by Kaylea Cross
He’d have to wait and find out if anything came of it. He hadn’t been able to see much when the chopper had taken a quick pass. Maybe the clean-up team would find something.
With a sigh, he rubbed his gritty eyes. Kids’ deaths were always the hardest to take. And if it was bad for him, a hardened shell of a man, he didn’t want to think about what Bryn was feeling. As a social worker, any contact with kids would compromise her to a certain extent, but to see two blown to hell in front of her…
Shit, he’d have spared her that, if he could have. He only wished he could have gotten to her sooner, knocked her out before the missile hit. Hell, he wished she hadn’t been there at all now.
Didn’t matter at this point. Besides, he’d tried to make amends by sending McCabe after her. God knew she’d need a warm body right about now to hold onto. As he recalled his warning to Dec about regretting his actions, that familiar pain started up in his chest. A splitting sensation, like someone was using a rib-spreader on him.
Nothing to be done for it, and he’d sure as shit tried everything to make it go away. Booze, women, meds, war. Nothing worked, and he only ended up feeling worse for his efforts. So he’d quit all that years and years ago. Way he figured, the searing ache was his punishment, richly deserved.
After all, he’d been the one to walk away from Emily.
Of all the things he regretted in his life, that was the one that towered above all the others—the Empire State Building in a subdivision of two-story houses. In over twenty-five years, not a single day had passed without him wishing he could undo that single unforgivable act.
That day his wife had startled him at the sink and he’d turned on her with that hunting knife, pinning her against the refrigerator with the blade pressed against her throat. He’d jerked back at the terror and the horror in her eyes. Then he’d thrown the weapon across the room to bury itself deep into the wall and she’d shrunk from him, like she expected him to come back and finish her off.
But instead of staying and trying to somehow work it out, he’d taken off. Packed his bag and climbed like a zombie into his truck, leaving her screaming and begging him to stay. When he’d taken one last look in his rearview mirror, she’d collapsed in a heap on the driveway, sobbing. God, the memory of it still made him sick with despair and self-loathing.
At the time, he’d told himself he was doing the right thing. It was safer for her and their son if he went away, let them build a new life for themselves. He couldn’t be trusted around them, was too highly strung to function as a husband and father. No telling when he’d snap, but he would one day, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be around his family when it happened.
Even now, all these years later, he’d rather swallow a bullet and blow the back of his head off than hurt them. Since he’d been out of the Navy, he’d managed to dull that lethal edge somewhat, insulate that part of him that was a trip wire waiting for a trigger. But he didn’t delude himself that he was normal. After all he’d seen and done, there was no chance of that. He was, and would always be, a killer.
And even though he knew and hated that, some sick part of him held out hope for Emily and him. He smirked bitterly. Jesus, he was a selfish bastard even to wish for that. She had to be the most forgiving human being on the planet, because by some miracle she still loved him, though he didn’t understand it. And on the rare occasions they spoke on the phone, he was careful not to say anything that might give her false hope, after all the years of hurt and separation between them.
Christ, what a life he’d carved out for himself. It seemed no matter where he went, he left a trail of destruction in his wake, a walking natural disaster. He really had to scale it back, he thought, reverting to the day’s operation. Maybe it was time to take his business to the next level, establish a permanent site stateside, hire a crew he trusted. He was getting too damn old for this shit.
On that happy thought he let himself slide into a doze, his pistol resting beside him on the nightstand. When his cell rang his eyes snapped open and he came fully and instantly awake, checking the call display, expecting news about the forensics.
The displayed number froze him as if he’d been tasered. His heart rate tripled like he was sprinting, his mouth dry as sand.
Emily.
As he sat there like a shell-shocked idiot and stared at the phone, it rang and rang. Two more rings and it would divert to voicemail. Yeah, he should just let it go. Talking to her right now would be like pouring gasoline over himself and lighting a match.
Whatever she was calling about couldn’t be good, since she only made contact when someone had died. Or, like the last time, because their son had been shot.
