“Do you see anything wrong with your decision not to call me right away? Or am I playing common sense tutor again?”
She loved her sister. She really did. Except for moments like this. When she spoke to her like a mother, rather than a sister. Coen witnessing Maggie’s dressing-down made it all the worse.
“I made sure she was safe last night,” Coen said into the silence.
Maggie slowly turned to Coen, one eyebrow levitating into her forehead. “I don’t think I caught how you came to know my sister?”
She groaned. “Mags, no.”
“It’s a simple question.”
“There’s nothing simple about your questions. They always have a hidden agenda.”
“I helped her save some trapped kits, and she’s teaching me about propagation.”
“And now you’re her protector?”
“Yes.”
“No,” Riley said, cutting him a sharp glance. “He just had the misfortune of being around when I got the text. I don’t want him involved in this anymore.”
The boulder shifted behind her, though he directed his next words to Maggie. “I have eight years of combat experience and nothing better to do at the moment.”
Maggie’s features molded into hard, uncompromising lines. All sheriff. “Why are you on leave, Sergeant Monroe?”
“Maggie,” Riley exclaimed. “That’s none of your business.”
Her sister’s gaze didn’t budge from Coen’s.
Silence ticked by like the echo of a second hand on a grandfather clock sitting in a cavernous entryway.
“My team’s last mission went wrong. Three were killed right away, and the other two were tortured for several days before”—he swallowed—“returning to the States.”
Riley peered up, studying his profile.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Maggie said.
Riley’s burning eyes shifted to Maggie’s desk and stayed there. He’d been tortured and witnessed the destruction of his entire team. She knew enough about the close ties service members developed with their teammates to have some sense of the depth of his devastation. Doubly so if he’d been the lead on the mission and its failure or success rested on his shoulders.
“How long have you been in Steele Ridge?”
“Eighteen days, ma’am.”
“Thirty-day leave?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Maggie’s assessing gaze tore from Coen and rested on her for an uncomfortable set of seconds that felt more like a hundred. Then her sister stood to address Coen. “Thank you for watching over Riley last night.” A note of finality echoed in her next words. “But I’ll take it from here. You go settle back into your leave.”
Coen’s attention leaned into her as if waiting for her to contradict Maggie’s edict. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—try to change her sister’s mind. With all the serious crap he was already trying to manage, he didn’t need to add her pile on top. Thank God her sharp-witted sister had recognized that fact too.
“I’ll have one of my deputies drive you to wherever you need to go.”
“In case I lose it,” he said, venom dripping from every word, “he’ll be able to put me down like a damn dog? I don’t think so.”
“That’s not what she meant,” Riley said, twisting around.
If eyes could shoot flames, she would’ve been reduced to a crispy critter.
“Tell the sheriff about the note.” He stalked out of Maggie’s office, anger seething off him in dark waves.
Her eyes widened, and she belatedly shot out of her chair to rush after him.
Maggie intercepted her. “Let him go.”
“Mags, he’s been nothing but kind to me. I can’t let him walk away with this between us.”
“Sit down and tell me about this note.”
Torn, she stared at the door; every cell in her body demanded she follow him.
“Riley, give me all the pieces to the puzzle so I can help.”
Unable to sit down, she paced her sister’s office while she told her about how her assistant had sent back a gift with a strange note that seemed to indicate someone hadn’t died.
“Do you think she sent anything to your three colleagues who died?”
“I won’t know until I reach her.”
“What does EP not ded mean?”
“I’m not sure. DED could be phonetic for dead.”
“Could EP be someone’s initials? Maybe one of your coworkers?”
“No. Not even close.”
“Has anyone else from Costa Rica contacted you?”
“Just Nick.”
Maggie’s eyes sharpened. “Who’s he?”
“Nick Landry acted as a liaison between Dr. Young and Dr. Hathaway.”
“And they are?”
“Young headed up the lab that conducted the experiments on the plants my team sent them.”
“Hathaway?”
“His foundation funded the project.”
“What did Nick want?”
“To say hello. He attended a conference in Asheville.”
“Did the Audi guy show up at the same time as this Nick?”
“Yes, but I drove Nick back to the airport days ago. Besides, Nick isn’t capable of murder—unless it’s a woman’s heart.”
“Did he have anything else to say?”
She hesitated.
“If you don’t tell me everything, I can’t get to the bottom of this.”
“Nick told me that Dr. Hathaway aborted my project for a more lucrative one.”
“Like what?”
“Curing impotency.”
“Curing it? As in a man can get a hard-on until the day he dies.”
“Exactamundo.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the windowsill. “They dumped Project Endurance and started Project Stamina.”
“Are you serious?”
She plopped down in a chair. “I have no idea what they called the new project, but they brought in a whole new team for it.”
“That’s shitty, Riley. I’m sorry.”
“Not good enough to play with the big boys, I guess. I don’t know how you do it. There’s so much testosterone in this building that it’s a wonder you haven’t grown a beard yet.”
