Soft snoring filled the interior of the vehicle, and he looked over to see Liz’s lips slightly parted, her features slack. As much as he’d been able to research during the last two days of her in the hospital, the first few months of pregnancy were the most exhausting. Keeping up with a growing fetus took a toll he could only imagine. But fending for her life on top of that? Liz deserved to climb under the covers of the nearest bed and never climb out. He could give her that. If only for a few days.
He turned into a long asphalt driveway, and his gut clenched. A gallery of pines lined the property of the forty-year-old, two-story home. Wood-paneled siding and a contemporary design helped the cabin stand out against the others in the area, the nearest a quarter mile away. Typical cabins out here had been designed with winter months in mind, but not this one. The flower boxes still attached under the first-story windows and the long expanse of grass leading to the backyard paid homage to the past best left forgotten, but he didn’t know where else to go.
Home sweet home.
The shooter had gotten away. Braxton didn’t know how. He only knew that bastard had put Liz in his sights. And Braxton’s gut said he wouldn’t stop until the job was done. But they would be safe here. Then he’d move them to another safe house. And another. He’d move her around the entire country if it meant keeping her alive until they had a lead on the man hunting her. Braxton turned off the engine, the keys jingling against his leg. Reaching out, he slid his beaten knuckles along her cheekbone and lowered his voice. “We’re here.”
“Five more minutes.” She buried herself deeper in her coat, the one arm still torn from the bullet graze at the park. White gauze lay at the bottom of the hole covering a row of stitches. “Too tired to move.”
A laugh escaped through his nose. He dropped the keys into his jacket pocket and shouldered the door open. Rounding to the front of the SUV, he fought the urge to burn the entire cabin to the ground and walk away before she had a chance to step a foot inside. Leave the memories in the ashes. A gust of fresh, chilled breeze cleared his head. Get her inside. Keep her safe. He carefully opened the passenger side door, a smile thinning his mouth as she caught herself tipping out. “I can help with that.”
“Haven’t you done enough?” She slid her hands up his forearms for balance. Despite the freezing temperatures, he didn’t feel the cold. Not with her in his arms. Then again, she’d always made him run hot. Her feet hit the pavement, but Liz didn’t make any move to free herself of his hold. “You know, saving my life and all. That one time.”
The smile stretching across her face was enough to stop his blood pumping. If it weren’t for the thin scratches, the bullet graze at the top of her arm, the broken wrist and the four stitches in her hairline, it would have. But knowing she’d almost died because of him, because he’d left her unprotected all these months, had twisted him into a sick mess. He slid his hand into hers, locking her against him. “Let’s get you inside.”
She studied the cabin for the first time, it seemed. Took in the wide expanse of windows at the front, the balcony hanging over the covered patio, the line of trees threatening to overtake the roof at any moment. “Another one of your safe houses?”
“No.” He took a deep breath, leading her to the sidewalk and toward the front door. He’d told her about his past. Told her about his family, about how Brolin Levitt had lost this same exact cabin to the bank after he decided his addiction was more of a priority than paying the mortgage. Braxton tightened his grip around her hand. It’d taken a lot of negotiation under a fake name with the couple who’d purchased the home after his parents had been foreclosed on, but something inside him hadn’t been able to let it go. Now he knew why he’d kept it around for so long. To keep her and their baby safe. “It’s the cabin I grew up in.”
“You bought it?” She followed him along the sidewalk, past the crack near the front steps where he’d tripped and broken his arm when he was ten. Past the large pile of firewood he’d been chored with stocking most summers before they hit the wooden steps leading to the front door. “Why?”
“For you.” Wood protested under their weight as he climbed the nine steps it took to reach the threshold of his childhood. All in all, his family had had happy memories in this place. His parents had bought the cabin right after finding out they were pregnant with their one and only son. Brolin had been manager of a bank then, and Karina had stayed home to raise Braxton. He dug for his keys then inserted the key into the dead bolt and turned. That’d been before Brolin’s addiction destroyed everything Braxton had ever known.
