“‘Grab’ me? Why would you think that? And how do you even know he was looking at me?”
“In my line of work . . .” He allowed his voice to trail off, then he shook his head. “Come on, let’s just get you off the street, okay?” He touched the small of her back and directed her toward the entrance.
Once they were back in her place, Owen locked up, sliding the chain in place. “You really have no idea who that was?”
“Who knows if he was even watching me?” But . . . She thought back to the description of the deliveryman Phillip had given her: tall, dark hair, dark eyes. He could be one in a million. “I don’t know, maybe it could be him,” she said as if he’d been following along with her line of thought.
“‘Him’ who?” A pair of hazel eyes were sharp on her.
She massaged her temples and took a few breaths before softly admitting, “I lied to you.”
“Yeah, I already got that part. You didn’t tell me who you are,” he rasped.
When she couldn’t find the words, he strode past her and approached the bookshelves that flanked her entertainment center. The muscles pinched in his back as he lifted a photo of her and Brad.
“You should’ve told me. You should never have let me goddamn touch you.”
“I’m sorry.” But would sorry ever be enough?
He handed her the photo and strode to the door, but instead of leaving, he placed his balled hands against it and hung his head. “Do you understand how wrong this is? How bad I feel now?” He tapped his head lightly against the wood before pushing back.
Her heart took a terrifying climb into her throat, and she inwardly groaned. “I-I’m so sorry. I was drunk, and I—”
He swiveled around. “And on the boat?” His jaw clenched as he asked through barely parted lips, “What were you then?”
“Stupid . . .”
He bowed his head as if he couldn’t stomach the sight of her.
“There’s something I have to show you to explain why I followed you to Mexico.”
He looked up at her, and his brows rose in surprise.
Had she left that part out? Shit. Before he could say anything, she turned and went to her desk to retrieve the photo from the envelope.
Clutching it to her chest, she slowly ate up the space between them as if she were walking toward him with a grenade in hand.
“Here.” She extended her arm and finally offered the photo, the reason why she went to Los Cabos.
His eyes narrowed as he examined it, bringing it close to his face the same way she had done the first time she’d seen it. “Where the hell did you get this?” An edge of darkness, of pain, wrapped tight around his words.
“A delivery guy dropped it off at my office and then took off. I didn’t see him, but it’s possible the guy outside . . .” She rubbed her forehead, trying to collect her thoughts and make sense of everything. “I haven’t been able to authenticate whether it’s real or not. Anyone with Photoshop could fake this—but if they did, they went to a hell of a lot of trouble to do so.”
He remained quiet, his eyes pinned to the image.
“This picture is a copy, though. I gave the original to my friend at the FBI.” She curled her fingertips into her palms. “After Brad died, I did my best to look into what happened. I couldn’t handle that he was just gone, and that the terrorist responsible hadn’t been captured.”
Her last few words were like an echo in the room, and it had him looking straight at her. He lowered the photo to his side with a grim twist to his lips.
“This picture doesn’t make sense, right?” she asked. “It shows Brad, Jason, and some other guy in Kiev instead of Ramadi, the day they died.”
“How do you know they’re in Ukraine?”
She came around next to him and touched the picture, her finger falling upon the large dome and five green cupolas, which served as the backdrop of the photo. “That’s St. Andrew’s Cathedral in the background. I was just in Kiev in July with my father.” When he kept quiet, she continued, “You were a SEAL, right? You must know more than me about what happened to them.”
“How do you know that about me? Hell, how’d you know where to find me?”
She owed him the truth, but she hoped she wouldn’t get her friends in trouble. “My best friend’s brother used to work for the FBI. He works in the private sector now, but he pulled a few strings and looked you up for me.”
Had she made a mistake in finding him, in reaching out to him?
She took small breaths and backed away. “Shahid Ismail was responsible for the attack against Brad and Jason in Iraq, right? They died trying to rescue that scientist from al-Qaeda?”
He didn’t say anything. His jaw remained locked tight, the muscle clenching so hard she could see it beneath his closely trimmed beard.
“The photo was delivered on Wednesday,” she continued since he remained quiet. “I had security check it for anthrax first—can’t be too certain with what I do—then I looked inside once I got the all clear.” She lifted her shoulders. “If this is real, I’m thinking someone wanted to expose a cover-up; that, or they wanted to make me think there was a cover-up. Who knows in Washington these days? We get all kinds of crazy mail at the office, but this was the first time it didn’t come with a postage stamp.” She swallowed. “And the first time it hit so close to home.”
He set the image on her coffee table and gripped his temples with his forefinger and thumb. “The timing of this . . .”
There was something he knew, something in his eyes, which told her he was keeping a secret. Maybe her instincts to find him had been right, after all.
He didn’t owe her anything, especially after she’d lied. But she hadn’t gone to Cabo expecting him to be so amazing, for him to knock her off her focus with a quick smile and a few charming rapid-fire questions.
