by Lara Adrian
Christ, after all this time, it really was her.
The reality of it knocked him back. Just as it had the moment he’d realized it was her lying outside in the muddy wash down by the cabin’s trail, his gun trained on her in the dark.
Lisa.
Lisa Becker, she’d said. As if he needed the clarification.
Sure, it had been a while, but she was his best friend’s sister. Duarte had known her for a few years before they last saw each other, and hell, it wasn’t like he was going to forget her.
No, he recalled every square inch of her... more intimately than either of them had planned on that day he’d brought her up to the cabin five years ago.
It had been a momentary loss of sanity—and control—for both of them. More so for him.
His best friend’s little sister, for fuck’s sake. Though even then, at twenty-three, Lisa had been plenty old enough to make her own decisions.
Looking at her sitting in his living room now, Duarte had to blink a couple of times to convince his brain that this wasn’t some twisted repeat of that other time. Five years ago, she’d sat in that very same spot. Except that time she’d been smiling and happy, wearing a strapless, pale peach bridesmaid dress and high-heeled sandals, not shuddering and breathless in a sodden, leaf-littered T-shirt and jeans, and leather flats caked with mud.
On that other night, she’d waited for him there on the couch with the jacket from his dress blues draped over her shoulders, her soft, light-brown hair swept up off her neck in some kind of complicated bun that they’d wrecked moments later in his bed.
At the memory of it, Duarte’s skin got a bit too tight, too warm.
Lisa hadn’t aged in the least since he saw her last. She was waterlogged and pale from cold and exhaustion, but damn if the sight of her didn’t kick his heartbeat up a gear.
He wanted to dismiss the sudden hammer of his pulse as leftover adrenaline from the thought of an intruder skulking up his mountainside. Or that it was just his old Marine protector instincts firing to life after learning something had scared her enough to send her racing off into the night to find him.
Anything to keep from admitting that five years and a hundred bad twists of fate later, he still couldn’t look at this woman without feeling an unwanted surge of possessiveness and need.
Which was a bad idea for many reasons, then and now. Especially now.
Duarte closed the cabinet and walked out with the towels in hand. She swiveled her head toward him, her hazel gaze hesitant, uncertain. She’d come all this way, but the look on her face said she was having serious second thoughts. No doubt, she couldn’t escape the recollection of the night they had spent here together either.
Nor the morning afterward, when daylight brought them back to their senses—back to reality—and they’d parted with a shared awkward, unspoken regret. The last they’d seen of each other in all this time.
God, how scared and desperate did she have to be, to come looking for him, of all people?
Had it been anyone else on his property tonight, he would have sent them right back down the mountain. At the business end of his pistol, if need be.
He should probably get rid of her as quickly as possible, too, but he couldn’t even think about doing that until he knew she was okay.
And not until she told him what was going on with Kyle.
Duarte set the towels on the arm of the couch as he approached her. “How’s your ankle?”
She nodded. “It’s fine. Just a minor sprain at most.” Her teeth chattered as she spoke. “Like I told you outside, it’s nothing.”
He grunted and held out his hand to her. “Stand up, but keep your weight off it. You can hang on to me while I help you out of that wet jacket.”
She obeyed, her hands warm on his shoulders as she let him pull the jacket off one of her arms, then the other. She wore a small backpack, which felt almost as soaked as the rest of her. He took it off and set it down on the couch beside her.
Dressed in a business-casual gray button-down and black pants, Lisa was quiet as he wrapped her in one towel, then dried some of the rain from her hair with the other.
Duarte worked robotically, the way he would if he was in the field taking care of a wounded comrade. Except this wasn’t a fellow Marine.
Against his will, he registered the vanilla scent of her warming skin and the sweet smell of her wet, honey-brown hair. He tried like hell to stifle his awareness of her, but his body’s reaction was faster than his reason.
And shit, wasn’t that always the case when he was near Lisa?
Duarte cleared his throat. Definitely not the time or place to be reacquainting himself with her curves and her scent, or his instinctual response to having her so close to him again.
He put the towel aside and eased her back to a seat on the couch. “Tell me what happened.” His voice was a dry growl in his throat. “You said you talked to Kyle today?”
Lisa shook her head. “I’ve only seen and talked to him once in the past three years. Until I got his text today.”
She reached into her backpack and took out her cell phone. Turning it on, she handed it over.
Duarte read the one-word text message and frowned. What the hell?
The text was troubling, but that didn’t mean it was from her brother. It could have come from anyone. It could be a prank or some idiot kid’s idea of a joke. It could be a text sent to her by mistake.
Or it could be something else. Something worse, that he didn’t want to consider when the prospect of something worse involved Lisa.
“If you haven’t heard from him in so long, why do you think this is from him?”
“It came from Kyle’s phone number. A number he gave me the last time I saw him. He told me it was a secret number, one only the two of us would know about.”
Fuck. Some of Duarte’s skepticism faded as Lisa spoke.