A rush of cinnamon-and-apple-scented air slammed into him as he pushed the door open. With Liz’s hand still wrapped around his, he led her inside. The crew he’d hired to gut the insides had done a damn fine job. New white tile in the entryway, the perfect color of hardwood flooring off to the left in the living room, peach walls the same exact color as he remembered, only fresher. Windows let in natural light from nearly every angle imaginable, welcoming him home. But Braxton couldn’t move. How long had it been since he’d stepped through that door? Twenty years? The house had gone through a lot since then. He’d gone through a lot.
“What do you mean, for me? When did you buy it?” Liz studied the gleaming tile, the sparse furniture, the hallway leading straight back to the renovated kitchen.
“Last year, when I realized I wanted to be more than your friend.” When he’d realized he’d fallen in love with the woman who’d sat less than five feet from his cubicle. He didn’t dare look at her as he tugged her toward the stairs off to the right and up to three massive bedrooms for her to choose from, two smaller, one master. Beds and bathrooms for each. Braxton slowed down at the top of the stairs but didn’t dare drop her hand. Not yet. Not when she was the only thing keeping him anchored in the present. “Have your pick. We’re going to be here for a few days.”
“Where did you set up your surveillance?” she asked.
“In that one. My old room.” He led her to the right, stopping under the door frame as he pushed the door wider. After the renovations, he barely recognized it. No posters from his favorite band, no dartboard, no toys and action figures. Just peach-colored walls, a window with blackout curtains, a king-size bed with new bedding and a desk with his surveillance systems. Braxton leaned his weight into the door frame. “The other bedrooms won’t have the glow from the monitors keeping you up.”
“I don’t mind.” Liz dropped his hand. She moved inside, taking in the room, and sat on the edge of the bed. Dropping her coat beside her, she looked completely at ease despite the bruises and scratches marring her perfect skin. Now fully lit from the natural light coming through the window, he noted the dark circles under her eyes, the lack of color in her lips, the slight tremor in her hands. He’d seen her like this before. Only once, after Oversight’s real-world test run in which a CIA agent had lost his life. She’d tried not to internalize that guilt, but he’d read it on her face that day, and it’d taken one night of him finally getting the guts to kiss her senseless until she forgot. The same night he’d gotten her pregnant. The same night he’d disappeared. “I want to be able to see him coming.”
His gut sank. Damn it. He should’ve thrown the SOB who’d taken her off the cliff like he’d planned. He could’ve ended this nightmare. Could’ve brought her some justice. He pushed off the wall, closing the space between them. Crouching in front of her, he fought the urge to use the same tactics he had the night they’d been together that single time. “Liz—”
“I don’t need you to talk.” Framing his jawline with her hands, Liz pulled him closer and crushed her mouth against his. A burst of her lavender scent destroyed the wall of care he’d put in place for her. She swept her tongue past his lips, and his knees hit the hardwood. No matter how much muscle he’d put on, no matter how many hours he’d trained, none of it stood against her. Pressing his palms against the small of her back, he took anything he could
get from her and more. Then she pulled away. “I need you to stay with me tonight.”
Chapter Ten
She didn’t want to think about the explosion. Not the shooting in the garage, her kidnapping. The fact she’d very nearly been thrown off a cliff and was still the center of a hit man’s plans for revenge. None of it. The only thing Elizabeth focused on now was him. All she wanted in this moment was him. His five o’clock shadow prickled against her palms as she framed his jawline. Seconds passed. A minute?
He backed away from her, those green-gray irises widening as his pupils shrank.
Confusion gripped her hard. “Say something.”
“You don’t want me to stay with you...not right now.” His phone chimed, but Braxton didn’t move. He looked over her, her skin burning everywhere his gaze made contact. Raising his hand, he slid his fingertips up her arm and rested his thumb against the hollow at the base of her throat. The tendons along his neck ticked. “I promised to protect you and failed. I should’ve gotten to you sooner.”
