FRACTURED HONOR

by Kaylea Cross

  Beckett let his eyes slam shut. He lowered his head, buried his face into her hair and surged deeper, harder. The pleasure rose higher and higher, burning a path of fire up his spine. He cried out as the orgasm hit him, obliterating everything, made all the sweeter because it was Sierra he was buried deep inside.

  Lying sprawled on top of her, he fought to catch his breath. Was he crushing her? She soothed that worry by relaxing under him with a sigh, easing her legs down from his hips to tangle with his own, her arms looping around his back.

  He let out a low growl of enjoyment when she stroked her hands over his hot, damp skin from neck to the base of his spine. A gentle, comforting caress, but he could feel the possessiveness behind it. She’d wanted to claim him as well, and she had.

  “Was that like you imagined it would be?” she murmured, her fingers stroking through his short hair.

  “Better.” He nuzzled her temple, lower to run his nose along the side of her neck. “So much better.”

  “Hmm, for me, too.” She kissed his temple. “Ready to sleep now?”

  “Yeah.” He gently rolled off her, dealt with the condom and helped her beneath the covers.

  Pulling her to his chest, he wrapped his arms around her back and held her close. She tucked one leg between his and settled her cheek on his chest with a contented sigh that filled him with the first real sense of peace he’d felt in forever.

  This was what he’d needed. Sierra. Naked. In his arms.

  But the peace didn’t last.

  Her breathing slowed and deepened as she slipped into sleep. He held her, focused on her sweet warmth and weight, staring out the bedroom window and the view beyond.

  The ocean. He could hear it now, a rhythmic sigh as the waves rolled against the shore.

  He thought of his dad, of all the times they’d spent on the water together, or on the beach. It was part of them. The beach, the ocean and house were still here, even though he was gone forever.

  Christ, he’s really gone.

  His lungs seized, his heart hitching as the grief he’d shoved down so deep threatened to burst free. Panic sizzled through him.

  He didn’t realize he’d gone rigid until Sierra stirred slightly. “Beckett?”

  He didn’t answer. Just pulled her closer and turned his head to bury his face in the curve of her shoulder.

  She made a soft, sympathetic sound and curled around him. “I know it hurts. It’s going to be okay, baby,” she whispered.

  Was it? He was lost, far out to sea where no one could save him. And Sierra was his only lifeline.

  The crack in the wall where he’d bricked-in his emotions suddenly split open…and came tumbling down.

  Holding on tight to the woman who owned his battered, cynical heart, he let the crushing tide of grief carry him away.

  Chapter Nineteen

  It was full dark now. Was Hollister alone?

  A quick check through the binoculars showed Sierra’s car was still in Hollister’s driveway. It had been all day. She must be staying over.

  Were they together? If so, that was new. No one in town had talked about it, but everyone knew Hollister’s dad had died this morning.

  A light flicked on in the upstairs bedroom window, giving a perfect view inside.

  Two figures appeared, silhouettes backlit against the darkness. A large frame that could only be Hollister. Then a smaller, curvy figure.

  Sierra.

  Hollister lifted an arm and tucked her into his side. For a moment they stood there, looking out at the darkened yard, or maybe the ocean beyond. They were definitely together.

  Everything clicked in that instant.

  Sierra. She was the answer.

  It wasn’t enough for Hollister to die. He had to watch Sierra die first. He had to feel the maximum amount of pain possible before he was shot, before his own suffering was over.

  The weight of the pistol was comforting, familiar, the distant sigh of the ocean filling the night.

  In the window Hollister and Sierra embraced, kissing each other as they stepped away out of view. Between one breath and the next, the upstairs light went out, plunging everything back into darkness.

  The soles of the new shoes barely made a sound as they moved from the cover of the trees, over the paved lane to the soft, thick grass of the front lawn.

  I have to get Sierra. Have to take her first.

  They had no idea someone was outside the house right now, hunting them, the symbol of hatred hidden in the jeans front pocket.

