Military Heroes Romantic Suspense Collection

by V. R. Marks

  She raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. "You've probably figured it has to do with Abe's son."

  He shrugged. "Stands to reason."

  "Yeah." She gave a gusty sigh. "And I'm stalling."

  He waited. When she didn't say anything more, he got up and turned off the overhead light.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I'll stay here tonight."

  "That's ridiculous."

  "Then I'll stay until you fall asleep again."

  "Carson, that's not necessary."

  He ignored her, settling back in the rocker, feet up on the corner of the bed. "Talk, don't talk, doesn't matter. I just don't think you want to be alone."

  How did he know that? Eva wondered. What was inside him that just knew the right thing to say to her? She couldn't see his features in the dark, wasn't sure she wanted to. She knew he'd have that steady kindness in his eyes. The same kind, compassionate look he wore when Mrs. Jackson asked him something about her new iPhone.

  She was suddenly irritated with his kindness. What would it take to turn him speechless? Would he have a kind, ready answer if she told him she wanted him close – not for comfort – but for something much more elemental?

  The attraction was there and she knew he'd been more than willing to lock lips in the kitchen after breakfast. He'd been more than willing to turn her soft kiss that had been meant to soothe into something heady and steamy after the intruder's attack.

  She almost voiced the invitation, but stopped herself. He'd turn her down. Gently, of course, with a wry smile before he posed a question of his own. A question about the source of her nightmares.

  She listened to his steady breathing and wondered if he'd managed to drift off. "Carson?"

  "Here."

  "The mission hasn't been declassified yet."

  "Okay."

  More of that steady breathing. Why did he have to be so damned understanding? "He fooled me."

  "Hmm."

  And she wasn't going to fool Carson. Hold her tongue or tell him the truth, but no middle ground with this man. She sifted through the details, picking out the relevant points that wouldn't breach security.

  "You know when you're absolutely sure you're right about something?"

  "Yeah. I'm an oldest kid."

  She smiled. "And sometimes that certainty causes you to interpret things to support the conclusion you've already drawn."

  "That works on both sides of any debate." He cleared his throat. "It's called spin. Or perception."

  "Let's go with perception in this case. I had one scenario in mind and everything backed it up. On the surface."

  "The surface is all you've got most of the time."

  "Wrong." That was the hitch for her. "It was my job to go deeper, to look at what wasn't there and figure out what it meant to the bigger picture."

  "Ross thinks you were set up."

  Really? She wondered why, but it didn't matter. "He's a good friend, but Ross wasn't there that night."

  "Does every mission go as planned?"

  "Yeah, most of them do."

  "But not all."

  "No." She wondered if he knew how to be anything other than nice. "My role was to guide the rescue –"

  "Based on the information you had." The rocker creaked. "You did that. Everyone has a bad day, falls for the bad joke. I get the impression your team never blamed you for what happened."

  She sniffled. "I can still hear the chatter of machine guns operated by people who shouldn't have been there. They were pinned down because of me."

  "That's where the nightmare starts?"

  "Yes," she whispered. "Every time." She shivered and hugged her knees.

  "How did they get out?"

  "What?"

  "I know what you were doing is classified, but is it still classified how you were doing it?"

  She forced herself to think. To replay that night step by step.

  "The shooting surprised me. It was too early as they approached the warehouse and it took some time to assimilate the reports from each position."

  "But you did it."

  "Not without casualties."

  "Correct me if I'm wrong, but Special Forces soldiers know the risks that go with the job."

  "Yes. My job is – was – to minimize those risks. I got cocky and they got caught in a trap. I was so sure it was a simple, straightforward rescue." She listed off the cues she'd missed, the paper thin trail until he stopped her.

  "You're doing it now."

  "What?"

  "Spinning. Twisting the perspective. You're skewing all the evidence to support your current theory that you suck at your job. It's my understanding you don't suck. That, to the contrary, you are damn good at what you do."

