feel Everly’s breath feather soft against his lips.
“Do you want to know what’s driving me crazy?” She didn’t answer, but he could see her eyes dilating as his nearness brought her arousal. “Not being inside you, right now.”
She was still and perhaps willing, but Connor stood with a smirk and sauntered back to his seat.
“I think you need to leave now, Petty Officer. Come back when you’re ready to actually talk this through. Until then, don’t waste my time.”
Connor felt like an ass as soon as the moment had passed. She’d been trying to drag up painful memories—forgivable, considering that it was her job—and he’d reacted with condescension and petty anger. And, he thought, if that flash of pain was any indication, he’d dug up some painful memories for her as well. Yes, he was a first-rate asshole. But then, he’d known that all along.
He pushed the guilt to the back of his mind. It was a drop compared to the sea of regret he was drowning in. He pushed his way out the front doors and sped off on his bike, intent on going straight home and taking a couple shots, just to take the edge off a little bit.
Maybe he would apologize at his next appointment…if he decided to make another.
Chapter Eight
Everly watched Connor’s lean, muscled form as he left her office. She shouldn’t have let him get her riled up like that. She understood that he was lashing out to defend himself, not out of a desire to hurt her. In truth, that wasn’t really why she’d asked him to go.
He had gotten under her skin like no one else had ever done. It couldn’t have been the ‘dark and dangerous’ thing that had her insides doing flips when he turned his naughty gaze on her. As a military brat, she’d been raised around young, handsome, dangerous men. She had thought herself immune to their charms. Why, then, could she not be in the same room with Connor without wanting to tear his clothes off?
She had to maintain her professionalism. Not only was Connor the first case she’d been handed to evaluate in her new position, he was also obviously a man close to his breaking point. If he crashed and burned, Everly admitted to herself, a part of her heart might just shatter right along with him. She took a few deep, calming breaths before picking up the phone to call his commander.
Connor’s CO turned out to be a man who was clearly battle-hardened, but still good and true at his core. When the commander agreed to meet with her, he confirmed what Everly had already come to realize. Connor was also a good man, a good man who took his job seriously and followed orders.
In a gruff, no-nonsense tone, the CO informed Everly that Connor was a military man through and through. He couldn’t see Connor in the role of traitor or murderer, and neither could Everly. Though it was humbling, Everly confessed to him that she hadn’t been able to get through to Connor at all. His brisk nod told Everly that her words came as no surprise.
“I’d be more worried about him if you had gotten him to open up so quickly, Ma’am. Petty Officer Mitchell isn’t the type to let anyone close, not even those he served with overseas, except Jonathan Mills. They’d been thick as thieves since they were children from what I understand, even lived in the same foster homes from time to time.”
Though there was no emotion in his voice, something in his eyes, when he raised them to meet hers, told Everly that the man truly cared about Connor’s wellbeing.
“The man’s hard, but he’s not a man who takes joy in killing, and he’s sure as hell not a traitor. Even if he was, Jonathan Mills is the only soul in the world that he wouldn’t turn on. The higher-ups want the investigation, so they’ll have it. Me? I just want to make sure that Mitchell’s okay. You can’t go on the types of missions my men do if you aren’t up to the task mentally. I have to be sure.”
Everly nodded thoughtfully before replying, “Thank you for the insights. I hadn’t realized that he and Jonathan were that close. I can’t promise I’ll be able to get through to him, but I can promise I won’t clear him until I’m sure he’s ready to return to duty.”
“That’s all I ask, then.”
Evelyn mulled over the conversation on her way home that evening. Maybe, she thought, it would take more than a calm, structured office visit to get through to Connor. The emotional walls he’d built to ward off the rest of the world were thick, and strong, and by all accounts, the only person he’d ever let inside them now lay in an early grave.
Though it certainly crossed lines she’d never thought to cross before, Everly was considering using Connor’s obvious attraction to her to catch him off guard and try to get inside those defenses. Something told her that it might be the only way she could save him from himself. It was more than a little unsettling, because in order to do what she was considering, she would have to let Connor inside her own defenses, and something told her that once she did that, he’d have the power to hurt her like no one ever had before.
Chapter Nine
Connor was sitting on his couch in a dimly lit living room cleaning his 9mm Beretta when the knock came at his door. There was only a single lamp turned on, both because the light still stung his eyes—an after effect of overindulging the night before—and because the darkness suited his mood. It was easier somehow in the dark to ignore the world outside. He could almost pretend nothing had changed, that the last few months had never happened. Almost. A couple shots of whisky might do even more to kill the pain, but it was early in the day yet. He would wait until late afternoon at least.