“Didn’t you say you were going to Russia next week to discuss Ukrainian-Russian relations or something like that?”
She nodded. Maybe he was drawing the same conclusions as Emily, and probably rightfully so.
“If that photo is legit, whoever took it was on overwatch.”
“What’s ‘overwatch’?”
“It’s when someone’s at a high vantage point, and they’re either there to surveil or protect. Brad, Jason, and this third guy were in the crosshairs of a scope. Well, if this photo hasn’t been photoshopped.”
Her heart leaped into her throat. “You think this is real?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I honestly don’t know what to think.”
“You don’t recognize the third guy in the picture, do you?” She retrieved the image from the table and rolled her lips inward in thought.
“No.” He scratched at the nape of his neck. “You need protection.”
Maybe he was right, especially if the guy outside was, in fact, watching her. “I can stay at my folks’ place. They live in Arlington. My dad isn’t home, but my mom is, and she’s heavily guarded. It’s probably as secure as the White House.”
“Why the heavy security?” He raised a questioning brow.
“My dad’s a bit overprotective.” Her lips curved down at the thought. “But he has good reason. Let’s just say it can be dangerous being in the public eye, especially if people disagree with your political positions.”
“And this”—he circled a finger in the air—“is what you call secure?”
“I get a few threats here and there, but most people seem to target my dad. They only see me as a woman behind a man, I suppose.”
“Looks like someone is targeting you now.” He rubbed his forehead. “There’s a good chance this is somehow linked to . . .”
And again, the dropped words.
What was he hiding?
“Linked to what?” She had to ask. She had to know. If he could somehow help her, she’d prod and poke for answers, even if she didn’t deserve them.
“It’s classi
fied. I’m sorry.”
Classified? Didn’t he retire?
Silence seized hold of the room, and it was as if he were contemplating what to do, assessing options and risks.
“I have a picture of the deliveryman. I had security look through the footage. The guy did a good job at keeping his face away from the cameras, so I barely got a partial profile.” She grabbed the image from the top drawer of her desk. “Hard to tell if it’s the man from outside tonight.”
“We probably can’t get any hits off of this, but I’ll see what I can do.” He found her eyes. “I think you should stay with me tonight, though.”
“With you?” The idea had her heart thumping even harder.
“I’m at a hotel nearby. I’ll make sure we’re not being followed. Besides, no one will come busting down my door, and if they do—good luck with that. But we should meet up with your Fed friend tomorrow and get the original back. I’d rather have my people look at it.”
At his words, heat crawled up her throat to her face, and her stomach muscles tightened.
“I work for a private security company. Keeping people safe is basically my job.”
“I don’t want to screw up your schedule. Aren’t you here for work?”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry.” His forehead creased, concern there. “But if you’re being targeted, do you really want to be near your mom?”
“Good point. Should I give my folk’s a heads-up, though, especially if this is about the event on Wednesday?”
“Let me sort through a few things tonight, then we’ll decide what to say.”
She nodded her okay.
“I have a call to make.” He produced his phone from his pocket. “Why don’t you pack?” Without giving her a chance to answer, he stepped out of her apartment, leaving her alone to allow her mind to spin.
This was his job, she reminded herself. He was a SEAL, and now he worked for a security company. If anyone could help keep her safe, it was him.
After going to her room and packing a couple of things, she snapped out a quick text to Emily.
Sam: Staying with Owen at his hotel tonight. And no, it’s not what you think.
Em: What do you mean, it’s not what I think?
Sam: Something has come up. I’ll fill you in later.
Em: I want answers. Call me as soon as you can. Drumming nails while I wait . . . P.S.—saw him in the stairwell. He’s ridiculously hot.
“You ready?”
She flinched and dropped her cell and looked over at Owen in the doorframe.
He scanned the room, his eyes falling upon the bed before looking at her. “Got what you need?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “Are you sure you want to help me, though? I don’t want to endanger you.”
“I can handle myself, but I did promise to keep an eye out for you ten years ago, didn’t I?”
He didn’t recognize her in Mexico, but that, he recalled? “You remember?”
“I remember everything now.”
She released a soft sigh and approached him standing so damn rigid in her doorway. Their kiss brushed across the front of her mind. “How come you never checked in on me yourself?”
“Because I don’t like to talk about what happened,” he said, his voice sharp, his honesty almost surprising.
“So you never think about it? You never used your government clearance to try and find who killed them?”
His jaw tightened as his eyes dropped to her parted lips.
“How could you not go after their killer?” she pushed. “How can you not want revenge?”
He pressed a fist beneath her chin and gently guided her face up. “You think I haven’t tried to bury the prick six feet under? You think I haven’t thought about that very thing every day?” His eyes narrowed, and he visibly swallowed. “I’ve lost people who were like family—and I want vengeance for them all. And I’ll never give up until I get it. For Jason. For Brad. For . . .”
The ellipsis of his unspoken words popped into her mind like little dots on repeat.
