by Odette Stone
“Yes.”
“Did you really get a text from my phone number telling you I’d be an hour late?”
His jaw tightened. “It was a fake SMS.”
No one since I had been in the hospital had been willing to talk to me about what was going on. I craved information, and I hoped he’d give it to me. “Do they know who it was from?”
“An untraceable burner phone.”
“Do they have any leads on who did this?”
“I’ll find him.”
That sounded ominous. I didn’t even know what to say about that.
“Why are you mad at me?”
“Why do you think?”
I hated it when tough questions got volleyed back at me. “Because I took a cab home by myself.”
“What else?”
“Because I didn’t leave the apartment when you told me to.”
“What else?”
I thought about that long and hard. I chewed on my lip. “Because I didn’t trust you?”
“Because you didn’t trust me.”
I swallowed, remembering my state of mind before my attack. I had been so convinced that Porter had been delayed because he was with Felicia. I had been certain he was leaving me.
His voice was rough. “Have I ever done anything to warrant your lack of trust?”
No. He hadn’t. Those had been my own fears, my own past prejudices coming into play.
“No.”
“If you don’t trust me, there’s no point to any of this.”
Cold fear drenched my heart. “What are you saying?”
“It’s your choice. You either completely trust me, or we don’t do this at all.”
I didn’t know if he was talking about him protecting me or if he was referencing us. I couldn’t bring myself to call this a relationship, but whatever it was, it was becoming the most important thing in my life. The thought of him walking away terrified me.
“I choose to trust you. Completely.”
He pushed himself off the wall and walked towards me. He grabbed my chin and forced me to look up at him. “Don’t ever fucking scare me like that again.”
Warmth flooded my heart. “You don’t look like you scare that easy.”
“I don’t. But when I heard your scream on the phone…”
“I fought.” Stupid tears filled my eyes as I remembered the terror of that moment.
“You fought like hell, and you survived.”
“What if he comes back?”
“I told you I’d take care of it.”
I stared up at this beautiful man. He was a master at sending mixed messages. If this was a different situation, the ambiguity of his feelings compared to how deeply I was falling would drive me to push him for answers. But under the circumstances, I felt pathetically grateful he was still around.
My mouth opened, but I snapped it shut in an instant, taken aback. At that moment, I realized I was falling in love with him.
Chapter 43
I was falling in love with Porter.
And I had no idea how he felt about me.
His actions told me he cared, but all my feeble attempts to move this sham into reality had fallen spectacularly flat. I mean, I’d all but confessed my heart to him on my deathbed.
If he felt anything back, wouldn’t that have inspired some sort of conversation? Instead, in the same breath, he was asking me for absolute trust while threatening to walk.
Maybe that was the price for loving this man. You gave him your heart, and he responded by being the best man you’ve ever met without promises to stay. He still felt so distant, so far away.
I needed some reassurance. Having his body against mine would chase those fears away.
Hopeful, I asked, “Does this mean we can have sex now?”
He frowned. “You’re still recovering from surgery.”
“A blow job, then.”
“When you’re better.”
“I feel loads better already.”
A ghost of a smile traced his lips. “Get some sleep. Obey your security team.”
He stepped back from me.
“You’re not going to be here?”
“No.”
I wanted to ask him where he was going and who he’d be seeing, but we’d just finished the trust talk. What if he was going to see Felicia? I hated how small and jealous I felt. The situation was infuriating, but I bit the question before it escaped my mouth.
“Talk,” he demanded.
“If our situations were reversed, wouldn’t you want to know where I was going?”
“You want to know where I’m going?”
I did, but I didn’t want to admit that. It made me feel small and insecure.
He answered for me, “I have a meeting with Detective Christensen tonight, and then I’m going to do my own hunting.”
“Oh.” I felt stupid. “For my attacker?”
“For your attacker.”
“But he’s a dangerous person.”
“I’m a hundred times more dangerous than his worst nightmare.”
“What will you do if you find him.”
“We’ll sit down and have a talk.”
Translation: there’d be no talking.
Should I be scared for him? I doubted he’d be able to find a man that the police force couldn’t find. But maybe it’d make him feel better to look. Who was I to hinder that?
But what about Felicia? Was he back in contact with her? After spending time in my world, was he ready to go back to her?
He growled. “What’s on your mind?”
I hated myself for even saying anything, but I couldn’t stop myself from speaking, “Remember when I had your phone, and you were in the shower? The night we got pizza?”
“What about it.”
“It showed that you had talked to Felicia. For ten minutes.”
“So?”
Was he really going to make me ask this?
“So, are you two hanging out now?”
“No.”
That should have made me feel better, but it didn’t. It only made me feel stupid for asking. “Okay.”
“Want me to help you to bed?” When I nodded, he easily lifted me into his arms and carried me to the California king-sized bed in the guest room. With infinite gentleness, he laid me into bed and pulled the covers over me. “Sleep.”