  "Well, yeah," she mumbled. "I was."

  "The situation was a mess, I'm sure. But they got out. Thanks to you."

  "The hostage died."

  "Cut yourself some slack. You must've done something right or Mr. Morcos wouldn't have hired you now."

  "You're awfully confident for a guy who wasn't there."

  "Bart was there."

  "Yeah. So?"

  The rocker creaked some more, then stopped. "The man stepped in front of a bullet for you and zip it," he ordered, "before you say 'maybe'."

  "Yes, sir."

  "That has a nice ring to it."

  His voice reflected the grin she knew was on his face.

  "Facing Abe, dredging it all up again, is tough."

  "Even more so if you're piling on."

  "I suppose." She knew he was right. Knew the self-doubt and second guessing were making her assessment more difficult. "Thanks for making me feel better."

  "Anytime."

  She expected him to return to the room across the hall. Instead the rocker kept creaking that soothing rhythm, lulling her closer to sleep. Except she couldn't sleep as a new image kept her awake for a completely different reason.

  She'd been disoriented when he'd stormed into the room, but she wouldn't soon forget the view of those long, well-muscled legs and ripped abs on either side of a pair of gym shorts. Since high school she considered herself a fan of the bulky, barrel-chested type, but the lean, trim form of Carson was sure hitting all the right buttons tonight. He really needed to go before she did something stupid.

  "You're staying?"

  "You're still awake."

  Huh. She closed her eyes and recited the Night Before Christmas poem to herself. It was the happiest, most innocuous thing she could remember. Almost remember. Getting stuck on seven out of eight reindeer names gave her brain enough time to leap back to Carson.

  She took it as a sign. "My mom used to tell me once you understood the nightmare you could control it. Change it up with other thoughts or memories."

  "I've done that. Go to sleep and give it a try."

  "It's never worked with this nightmare." She eased out from under the covers, crawled toward the foot of the bed.

  The rocker stopped creaking. "Eva?"

  "Right here." She reached out and touched his ankle, trailed her fingers up to his knee. The rocker creaked once as she leaned forward and braced her hands on his strong thighs.

  "What are you doing?" His hands covered hers and his hoarse voice sent a ripple over her skin. "Creating a better memory." She brushed her lips against his, offering a taste, an invitation, a wealth of seductive promise in that one point of contact.

  She couldn't have anticipated the charge, the absolutely electric response zipping through her system.

  His hand cruised up and over her arms, skated down her back to settle on her hips.

  Those wide palms dragged her forward into his lap with an unmistakable urgency as he teased her lips apart.

  Matching his enthusiasm, she pushed her hands into his hair and held on tight as her tongue tangled with the heat and demands of his.

  The faint taste of peppermint toothpaste was eclipsed by something darker, more enticing. A raw something that called her every nerve
to attention.

  Her sheer tank top was no real barrier against the heat of his skin and she trembled when he caressed her breast with the back of his fingers.

  "Do it again." She arched into his touch, wanting more, wanting everything.

  The kiss, the tender demands of his mouth on hers, spun out, and she thought she could happily drift on the dizzying pleasure forever.

  Then he pulled back.

  Her breath sawed in and out of her chest. "What?"

  "Wow."

  She smiled, unable to come up with a better description. "Yeah." She trailed her fingers over his shoulder, across his chest.

  He trapped her hand, raised it to his lips. "As much as I'd like to follow through…"

  She interrupted with a gentle nibble of his earlobe and smiled as the goosebumps rippled down his neck.

  He scooped her into his arms and stood, carrying her around to the other side of the bed.

  "You have good moves," she said, expecting him to crawl under the covers with her.

  But he pulled the covers up to her chin. "You need rest and we have a date at the range in the morning." He leaned down and kissed her on the nose. "Sleep well."

  She heard him move the rocker back into place and he was almost out the door when she found her voice. "Carson, wait!"

  "I'm trying to do the right thing, here, Eva."