Maggie laughed. “Navigating the Steele-Kingston boys prepared me for this position more than the academy, you can be sure.” She paused for a moment, then switched topics. “So what’s going on between you and Coen?”
Eyebrows raised, Riley stared at her sister. “Frontal attack?”
“No sense beating around the bush. The familiarity between the two of you earlier was unmistakable.”
“You’re confusing male overprotectiveness for interest.”
Maggie snorted. “The sexual tension was so thick I nearly gagged. Have you slept with him?”
“None of your damn business.”
“You’re my business, little sis. Whether you like it or not.”
“Mags, I trust you with my life. But this”—she thumped a fist against her heart—“you don’t get to control.”
“Fine, but make sure you keep a tight leash on it, because the course you’re set on is a hairsbreadth from spinning out of control.”
37
At Maggie’s ominous warning to Riley, Coen peeled away from the wall near the sheriff’s open door, thankful her eagle-eyed assistant, Shari, had stepped away.
He stormed out of the police station, tearing up pavement to put as much distance as possible between him and a too-perceptive Maggie Kingston.
Most people would never ask a soldier why he was on leave. But Sheriff Kingston cared nothing for etiquette when it came to protecting her little sister. Protecting Riley from him.
Had Riley told Maggie about his night terrors and how a mere image could flip a switch in his mind and send him spiraling back into the darkest corner of his fears? A corner no amount of booze, shrinks, or self-help books could illuminate and set free.
Or did he reek of Head Case?
> Every muscle in his body quaked to life. The tremors began in his calves and crept up his thighs, pouring into his gut, his chest, arms, hands. His fucking neck.
Sweat coated his forehead, back, and underarms. He forced air through his nose and into his lungs, once, twice, three times. He stared at a flat, black glob of sidewalk gum while he concentrated on calming his breathing.
Thirty seconds passed, then a minute. It was a minute and a half before the tremors subsided and the sweat stopped flowing.
Why hadn’t Riley shared everything Landry had told her? Didn’t she trust him with the information?
He guessed the latter. She hadn’t actually offered up the info to Maggie until her sister pushed for it.
The woman was going to drive him insane if his nightmares didn’t beat her to it.
“Hey, Monroe. Need a ride?”
He lifted his bleary eyes to the truck blocking his path, to the blond-haired man leaning across his front seat to speak to him through the passenger side window. To Cash Kingston. Riley’s brother.
Just his damned luck.
Stretching the tension out of his neck and shoulders, he said, “No, man, I’m good.”
“I’m headed to the training academy for some exercise. Interested?”
Punching, lifting, or shooting something might be just the thing he needed to reset his sanity button.
“I don’t have the right clothes.”
“Don’t worry about it. Reid keeps an assortment of tees and shorts on hand for the trainees. We’ll steal something from his stock.”
Climbing in, he splayed his hands over his thighs, releasing the ache from having them fisted for so long.
“What brings you into town?”
“Your sister.”
“What’d the Menace do now?”
“Stop fucking calling her that name. She doesn’t like it.”
“You coming at me as her friend—or something else?”
“What does it matter? She’s a grown woman, not a snot-nosed adolescent.”
Thick silence filled the truck.
Son of a bitch. What the hell was he doing? Riley had made it clear that she didn’t need or want his protection. If she heard how he’d just spoken to her brother, she’d flay the skin right off his ass.
Rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, he said, “Forget it, man. I shouldn’t have said anything. What your family does or doesn’t do is none of my business.”
“She’s got you tied in knots, huh?”
He released a tight breath and stared out the window. “You have no idea.”
“Oh, I think I do. Been there myself recently.” Cash’s voice grew solemn. “Riley’s been alone for too long. Always putting school and work before her personal needs. It would take the right kind of man to show her there’s more to life than the one she’s living.”
Coen peered down at the temperature setting. Sixty-eight. He considered rolling the dial down to sixty-five but didn’t think that would sit well with the truck’s driver.
With a nonchalance he didn’t feel, he swiped away a sheen of sweat above his right eye before adjusting the vents. Cool air hit his face, steadying his nerves. He did not want to talk about Riley’s personal needs with her brother. But he couldn’t leave Cash thinking he was some kind of balm for his sister.
“Look, this is awkward as hell”—he scraped his fingers through his hair—“but I need to set something straight.”
“Don’t try to tell me you’re not into my sister. You barely let her out of your sight at dinner last night.”
Had he been so obvious? Even though he didn’t know Riley’s brothers all that well, he’d done his part to keep the conversation flowing. They’d established an easy rhythm, sharing tales of their former adventure-seeking clients, sports, hunting, cars, best place to get a haircut.
But he couldn’t deny how much the distance between him and Riley had chafed. Didn’t even know it had until he’d strained to pick up pieces of her conversation, yearned to connect with those always-curious gray-blue eyes, ached for the comforting presence of her smile, her orange-blossom scent, and her heat at his side.
“I won’t,” he admitted. “But my leave ends in less than two weeks.”
“Then make the best of the time. For both of you.”
Cash turned into the entrance of the Steele Ridge Training Academy, saving him from further comment.
