Military Heroes Romantic Suspense Collection

by V. R. Marks

  Logically, he knew he didn't have anything to feel guilty about. They were healthy adults – barring the injuries – and the heat and passion had been phenomenal. Beyond scratching a common itch, their connection had been deeper than an adrenaline reaction. He had to hope Nicole felt the same way. He didn't want to compound his normal guilt trip if he read more into this encounter than she did.

  Rick waited, but the typical guilt he felt for betraying his wife with another woman didn't come this time. Eyes open he stared up at the ceiling trying to sort it out. He felt content. Maybe, like Nicole's damaged eyesight, purging the guilt was just an issue of time.

  Or the right woman.

  He should run away from such a dangerous thought, but instead, in the quiet with nothing better to do, he let it play out. Grief had been a hard road, one he dodged with work as often as possible, but he'd never been involved with anyone on his assignments before.

  Would Nicole believe that of him? Would she even want to? The woman was on a mission to reclaim her life and live it on her terms. Was there any room for him? Did he really want there to be?

  At ease. His wife had used that phrase whenever he'd retreat into himself to mull over a problem. She'd been his light, balancing his serious nature and countering the dark intensity of his career. No matter what her family thought, he'd loved her with everything he had.

  As Nicole burrowed closer with a little sigh, Rick pressed a kiss to her hair and wrapped his arms around her. He experienced a jolt, realizing what he felt wasn't an echo of a lost love, but rather the start of something new.

  What the hell was he going to do about that?

  * * *

  "Hey there." Something nudged her shoulder. "Wake up."

  Nicole rolled away from the deep voice. She wanted to stay in the warm cocoon of sleep. Her muscles felt soft and loose as if she'd spent hours under the care of a Swiss masseuse. It was divine.

  "Wake up. Just for a second. What's your name?"

  She snuggled deeper into the blanket. "Kara Reynolds." Something about that sounded wrong, but she was too sleepy to care.

  "What day is it?"

  What could that matter? "Dunno."

  Someone swore and a big hand yanked the blanket back. "Wake up." The air was cool across her skin. Skin? She was naked?

  Oh, no. It came back to her in a rush. She'd thrown herself at Rick. Granted it was the best sex she'd ever had, but still. Blind and hurting, she'd jumped him when he'd been trying to help her dress.

  "What's your name?"

  She rubbed her eyes, wondering if those really were shadows in front of her or just wishful thinking. "Nicole. Nicole Livingston," she said, reaching for the blanket.

  "What's my name?"

  That was easy. She recognized his voice, his scent, and the feel of his hands on her. "Rick Dreyer."

  "What day is it?"

  This was the concussion protocol. "Rick, I'm fine." She reached out toward the dip he made in the mattress. Intending to wave him away, she smacked his side instead. "Whoops. Sorry. I don't think I'd know what day it was even if I hadn't tried to fell a tree with my head."

  "Fair enough." He kissed her forehead. "Go back to sleep."

  "No, I'm good." She pushed her hair back from her face, wincing when she hit the bruise. "Is there an ice pack around?"

  "I'll find one if you're determined to stay awake."

  "Please." Blinking to be sure her eyes were open, she tried to follow his movements when the bed shifted as he got up. The room seemed shrouded in a thick, dark fog, but she was pretty sure she was actually seeing something.

  She brought her hand up to her face and spread her fingers wide, determined to see all five digits. They were there, sort of. Being a visual person with a vivid imagination, she quelled her enthusiasm. It was entirely possible this was just another trick of her brain.

  She tucked her hand by her side as Rick entered the room.

  "Here you go." The mattress sagged as he settled beside her. "Lean on me," he said, scooting behind her a little more.

  He shifted her until her back rested against his bare chest and her legs were caged by his. The contrasting sensation of his cotton scrubs against her skin was surprisingly sexy. He lifted her hair and gently eased her head down onto the ice pack.

  "Isn't that cold for you?"

  "I won't get frostbite that easy."

  She smiled at his humor and his tenderness. His arms came around her and she linked her hands with his at her waist. This kind of intimacy had eluded her, or rather she'd actively avoided it. She should be avoiding it now. No matter what they'd survived so far, the biker attack confirmed her struggle was far from over. "Is there a light on?"

  "There can be." He reached away from her and she heard the click of a lamp switch.

  "Wow."

  "You can see?" His arms gave her a squeeze.

  "Sort of. Instead of a dark fog, it's sort of a thick gray haze with the light on." He went very still behind her and doubt washed over her. "Unless I'm making it all up."

  His hands trailed up and down her arms. "No. Whatever you're seeing is real. It's after midnight."

  Thinking of the concussion protocol, she worried about him. "If you've been up every few hours, you're probably exhausted."

  He chuckled, the low rumble giving her a delicious little thrill. "I learned how to make my hours in a bed count."

  "I'll say." She clapped a hand to her mouth. There was no graceful way around that sort of faux pas. "I mean –"

  "Shh. Let me take it as a compliment."

  "Please do. It was great sex." She didn't have a wealth of experience with the post-coital tenderness thing as she was usually busy leaving in order to avoid attachments that gave way to slip ups that led to questions.