  The waiting was over—it was time to dole out the punishment dreamed of for so long.

  Attacking them now while together was a huge risk, but it didn’t matter. There was nothing left to live for now anyway.

  As long as Sierra died in front of Hollister first, whatever happened afterward didn’t matter.

  ****

  A sense of impending doom filled Beckett as he stood in the desert, surrounded by darkness. All around him his teammates lay in defensive positions, awaiting the enemy counterattack they all knew was coming.

  They were outnumbered ten to one at least. And the closest air assets that might give them a fighting chance at surviving the coming battle were more than twenty minutes out.

  “We doing this alone, Cap?” one of the men asked him.

  “Help’s on the way,” he answered, bringing his own weapon up and taking aim across the gulley where the enemy would be attacking from.

  An RPG screamed overhead and detonated behind them. Rock and debris showered down, pelting their backs and legs.

  Gunfire erupted across the gulley, shattering the night, glowing tracers lighting up the darkness in streaming arcs of death. His men returned fire, but it was already too late. They were already starting to die.

  He ordered a tactical retreat, trying to get them behind better cover. They didn’t make it. Just as in the actual mission, they never reached the safety of the ridge.

  Faces swirled before him. Bloody faces of his dying teammates. The men he had sworn to look after and bring home to their wives and girlfriends. The doomed hostages from the op in Syria. Their blank eyes stared up at him accusingly, the sounds of their agonized, dying screams still echoing in his ears.

  Cole Goodman’s face appeared through the smoke and dust, half of it missing from the bullet that had shattered his skull. Blood streamed out of his mouth as he opened it to speak. “You could’ve saved me and the others,” he rasped. “But you stood by and did nothing.”

  The allegation punched through his chest like a hollow point round. Because it was true.

  Goodman’s face twisted, shifted as it changed shape and became Carter’s. His former teammate’s dark brown eyes bored into his, almost lit from within from the madness that was tearing him apart. “You turned your back on me. You have no honor.”

  Beckett shook his head, started to defend himself, but then he saw his father lying there on the ground, covered in the hospital blanket. His eyes were open, staring up at him. “Gone,” he said. “We’re all gone now.”

  Before Beckett’s horrified gaze, his father’s face began to decompose. He tried to turn away, to close his eyes, but he was trapped, a scream building in his throat at the evidence before him. Everyone he’d loved or was supposed to protect lay dead or dying around him, their blood soaking into the thirsty desert sand…

  He jerked awake, his lungs on fire, his heart threatening to explode out of his chest.

  Bolting upright, he sucked in a breath of air and wiped a shaking hand over his damp face, nausea rolling in his gut as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  Before he could stand, the mattress shifted. “Hey. You okay?”

  No. Not even close.

  He flinched when a gentle hand settled on his sweaty back. Shit, that had been a bad one, and he hated that it had happened in front of Sierra.

  She sat up behind him, kept her hand where it was, maintaining contact. She was silent for a few moments, allowing him a little time
to try and get a grip on himself. “Bad dream?” she murmured.

  There was no way to hide it now. “Yeah,” he answered, his voice rough.

  “Can I help?”

  He shook his head. He didn’t mean to shut her out. “I’m gonna take a shower.” He was sweaty and gross and needed a few minutes to himself. Sierra seeing him this way was too much, and fueled all his secret fears. She’d already seen him at his weakest and most vulnerable earlier. He was terrified of her learning the truth: that he wasn’t the hero she deserved.

  Thankfully she didn’t say anything or follow him. In the bathroom he locked the door and let out a relieved breath before firing up the shower.

  He forced his mind to go blank as he stood under the spray, focused on the warmth of the water, the smell of the soap. Simple things that grounded him in the here and now and helped chase away the jagged splinters of the dream still clinging to his consciousness.

  When he stepped back into the bedroom Sierra was lying on her side watching him. She gave him a soft smile and patted the bed next to a plate she’d set there. “You didn’t get the chance to eat earlier, so I made you a sandwich.”