He didn’t really need to clean the pistol—he hadn’t used it in months. It was his personal firearm—but the easy, practiced motions of the action, a ritual repeated hundreds of times before, soothed something inside him.
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What did it say of him that he had only cold, hard steel that had been forged for violence to turn to when he was at his lowest? Well, that was a thought best pushed back into the recesses of his mind, in the corner that housed a childhood of abuse and violence, followed by an adulthood of the same, even though the violence by his own hands had always been for the right reasons. Did his being a monster on the government’s leash make his any less a monster?
When the knock came, he was equal parts relieved and wary—relieved at a distraction to pull him from his dark thoughts, and wary because there was no one left who would visit him for companionship. Jon had been the only one to do that… Connor shook of the thought and went to answer door, and then wished to hell that he hadn’t.
There stood Marsha, looking worn and fragile with a cardboard box clutched to her chest. Even for all that, though, he could see in her pinched brow and in her haunted but compassionate eyes that she was worried about him. He wished the compassion on her face could stimulate something in him besides regret and rage.
“What do you need, Marsha?” The words came out hard and clipped. Hell, she didn’t deserve this. It wasn’t her fault that looking at his dead friend’s wife had his insides torn to shreds.
Her mouth tightened momentarily, but she didn’t return his tone. “I just brought some things over that you might want. Some things that were Jon’s. I think he would want you to have them. Some pictures of the two of you, a few old home movies… I had them boxed up and ready, thought I would give you the box next time you stopped by, but you never came.” He could hear the accusation in her voice, barely restrained though she tried to hide it.
“I was going to Marsha. I just…” Couldn’t stand the thought of looking you in the eye. “…didn’t get around to it.”
He saw her anger rise to the surface. Somehow, the righteous fury in his eyes made him feel a bit better. This, he thought, was what he deserved.
“Couldn’t find the time, Connor? That’s just…fucking rotten.” The curse word fell heavy and flat from her lips. She was a gentle woman, not given to cursing or insults. “I can’t think of a single time my husband didn’t drop everything for you the second you needed it, didn’t come rushing when you called.”
She shoved the box at his chest and left with a rushed, angry gait. Her anger did nothing to rid him of the guilt that plagued his every waking moment though, for it was but a fraction of what he deserved, a few paltry drops when he deserved an ocean of retribution to cover him, surround him, fill his lungs. With wooden steps, he shuffled to the kitchen and upended the entire box into the garbage can. The sound of it hitting the bottom of the pail was a knife twisting in his gut.
How long he would have stood there, staring into space, he wasn’t sure, because a knock sounded at the door. Probably Marsha, come back to give him another piece of her mind. God knew he deserved that and more.
It took a second for him to realize that it was not Marsha, but Everly standing on his front step. When he said nothing to welcome her she breezed past him into the living room like she had every right to be there. Connor was too emotionally exhausted to care one way or another at the intrusion.
“Cleaning your gun, I see.” Her voice was light, mildly curious.
“Yes. It…relaxes me.” Admitting to the need for something to relax him at all was a bad idea, part of his mind realized, but his emotions were raw and exposed after Marsha’s visit.
“Cleaning it does?” Once again her tone was inquiring, but not pressing.
“Using it, cleaning it. Guns are what I’m good at, how I’ve made my living.”
“I see.” Somehow he felt like maybe she really did. “Teach me to use one?”
“Why?”
“I’ve spent weeks now trying to bring you some measure of peace. If guns are what you need to feel that way, so be it. We’ll just consider it a new type of therapy.”
The words brought a smile to his face. The spark of humor mixed with blunt honesty surprised him, and encouraged him. It was the first light emotion he’d felt in a while. Even his lust for Everly was a heavy, weighty thing, an inexorable force rather than the light, easy sexual encounters he’d had in the past.
“Guns for the crazies, huh? Something tells me the world won’t exactly embrace your methods, Doc.”
He took her to the range, though. She rode on the back of his bike. He went slower than was necessary and took a longer route, relishing the feel of her arms around his waist. The innocent contact, the trust it took to get on a motorcycle with someone, was a balm to his wounded spirit.
Everly didn’t pressure him to talk about anything that he didn’t want to. They simply enjoyed each other’s company. Connor found that when he wasn’t using the attraction between them as both shield and weapon that Everly was a woman that he admired, with a quick wit and a strong spirit. She was most definitely someone who deserved much better than he had to give.