“Will you kiss me?”
He hesitated so long, my heart began to pound, but then his mouth covered mine. I moaned into the kiss that had all the passion, all the lust and chemistry that I remembered. My entire body responded to that him, remembering what the kiss could lead to, remembering how good it could feel.
He pulled back, slightly breathless. His eyes were dark with desire. But without saying another word, he walked out of the room and shut the door, and suddenly, I didn’t feel too desirable.
Another week passed, and my body healed to the point of near normalcy. Except for the tiny row of stitches on my abdomen, you’d never know I’d been stabbed.
What hadn’t returned to normal was my relationship with Porter. He was gone night and day, never telling me where he went. I barely saw him, and when I did, he was as intense and emotionless as he’d been the last two times I’d talked to him. I stressed about that. I mourned those easy-going days when he was light-hearted and fun. I missed being desired. I craved his body. Instead, this SEAL side of him intimidated and confused me.
Roo and Mom set up what they termed their ‘war room,’ which was an entire room dedicated to the comprehensive planning of my faux wedding. Out of sheer boredom, I spent a lot of time with them, helping them fill party favors for guests, doing cake tastings and discussing floral colors.
To my profound shock, they’d switched the colors of my wedding theme to a soft, gentle pink. No more smaragdine. When I asked them what had happened to the emerald green, Roo didn’t bother to glance up from his binder and said, “Porter happened.”
Even when he wasn’t here, he was here.
I woke up to a noise in the kitchen. Pulling my short robe over my body, I crept out toward the light. Porter sat on a stool beneath the light. He looked like hell. He had a black eye, and his lip was cut.
A very professional medical kit laid beside him on the counter. I approached him silently and covered my mouth when I saw what he was doing. His arm rested on a surgical towel, and he was stitching a deep cut on his forearm with a needle and a professional pair of medical forceps.
“Oh, no, Porter.” I gasped, rushing forward.
He glanced up at me. “What are you doing up?”
“What happened?”
I stared in horror at his arm. The cut was deep, and he had put in five expert stitches. Blood trickled down his forearm.
He ignored me.
“We should take you to the hospital.”
He expertly tied off the last stitch. “No need.”
“What if your arm gets infected?”
“It won’t.”
“How do you even know how to do that?” I watched as he irrigated the wound with a syringe, ripped open a package of gauze with his teeth, and covered the cut before taping it.
“We stitch ourselves up in the field all the time.” He was so casual about the fact, he could have been talking about a paper cut.
“What happened?” I stared at his face.
His bottom lip was marred by a nasty cut. He stood and stretched his arm, testing the bandage. Dark blood stained his t-shirt.
My eyes widened. “Your shirt. You’re bleeding.”
He shook his head in disgust. “Ah man, this is one of my favorite t-shirts.”
“Where else are you hurt?”
“I’m not. That isn’t my blood.”
Whose blood was it?
I felt so much dismay over this turn of events, I almost couldn’t take it. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
He gathered the suture kit up and dumped it in the garbage. “No.”
“Well, what can you tell me?”
He leaned over and dropped a hard kiss on my lips. “It’s done.”
“What’s done?”
He peeled off his t-shirt and inspected it closer. “Do you think this blood will come out?”
Desperate to help with something, I stepped forward. “I can soak it for you.”
He leaned down and pressed another hot kiss on my mouth, and a deep moan escaped me. “I’m going to shower.”
I stood there, clutching his shirt and watched his retreat. Several black and green bruises marred his muscular back. I wanted to join him. I wanted to beg him for answers. Instead, I rinsed his shirt in cold water, then soaked it.
Who had hurt him? Why had he been in a fight? What did he mean that it was over? I knew this was related to my situation, and the fact that he was hurt over it, made me feel terrible.
I crept back into bed and muffled my tears in my pillow. What was happening? Why had he been in such an extreme fight? Where was he going at night? I couldn’t stand the idea of him being hurt.
Especially because it was my fault.
Chapter 44
My bedroom door opened, and he stood in the doorway, a silhouetted shadow. He approached the bed and, without speaking, climbed in and wrapped his huge warm body around me. “Were you crying?”
I sniffed. “No.”
I could hear the smile in his voice. “Liar.”
“No one likes a crybaby.”
“Was this the cute cry or the ugly cry?” he teased.
“It wasn’t the ugly cry.”
“When’s that going to happen?”
“Hopefully never. Nothing good has happened if I’m doing the ugly cry.”
He tightened his arm around me, pulling me harder against his side.
“Do you ever cry?” I blurted out.
“Last time I cried, I was ten.”
“What happened?”
“My horse died.”
“You had a horse when you were ten?”