  It was like an invisible hand reached through his ribcage and squeezed his heart. “Thank you.” He slid in next to her, hugged her close and brushed a gentle kiss over her mouth, a familiar smoky scent in the air tempting him. “Bacon?”

  She pushed at his shoulder. “Yes, a BLT, bacon crispy with extra mayo, just the way you like it. Eat up before it gets soggy.”

  She was such a sweetheart. And he was a fucking mess. “You want some?”

  “Already had one.”

  He sat up and polished it off in a few bites, then set the plate aside and switched off the lamp. The darkness helped, allowed him to hide a little. He wanted Sierra to see him as strong and capable, not weak and in need of help. “I needed that, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She scooted over, plastering her body along his. “You know what? I’m no expert, but I understand what it means to carry guilt around. It’s exhausting. And the only way to unload it is to forgive yourself.” She kissed him softly. “Whatever happened, please try to forgive yourself.”

  He didn’t know if he could do that, but her words resonated deep inside him.

  He sank into the kiss, letting the stroke of her hands and the press of her body soothe him, thankful she wasn’t pushing him to talk or making a big deal about it. He tucked her in close to his chest and sighed, breathing in her scent as they both drifted back to sleep.

  Walter’s deep, sharp bark made his eyes fly open in the darkness sometime later. Beckett tensed and waited, listening.

  The dog barked again, this time a series of them that ended in a low, warning growl.

  “What is it?” Sierra whispered. “Do you hear anything?”

  Beckett was already sliding out of bed. During his missions overseas, he’d learned to implicitly trust the working dogs’ instincts. “Stay here.” He set a hand on Sierra’s shoulder to keep her where she was, then tugged on a pair of jeans and hurried downstairs.

  Walter was by the front door looking through the right panel window beside it. Ears perked, tail straight out, intent on something outside.

  Beckett stepped up close to him. “See something, buddy?” Probably a raccoon, or maybe a cougar. They were rare in the area now, but it still happened occasionally.

  He peered out the window in the top half of the door, checking the porch and front yard. A shadow moved at the edge of his peripheral vision. He snapped his head to the left to get a better look, caught something moving back into the trees across the road.

  A warning tingle prickled the back of his neck. The shadow had been big. Might even have been human.

  Moving quietly, he retrieved his pistol from the locker in the den, then slipped out the side door to look around. The porch was empty. Nothing had been disturbed. But as the clouds parted overhead, the moonlight slanted across the lawn in a swath of silver.

  A sheen of dew on the newly-trimmed lawn glistened in the light, except for the small, darker patches revealing the footprints.

  One set that led from the road right up to the garden bed at the edge of the side porch, then back again.

  Beckett firmed his grip on his pistol and swept his gaze back to the deep shadows across the road where the forest had swallowed whoever it was. Could have been a kid looking for an easy target to rob.

  Or something more sinister. Like a certain pedophile now back amongst the population.

  Taking a step toward the railing, his bare foot landed on something. He looked down, saw the bits of whatever it was scattered on the porch floor.

  Crouching down, he ignored the twinge in his low back and picked up one of the pieces. Part of what appeared to be a patch. Gathering more of them, his gut dropped when he recognized it.

  A 3rd Special Forces Group patch. Cut into pieces and dumped here for him to find.

  He shoved to his feet, his gaze snapping back to the forest. Jesus Christ. Carter. Had to be. Was he drunk? Coming here in the middle of the night to leave this as a giant fuck you? It made no goddamn sense.

  He thought of the note he’d found on his windshield. You have no honor. Had that been Carter too?

  Beckett stared at the distant tree line. He would have gone in there after him, but Carter was gone now and there was no way Beckett was leaving Sierra alone here undefended, just in case.

  A bone deep weariness crashed into him, the cut-up patch a blow he had no defense against. He picked up the pieces, slipped back inside and checked to make sure all the doors and windows were locked before dumping the patch in the garbage. Anger began to burn away the hurt.

