The Warrior: DERRICK (Cover Six Security Book 4)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  "You two should be together, Derrick."

  He tilted his head back, drained half the bottle in three long gulps. "No, TR, we shouldn't. We were never together."

  "But you were. I know you were—"

  "We had sex, TR. Doesn't mean we were together or that there was anything there or, God forbid, that we were soulmates."

  "You're only lying to yourself. You know that, right?"

  "I'm not—"

  "I saw how she looked at you, Derrick. More importantly, I saw how you looked at her. You need her."

  "I don't—"

  "You do. There was something there and you know it. You're just afraid to admit it." She stepped right up to him, completely invading his personal space, and poked a finger in the middle of his chest, hard, inches below where he'd been shot. Then kept on poking, using that damn finger to punctuate every word as she continued talking. "You've convinced yourself you don't deserve to be happy."

  "TR—"

  "No. I'm done talking to you. It's like talking to a stupid wall only the wall has more sense because it hasn't been poisoned with testosterone!"

  She stepped back and crossed her arms in front of her. The look she was going for—angry and impatient and annoyed—was completely ruined by the sight of her protruding belly. Derrick bit down on the inside of his cheek, knowing that she would rain hell down on his head if she saw even the merest twitch of his mouth.

  She narrowed her eyes in silent warning and stared at him. "You still haven't asked me where she's moving to."

  "I don't—"

  "Quantico. Want to know why—"

  "No—"

  "Because she's going to work for the FBI."

  Derrick clenched his jaw and looked away. Yes, he'd known about that part, had reached out to a contact and mentioned her name, told that contact they'd be a fool not to put her to work. But he hadn't realized she'd be going to Quantico, had thought she'd take a position in the Baltimore office.

  "Want to know what she's going to be doing?"

  Derrick shook his head. "No—"

  "She's going to be a hacker-analyst-computer-systems-something or other."

  "Good—"

  "And she leaves in the morning." TR tilted her head, watched him for a long time with soft understanding glowing in her eyes. "You need to at least try, Derrick. You can't keep letting the past define you. And you can't keep using it as an excuse to destroy your future. Because that's what you're doing."

  Was it? Maybe. What the hell did it matter if he was? He was the loner, the one most comfortable being by himself. Relying on himself. He didn't need anyone—

  Except maybe he did. Maybe Daryl had been right all along—they were a team, more efficient when they worked together. Stronger. Unstoppable. What if the same was true in life?

  Mac had TR and he was a better man for it. Same with Daryl because Kelsey had filled the emptiness that had been eating the man alive.

  They were couples, yes, but still a team. Working together, stronger for it.

  Jesus. Any more of that bullshit and he'd actually start believing TR.

  He drained the beer, tossed the empty bottle into the recycle container, then watched TR for a long minute. And damn if she didn't smart smiling.

  "You're going to talk to her, aren't you?"

  "I didn't say that."

  "You didn't have to, I see it in your eyes."

  "I'm not—" Oh, hell. Who was he fooling? Yes, he'd go talk to Lee—if for no other reason than to apologize. He owed her that much at least, after everything he'd said to her that morning in the cabin, before Hell had come to visit them.

  After that...well, there would be no after. TR might believe in happy-ever-afters—

  But Derrick knew better.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Everything he'd told TR was bullshit. Every line, every denial, every argument and excuse had been just that: bullshit. Only he hadn't realized it until ten minutes ago, when he first pulled up in front of the small condo in Cockeysville where Lee was staying.

  Even now, he was in denial. Making excuses to himself, refusing to admit the truth. But he couldn't deny it, not anymore. Not when his sweaty palms and racing heart demanded otherwise.

  He hadn't seen Lee because he'd been afraid to. Afraid of the way she looked at him. Afraid of the way he made her want. Afraid of the way she'd gotten under his skin so fast—not when they first met, but before then, even, when she had been nothing but a faceless name behind a computer. There had been a connection even then, before he'd known anything at all about her, one of comradery and companionship. She'd kept him company on more nights than he cared to admit, even to himself.

