Compromised Identity

by Jodie Bailey

  Jessica’s attention dropped to her coffee mug. She sat it on the rail and swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”

  “I knew there was a likelihood I’d get found out overseas, so I mailed data back to Ashley. When they hacked me, they found out and went after her. I failed to protect Ashley, and it’s something I’ve never been able to live down. Now they know I’m supposed to be protecting you.”

  “So even though Kyle Randall has been arrested and I’m no longer the only one who can identify them, they came after me to send a message to you.”

  The edge to her voice sliced his heart. “What they want to do is worse than killing me, and if I drop the investigation, they might leave you alone.” Or kill her anyway, if they ever realized how much she was starting to mean to him.

  “You can’t do that.”

  “I know. We don’t negotiate with terrorists.” He tried to ignore the tightness in his chest. “But they want to reinforce the fact they’re not happy I messed with them and that we haven’t won yet. They’re trying to prove a point.” That I’m a danger to everyone I care about.

  “This is personal for you.” She edged closer until she was almost touching him. Even from that distance, her warmth transferred between them, palpable on his arm. “What did they do to you?”

  He tensed at her nearness and shifted to the side, putting distance between them but not stepping away. Other than his debriefing, he hadn’t told anyone what had happened, and he hadn’t even told the full truth then. Everyone would judge him, would treat him with wariness or pity, as if he was some kind of wounded animal.

  But it was festering inside him, and answering Jessica Dylan’s question seemed like the only medicine that would stop the pain. He wanted to maintain silence, but something enveloped them and shut out the rest of the world, creating a place where he was safe to air everything. “By the time I figured out they were on to me and I warned Ashley, it was too late. They dressed as Afghan soldiers and took me off the COP. They figured out I’d used Ashley as the cipher for the data I’d encrypted, so they tried to take her, too. She was the only one who could decode the files. They brought me back to the States to use us as leverage against each other.” He turned to the low porch ceiling, chest tight. “If it hadn’t been for Ethan, she’d be dead.” Ethan had been able to get to Ashley in time to pull her from an assassin’s grasp, but that hadn’t stopped the bad guys from coming at her again and again. When Ethan’s partner was revealed as a double agent, it had nearly been the end of all their lives.

  “Ashley’s not dead.” Jessica inched closer, but she didn’t touch him. “She’s safe, moving on. And you’re not. What did they do that keeps you from sleeping and from...trusting?”

  A day’s worth of beard scratched against Sean’s fingers as he dragged his hand across his mouth and gripped his chin. He couldn’t tell her. It wasn’t fair to let his nightmares become hers. The visions swirled in his stomach, heightening the acidity in the coffee and twisting like a knife. Even now, here, in the clear air of her back porch, he could smell burning flesh, feel heat that defied description, that burned so intensely white-hot on his skin it made him sweat cold. Their threats toward Jessica only intensified the memories.

  “It’s okay.” Her voice came in a whisper so low, he could barely hear it.

  He dropped his hands to the rail in front of him and held on tight, the jagged edges of the wood digging splinters into his fingers. He couldn’t tell her.

  But if he didn’t, the images might kill him.

  His eyes drifted shut. “They shot me. In the shoulder. Point blank.” His captors had been trying to send a message to Ethan and Ashley, a message that said they’d stop at nothing. Sean had tried to bite back the scream, tried to keep Ethan from hearing over the phone, but he couldn’t. It was too much on a mind already stretched to its thinnest, on a body already broken. “But I never told them anything to compromise the mission.”

  “You wouldn’t. It’s not in you to give up.” She said it as if she believed it, believed him. “What else?”

  She didn’t ask out of curiosity, nor out of pity, but out of something that said she wanted to understand, wanted to know why he ticked the way he did. And just as he’d never wanted anyone else to know before, Sean needed Jessica to know.

  Everything. He needed her to know everything about him—good, bad, mediocre. All of it.

  Letting go of the rail, afraid he’d fly off the earth without an anchor, he shoved the sleeves of his sweatshirt to his elbows and held out his arms. There was no going back.

  The scars shone faintly in the moonlight, crisscrossing in lines smoother than the rest of his skin.

  Jessica gasped softly. “They burned you.”

  Among other things. “With a metal rod.”

  Her fingers inched closer, hesitated, then she cupped his hand in hers and traced the longest scar that ran diagonally from his elbow to his wrist. Her fingers sent chills up his arms, but not the kind from his nightmares.

  These were another thing entirely. He watched her fingers, then followed her arm up to her eyes.

  She was looking at him, not at his scars, in a way that said she knew him better than either of them thought she did, that said she could read everything he wasn’t saying. “You’re stronger than you think you are.”

  “No.” He hated weakness, had never wanted one soul’s pity. He didn’t deserve it for what he’d done to Ashley. He deserved the pain he’d endured, every beating, every burn. The whole thing was his fault.

  But he couldn’t make himself pull away from the comfort he found with Jessica Dylan.