  "Who's Kara Reynolds?"

  Questions like that. It was difficult to push an answer past the lump in her throat. "Where'd you hear that name?" There were only two options. Either she'd said something stupid in her sleep, or Eva had uncovered the truth. It was the first time in her life she prayed for 'stupid'.

  "When I woke you earlier, you gave me that name."

  "Couldn't you just assume I had brain damage?"

  "No." His lips brushed her temple. "Want to talk about it?"

  "Did you already search the name?"

  "No."

  No? "Why not?"

  "Because no one has a perfect past. I'm only interested in yours so I know how to protect you." His voice, so gentle and sure, offered more comfort and warmth than the blanket. "I'd like you to tell me rather than read a sterile report. Assuming it's even available."

  "It's probably wrong anyway." She swallowed. "Kara Reynolds is the name I was born with. It's the name we were all supposed to forget. I wished never to hear it again after that name killed my mom and sister when I was in college."

  "I'm sorry."

  "He killed them. Clifton." She hated knowing his name because now she had to speak it. "But it was my fault."

  "You can't blame yourself for someone else's actions. Especially not a criminal determined to cover his tracks."

  "This is on me. I made a deliberate choice to enter some of my older pictures in an art show and used my home address." She shifted and the ice pack slid down her back, but the shiver that coursed through her was connected to the terrible cold of those dark memories. "I went away to school so they would be that much safer. I never intended to go to that home again. What kind of criminal tracks art shows?"

  "He went to the address listed with the contest?"

  "Yes," she breathed.

  "WITSEC didn't move them?"

  "They didn't know to move them. Officially they died because of a home invasion, but I know he killed them to get me to show myself."

  "But he didn't find you again until now?"

  She shifted. "I'm well aware how paranoid this must sound. Witness protection teaches you not to talk about it, but honestly, who would believe anyone who did talk?"

 
He stroked a hand through her hair. "I believe you."

  She tried to resist his touch, but it melted her. "My college record shows I was awarded a special internship in Switzerland."

  "Nice. Were you really there?"

  "No. I was in a research lab in Maine. It kept me off his radar though."

  "What kind of research?"

  "Lobsters, tides, and ocean temperatures. It was interesting, but I would have preferred being out there with my camera."

  "He didn't come after you when you got back to school?"

  "No. I insisted on going back to finish my degree and they arranged for security to shadow me for a while." She pleated the blanket between her fingers. "But everything was quiet until now. WITSEC checks in at regular intervals and it's situation normal."

  "In my experience that isn't exactly cause for celebration."

  "Meaning what?"

  "He either got caught with his hand in something else and was under close scrutiny or they had him working on a case that demanded 110 percent and distracted him from you."

  "Too bad he couldn't stay distracted."

  "Uh-huh."

  Rick was thinking. About what she couldn't fathom. He'd proven himself a good strategist and must have been a real asset in the field. She was thinking it was past time to move out of his arms and give herself the physical distance that might ease the heartache that was obviously on the horizon.

  She'd done some stupid things with long-reaching consequences, but falling for the man holding her now would top the list. He had a life and a team, and she knew he wouldn't just walk away from that, no matter what threat Clifton posed.

  There was a dignity, an honor about Rick she admired and knew she'd never be able to emulate. She'd been running too long. As much as she wanted to make a stand, she didn't know how to live through such an effort.

  "When have you been around gangs lately?"

  "I haven't. I really don't spend any time where gang bangers hang out."

  "But they were at the fire."

  "You're thinking about the kid with the knife."

  "There were some others in the parking lot."

  She sat up, taking the sheet with her, and ignoring the dizziness that accompanied the swift movement. "I thought you made that up for the investigators poking around the scene."

  "You didn't see them?"

  "I was looking for suits and badges, not hats, tattoos, or colors."

  "Understandable." He laid his hand over hers, stilling her nervous pleating of the blanket. "But I don't believe you."

  "That's insulting."

  "With your eye for composition and detail, I don't believe you miss many details whether you're looking for them or not."

  Caught, she sighed. "Fine. I did see some familiar colors."

  "Familiar how?"

  "People sport similar colors sometimes near the high-risk community clinics. But I've never met any of them personally."

  "Were you on the packaging team for the new drug coming to market?"

  "No. What does that have to do with anything?"

  "Eva copied me on an email she sent to Allie. Photo arrays of gang bangers."

  "Why?"

  "Allie was attacked – she's fine," he assured her when she gasped. "The fingerprints taken from the perps matched known gang bangers in the Virginia area."

  "That's insane. Allie doesn't have any gang – oh." She clapped a hand over her mouth.

  "What?"

  "It has to be the charity thing we did at the clinic. I went with her to take the publicity shots. It's a new program that donates essential meds to communities in need."

  "Two gangs."

  He was moving too fast for her. "Two gangs," she repeated dumbly.

  "I'd bet a month's salary the apartment building fire is related to Allie's case and has nothing to do with your past." He rolled out of the bed and she watched the big shadow of him cross to the chair and rummage around.

  "Why burn down my apartment? What did I do?"