Knowing it was the wrong thing to do, with an unsteady hand he picked up the phone open and put it to his ear. “Hello.” He braced himself for her voice, the wave of pain it sent through his chest.
“Luke, hi,” she said in her Charleston accent. “It’s Emily.”
Yeah, like he wouldn’t know that voice even in a coma. “Hi, Em. You okay?” He wondered who had died this time.
“I’m fine, thanks. I just… Well, I was actually wondering about Bryn, and I thought you might know how she is.”
“She’s okay.” Hopefully Dec was with her, taking care of her right now. For some reason he needed to keep talking to Emily, to unload some of the weight from his shoulders. “We had to take her with us on an op today.”
“Oh. Everything…go all right?” He caught the hesitation as she sent out the gentle probe.
“No, actually.” He couldn’t say more, but it eased him to tell her that much.
“I’m so sorry, Luke. Is everyone okay?”
“Pretty much.”
Silence stretched over the line. “How about… How about you?”
God, she broke his heart with her kindness, she really did. Finally, and without knowing why, he said, “I’m tired, Em.”
She gave a murmur of sympathy that made him feel like a shit for burdening her with his baggage. “You’ve been out there for so long now, you must be tired. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”
He uttered a quiet laugh. “Tell me. I was just thinking about that.”
“You gonna retire?” The hopeful tone had caution bells clanging in his head.
“Not in the normal sense.” No, there would never be a normal anything for him again. “I was thinking of getting out of the field, though. Maybe open up a permanent facility back home, hang out my shingle. After I take a vacation. I think I need a vacation.” Why the hell was he telling her this? Like he was putting out feelers—
“I think you should, Luke. It’s time you had a life again.”
With me. He heard the words as clearly as if she’d spoken them.
His guts clenched. Oh, shit, this was like trying to maneuver through a minefield. Time to employ some escape and evasion tactics. “Yeah. Listen, I’ll get Bryn to call you, okay?”
He could almost imagine her closing her eyes and biting her lip in disappointment.
Finally, she spoke again. “Is she really okay?”
“She will be.”
“Are you—I mean, do you think you should go and see—”
“She’s not alone, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Okay. Ah, that’s…good.” He could almost hear the gears turning in her head. “Who’s with her?”
One side of his mouth lifted in a grin. Emily was gonna love this. “One of my guys.” Her protest had him biting back a chuckle. “Don’t worry, it’s good. I wouldn’t have sent him to her if I didn’t approve.”
She made a throttled sound. “Luke—”
“Trust me, she’s in good hands.”
“Is it Declan?”
He shouldn’t have been surprised. Bryn must have told her about him. “Yeah.”
Emily’s laughter flowed over him like cool, clean water. “My God, I can’t believe you’re playing cupid!”
He flinched. “Oh, hey, let’s not take
it that far. I have to maintain the reputation of a heartless asshole.”
“Yeah, well, you know that won’t wash with me.”
He’d set himself up for that one. She was tenacious, if nothing else—almost as bad as him, when she set her mind on something.
“So, you coming home soon?”
His only real home had been with her. “Maybe after this job, for a bit.” Nope, don’t ask. You don’t want to know, so don’t— “Why?” God, he was a sucker for punishment.
“Oh, nothing. Just thought if you were coming back and hanging up a shingle, maybe we could…”
She wouldn’t—
“…go for dinner sometime.”
Luke exhaled the breath he’d been holding. For God’s sake, even after all he’d put her through, even though he knew she expected him to shut her down, she’d reached out to him. Christ, his eyes were stinging. “Em, I—” His phone beeped, and he jerked it away to check the call waiting number. The TOC. “Oh, dammit…Em, I’m sorry, but I have to take this.”
“O-okay,” she stammered, and he hated hurting her yet again, even in that small way.
Then he surprised himself by saying, “I’ll call you later if I can, all right?” Could be days, though. Or never.
“Sure, of course.” She sounded unconvinced. “Take care of yourself, Luke.”