  Walter shuffled up to him. Beckett reached down to stroke the dog’s head. “Good boy.” If not for him, Beckett would have slept through the incident.

  The dog stared up at him, illuminated by a shaft of moonlight that spilled across the hardwood floor.

  Beckett nodded at the staircase. “Come on,” he said, picking up Walter’s memory foam bed before heading upstairs, the shuffle of paws following him up the wooden treads. With the dog here to alert them, Beckett felt more at ease and willing to relax his guard a little.

  Sierra was wide awake in his bed, waiting for him. “Everything okay?” she asked as he set Walter’s bed on the floor.

  “Yeah, it’s fine,” he said, and silently laid his pistol on the nightstand before sliding in next to her. Telling Sierra what he’d found would only upset her.

  Near the door, Walter curled up on his bed and let out a deep sigh.

  Beckett turned Sierra onto her side and tucked her into him, wrapping an arm around her ribs. She was what mattered. Carter could go fuck himself.

  Chapter Twenty

  Beckett had never planned a funeral before. He’d had no idea how much work was involved, even for a simple service like this one.

  He finished a call with the funeral home director and sat back in the kitchen chair with a sigh to rub at his tired eyes. Sleep was an uphill battle for him right now, even though Carter hadn’t returned since the other night. Having Walter sleep in the room with him and Sierra had helped, but hadn’t banished the ghosts.

  Sprawled out on his side near the front door, the dog cracked one eye open and looked up at him.

  “You’re a good boy, Walter.” The dog thumped his tail on the floor once as if to say ‘I know’ and closed his eye.

  It was way too damn quiet in the house.

  Sierra was at her clinic for a couple of hours to finish up some things before the service. She’d spent the last two nights with him and he already missed her. This place felt empty without her in it.

  Over the past two days she’d helped him out with many of the final arrangements his dad had gone over with him. Even though it was just a matter of executing his wishes, it was still a lot to get done in a short amount of time. He’d been so busy with all of that and various administrative things for work projects during the da
ys, he and Sierra had only seen each other when he’d come home late at night to crawl into bed beside her.

  A text came in. Missing you. She sent a picture of her blowing a kiss at the camera.

  It made him smile even though his heart was heavy. Miss you too. See you soon.

  Once this was over and he saw his father through this final step, he was making Sierra his priority.

  He loved her. Loved her so much his heart could barely withstand it. He was going to tell her tonight, start fresh once all of this was behind them, and then they could make plans for the future. Their future, and he would have to learn to live with the risks involved.

  But first, he had to lay his father to rest.

  He went upstairs to shower and dress, then went into the master bedroom. It was exactly as his dad had left it, the double-wedding ring quilt spread neatly over the king-size bed, his bottle of cologne sitting on top of the bureau next to their wedding photo and another of them as a family.

  Beckett paused in front of it. He’d been around eight or so in this one, taken down at the beach below the house, all of them standing on a large driftwood log that had washed up on the sand. Beckett stood between his parents, their arms around his shoulders, all of them grinning at the camera as the sun set in front of them.

  All three of them without a worry in the world. All three of them oblivious to the pain life had in store for them.

  He crossed to the walk-in closet and opened it. His dad had emptied it of all his wife’s things a few years after she had died. Now the racks and shelves were full of his modest clothes, mostly flannel shirts, a couple of polos. One suit jacket he’d had for probably twenty-five years.

  The faint scent of his dad’s cologne wafted up, stirring emotions and memories. Beckett reached for the drawer where his dad’s tie collection was kept. Four neatly-coiled ties sat in it. He knew exactly which one he was going to wear. His dad’s favorite—his “lucky” tie he wore to every important business meeting, and every Christmas dinner.

  Beckett put on the bright red tie. He smoothed the tail down, added the clip to keep it close to his shirt placket and slid on his tailored jacket over top.