“I’m perfectly capable of deciding what I want for myself. I know exactly what I’m asking you to do.” Low-grade pain spread from the bruise around her neck. Elizabeth automatically swallowed against the tightness overtaking her entire body, but instead of flinching, she reached out for him. Fisting her fingers in his long-sleeve T-shirt, she tugged him into her, where he belonged. Tendrils of his hair hid half of his face from her, and she brushed them out of the way with her casted hand, refusing to think of how she’d ended up with the broken wrist in the first place. “I’m alive, Braxton. We survived. And we’ll keep surviving as long as we’re together. So don’t get any bright ideas about pulling away now.”
“You should’ve let me kill him.” His voice dropped into dangerous territory, but this had a new edge to it. So sharp it threatened to cut straight through her. The Braxton she remembered vanished as steel hardened his expression. “I could’ve ended this once and for all.”
“Ended this.” The words were more for herself than for him. The bullet wound in her arm burned, her muscles wound tight with strain and overuse. But none of that compared to the sinking of her stomach from a combination of the guilt etched into his features and the disappointment consuming her. He blamed himself for the events of the last few days—that was clear—but what he should be worried about was the baby he’d helped conceive. About whether or not he was going to fight to stay in her life. “I know you’d do anything to protect me and this baby, but killing him would’ve put you back on the NSA’s radar. Self-defense or to save me. It wouldn’t matter. They would’ve taken you, and I’d never see you again.”
“Wasn’t that my end of our deal?” he said.
Silence settled between them as reality closed in. Yes. Back in the garage, before he’d given her a glimpse of how thoughtful he was, how caring, before he’d risked his life to save hers, she’d made him swear to crawl back to the rock he’d been hiding under for the last four months when this was over. Since he’d come back into her life, he’d gone out of his way to prove how much she’d meant to him. The ice cream and sprinkles, the nicknames, the slight lift of his lips when he looked at her, the undeniable physical attraction they shared. Or had it all been an act? A way to force her to accept his protection in order to extinguish his own guilt for leaving? She blinked to clear her head, to build up the wall that’d been in place for so long, and shut down her initial reaction. “You’re right. Killing him wouldn’t have changed anything.”
No response.
She released her grip on his shirt and stepped away from him. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Four months ago, he’d taken her to bed, given her everything she’d wanted between them, then disappeared without a word. He was the one who’d tracked her down. He was the one who’d promised to protect her. He was the one who’d kept her alive these last few days. They were having a baby together. But apparently not even the tiny creature in her uterus who’d disrupted absolutely everything could make him want to stay. Damn it, how could she have been so stupid to think this time would be different? The NSA’s charges against him hadn’t changed. Why would he?
“You should leave when this is over.” Elizabeth maneuvered around him toward the attached bathroom. She swiped at the tears in her eyes as the peach walls and surveillance monitors blurred in her peripheral vision.
Cool air rushed against the exposed skin along her arms as she closed the bathroom door behind her. No footsteps on the other side of the door. No knock against the wood. Braxton hadn’t followed her. But she wasn’t sure if she’d wanted him to. Tapping the crown of her head against the door, Elizabeth steered her attention to the white, brown, tan and teal tile of the soaking tub. What had she been thinking, asking him to stay with her tonight?
That was the problem. She hadn’t been thinking. Being the center of a madman’s revenge, of nearly dying not once but three times had distorted the single rule she’d set for herself when this whole thing started. Protect herself. Emotionally, physically, mentally. At whatever cost. But for the briefest of moments, he’d slid past her defenses, and she hadn’t realized it until right now. For the briefest of moments, she’d let him have control.
Elizabeth forced herself to put one foot in front of the other until she’d reached the tub, and she turned the knob for hot water. To rinse some of the rawness down the drain. She undressed and added a lavender-scented soap beneath the water stream. The same brand she used at home. Wasn’t surprising. Seemed Braxton had held on to a lot of things from the past. She studied the rest of the bathroom for the first time. For a while there, it seemed he’d held on to his feelings for her, too, as he’d held on to this house. But now she recognized her own wishful thinking.