She sucked in a breath and closed her eyes. She couldn’t put a lid on her emotions and contain them any longer. She’d been doing it for so long, but it was suddenly as if she’d forgotten how.
Her walls were even weaker than straw today, and she was pretty sure he was the reason.
Tears touched her cheeks as she struggled not to ugly cry.
“Shhh,” he murmured, but he cupped the back of her head and pulled her against his chest.
And then, damn it, she did it. She broke down and cried. Not a hard sob, but any tears for her were like Everest for anyone else.
He stroked his fingers through her hair with one hand, while keeping her head close to the heavy beats of his heart with the other.
“You don’t have to be nice to me,” she cried.
“Yeah, well, I can be mad at you tomorrow.”
“The hotel was booked, so I couldn’t upgrade to a two-room suite. Besides, I’d rather be able to keep a closer eye on you.” He set her bag on the bed. “My people are in this hotel. You’ll be safe here.”
She wet her lips and took a few uneasy steps across the room before sitting on the mattress. “You mean, the people from Scott & Scott?”
He angled his head, eying her with that same suspicious stare from earlier. “I didn’t mention my company name. How much do you know about me?”
“Not enough, I’m guessing.”
“The friend who did an illegal background check on me—is he the same guy who has the original picture?”
“No, my friend Javier works at the FBI crime lab. He has it.”
“Hm.” He kept quiet for a moment, studying her as if trying to unravel some complex mystery that had far too many red herrings. “And you work for the Intelligence Committee, right? You said your dad was a senator, but I had no idea he was Chairman McCarthy.”
She lifted a brow and ignored the smile that attempted to touch her lips. “So, you looked me up, too, huh?”
“I’ve always known. I was keeping tabs on you, even if not directly. But I didn’t make the connection between your name and face until today. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other. You were young and had long hair at the funeral.”
“You barely even looked at me.”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t exactly an easy day.” He let out a quick breath. “I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out in Mexico, though.”
When they collided in the lobby at the hotel, she’d nearly had a panic attack the second she realized it’d been him. And when he didn’t make the connection, the truth got stuck in her throat. “I got so nervous, and every time I planned on telling you, it just became more difficult.” Because after talking at the bar—I didn’t want you to be Owen York. I didn’t want you to be off-limits, but she couldn’t say that aloud. Of course, she hadn’t gone to Mexico for hot vacation sex, anyway, and so . . .
His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, then he turned and moved toward the windows, drawing the curtains closed.
“Can I ask why you switched from being a Naval pilot to a SEAL?” Not that it mattered, but Emily’s brother had only given her a fairly succinct rundown on Owen before Sam had chased him to Mexico. The glimpse into Owen York’s life had left her itching for more details.
“No, you can’t.”
“Sorry,” she said when the air became ice between them, and she could nearly see her breath puff out before her.
“Why didn’t you go to the police about the picture? Was your first instinct really to come to me because Jason’s in the photo?” He folded his arms, staring her down, and part of her wanted the ground to swallow her.
“My father would never let me look into this. The image would have been turned over to the Feds, and I’d have been left in the dark.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t risk that happening.”
“So, you hunted me down in Mexico to pull me into all of this, huh?”
“You wish I hadn’t?�
�
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what are you saying?” She strode closer to him, trying to face the man who’d haunted her dreams last night.
“If we had fuc—” He let the curse hang in the air and cleared his throat. “If we’d had sex, I would never have forgiven myself.”
Me, either.
“Brad was like a brother to Jason. It’d be like sleeping with my brother’s fiancée, and I just—”
“I know. I made a mistake.” She eyed the floor instead of him. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.” She shifted her weight to one foot as she tried to claim some sense of mental clarity. “Can we start over? Work together to find out what really happened?”
“You won’t get justice.”
“What do you mean? What is it you aren’t telling me?” She touched his bicep, but he staggered back a step.
“Nothing.”
She considered his words, his mood.
“Just do me a favor, Samantha, don’t tell anyone else about the picture right now.”
Samantha? Was he worried he’d lose a shot at looking into the image, too? Was he as determined to find the truth as her?
His eyes veered to the lone bed in the room. “I need to look into a few things. Can you trust me on this?”
“I guess I owe you that much.”
He looked back at her. “Get some sleep. I’ll stay on the couch.”
“I don’t want to take your bed.”
“I can’t sleep next to you, even on top of the covers. It wouldn’t be right.”
She felt the burn of his words.
He couldn’t stand her.
And maybe he’d never forgive her.
Chapter Seven
“Who are you?” Sam clutched the sheet to her chest.
“I work with Owen.” The woman rose from the couch and took a few steps closer to the edge of the bed. “I’m Jessica. He asked me to stay with you until he got back.”
“You’re capable of protecting me?”
“The pistol strapped to my leg should hold back any intruders.”
Sam had no idea if the woman was kidding or not. “Did he tell you why I’m here with him?”
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