“I got Billy for my birthday when I was five. He’d been Dad’s horse and had been passed through all my brothers until he became mine. He was really old and slow. But he was my horse.”
“What happened?”
“Old age. Billy was already a grandpa by the time I got him, but I loved him until the day he died.”
The image of Porter as a kid, crying over his horse, made me choke up. “That’s so sad.”
His lips grazed my neck. “It was, but Billy had a great life, and he died a peaceful death.”
I laid there, thinking about Porter and this mysterious life he had lived in Montana. I tried to imagine him growing up with five older brothers on a ranch where five-year-olds got their own horses.
Whenever he spoke about that time in his life, there was nothing but respect and reverence for his childhood. What had gone wrong? Why had he left when at 18? And why didn’t he think he deserved to return and be part of that legacy?
“You’re different,” I blurted out.
“From what?”
“Just… you seemed so distant after my accident. And now, you seem like yourself again.”
He waited so long to answer, I wasn’t sure he would. “I was focused.”
“On what?”
“When I’m on a mission, we can’t afford distractions. Most of us are really good at shutting everything else out.”
“What were you focusing on?”
“Keeping you safe.”
I twisted in his arms to look up at him. “There’s so much going on.”
He bent down and winced, before kissing me. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Are you hurt?” I lifted my head in concern.
He shook his head, his eyes already shut. “I’m fine.”
I knew he was hurting, but I also knew he’d never admit it. “What can I do?”
“Go to sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Detective Christensen whistled as she walked into the vast living room. “Nice place you have here.”
I sat up from where I was lying on the couch, reading. “Detective Christensen.”
“Is Porter around?”
I shook my head. “He’s gone for a fitting for his tux.”
“Right, the wedding. When is that happening?”
“Five weeks from now.” I shifted uncomfortably at the lie. I had five weeks left of Porter, and then he’d no longer be part of my life. I couldn’t quite process that.
“How’s the wedding planning going?”
“My mom and Roo are working over time.”
“Who’s Roo?”
“Our wedding planner.”
She raised her eyes brows and nodded. “Right.”
Porter walked into the living room. “Hey, Lena.”
My eyes widened at the use of her first name.
“Hey, Porter.”
“What’s going on?” He sat on the armrest of the couch beside me.
“I just came by to tell you that we’ve had a break in the case.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“We found the perp who attacked you,” she said, looking at me. “His name is Donny Patrino.”
My hands flew over my mouth. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank us. The police had nothing to do with catching him. Last night, Donny was found on the steps of my precinct. He was hog-tied and beaten to a pulp. Tortured, actually. He had a confession note taped to his chest that was in his own handwriting, and he said that he’d tell us anything if we’d protect him.”
I stilled, thinking back to last night, and I knew that was all Porter. “Oh.”
“We did a rush DNA test on him and found that he was an exact match for the DNA we found under your fingernails after you were attacked.”
“Did Donny say who tortured him?” I whispered, suddenly terrified that Porter would get in trouble or go to jail over this.
She shook her head, her eyes on Porter. “No, the guy was too scared. He kept saying he’d be safer in jail. You know an
ything about that Porter?”
He crossed his arms, and he slowly shook his head. “No clue.”
“Right.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, at this point, we don’t actually care how he showed up. This guy is one bad dude. He’s been known to the organized crime team as a high-level hitman for one of the biggest mafia families here in New York. When his DNA hit the system, it popped up in association with four other unsolved homicides in the city for the past few years alone.”
“What did his confession say?” I asked.
“That's the concerning part. He said someone, whose name he did not know, hired him to first threaten you, which he did in the washroom of the restaurant. Then, he was rehired to increase the pressure. He said he wasn’t actually hired to kill you, but he was instructed to mess you up as good as he could without killing you outright.”
Fear pressed me back against Porter’s leg. His hand moved onto the back of my neck. The words stuck in my throat, “Who hired him?”
“Even he doesn’t seem to know. The instructions came through a burner, which we've retrieved. The message was sent from another untraceable burner phone. The money was sent to him via Bitcoin. It’s also virtually untraceable.”
“Do you think they’ll try again?”
She was staring at the bandage on Porter’s arm. “I think it’d be wise to keep that security team of yours on high alert until we get more information.”
“We’ll take care of it,” Porter answered.
Detective Christensen stood up. “Everyone at the station is talking.”
“About what?”
“How Donny was all but begging to be arrested. He was scared. Real bad. I’m wondering what kind of person could actually scare someone like Donny.” She scanned Porter’s face.
He shrugged but didn’t speak.
“Uh-huh.” She turned to me. “How are you doing after your surgery?”
“I get my stitches out today.”
She nodded. “That’s good.”
The three of us stood there for a moment.
“Well, I’ll see myself out.”
The moment I heard the front door shut, I turned to Porter. “Does any of this have to do with you needing to stitch up your arm last night?”