  But mostly, he hadn't seen her because of the way she made him think about possibilities. Because he made her start to wonder if maybe there was something to all of TR's talk about soulmates and forever. Derrick had never thought of the future in those terms, not before Kathleen and sure as hell not after. He'd always done his best not to think of the future, period.

  But now...now he wasn't so sure, and that scared the hell out of him.

  He almost turned around and left but two things stopped him: first, leaving now would make him a fucking coward and he'd never be able to live with himself. And second—he was pretty damn sure Lee had already noticed his truck sitting at the curb. She'd either recognize it—or imagine the worst and think someone was stalking her. She'd had enough fright and pain to last her a lifetime, he'd be damned if he added to it.

  He climbed out of the truck and slammed the door, made his way to the front of the building. The condo Lee was staying in was on the second floor, on the right-hand side. It was a nice enough place, with a second bedroom she could use as an office. A full dining room and a spacious kitchen with plenty of room if she wanted to stockpile supplies for the zombie apocalypse. Not that she needed to, not anymore, but he wondered if she realized that.

  He should know the answer to that and it pissed him off that he didn't, which was why he pounded on the door a little harder than he needed to. The door swung open, fast enough to let him know that Lee had seen his truck and was expecting him.

  Whatever he'd been expecting to see when she opened the door, the anger etched onto her face wasn't it. In fact, the anger caught him so off-guard that he actually stepped back and glanced over his shoulder, wondering if maybe he'd knocked on the wrong door. Only he hadn't, because that was definitely Lee leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed in front of her, blocking him from entering. Annoyance flashed in her eyes—those big, beautiful, wide gray eyes that haunted every minute of his dreams.

  This was definitely Lee—but not the reserved, wary, quiet Lee he'd come to know during the few days they'd spent together.

  "What are you doing here?"

  And yeah, okay, that sharp tone in her voice wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting to hear, either. For reasons he didn't understand, it actually irritated him and some of that irritation seeped into his voice when he spoke.

  "I came to check on you. See how you were doing."

  "Really? Why?"

  "Because—" His mouth snapped closed and he stepped forward, thinking she'd move back and let him in. She didn't. "Because I wanted to see how you were doing, that's why."

  "I'm fine. Thank you for checking." She stepped back, started to close the door.

  Derrick slammed his hand against it, forced it open and stepped inside the condo. He scanned the interior, noticed the small stack of boxes against the wall, the books piled on the floor near the sofa, the computer equipment and paraphernalia carefully wrapped and waiting to be packed.

  "You're moving." It was a statement, not a question, but she answered anyway, the first hint of wariness in her voice.

  "Yes. Tomorrow."

  Tomorrow. The word brushed over him, chilling him. Filling him with the certain knowledge that he was already too late. That whatever he was doing here, what he hoped to do, should have been done weeks ago. Months ago.

>   He dragged his gaze from the boxes. "To Quantico?"

  Lee's brows snapped low over her eyes. "I—who told you that?"

  "TR. Earlier, when she stopped by."

  "Is that why you're here? Because she made you come?" Lee moved toward the door, closed her hand over the knob, but she didn't open it. And he didn't miss the shadow of pain, of regret, that passed through her eyes. "You didn't need to—"

  "I came because I wanted to see you. Talk to you."

  Her fingers tightened around the knob, almost like she was using it to brace herself. "You already said everything there was to say that last morning we were together."

  She wasn't talking about the last time he'd seen her, that morning he was leaving the hospital. She was talking about that other morning, the one in the cabin.

  The morning he'd let his anger rob him of common sense and intelligence. The morning he'd so cruelly told her she was no better than her grandfather. Her uncle.

  He'd never been more wrong in his life. And he'd never regretted anything more than the way he regretted the things he'd said to her then.