With an unusual burst of sentiment, he decided that he would accept her easy affection today, cherish it as the gift it was. Tomorrow, though? Tomorrow he would give her a gift of his own—he would walk away. He would save her from being entangled with a monster, save her from giving a piece of herself to a man who would never measure up to deserving it.
When they came together that night, it was not a rushed and frantic encounter like the ones they’d had before. Connor laid her on his bed, tried to show her with every touch, every kiss, what he would never admit to her in words.
When he entered her warm, wet heat and plunged into her again and again it filled him with a sense of completion like nothing ever before. It was more than sex, he realized with surprise, though he wouldn’t allow himself to examine exactly what that meant.
Chapter Ten
Everly stretched, delighting in muscles that were slightly sore for all the right reasons. Last night had been an amazing experience. Connor had finally let his shields down, and what she found beneath them was spectacular. He had cherished her with his eyes, his words, his body. He had made love to her—no way could last night be described in any other words, though she’d never been one to romanticize sex. Last night had been a satisfaction so complete that a small part of her wondered if she would ever be satisfied with anything less again.
Even if that was true, it might just have been worth it. She hadn’t forgotten that she had been intent on getting inside Connor’s defenses to help him—well, maybe for just a few hours there, but who could blame her? The man was enough to make any woman forget for a while what she was about. He’d opened up to her yesterday. Not enough to begin to confide in her about the last fateful mission he’d been on, but enough for her to hope that he would in the future. And if she had to warm his bed for a while longer before he did? Well, that was definitely fine with her.
She ran one hand down Connor’s back. He shivered in response to her touch, but didn’t wake. With a smile, she decided to make herself some coffee. She would wait for a bit, let him wake up and kiss him goodbye before she left him, maybe even try to make plans to see him again.
She padded softly through the apartment, and found everything she needed to make a pot of coffee. When she went to the trash can to dump out the old grounds, she saw a box upended into the trash can. She figured she would replace the bag with a fresh one, but when she pulled out the box to take the bag from the can, there were several photos in an otherwise almost empty bag. She reached down and began to sift through the items. The photos were of Connor and Jonathan, and there were home-burned DVD’s as well. Some of the pictures showed two boys that she assumed to be them as children. Their arms were around each other in most of them, and they had the too-bright smiles and haunted eyes of children who had already been to hell and back, who were leaning on each other to survive.
She rose when she heard Connor come into the room, one of the DVD’s still in her hand.
“Well, good morn—” The words dried on his tongue, and stoic weariness replaced the sleepy warmth
that had been in his eyes.
“What is this, Connor?” She couldn’t understand what had led him to throw these things away. She watched his face as the mask of sarcasm and humor that he’d used to hide his pain from her began to appear. No, that wasn’t happening again. Not this time.
“Don’t, Connor. Just…don’t. If you think you’re going to convince me that something isn’t seriously wrong after this,” she swept one arm to motion toward the garbage can behind her, “then you must think I’m a damn idiot. I’ve skated around pushing you because I can recognize a man who won’t be forced when I see one, but I’m going to have some answers before I leave here today one way or another.”
She saw the flash of pure grief in his eyes before he banked his emotions, then saw the anger born of defensiveness well up inside him. She watched as he finally broke, sighed the old, weary sigh of a man much older than he was, a man who shouldered a lifetime of disillusionment and regret.
“Okay. Okay, Everly. You’ll get your answer, but don’t be surprised when you don’t like what you hear.”
He crossed the distance and turned her face toward his own with a gentle finger beneath her chin. His kiss was filled with yearning, with regret. Then he took her hand and gently led her back into the living room motioning for her to sit on the couch. Connor let go of her hand and sat a bit farther from her before his gaze focused on an empty corner. His voice, when he spoke, was lifeless and flat.
“Me and Jon were… He was the closest thing I had to family. We were from a pretty small town, and neither of us was all that well behaved.” He smiled, presumably at some memory of the two of them, and the reflexive expression seemed totally at odds with the anguish in his eyes.
“No one wanted to keep either of us for long, so we were in a lot of the same temporary homes together, the halfway houses for boys that were a bit too much to handle in a more… traditional atmosphere. At first it was because we were broken, hurt and lashing out. Eventually though, half our antics were just attempts to be placed in the same home again. We both felt less alone in the world when we were together. We joined the service together too, both made it through selection and training to become SEALS. Then he met Marsha and got married.”
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