He didn’t like where this was heading. Every covert operative in the Phoenix program had received explicit instructions to cut all ties to the people in their former lives should the highly classified program ever be compromised. Kyle knew the importance of those orders as well as Duarte did. Kyle knew it as well as the others in the program who’d all learned three years ago that its founder, Henry Sheppard, was dead and Phoenix itself betrayed by lethal, unknown enemies who intended to see the rest of the operatives terminated, too.
What the hell was Lisa’s brother thinking, putting her at risk by giving her an active connection to him—even a secret one?
Duarte never would have taken that chance. Then again, he’d never had family worth worrying about, so he was the last person to try to understand that kind of bond.
“Do you know where Kyle is now?”
“No.” Lisa stared at Duarte, worry filling her gaze. “I texted him back right after I got his message, but he didn’t respond. When I called the number a minute later, it was out of service. It’s as if he sent the message, then vanished into thin air. I’m scared for him, Johnny.”
Duarte steeled himself to the sound of his name on her lips like that. No one called him Johnny. No one else would dare.
But Lisa... she’d christened him with the diminutive nickname the first day they were introduced by Kyle on the base at Camp Lejeune. He, the big badass Marine just out of boot camp, and she the bubbly, freckle-faced sixteen-year-old sister of the second-toughest son of a bitch Duarte would ever know.
“Any idea where your brother’s been these past few years?”
She shook her head. “I was hoping maybe you could tell me that.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t have that answer.”
“Would you tell me if you did?” She studied him for a moment, as though weighing her words. Torment and thinly held fear clouded her light hazel gaze. It killed him to see her so distressed, looking for answers she would be better off not knowing. “If you feel like you have to protect me from the truth, don’t. I know Kyle got involved in something classified whi
le he was in the Marines. Something covert.” When Duarte neither confirmed nor denied it, she exhaled a short sigh. “How dangerous was it for him, John?”
He held his careful expression in check. “I can’t tell you anything about that either, Lisa. I’m sorry.”
“You can’t, or you won’t?” When he didn’t respond, she glanced away from him. “What about Alec? Would he know how to find my brother?”
Duarte reflected on the third member of his former posse. The trifecta. The three musketeers. The bond that cemented their friendship and went beyond their service to their country. “It’s been longer than three years since any of us have been in contact. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you where Alec or Kyle is now, or what they might be doing.”
So much had happened during that time—and before—when the three of them had been recruited into Phoenix because of their unusual, shared ability.
Shit, in light of everything that had gone down in the time since, the odds were good that Duarte would never see either of his best friends again.
Worse than that, after the program they’d served had been betrayed, Duarte wasn’t certain he could trust any of his former teammates, including the two who had been like brothers to him.
And there was the distinct possibility that Kyle Becker was already dead. If that was true, and if Kyle had tried to warn his sister away from the danger following him, then she was likely in too deep already.
“Did you tell anyone about this text?”
She shook her head. “No. After I received it, I only took time enough to throw a few things in my bag, then I got in my car and left. I kept driving until I got here. I didn’t know if I should try to contact someone at the Pentagon, or go to the police, or—”
“No. Fuck, no.” His clipped response stopped her short. “You did the smartest thing, Lisa. For yourself and for Kyle.”
Duarte could see the tension in her face. It had deepened since they began talking. He was scaring her even more, something he didn’t mean to do.
He reached out and stroked his hand over her slender shoulder and arm. “We’ll sort it out, all right? Everything’s going to be fine.”
She didn’t look like she totally believed him, but she nodded.
This sure as hell wasn’t the way he’d envisioned his night playing out, but there was no going back. Like it or not, he couldn’t turn her away. Her brother had made him promise more than once to look after Lisa if Kyle wasn’t around to do it. While Duarte hadn’t really expected to be tested on that vow, he wasn’t about to back down from it—least of all when Lisa had crossed three states to reach him and was now standing in front of him, wet and trembling, desperation swimming in her eyes.
Her fear made him want to offer comfort, but that would be an even bigger mistake than before. If the timing had been bad that one night they’d shared, it was beyond bad now.
God knew it wouldn’t take much to light that fire all over again. Duarte noticed belatedly that he was still touching her, still caressing her arm and shoulder long after he should have let his hand fall away.
He pulled back, an abrupt move that didn’t escape her notice. He scowled. “Are you hungry?”
“Um... I don’t know. I guess so.” She blinked as if it took her a moment to process his question. “I haven’t eaten anything since lunch at the office.”
Duarte nodded as he stepped away from her. “I don’t have much. Some venison stew I took out of the freezer earlier, and a couple bottles of beer.”
“Sounds good,” she murmured. “Anything sounds good.”
He stared at her, his fingers still tingling from touching her. Other parts of him weren’t faring much better. He needed time to think. And she needed to get out of her wet clothes.
“The bathroom’s right there,” he said, pointing down the short hallway. “Go take a hot shower and warm up. If you don’t have any dry clothes in your pack, I can give you something to wear.”
“Okay.” She swallowed, then grabbed her backpack and the pair of towels.
Duarte didn’t move. He didn’t dare, not until he knew she was well out of reach.
She started to walk away from him, then paused. “John?”
“Yeah.”