  "So I didn't misread the signals?"

  "Lord, no. This just isn't the right, umm, timing."

  "Timing?"

  "Yeah."

  He had her so amped up she was willing to pick a fight. Worse, she was ready to beg. She clamped her lips shut on that unacceptable urge and put her back to the door.

  Carson waited another few seconds, then bolted for his own room. If she'd said anything he would have leaped into her bed, to hell with the consequences.

  He checked the safety on his sidearm and then slid it under the edge of the mattress.

  Timing? What kind of coward offered up a lame excuse like that?

  In bed, he stared at the dark, listened to the night, and prayed for sleep. It was a futile effort.

  She was the one. He'd known it this afternoon when she'd kissed him instead of taking the revolver. Something had changed, shifted deep inside when their lips met, and he'd just known.

  It sounded sappy in his head, but it was simply the truth.

  He tried to tell himself that kiss had been sympathy on her part, a way to soothe the raw edges after the fight. Sympathy wasn't what he wanted from her, wasn't what he wanted to give either.

  Rolling over, he punched the pillow. He could practically hear his brother mocking him if word ever got out about this.

  What man in his right mind walked away from a lap full of a woman like Eva Battaglia?

  But he didn't want to be the quick diversion she used to get over a nightmare. He wanted to be there, beside her for the long term.

  How that might work was too complex for his sex-addled brain to figure out right now. All he knew for sure was his gut instinct told him jumping in too fast would backfire.

  His body ached and the need nearly drove him back across the hall. He practically dared the universe to send an intruder this way now so he could channel the sexual frustration into a more productive outlet.

  With grim visions of a fistfight running through his mind, he finally fell asleep.

  Chapter 10

  Eva got up early after a restless night and prepared a casserole for breakfast so Carson could eat whenever he came downstairs. No way was she subjecting herself to sharing a meal with him after last night's humiliation.

  Her dreams – full of Carson naturally – were as disruptive as the nightmares. The only consolation had been knowing the attraction was mutual.

  Why wouldn't he act on it?

  She supposed it wasn't the most pressing question facing her today, but it sure as hell felt like it. He'd been so damn nice, tucking her into bed when she'd done everything but strip naked and throw her legs over her head.

  After her cold shower, she'd patted concealer under her eyes and applied plenty of mascara and a shiny lip gloss. Anything to hide evidence of her sleepless night.

  Lighting up the computers, she decided if timing was his issue, she'd solve this pain in the ass case and remove the obstacle.

  She hadn't gotten anything useful out of the video feed Bakr had put on Matheson. The taunting text messages had ceased for the moment. Ross assured her Bart and everyone else involved on that mission were now in safe locations.

  It was progress and it narrowed his focus on her.

  She opened the instant message window and asked the ghost on the other end if the stuff in the syringe had been identified yet.

  "Come on," she coached under her breath when he didn't answer right away. Her money was on sodium pentothal. Truth serum made sense after talking with Abe. Bakr wanted her alive and willing to share whatever he thought she knew.

  And there was the real question: What did she know?

  She'd been over the transcripts and reports. Replaying it in her head wasn't getting her anywhere. The lack of sleep wasn't helping. She rolled her head from side to side, wishing she could just shake loose the missing details.

  Hearing Carson on the stairs, she sent another question to the ghost, this one requesting the footage of the Matheson rescue.

  The ghost replied immediately, answering both questions and giving her plenty of details to sort through, which kept her in the den and out of the kitchen.

  It had been truth serum in the syringe. Clearly Bakr was serious about getting some lost detail out of her head. Old school and relatively risky, but a sign of his desperation. She set the laptop aside and paced while the video buffered. The walls were closing in on her, but she knew it wasn't the confines of the house. Her agitation had more to do with the hole in her memory.

  "Hey," Carson said softly from the doorway. "Are you okay?"

  "Sure," she answered brightly, choosing to assume he was referring to the present and not the recent past. "Why?"