He was shutting her out.
And hell, it hurt. She should’ve been used to that by now. She blinked back the burn in her lower lash line as the truth began to show. Stay in control. Stay strong. Whatever she imagined might happen between them was a fantasy, some twisted desire to have the support system neither of them had had growing up.
She stepped into the bath, flinching from the sting of the water on her fresh cuts, and curled in on herself. Her knees pressed against her cheeks. If the past four days had proven anything, it was that she and Braxton wouldn’t work. Not with the NSA’s charges over his head. Not with his flight instincts so engraved into his personal arsenal. Not when he tested everything she knew about herself.
She tightened her hold around her shins. The fact she was pregnant, the fact she’d been put in the shooter’s crosshairs, was truly as bad as things could get, right? How much more pain did she have to go through before giving up was okay? Elizabeth ran a hand through her hair. No. She wouldn’t give up. For the sake of her baby, she had to see this through. Even if her daughter lost a father in the process.
The doorknob clicked a split second before Braxton pushed it open. She lifted her attention toward him but didn’t move. Didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Because the anguish etched across his expression gutted her to the bone. Green-gray eyes locked on her and, suddenly, she was losing the battle against him all over again. He heel-toed off his boots one at a time then lifted his shirt over his head. The stitches across his arm almost bore resemblance to the bullet graze across hers. He’d been through hell just as much as she had the past three days. She had to remember that. He’d risked his life for her, almost died for her.
Valleys and ridges shifted across his abdomen as he closed the distance between them. Two steps. Three. Her mouth dried as he stared down at her, his dark, fathomless eyes burning straight through her. Climbing into the tub behind her, Braxton sank beneath the water almost fully clothed. Water rushed over the edge of the tub, but she didn’t have the energy to care. Traitorous, treacherous need overtook her as he slid callused palms along her shoulders and pulled her back against him. All she wanted was him. Skin against skin, she wanted to feel alive. He wrapped his arm
s around her and pressed his mouth to her ear. “I’ve got you, Sprinkles.”
A shiver chased down her spine despite the warmth of the water around her and Braxton’s heat at her back. The tears came then, so strong she couldn’t hold them back anymore. She shook against him, and he only held her tighter. This. This was what she missed about him. Not the promises. Not the offer of ice cream or the nicknames. She’d missed being in his arms, missed knowing she had someone she could count on, if only for a night.
“And I’ll never let you go.” He swiped her hair out of her face and turned her onto her side. Holding her against him with one arm, he rubbed small circles between her shoulder blades. When the sobs had racked her body and the water dropped in temperature, Braxton lifted her out of the tub. Goose bumps pimpled along her skin as he carefully dried her off with a fresh towel off the rack then led her back into the bedroom without a word.
Droplets of cold water hit her skin from her wet hair as he pulled an oversize shirt and a pair of sweats out of the dresser. He helped her dress, sliding his fingers along the back of her calves and down to her Achilles’ heels. Another tremor lightninged through her, one that had nothing to do with the drop in her body temperature. Once she was dressed, Braxton interlaced his fingers with hers, tugging her down onto the bed. Shedding his own clothing, he pulled a pair of sweats from the dresser and shoved his legs into them. His weight on the mattress settled against her, hiking her heart into her throat. The past four days had destroyed her inside and out. And she had nothing left to give. Not to him. Not to the man trying to kill her. Not to her team. “Braxton, I can’t—”
“I don’t need you to talk.” Her own words to him released the anxiety climbing up her throat. He maneuvered under the covers, his heat chasing the chill from her bones, and coiled around her. His fingers encased hers against her collarbones. They hadn’t solved anything, but right now, pressed against him, she didn’t care. His exhales kept rhythm with hers. “I need you to go to sleep.”
Rules in Deceit Page 11