  "Your job is all it would take. You knew where Allie was going. Whoever is setting Allie up was trying to eliminate loose ends."

  "Like the instant messaging record on my laptop." She didn't like it, but she could see the logic.

  "Yup. I have your camera. Tell me what the arsonist's signature looks like."

  "There's always a delete sign near the ignition point. You know the circle with a line through it? If this was one of his fires, the signature will be in the apartment where the fire started. I doubt I got any useful shots from our vantage point." A mental review of the angles and views she'd taken confirmed her conclusion. "Unless he started the fire outside the building and I didn't catch it."

  "No. That fire clearly started in your apartment." She heard him sigh and felt exactly the same frustration. "Why doesn't the signature get burned away in the fire?"

  "I don't know a lot about arson, but way back when, experts said it was in the way he directs the initial burn away from the mark."

  She heard him zip her camera bag closed. Then his hands softly drummed a rhythmic pattern against his thighs.

  "Arsonists have favorite materials, right?"

  "Yes. That summer you practically made yourself a suspect if you purchased lighter fluid for a barbeque."

  "No one mentioned lighter fluid at your apartment. And the control valve for the sprinklers had been shut off."

  The whole thing made her sick to her stomach. "You think the gang from the neighborhood clinic set my apartment on fire?"

  "Yes. Probably hired by Allie's boss. He had to make sure any photos you had on your computer or anywhere else were destroyed."

  "And Clifton just happened to see my face on the news and take advantage?"

  "I think Clifton has known your location and he's just been waiting for the right moment to strike."

  It made a certain sick sense. She'd been doing the same thing, biding her time and waiting for the right moment to flee. "We should go back and check the gang house for the signature."

  "No way in hell."

  "But if we can tie that fire to the fires when I was a kid maybe they'll tie that arsonist to Clifton. He's got to be in the area. Won't that push the prosecution to take action?"

  He wrapped her in a strong, soothing hug and tucked her head under his chin. "I know you want out from under this. No one deserves it more. But you said it yourself. They took the pictures. All the evidence is in a box in an evidence locker somewhere –"

  "Not all the evidence."

  His whole body stilled for a long moment and then he stepped back, holding her at arm's length. "What do you mean?"

  Without his touch, she felt cold and alone again. It took a moment to get her voice to cooperate. "My friends and I went out together to find the arsonist. I wasn't the only one with a camera, but I was the only one who saw what Clifton did. The only one who was seen by him."

  "Which means what? Be specific."

  "You have to understand, I was just a kid."

  "I get that."

  "The police confiscated my film and my camera when Clifton accused me, but it wasn't the only film I had from those days. I'd been going through a roll of film almost every day. When I got home that day, relieved and terrified, I swapped out that day's film for the roll I'd shot the day before."

  "Which was?"

  "A series of previous fire sites showing the delete signature."

  "You and your friends had been crawling through arson sites."

  She nodded, hating the censure in his tone.

  "You were insane. Where were your parents?"

  "We weren't insane. We were kids wanting to be heroes. Up until that summer nothing dangerous or exciting happened in our community. And my friend, who shall forever remain nameless, crawled out my bedroom window with that last roll of film when the police came knocking on my door with a search warrant. I didn't even try to process that roll of film until after we were relocated the second time."

  "What did you find
?"

  She swallowed. It had been years since she let herself think about that image. "The last pictures on that roll were overexposed of course. I don't think I realized at the time that I was still working the shutter and the film advance."

  "Nicole, tell me."

  "I have the negatives." She gulped air and tried to get the rest of it out. "Negatives of Clifton shooting my neighbor," she finished on a hoarse whisper.

  He was so quiet she knew he must be judging her for a coward – or worse – for not handing over such damning evidence when she discovered it. She wished her sight would hurry up and repair itself. She needed to see his face, to read the expression and emotions in his eyes. To know if there was any hope.

  She knew before she jumped him that this 'relationship' would end sooner rather than later. Knew anything other than a flash and burn was a pipe dream. But she never thought she'd have to walk away with him thinking the worst of her.

  "What was I supposed to say? Even with the pictures, I was just a kid and a potential arson suspect. Maybe if I'd understood more of the legal process I would have done things differently. But it just seemed like sharing that picture meant we'd have to move again. My sister already hated me."

  "I'm sure that's not true."

  "Spoken like an only child."

  "I've had plenty of brothers in the Army. And don't forget Eva."

  "But who do you go home to for holidays?" She regretted the words the moment they were out. "I'm sorry." She didn't need to see his expression to know she'd hurt him. "Rick –"

  "Don't apologize. You have a point," he said, his voice steady. "Special Forces and dark ops are a different world and require a different outlook. Even now you'd say the recovery team is my family."

  He'd gone clinical, becoming the consummate professional again. A train whistle sounded in the distance, low and lonely, a perfect echo of the empty feeling inside her. "Where are the negatives, Nicole?"

  Shivering, feeling over-exposed, she wished for the armor of real clothing rather than the sheet redolent with sex and bad judgment.

  "At the beach."

  "There are several of those along the major train route."

  "South," she said before he could ask again. "Myrtle Beach."