Furious at herself when her cheeks started to warm, she forced her gaze away. Physical attraction. That was all it was. That was what had made her dissolve the moment his lips touched hers. What had caused her pulse to leap and her heart to beat like a frantic drum. What had made her bones melt and her blood catch fire—everything catch fire.
Annie had experienced something like this once before, although it had been a long time ago. She recalled the one and only date she’d had with the high school quarterback.
He’d looked good in football pants, too.
Shane Madison had pretty much looked good in everything. Tall, solidly built, with an impressive amount of muscle for a high school boy, he was an all-around super guy: smart, confident, and good-looking. Maybe a little cocky, but he was so charming you didn’t really notice.
She (along with most of the other girls in the school) had been half in love with him for three years in high school before he asked her out their senior year. It wasn’t that she didn’t think he’d noticed her or only dated cheerleaders; he just didn’t seem very interested in dating. He had big plans—the details of which she hadn’t been aware of at the time—and was concentrating on football and a heavy slate of AP classes.
That was how everything had changed. They’d been paired off as lab partners in AP Chemistry—which turned out to be appropriate. The chemistry between them had been reactive. Off the charts. Elemental. She’d nearly given up her virginity in the backseat of his car on their first—and only—date.
That wasn’t the problem. The problem was when she found out what he wanted to do. Shane was working so hard in school to get into Annapolis. He wanted to go to the United States Naval Academy and have a career in the military. He’d even mentioned—shiver—that if things went well, he was going to try to be a SEAL. She had no doubt he would do it. Shane was the kind of guy who could do anything he put his mind to.
Her dad would have loved him. Or her dad would have loved him before the war destroyed him.
What was it about big, strong guys and wanting to save the world? Alphas, her mom called them. Annie called them wannabe heroes. Either way she had no interest. She wanted someone she could count on. Someone who would be there for her. Someone who was normal.
She refused to sign up for more of the same pain, which meant it couldn’t go any further.
The Monday after their date, she’d asked the chemistry teacher to find her a new partner. Shane had called a few times, but she told him it wasn’t going to work out. Eventually he believed her.
Unconsciously, maybe, she’d avoided the type since then. Until now. Dan reminded her a lot of Shane. An older, harder, more dangerous, not as charming and carefree version maybe, but otherwise the same confident, take-charge, “there isn’t anything he couldn’t do” persona.
Similar builds, too, although Shane had been a boy, and Dan was definitely a man with the years of added muscle to prove it. The captain was also a couple of inches taller at six-three or -four.
She felt a twinge of awareness she didn’t want to remember—exactly how her hands had felt all over his body—and quickly quashed that train of thought. It was physical attraction—extremely strong physical attraction maybe—but nothing to be worried about.
Apparently she had a weakness for a few muscles, so what? She was sure that was a weakness shared by a lot of women. It wasn’t a big deal. He wasn’t a big deal. Just as he said.
She needed to stop imagining feelings that weren’t there. This was about her libido, not her heart. Lust, not love.
Love? What was she, a twelve-year-old girl drawing hearts in her journal? Nearly dying—twice—was obviously making her a little crazy.
He’d knocked out whatever had been blocking the flue and was rebuilding the fire by standing the dried turf blocks over a stack of kindling in a pyramid shape. Using a flint and a stone that he must have picked up outside on the way in, he struck it until one of the sparks caught.
“You would have made a good Boy Scout,” she said, breaking the silence. Then suddenly realizing that she knew nothing about him, she added, “Were you a Boy Scout?”
“An hour ago you thought I was a serial killer. Now a Boy Scout?”
He hadn’t answered the question. Clearly he didn’t want her to know anything about him. Which rankled. They were in this together. Didn’t she deserve to know what she’d gotten into?
“Weren’t you the one telling me not to be so naive? To ask questions? Well, I’m asking them. If the police are chasing you, don’t I deserve to know who I’m on the run with?”
“Slow down, Bonnie. You watch too many movies. I didn’t say the police are chasing me.”
“That’s the problem. You didn’t say anything. You lied about being American and are clearly hiding something. You had no interest in waiting around for the coast guard, so what else am I supposed to think?”
He shrugged as if what she thought was immaterial. “I have my reasons.”
Prying information from him was like squeezing water from a rock—and provoked about the same level of frustration. She felt her temper rising. “Why don’t you share a few of them?”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s none of your business.”
Ouch. Nothing like the slap of cold, hard truth to make the skin sting. Although unfortunately it wasn’t just her skin stinging. But she wasn’t going to let him get away with it. “No, you just had your hand down my pants. Why would I think you owed me anything?”
She turned away, but he stepped toward her and caught her arm. “Annie, wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but I can’t tell you what you want to know.”
Hurt her feelings? She should thank him. Now she wasn’t stinging; she was furious. “You can’t tell me anything about yourself?”
He dropped her hand. “It’s better that way.”
“Better for who?”
He didn’t answer. She stared into his eyes, looking for any crack, any sign of weakness. She should have known better. “Just tell me, is it something illegal?”