Grabbing his duffel, Cash led them inside and tracked down workout clothes for Coen. They hit the weights first. Focusing his attention on contracting and releasing certain muscle groups created a temporary distraction from the continuous loop playing in his mind of Riley’s soft lips and her dead colleagues.
His peace of mind didn’t last long.
“What’s up with Riley today?” Cash asked in between sit-ups.
He finished his set of push-ups and sat back on his heels, his hands resting on his upper thighs. “She won’t appreciate me telling you.”
“All the more reason for you to do it.” When he said nothing, Cash paused his workout. “Is she in trouble?”
“I believe so.”
“Talk to me.”
Coen got to his feet and swabbed his face and neck with a white towel. “Last night, she got a text from someone she worked with in Costa Rica. The text contained links to sites, announcing the deaths of three of her colleagues.”
“No shit? She must be devastated.” Confusion carved lines into Cash’s forehead. “What happened? Did they all die in a plane crash or something?”
“No.”
Understanding flashed across Cash’s features, and he jumped to his feet. “Where is she?”
“With Maggie. At the sheriff’s department.”
“Does she have any idea who might be killing her coworkers?”
“Not yet.”
Collecting his duffel bag, Cash said, “I’m going to stop by Maggie’s office before heading to the station. Can I drop you off somewhere?”
“No, I’ll hang here for a while.”
Reid shoved through the weight room door. “You girls up for some target practice?”
“Some other time,” Cash said, storming past them. “I gotta go.”
Reid’s smile faded as he stared after his cousin. “What the hell’s up with his ass?”
Coen shrugged. He’d let the Kingstons sort out who should and shouldn’t know about Riley’s situation. “I’m up for some range time.”
“Got a weapon?”
“Always.” He couldn’t remember a time when he’d moved through life without a weapon in hand or holstered at his side. He knew a time existed, prior to his enlistment. But the memories had faded into what he called the Before, an otherworldly time when he’d been ignorant of the cruelty of man and the arrogance of nations. A time when he’d walked and talked and played with a freedom of spirit. A time when he didn’t have blood on his hands.
“Nine mil?” Reid asked.
Coen nodded.
“I got in a fresh shipment of ammo a few days ago.”
They loaded up a cart with ammo, paper targets, water bottles, and other supplies before heading outside. Reid—or rather Jonah—had spared no expense on the range.
There had to be at least forty firing points, plus a rifle range and shoot houses. A guy could spend a month here and not hit everything.
Collecting two silhouette targets and a staple gun, Coen marched downrange and affixed them to the target stand. The routine nature of the task once again distracted him from thoughts of a too-serious ethnobotanist.
“How’s the fresh air working for you?”
“It’s a beautiful piece of property.”
“It is that. You getting that peace you wanted?”
“I’ve come across pockets of it.”
“Up for another wager?” Reid sent him a full-of-his-own-shit glance.
“What’d you have in mind this time?”
“If you lose, I’ll sign you up for our next Yoga Nidra class.�
��
“And if I win?”
“I won’t tell Riley you’re in love with her.”
When he opened his mouth, Reid cut in. “Save your breath.” He snapped in a clip. “What I can’t figure out is if she has you wrapped around her finger or vice versa.”
He snorted. “The woman can hardly stand me. Part my fault, part yours.”
“How am I screwing up your love life?”
“Ever heard of alpha-male bullshit?”
Reid laughed. “None of the women in our two families seem to appreciate our male instincts.” He adjusted his stance. “Is it a bet or not?”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a wager if I lose either way.”
Tsking, Reid said, “So negative.” He met Coen’s eye, warrior to warrior. “Some would call it a win-win.”
After a long stare downrange, he folded his arms. “One caveat.”
“What?”
“Even if I lose, you register for the class too. And you have to wear spandex.”
“You wanna add humiliation to the mix. Nice.” He adjusted his stance to line up with the target. “Best grouping after fifteen rounds?”
Coen put on his safety glasses and earmuffs. “You first.”
“Aiming for the bull’s-eye.”
Reid’s first shot hit the mark. Barely. A tight nest of bullet holes appeared on the southeast corner of his target. At the end of Coen’s turn, his grouping was tighter and dead center.
A high-pitched whistle preceded Reid’s “Daaamn.”
“That one goes to me,” he said.
Stepping up to the line again, Reid said, “Between the eyes.”
Crack!
A hole appeared where the silhouette’s right eye used to be.
Coen stared at the empty space, his thoughts spiraling back, back, back. The image of a man, a soldier, his head snapping backward under the force of a bullet shot from a high-powered rifle, filled his vision. Blood sprayed out the opposite side of his head.
Before the soldier—Paul—crumpled to the ground, Coen saw that only one blue eye remained. Even from this distance, he felt its stare. For a moment Coen thought he detected confusion and fear and pain. But the eye looked through him, beyond him, at… nothing—not his team leader, not his enemy, not the dirt road as his body collapsed.
Coen blinked, and the memory faded. Cold sweat skimmed down his neck and back.
Searing Need Page 17