“You too, Em. Bye.” He connected to the next call, willing his heart to stop pounding, wrestling his brain into work mode. “Hutchinson.” As the voice on the other end spoke, he found himself tensing again. “You sure? Okay. Yeah. Got it.” Hanging up, he stretched out on the bed, blew out a breath and contemplated his options.
He’d suspected it. Had even planned some contingencies in case he was proved right. Man, he hated being right sometimes. Nothing to do now but deal with the situation.
Someone on his team had turned to the dark side. And Luke would mete out his own brand of justice.
****
When Dec knocked on Bryn’s door, she didn’t answer. After calling her name and waiting a few seconds, he figured she must still be in the bathroom and used her extra key. The shower was running behind the closed door. How long had she been in there now? Long enough to have a good cry.
“Bryn?”
No answer.
He knocked. “Bryn, it’s Dec. You okay in there?”
“F-fine.”
She didn’t sound fine, but he’d give her some more time. Four minutes passed, then five, and still the water ran. “Bryn, say something.”
“I’m f-fine,” she repeated.
More time passed, and with each minute, his tension levels increased until his gut was tied in knots. “All right, that’s it. I’m coming in,” he warned, and jimmied the lock free. A cloud of steam hit him, thick and humid as it wafted from behind the shower curtain. She didn’t say a word, didn’t give the slightest indication she was aware he’d intruded on her privacy. “Bryn, tell me you’re okay at least.”
“I’m ok-kay.”
The hell she was. He covered the four steps to the bathtub and gripped the edge of the plastic curtain. When she made no objection he grew really worried and pulled it aside to peek in.
She was huddled in the tub, fully clothed, directly under the spray of scalding water. Her dark eyes were haunted as she gazed up at him, arms wrapped around herself, shaking, her hair plastered to her skull. “I’m fine. J-just cold.”
Something twisted in his chest, as though a giant fist had reached in and squeezed his heart. “Baby,” he whispered. Unlacing his boots, he tossed them aside and climbed in beside her, fully clothed, squeezing against the wall to pull her into his arms. She burrowed into him like a frightened child waking from a nightmare. Only she hadn’t been dreaming.
Heart aching for her, he held her tight, her shivers wracking him. The water beat down on them and he bent over her, sheltering her from the full brunt. Her fingers curled into his wet shirt. Her face pressed against the base of his throat, warm breath washing over his sensitized skin. He stroked one hand down her hair and the length of her spine, marveling at how perfectly she fit against him.
She calmed, her breathing becoming slow and even, the convulsive shudders subsiding. Then she sighed and leaned her weight against him as though content to remain in his arms under the cooling flow of water. His body, however, was raging hot. If he didn’t put some distance between them soon, he wasn’t sure he could hold back.
“Better now? Want me to order us some food while you get out of these wet clothes?”
“Thanks.”
“Okay.”
But she didn’t move. In fact, she didn’t seem in a hurry to go anywhere. She turned her face into his neck and nuzzled him, setting every nerve ending on fire. Her lips touched a kiss under his ear, making his growing erection jerk. Not good.
He set her away from him, surging to his feet and grabbing a towel to drape around her. “I’ll let you dry yourself off,” he blurted, snagging another towel for himself, stripping off his soaked t-shirt and tossing it in the sink on his way out. When he shut the door behind him, he leaned against it and took a deep breath, scrubbed a hand over his face.
God. Another second in there with her and it would have been too late. As it was, his hand was shaking as he picked up the phone and dialed room service.
He rubbed the towel over his hair, peeled off his pants and underwear, then wrapped the towel around his waist, flopping down on the bed while he waited to place his order. Bryn wasn’t thinking straight right now, he reminded himself. She needed soothing, to feel safe and protected, and she needed sleep. Shoving her down onto the mattress and getting inside her as deep as he could get wasn’t going to help matters.