  Her grip tightened on his hand as she laid her fingers flat on his arm, covering his scars. She leaned closer. “You are.” He read the words on her lips more than he heard them.

  She believed that. Made him want to believe it, too. He wanted that kind of faith, wanted it deep inside, where she was starting to make him believe she could chase the nightmares away.

  For the first time since the back wall of his office blew out, he was in the moment, in the reality of life, and it wasn’t crushing him. He didn’t have to be fully on guard.

  Jessica Dylan made him feel as if he hadn’t died that day.

  He ought to back away, but he couldn’t. If he did, he’d be cold. Death would creep back in. He needed her, and if he took this step forward, he could never, ever take it back.

  He slipped his hand from hers and reached up to lay his fingers against her cheeks, feeling tears there. And without caring about the consequences, needing to prolong that sensation of warmth and life, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, then found her mouth and kissed her, trying to take in the spark inside of her to relight his own.

  * * *

  Jessica wrapped her arms around Sean’s neck and pulled him closer, deepening the moment, drawing it out, trying to erase the memories of what he’d told her. He needed to feel here and now, safe. She could protect him, comfort him, love him if he’d let her.

  And she wanted to, more than anything.

  When he broke the kiss, she held on tighter and pressed her cheek to his, trying to communicate without words that his past was over, that right now he was safe. That, to the best of her ability, she would never let anything hurt him again.

  That she had somehow managed to fall soul deep in love with him.

  For a long moment he let her hold him, seeming to relax and sink into the peace she was offering. Then he straightened, set his hands on her shoulders and stepped back, opening a distance between them that filled with the cool night air and seeped through her sweatshirt, under her skin and into her heart.

  “This can’t happen.” Sean took another step away and ran his hand along the back of his neck, shaking his head. “We can’t do this.”

  “You can’t let them win by living in what they did to you.”
His regret tore through her heart. All the times she’d sensed he was in pain, she’d never dreamed it was a brokenness this deep. “You can’t keep hurting alone.”

  “And I can’t involve you, either.” He dropped his hand and gestured toward the darkness filling her backyard. “These people will kill you. Right now, they’re only after you because they know I’m the one protecting you. They think they can undermine me by proving to me I can’t function as a soldier, that I can’t complete the mission, that I can’t protect the ones I...I care about. They play psychological games and they want me to suffer.” He dropped his hand to his side and shook his head again, as if he was trying to throw off a vision. “Jess, if they suspect for one moment that you’re important to me in any way, they won’t just kill you. They’ll torture you in ways that your nightmares never even imagined. The things they threatened to do to Ashley were horrible and unspeakable, and she was only a friend, not... If they figure out that I...” He walked to the other side of the porch and stared down the street toward the river.

  That you what? She’d never wanted anyone to finish a sentence more in her whole life. Say it. Say you love me.

  There was no way to deny her heart had gone out to him almost from the moment she first saw him. Tonight, his confession—it all amped everything to emotions that should be impossible for the short time they’d known each other.

  But she couldn’t deny them. She loved him. And there he stood, on the edge of telling her he felt the same, yet he was letting terrorists rob them of their lives. “You can’t live like this.”

  He turned his head up toward the sky. “Tell me about it.”

  “You can’t live in fear of them forever.”

  He laughed, the sound brittle in the rapidly cooling air. “Funny thing is, it’s not them I’m afraid of. It’s me.” His posture stiffened under his dark blue sweatshirt. “I sleep, and I see them. The minute my guard drops and I start to relax, they’re there.” He finally turned back to her, and the desperate look on his face nearly stopped her heart. “Do you know what it’s like to be terrified that if you go to sleep, you’ll wake up right back in a living nightmare? Your mind never drops its guard.” He sniffed. “I can’t remember the last time I got solid rest. I’m scared, Jess. Scared I’m going to lose my mind. Scared that if the Army finds out, they’ll chapter me out as unfit. Scared that...”

  “That what?” She stayed in place, even though she wanted to go to him and make this all better somehow.

  “That if I let go and I let myself...feel this thing...that if I feel something for you and you’re ever in danger and I have to save you, I won’t be able to. That the stakes will be too high, and I’ll freeze up and lose you forever.”

  There was nothing to say. No words. What he was saying didn’t compute into anything with an answer. Sean had bought the lie that he was weak, broken, unworthy.

  “I can’t feel anything. I won’t. There’s too much to lose if I do. The only way to keep you safe from them and from me is to keep you at a distance.” He broke contact and headed for the back door. “I need to get you back inside. For all I know, they’re watching us right now. And if they are...”

  If they were, that kiss had given the enemy everything they needed to destroy both of them. But none of that mattered.

  It was one thing to die on the outside, to have your physical being eradicated, but a whole other thing to let your soul be slaughtered, and Sean was standing on the edge of that death even now. Desperation sparked against Jessica’s skin. “Seems to me you’re relying a whole lot on Sean Turner and not nearly enough on God.” It was true. Sean couldn’t do it on his own, and she couldn’t do it for him, either. The clarity of that thought hit harder than his kiss had earlier.