  "You were swearing. Well, I can't be sure about that."

  "Probably. I can't shake it loose. They all think I know something." She growled. "All I know is that I don't know what I'm missing." She pushed her hands through her hair, then thrust them out in front of her. "It's right in front of me. Except it's not."

  "Hold on. You changed languages again. I'm only fluent in English and Southern English."

  She paused, did a double take, and laughed. "I suppose that qualifies as bilingual." Running the risk of revealing her true emotions, she turned to face him, and gasped. Angry bruises marred his skin where the intruder had tried to choke him. "Your throat is a mess!"

  "Looks worse than it feels." He rubbed the scruff shadowing his cheeks and wouldn't quite meet her gaze. "I won't mind skipping a few days of shaving. You were saying?"

  "We should put something on that."

  "Forget it. Tell me what you need. Preferably in English this time."

  You. For a long moment, it was the only answer she could come up with. Who would Bakr lash out at next in this deadly game of cat and mouse? "I should just set up a meet."

  Carson's gaze found hers now, hard and unyielding. "No."

  "No?" Folding her arms across her chest she waited for an explanation.

  "Fine." He held up his hands. "I'm just the bodyguard and they told me it was my job to accompany you wherever the case led. I'll go with you to meet him, if you get approval from Ross and Nichols."

  Knowing that had less chance than a glass of ice water in hell, she leashed her ever-ready temper. "Sorry. I'm just mad at him. What I need is a look at the flash drive. But that means the FBI will see it too," she added when he sent her a questioning look. "I'm sure Abe doesn't want that."

  "Abe who deals black market weapons on the side?"

  "Fair enough. But life's not always that cut and dried. If I had to get over my black and white way of thinking you do too."

  "Is th
at a requirement to stay on the job?"

  It was obvious he was teasing, but now she was curious. "Come on. You can't be saying all the citizens of Haleswood land on either the good or bad side of the fence. Someone around here must make gray area choices."

  "There may be one or two real people around here. But no one's dealing weapons."

  "What a relief. Besides, I'm supposed to protect the client's interests."

  "Sorry to sound judgmental." He held up his hands in surrender. "You know the client and you know what you're doing."

  "I'm glad you think so." She flopped back down on the couch. "It might require that syringe to figure out what I don't know that I know."

  Carson laughed and that deep rumble just rippled right though her. Thank heaven he couldn't see what he did to her. Bad enough she'd nearly given in to the urge to sneak into his bed last night.

  "We could swing by the topiary gardens on the way to the range."

  "Why?"

  "My grandmother would let you have a few minutes with her computer. The FBI isn't tied into that one."

  While she wouldn't put it past Nichols to anticipate that kind of move, it was highly unlikely. "That can work. I'm more surprised we're still going to the range."

  "I want you familiar with that revolver."

  "Hey, I'm not complaining, it's just the security factor I guess."

  "Sheriff Cochran says the perimeter team will keep things secure here. No one else knows we're going, so we should be safe. And obviously no one knows about the extra stop to see my grandma."

  "You're not afraid my presence will be a safety concern for your grandmother or the rest of your family?"

  "Nah," he said, shaking his head. "Let me clean up the dishes and then we'll head out."

  "Okay. I'll shut things down." Just as she moved the mouse a signal sounded.

  "What's that?"

  Forgetting her hormones, she motioned Carson over. "Facial recognition. Hot damn! Meet Bakr Morcos."

  "Not a friendly looking guy."

  Another window chimed, even as she was bringing up the location on the first one. "Well look at that. The ghost is actually helpful."

  "What did he do?"

  "He's got a second hit. Oh." She reached out, clutched Carson's arm. "The address is Queens. I – Oh." Her stomach pitched, threatened to toss back her breakfast. "They shop there. My family." Panic gripped her heart in an icy vise, her composure splintered. All of her positive affirmations about standing tall, about not playing Bakr's game, were beyond her reach now. "He's been to my house."