Maybe something light to eat, fruit and cheese and bread or something, to settle her stomach and help her unwind. He’d have to check out some of the more serious cuts and scrapes she’d suffered, too. Maybe rub her neck for a while. Then he’d tuck the covers around her and stay while she slept, so she wouldn’t be alone—just in case she had nightmares. He knew how much of a bitch flashbacks could be.
Still on hold, he turned his head at the sound of the bathroom door opening, and the air sucked right out of his lungs. Bryn stood backlit in the doorway, stark naked, every gorgeous line of her body silhouetted in eye-popping relief.
Her black gaze stroked over him like a caress, bold and possessive as she crossed the room toward him in a movement he could only describe as a prowl. His cock leapt to urgent attention.
A voice came on the other end of the line, but Dec didn’t hear a thing besides the roaring in his ears. He dropped the receiver into the cradle with a clack, his heart thudding against his ribs.
Oh, shit. He was so screwed.
****
She’d shocked him, she thought with satisfaction. Good. She liked that he was the one to be off balance for once. And it was high time they did something about the sexual energy between them. Almost giddy with feminine power and anticipation, she stalked toward him. As he dropped the phone into place and sat up, his expression hovered between alert and wary.
Yes. Be afraid, Declan. Be very afraid.
She was going to eat him alive.
Pulse hammering, she flicked her damp hair over her shoulder, holding his gaze as she tossed a handful of condoms onto the coverlet. He opened his mouth as if to protest, and she cocked an eyebrow at him, daring him to chicken out.
Coming close enough that her thighs brushed his knees, she placed a hand on either side of his towel-clad hips and leaned down to press her breasts against his chest. His heart beat fast against her as she rubbed against him, a feline move of enjoyment.
Her hardened nipples slid over his bare chest. A gasp escaped as sensation rocketed through her, his eyes molten as he stared back at her. She bent her head and with exquisite precision, covered his mouth with hers.
He pulled back. “Bryn…”
She caressed him, hands roving over the taut muscles of his chest, back and shoulders.
His bright gaze held an unnerving mix of lust and anger. He hadn’t touched her yet, his hands remaining clenched on his lap, but the tension pulsed from him in waves. The air in the room crackled with it.
He made no move to push her away, so she kissed him again, licking and nibbling his mouth as the ache in her lower body intensified to a relentless throb. She rubbed her tongue against his, teasing, coaxing, then let her hands drift down his chest and belly to the erection straining against the towel. She stroked him, thrilling at the intake of his breath, then squeezed him through the thin terry cloth.
He snatched her hand and she stopped, pulling back. His eyes burned into hers, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Breathless, she stared down at him, waiting.
“No,” he rasped. “Not like this.”
“Not like what?”
His hands moved up to grasp her shoulders, holding her away from him. “Not when you’re hurting and jacked up on adrenaline.”
Pain spiked her chest. He had no right to analyze her. Emotions rolled through her. Anger, grief, longing, despair.
Need.
She pulled in a deep breath, fighting the urge to wrestle him to the sheets and ride him until she wore off some of the frantic energy battering her. She couldn’t stop this, would die if she did.
“Bryn…”
She leaned down and kissed him some more, willing him to unlock everything bottled inside her. Her lips trailed over his jaw, down his neck, nibbling where the base of his throat joined his shoulder. He tilted his head back, one hand fisting in her hair to hold her there. A groan escaped him. “Baby, this is such a bad idea. You’re not thinking straight.”
The hell she wasn’t. She needed him.
She pushed him backward. He didn’t fight her, lying on his back with his hands tangled in her hair. Her fingers caressed him, her tongue flicking as she moved lower, over the plane of his stomach, dipping into his navel.
The muscles under her mouth went rigid and she rubbed her breasts against him, shivering while her hands slid over his hips, unknotting the towel with unsteady fingers. His cock sprang free, thick and swollen against his abdomen. She licked her lips and stroked him, dying to taste him, to make him writhe and come in her mouth. Rubbing her cheek against the hot length of him, she let him see it in her eyes.