  “God?” He stopped halfway to the door, his back to her, and laughed. “Don’t even.”

  The tone of his voice was colder than the air around her, chilling her from the inside out. “What are you saying?”

  He turned to face her, as dead in his eyes as if she’d shot him. “That God couldn’t care less, Dylan.”

  The words were a physical blow to the gut. Jessica took a step back. It had never occurred to her that Sean didn’t share her faith. To hear him put it so boldly tightened her insides in physical pain, the rejection of her Savior personal. “What? Are you saying He doesn’t exist?”

  His lip curled. “I’m saying He doesn’t care. It’s pretty clear He exists.” He waved a hand toward the sky. “None of that happened by accident. But does He care?” Sean shook his head and shoved his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt. “Not one bit. If He did, my life would have turned out a whole lot different. Both of our lives would have turned out a whole lot different.”

  “Sean...”

  “Explain it to me then. If He cares so much, why kill my parents? Not just my parents, but the couple I thought of as a second family? Why let Ashley get shot and then, just when she was healing, let her get an infection that nearly killed her? Then leave her riddled with fear that robbed her of her career and sent her down a life marked by Plan B? Why let me get not just taken but...” He waved away the words. “Never mind. You get the point.”

  “I really don’t.” Jessica felt the sting of tears, but where they came from was too muddled to understand. “It sounds to me like you had two parents who loved you and a bonus family besides. Some of us are lucky to get one. One parent who thinks we’re worth something.”

  “Jess...” His posture relaxed as though he realized he’d crossed a line.

  “No. He gave you Ashley as your family. He saved her, and out of that mess He gave her Ethan. He saved you. And out of this mess, there’s a better thing coming. You’re not dead yet. In case you missed it, you’re still breathing.”

  He pulled himself straighter, the wall between them growing with the motion. “Am I?”

  “You were two minutes ago.” There was no doubt. Her lips were still too warm. “If you’re not now, it’s because you’re holding your breath and wishing to die.”

  His face tensed and he jerked open the door. “Get inside, Jess. This conversation’s over.”

  FOURTEEN

  Sean sat straight up on the couch, kicking at the blankets tangled around his legs, cold sweat coating his skin. What was that noise? His breath came hard, and he fought for rhythm, finally getting his lungs to work in his favor.

  The house was silent, lit softly by the just-risen sun edging through the curtains. He pulled his sweatshirt straight and dragged his hand across his eyes. How long had he been asleep? He glanced at his watch. Three hours? Three blessedly uninterrupted hours?

  He sat back against the couch, swiping the sweat from his brow. Three hours and no nightmares. Spilling his guts had been good—even if it was the worst mistake he’d ever made. The wounded hurt in Jessica’s expression when he’d told her God had checked out of his life had almost made him take back everything he’d said so he could pull her close again.

  What if Jessica was right? He’d lain awake turning her words over for what felt like hours before succumbing to the heaviest sleep in recent memory. If only he could go back to that blessedly dark place and not have to face her this morning.

  A click drifted from the front door. Sean sat up and eased toward his gun on the coffee table, not wanting to move too fast and alert the person on the other side of the door to his presence.

  “It’s me.” Tate’s voice crept around the opening, chased by his hand and then the rest of his body as he slipped in and shut the door. “Hold your fire.” He grinned around the words.

  Sean relaxed and propped his feet up on the coffee table, hoping to act as if nothing had happened the night before, as if everything was exactly the same as it had been when he’d booted Tate out of the backyard last night, even though the world had shifted and would never return to its normal axis. He’d said t
oo much, watched any chance he had with Jessica burn into ashes when he told her everything—when he told her God didn’t care. That confusion, that hurt... She’d never respect him again.

  And it was for the best.

  Tate was not the kind of guy to buy into an act. “You slept?” He stopped and arched an eyebrow, waiting for Sean to confess something.

  Too late. Sean had already confessed everything, and it had only made things worse. Still, he wasn’t going to give Tate any more than the man had asked for. “Yeah. I got some rack time, believe it or not.”

  “Took me forever to figure out what the noise from the living room was.” Tate stretched and touched the ceiling, stifling a yawn. “I circled the house twice before I figured out you were in here inhaling the wallpaper.”

  Sean scratched his neck. “I do not snore.” That could be deadly in the field.

  “No, you don’t. But you also don’t sleep so sound you missed me coming into the house around four-thirty. For half a second, I almost checked your pulse because I thought you were dead.”

  Ironic, since last night was the first time Sean had felt alive in nearly a year. And he’d had to put himself right back into his own tomb.

  “That’s a nasty look on your face. Worse than your usual.” Tate stopped at the head of the hallway on his way to the office, where he was bunking on a daybed. “You okay? Or is it that you don’t know how to act with a couple of hours of sleep tucked in your pocket?”

  “That’s it. My brain hasn’t adjusted yet.” Sean had opened his mouth enough the past two days. Tate didn’t need to be on the receiving end of his confessions, too.