  Jesus. No wonder she looked like she wanted to throw him out of here. He deserved no less than that. No—he deserved worse than that.

  But he didn't want to leave. Not yet.

  He pointedly glanced at her hand wrapped around the doorknob then nodded toward the sofa. "Can we talk? Please?"

  She hesitated, long enough that he actually thought she was going to say no. Then she slowly nodded and took a hesitant step forward, then another, her arm brushing against his as she skirted a pile of books. Derrick didn't stop to think, just reached down and snagged her hand. Threaded his fingers with hers.

  And waited.

  Would she jerk her hand free? Push him away? Tell him to leave?

  She did none of those things, just stared up at him with those soulful eyes.

  Her fingers trembled in his and he gave them a gentle squeeze before leading her to the sofa. He turned to face her when they sat, close enough that his knee brushed against her leg. Contact. Connection. He needed both when he talked her, needed the advantage that physical contact might give him. Hell, he needed every advantage he could get.

  "Lee, what I said to you that morning—" Derrick swallowed around the odd lump in his throat, coughed to clear it. "I was wrong. I've never been more wrong. And I'm sorry—"

  "But you were right. About all of it. I should have done something, should have turned the information over—"

  "You didn't know. You said so yourself. You never looked at the files."

  "Because I was scared. I was already ashamed of what we knew. About my grandfather. About Marko. The thought of learning more made me sick. So I didn't look. But I should have—" Her voice cracked and she shook her head. Determination filled her eyes, stiffened her shoulders. "If I had looked, if I had turned the information over, maybe it would have made a difference."

  "It wouldn't have mattered, Lee. You know that. The information in those files—in Stefanović's files—was already outdated long before you took possession of it."

  "I still should have done something. Turned it over. Destroyed the bracelet. If I had done that, at least, he would have never found me. He would have never done what he did to you—"

  Derrick squeezed her hand. Caught her eye and offered her a reassuring smile, knowing that the attempt fell flat. "If you're going to blame anyone, blame me. I should have made you throw that bracelet out that very first night."

  Because that was how Stefanović had found her and her parents: the silicone bracelet with the flash drive. The one thing he knew none of them would dare part with, not if it meant exposing their secrets. He hadn't cared that the information was useless, he'd only cared that they'd had it.

  The two years that Lee had spent in hiding had been for nothing because Marko had known where she was, had always known. He'd simply been playing a game with her.

  She took a deep breath, her gaze focused inward for a long minute. Long enough that a frisson of worry skittered along Derrick's spine. And when she refocused, when she finally looked at him, the sadness in her eyes sliced straight through him.

  "What you said, about...about my family. You were right. I have their blood in my veins. The blood of monsters—"

  "Bullshit." Derrick growled the world. Wrapped his hands around her arms and pulled her closer. Said the word again, harder this time. "Bullshit. You are nothing like them. Don't ever think you are, Lee."

  But she didn't hear him. Or, if she did, she chose to ignore him. "How can you even look at me, Derrick? How can you even bear to be in the same room with me?"

  "Because you're not them, Lee. Don't you understand that? You're not responsible for what they did—"

  "But Marko, and what he did with your wife. What he did to her—how can you look at me and not see what my uncle did to the woman you loved?"

  Derrick jerked back, her words having the same effect on him as if she had slapped him. He released her arms. Ran a hand through his hair then down over his face. Stared at his fingers, surprised to see the way they shook. He curled his hands into fists and rested them on his thighs, dug his knuckles into the tense muscles—

  And shared a truth he'd never shared with another soul.

  "I didn't love her, Lee. Any more than she loved me."

  "But—"

  "We should have never married. I think we both knew that. But instead of divorcing, we stayed together. Not out of any sense of loyalty, just because it was easy. We didn't hate each other, we just—we didn't belong together." No, that wasn't quite true. Kathleen had hated him, at least for a little while, because it had been so easy for him not to care. Because it had been easy for him to turn his back on her and focus on his work instead of them.