He couldn’t be a drug smuggler . . . please.
He shook his head. “It’s not.”
“But you are in some kind of trouble?”
Apparently she’d gotten as much out of him as she was going to get. He ignored the questions and went on with the business of getting the place habitable. She watched as he retrieved his backpack and started pulling out items and setting them on the table. Not a Boy Scout, huh? He certainly came prepared.
It took her a moment, but eventually she figured it out. She sucked in a breath through lungs that were suddenly on fire. The back-off attitude and scruffy appearance had prevented her from seeing it sooner. And he didn’t have the usual swagger and cockiness, but after seeing him in action today, she knew. “Army, navy, air force, or marines?” she asked.
Fourteen
Dean hoped to hell she hadn’t seen him flinch. But when he turned around, he could see he hadn’t been that lucky.
He cursed under his breath. How the hell had she guessed? He’d taken special care not to walk, talk, or act like military.
She answered his question with a knowing look. “My father was a Ranger—and later Delta. I recognize the signs. Cool under pressure. Capable. Badass. Not to mention that you have obviously been trained in hand-to-hand combat and survival skills.”
Dean’s instincts had been dead-on. Being with her was a very bad idea.
Her father was Delta? What kind of shit luck was that? Dean would have to be way more careful. Guessing that he was military was bad enough—he didn’t want her any closer than that.
Realizing that he needed to cut his losses before it got worse, he said, “I was in the navy for a while.”
Technically that was correct. Retiarius Plato
on didn’t exist anymore. And neither did he.
His confirmation seemed to seal something for her. Whatever interest there might have been sparking in her eyes—and other places a little while ago—died.
He still couldn’t believe she’d propositioned him like that. It had been a long time since anyone called him on something—and certainly never with an effort to get him off. Not that he hadn’t deserved it. But what the hell could he have done? Those big wounded eyes had been eating away at him. Maleficent was easier to take than Bambi.
But neither prepared him for the cool flatness of indifference. It wasn’t hard to guess the reason for her sudden change of heart.
He should be glad. Her not being interested in him made it a lot easier to fight the attraction between them until he could get her someplace safe. But he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Don’t worry. You don’t need to say anything more. I know exactly how you feel about the military. We’re all a bunch of programmed machines, right?”
He didn’t quite erase all the bitterness from his voice.
She had the decency to blush. “You heard me?”
“The entire bar heard you.”
Her flush of embarrassment deepened. But she didn’t shy away from the taunt. She tilted her chin up to look at him. “I have my reasons.”
“I’m sure you do.” But he didn’t need to hear them. He picked up one of the buckets from under the sink and turned toward the door. “I’m going to see about getting us some water.” It was almost dark.
“Dan, wait.”
He was surprised how much he hated the sound of the false name coming from her lips. It was wrong, but he couldn’t make it right.
He stiffened as he felt her hand on his arm. He could feel his heart beating strangely in his chest. It felt out of place. Higher and too close to his ribs.
“I . . .” She stared but seemed to not know what to say. Only when he looked down into her eyes did she blurt, “My father killed himself.”
Fuck. Whatever he’d been expecting her to say—maybe some crap about peace talks and nonviolence being the answer—it hadn’t been that.
“Christ, Annie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .” He put the bucket down by the door and raked his fingers through his hair. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
She shook her head. “No. I want you to know. Delta. The war. They changed him. They made him into something I didn’t recognize. If you could have known him before . . .” She had a faraway look in her eyes as if she were in another time and place. “He was funny and kindhearted, always smiling and doing nice things for my mother and me. They’d married out of high school, and everyone said they’d never seen two people more in love. He doted on her—adored her—and me. I remember his carrying me around on his shoulders everywhere when I was young, and taking me fishing and to the park. He even tried to take me hunting one time.”
Her mouth quirked, and he couldn’t help wondering how that had gone. Something occurred to him, and he groaned. “Don’t tell me you are a vegetarian?”
“Okay, I won’t.” She managed a smile. “But I hope you have something other than fillet of Mickey planned for dinner.”
“Protein bars?”
“That’ll work.”
“Did he give you that?” He indicated the watch she was fiddling with. He’d noticed how careful she was to protect it in the rain and suspected it was special.
She nodded. “On a trip to Disney World before he left for Iraq. It is one of my best memories of him.”
Dean wasn’t sure if she would continue, but she seemed to want to get it off her chest, so he didn’t stop her.
“After my dad went to Iraq, he started to change. He was more irritable when he came home. He couldn’t sleep. He’d snap at me and my mother a lot. And he drank more—a lot more. Not beer like he used to but Jack Daniel’s.” She wrinkled her nose. “I still hate the smell of whiskey. But all that was nothing compared to after he was recruited for Delta and went to Afghanistan. He wouldn’t talk about it, but whatever he did over there—whatever they changed him into—he came back a different person. It got really bad after he was nearly killed by an IED. He’d lose his temper at the smallest thing, and his anger was terrifying—he’d go into this dark rage. He withdrew from my mother—and from me. He lost track of things and even forgot my birthday. But that wasn’t the worst. The worst was when they started fighting.” She closed her eyes as if she could block out the sounds. When she opened them again, he could see the horror. “He hit her. My smiling, loving father who never raised a hand to a woman in his life backhanded my mom so hard across the face that she needed stitches.”