“Thank you.”
He grunted. “Go warm up. The food will be ready when you get out.”
4
The shower had been just what her freezing limbs and frazzled nerves had needed.
It also helped melt away some of the awkward awareness that had begun to swirl within her under John’s lingering touch in the other room. He hadn’t meant anything by his tender caress, she was sure. His abrupt retraction of his hand and deepening scowl had been indication enough of that.
She’d been a sodden, nervous wreck and he was only doing what came natural to a man who made his living protecting others.
Lisa hated that she might need anyone’s protection, especially his. But whatever was going on with Kyle wasn’t something she was equipped to handle alone. And John’s reassurance that they would figure it all out was a life line she clung to even now.
After towel-drying her hair and dressing in the navy blue T-shirt and faded jeans from her backpack, Lisa stole a quick look at herself in the mirror and cringed. She might feel better after the shower, but her pale face and dark-shadowed eyes told a different story.
God, she looked ten years older than she actually was. The urge to dig her makeup bag out of her backpack was strong, though she doubted any amount of concealer or blush would fix the stressed-out, wan reflection staring back at her. And anyway, it wasn’t as if she didn’t have bigger concerns to deal with.
If it had been anyone else waiting in the other room, she wouldn’t have cared at all what she looked like. But the fact that it was John Duarte made her wish she could hide in the bathroom for the rest of the night.
She walked out and was immediately rewarded with the mouthwatering smells from the kitchen. To say nothing of the sight of John standing at the stove in dark denim and a worn lumberjack flannel shirt, stirring the pot of venison stew with one hand, his other wrapped loosely around a long-neck bottle of beer.
His big, six-foot-three frame swallowed up the space in the small cabin, and when he turned to look at her as she approached, his penetrating brown gaze seemed to suck all the air from the room, too.
“Better now?” His deep voice, with its smooth Southern drawl, drew her forward like a beacon of warmth. At her nod, he stretched for the handle on the fridge on the other side of him and took out a bottle of Coors for her. “Sit down and have a drink while I serve up the grub.”
Grub? Hardly. The venison stew smelled amazing. The spicy aroma invaded her senses and made her stomach growl in anticipation. She had no idea he knew how to cook. Then again, aside from John being her brother’s best friend and her most incredible one-night stand, there was a lot she probably didn’t know about him.
Even then, her knowledge was five years old and then some. This John Duarte seemed different in many ways. More emotionally isolated than before. Even more of a lone wolf, if that was possible.
Lisa took a sip from her bottle, but found the prospect of being waited on by him too much to bear. Instead of taking a seat at the table, she walked her beer over and set it down, then went back to help him serve the stew. “Let me take those,” she said as he pulled two earthenware bowls from a cabinet. “Silverware?”
“In that drawer on the left.” He gestured with his dark-bearded chin while he took the pot off the flame then grabbed a ladle from a utensil jar next to the range.
Lisa collected a couple of spoons and followed him. She watched as he scooped two generous servings into the bowls she’d placed on the table. His big hands were strong, steady. His long fingers were nicked here and there, callused from physical work. And yet, she couldn’t keep from remembering how tender they could be. How delicately he’d touched her bare skin that other night that she’d been in this cabin.
“Sit,�
� he said, glancing up at her and finding her staring. “Eat.”
At his grunted command, she dropped into the chair across from him and together they fell into a strange, oddly comfortable silence as they ate their stew and nursed their beers. Lisa took the opportunity to glance around the cabin, taking in the basic, masculine furnishings and decided lack of personal effects. No feminine touches anywhere either, something she’d also taken note of while she was in his shower.
John still lived alone on his mountain. For how long and why, she could only guess.
“Sorry I don’t have anything better to offer you to eat,” he murmured as she spooned up the last drop from her bowl. “I don’t make it down to town very often, and I live pretty rustic up here.”
“Are you kidding? This was delicious. Thank you.” And she’d been so hungry, there was no chance to feign a dainty appetite now. She tipped her longneck up to her mouth, then smirked as she swallowed the bland sip. “Your cooking is impressive, but your taste in beer has definitely degraded.”
There had been a time when she’d called her brother and his Marine buddies beer snobs. Nothing but small batch ales and browns, and obscure microbrews for the three musketeers when they were home on leave. Lisa had been the one who’d enjoyed her watery ultra-lights with their gleaming foil labels, and she’d caught plenty of flak from the guys because of it.
The corner of John’s mouth kicked up at her jab. “Not a lot of selection out here in the sticks. Besides, I like to keep things simple now. I keep my life uncomplicated.”
“Is that why there’s no Mrs. up here on the mountain with you?” His expression stilled at her blurt. “I’m sorry. That was rude, and it’s none of my business. You don’t have to answer—”
“There’s no Mrs.,” he said evenly. “And yeah, that’s by choice. Relationships are nothing but complicated. Wouldn’t you agree?”
He was right about that. Lisa nodded, all her past mistakes playing through her thoughts. And at the head of that parade was the mistake she made five years ago in this very cabin. It had been a mistake, but not one she’d ever been able to regret.