  That was why she had turned to Marko, to the danger and excitement he offered—to get back at him. And when Marko had so casually asked for information, she had willingly provided it, thinking she was doing nothing more than sabotaging a business deal Derrick was working on—only it was so much more than that, and innocent men had nearly lost their lives because of her spite.

  Kathleen hadn't known it until the end, hadn't realized—not until it was too late—that she was nothing more than just another pawn in one of Marko's twisted games. Her fate had been sealed by her own duplicity.

  He didn't share those details with Lee. There was no need to. Kathleen had paid for her mistake, had paid a higher price than she could have ever expected. Maligning her name now served no purpose.

  Derrick uncurled one fist, smoothed his palm along his leg. "Kathleen didn't know who Marko was at first, thought he was just a business associate. A rival. I don't think she ever really knew the truth, not even at the end."

  "What happened?"

  "Stefanović used her as bait to draw me out. I had information he wanted and he thought I would give it to him if he threatened Kathleen's life." Only he'd done more than threaten her. So much more.

  Derrick closed his eyes, pushed away the memories of Kathleen's screams. Of the way she had begged and cried for him to help her. Tried to forget the relief he'd seen in her eyes when he entered the room, the certainty that he'd come to rescue her. The trust in her dark gaze as she looked at him.

  The way that trust had withered and died when she realized the truth.

  Derrick banished the memories and opened his eyes. "When he realized I wouldn't give him what he wanted, Stefanović killed her. He'd already planned on killing her, of course. I'd known that from the very beginning. But he wanted me to feel responsible, wanted me to know that her death was on my hands. And maybe it was. If I had loved her, if I had cared at all, maybe I would have bartered with him. Maybe I would have fought or...at least made an effort..." His voice trailed off, the words he'd just spoken echoing around him. Through him. Over and over.

  ...if I cared...

  ...would have fought...

  ... made an effort...

  Another memory, this one m
ore recent. Of an inhuman scream. Of twisting and fighting and kicking out. Of raw fury and panic and—

  His eyes slammed shut and his gut twisted and clenched, threatened to turn inside out. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead. His palms. The back of his neck.

  Realization barreled into him with enough force to obliterate the past. To annihilate everything he'd believed about himself. To drive everything from his mind except now. Truth blinded him, bright stars exploding behind his eyes. He doubled over, struggled to catch his breath, struggled against a certainty he couldn't deny.

  Hands grabbed at his shoulders. Tugging. Squeezing. A feminine voice called his name, a voice filled with worry and sharp with concern.

  "Derrick. Derrick!"

  Just as quickly as the attack—he had no other word for it—had come, it disappeared. The tightness in his chest eased and his lungs filled with air. Clean, fresh air. He straightened, sat up, noticed Lee staring at him. The same concern and worry that had been in her voice shone in her eyes as she watched him.

  "Are you okay? I thought—you looked like you might be sick."

  "No." He shook his head. "No, not sick. Just—"

  Stunned. Amazed. Shocked. Bewildered. All of that and more.

  And surprised. Surprised that Lee couldn't see the realization on his face. Surprised that she hadn't yet made the connection.

  But she hadn't, not yet. She sat there, brows pulled low over her magnificent eyes, one hand absently rubbing gentle circles along his back. Was she even aware of what she was doing? How she was touching him? Comforting? Did she even realize why?

  But she wasn't paying attention to him. She was focused on something else, on the story he'd been telling her in such a flat, emotionless voice.

  "Fighting wouldn't have made a difference, Derrick. Not with Marco. You know that. It would have only made it worse, for both of you. Look what happened at the cabin, at what he did to you when—"

  And just like that, she knew. He saw the knowledge flash in her eyes, in the way her face paled then quickly colored with a bright flush. She dropped her hand from his back, slid away from him.