Dean started to reach for her, wanting to give her comfort, but she shook him off and stepped back. “No, let me finish. I need to say it all. Do you know I’ve never told anyone this?” She didn’t wait for him to respond. “He was drunk, but it wasn’t an excuse. He knew it as well as everyone else did when he finally woke from his haze in jail. My mom didn’t waste any time. She packed a few things and took us to a hotel, planning to leave the next morning for Florida, where my grandparents live.”
Up until this point there had been very little emotion in her voice, but that was about to change.
“I was a teenager. I didn’t understand everything that was going on. I didn’t like what had happened to my dad, but he was still my dad, and I loved him.” She looked up at him, pleading somehow for understanding. He did the only thing he could and nodded. “I snuck out of the hotel to go back to our house to see him before we left. To ask him to work it out with my mom. I didn’t want to leave.” She drew a deep breath. “I was the one who found him.”
Ah, shit.
Dean hadn’t said it aloud, but she turned to meet his gaze as if he had. Her eyes were so glassy and full of pain, it felt as if he had a vise around his chest, squeezing out his breath. “He was so ashamed and so filled with self-loathing at what he’d become—at what our military had turned him into—that he put a bullet through his head.”
Dean had waited long enough. This time she didn’t resist when he drew her into his arms. He wanted to make it all better for her and take away all the hurt. But as that wasn’t possible, he did the only thing he could and just held her.
She let him for a few minutes, but then seemed to collect herself and pulled away. She dabbed a single tear from her eye and looked up at him. “So now you know. That’s why I said what I did.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d heard a story like that. A guy in Retiarius had killed himself a few years back after leaving the Teams. You didn’t come out of what they did unscathed, but it didn’t mean they were all violent volcanoes waiting to erupt, either.
He should just let it go. He had no reason to change her mind. It would be easier when they parted if he didn’t. But it somehow became the most important thing to him at that moment that she not see it that way. “Your father needed help, Annie. He should have gotten it. I’m not making excuses, but things have changed since then. There’s been more training, and the people in charge know the signs and what to look for. I don’t know what your father saw or did or what caused him to do what he did—and PTSD is a serious problem—but there may also have been a physiological explanation for what happened.”
“What do you mean?”
“You said he was nearly killed by an IED?” She nodded. “There were probably a half dozen other blasts that you didn’t know about—guys fighting over there had to deal with it constantly. The symptoms you describe—forgetting things, not sleeping, depression—are hallmarks of brain injury from explosions that doctors have identified in returning veterans.”
She looked stunned. “You mean like the football players?”
“Kind of. I’m not a doc, but as I understand it, it’s in a different part of the brain and doesn’t look the same under the microscope. CTE—the football concussion
problem—is a buildup of a protein over time, but what they see with blasts is more like scarring.”
“How come I’ve never heard about this?”
“It’s only come out recently. But the military is taking it very seriously. They now have a written protocol for handling guys exposed to blasts—checklists, test questions, things like that.” He didn’t mention that guys actually learned the answers to try to avoid being pulled out, so the military had to develop a number of different tests. Not everything had changed. Guys were still resistant to being pulled out, but it was Dean’s job to make sure they were. That included himself. He’d seen a doctor as soon as he reached safety. Apparently he had a hard head. “And guys in combat zones wear tiny gauges on their uniforms that show if they’ve been too close to a blast.”
She sat down on the edge of the bed, obviously trying to process all he’d said. “So it might not have been his fault?”
“I’m saying there might have been a reason that had nothing to do with him being a ‘machine.’” He paused. “Look, I’m not saying that guys like your dad don’t have to deal with some fucked-up shit.” He’d seen his share of it. “And that can sometimes mess with their heads and make it difficult to adjust when they get home. But what he did—as a Ranger and with Delta—those guys are some of the best in the world at what they do.” Of course, Dean would never say that in front of any of the Delta boys—wouldn’t want to confuse them on who was the best. “No matter what the liberal pundits want to think, until this world turns into Disneyland, we need people like him to keep everyone else safe. People who make the hard choices and difficult decisions so you don’t have to.
“ISIS isn’t going to play nice if we put away our guns and go home. There isn’t going to be a meeting of the minds no matter how hard we all ‘try to get along.’ They have one goal and that is to destroy us and our way of life. That’s it. And they won’t stop until we stop them. That’s the ugly reality whether liberals want to acknowledge it or not. So every time you think about whether we need ‘machines’ like your father, think about the alternative. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be a woman under ISIS rule. Your father made a sacrifice so that you have the freedom to wear those little shorts you had on earlier, get your PhD, and protest a drillship.”