I love you, buttercup. Always and forever. You’re my only. My everything. And there is nothing that will ever change that. Please call me. Write me a letter. Tell me we still have a chance. I’m staying in San Diego for the next two months. Gerry says she doesn’t know where you are—that you won’t tell her or your mom. But if you call me, I’ll be on the next plane, bus, train…whatever I need to take to get to you.
Yours…forever…
Ford
The letter falls to the floor, and my sobs echo off the tile. A second envelope lands at my feet. Then a third. A fourth. All of them. Every single message he sent me. Every single message I didn’t open. Couldn’t open.
I read them all, and by the time I’m done with the thirteenth—his last one, the one where he told me he’d always be there for me, always come for me—I don’t think I can breathe for another minute without him. “Ford…?”
The door opens, and I look up at him, tears dripping onto the towel wrapped around me. “I’m so sorry,” I manage, and his brows furrow.
“Don’t ever apologize, buttercup. You did nothing wrong. Nothing at all.” He drops to one knee, close enough for me to feel his warmth, yet he doesn’t touch me. “We…weren’t meant to be then. But we have a second chance now. If—” Ford’s voice fades, and his eyes glisten as he focuses somewhere just below my neck. “Your ring…”
Wrapping my fingers around the band, I let its familiar ridges and warmth calm my racing heart. “I thought…I’d lost it forever. The man who took me…back in San Diego…he broke my finger taking it off. But when I was in the hospital, the FBI brought it back. I guess…he liked to keep…souvenirs.” Swallowing another sob, I meet Ford’s gaze. “I haven’t taken it off in twenty years.”
“Joey—”
Lurching up, I wrap my arms around him, then press my lips to his. He tastes of coffee, and he slides his arm under my knees, lifting me into his lap as he settles onto the floor.
His tongue lightly dances with mine, and I moan into the kiss. I have to do this. I have to tell him all the things I should have said twenty years ago. The secrets I’ve never told anyone outside the therapist who treated me when I…went away.
Ford tangles his fingers in my damp hair, and his other hand rests on my bare calf. I draw back, wishing with all my heart that I could have this conversation with him wearing more than just a towel. Except this is who I am, and I have to know if there’s even the slightest chance.
His eyes…I could lose myself in his eyes. With a hard swallow, I reach up and cup his stubbly cheek. “I love you, Ford. I never stopped loving you. But I’m scared…” My voice drops to a whisper. “I’m too broken.”
The lines around his mouth deepen, and sorrow wells in his eyes, the light hazel turning tawny. “Joey, you’re perfect. You always have been. You’re not broken.”
“I am. You don’t know—”
“Then tell me.” Ford skims his palm up my arm, then curses under his breath. “You’re cold.”
Gently, he eases me off his lap, rises, and offers me his hand. As soon as I wobble to my feet, he scoops me into his arms again and carries me to the bed. When I’m safely hidden by the sheet and blanket, he takes off his boots, sets his gun on the nightstand, and slides under the covers with me.
“I should have been there for you, Joey,” he says as he takes my hand and his thumb strokes back and forth over my ring finger. “I wanted to be.”
A single tear trails down my cheek. “I know. And I didn’t give you a chance. I didn’t think you’d want to be with me. Not after…”
“Why wouldn’t I want to be with you?” Hurt creeps into his voice, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. The pain etched on his face is more than I can bear, and my tears spill over as he frames my face with his rough hands. “You were…raped, Joey. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I did,” I whisper. “I didn’t trust you. After I pushed so hard for you to trust me.”
Ford blanches, his mouth opening and closing as he struggles for his next words. “That’s why you wouldn’t talk to me? Why you wouldn’t take my calls or read my letters? I thought you’d just gotten it into your head that I’d abandoned you. God knows I gave you enough cause.”
“Maybe. At first. But then Gerry said she’d called everyone she could find in the Marine Corps.” I almost laugh, and the corners of my lips curve slightly. “I think she might have gotten all the way up to a Colonel at some point. And she told me you were deployed on some mission where they couldn’t contact you. Since we weren’t married…and I wasn’t dead…”
With every word, he looks more horrified, and I lower my gaze to my hands. How much can I tell him before he runs away? Or can’t stand to look at me?
“I…” Shame heats my cheeks, so hot, they feel like they’re about to combust, and I can’t force the words past the lump in my throat. So I do the only thing I can. I show him.
Clutching the towel to my chest, I shove the blankets down, exposing my legs. He’s still staring at my face, so I guide his fingers over my thigh. Over the dozens of scars that mark me as…damaged. As too weak to deal with my own emotions. And too scared to trust anyone else with them.
“Did he do this to you? The piece of garbage who took you?”
If only that were true. “No. I did it to myself.”
Ford
I didn’t see it. The cuts on her palm. The scratches on her arms. Hell, I had her half-naked in my lap just a few minutes ago. I have so many questions, but the only one that escapes is, “Why?”
“Everything hurt,” she whispers. “Every noise terrified me. We’d fall asleep…and they liked to wake us up by—” With a shake of her head, she says more than she could with any words. “When the FBI came, Jefe—that’s what he made us call him—put a gun to my head. He was going to kill me. So I punched him in the balls.”
She’s so matter-of-fact. Almost like she’s watching someone else’s memories. How the FBI shot the asswipe. How he landed on top of her. The hospital. The humiliation of being examined, of being forced to tell her story over and over again. “The mind can only take so much pain,” she says, her voice hoarse. “When I felt like I was disappearing, when I couldn’t feel anything, doing…this…let me breathe again.”
“This is what you couldn’t tell me?”
She doesn’t speak. Just nods.
My frustration edges towards anger. But not with Joey. With myself. Forcing out a breath, I gently turn her arm so I can see the scars running from her elbow all the way down to her wrist. Most are old, but there are two fresh ones. Tracing one, I steal glances at her face, watching for any reaction. There’s nothing in the pale, blue depths of her eyes. Shell-shock. Or something close to it. So many of the guys I served with…they wore that same look.
So I do the only thing I can. Gather her close, bring her wrist to my lips, and kiss each mark on her skin. By the time I reach the last one, she’s back with me—her free hand clutching my shirt.
“You’re beautiful, Joey. Beautiful and brilliant and perfect and the best thing to ever happen to me. There is nothing you could ever do that would make me stop loving you. I only have one question.”
Her breath hitches, and she bites her lower lip so hard, it turns white. “What?”
“Do you…will you trust me now?”
I see her struggle. Her shame. But more than that…I see hope. A hint of that light in her eyes I feared she’d never find again.
Her fingers brush my cheek, and her answer rights my entire world.
“Yes.”
14
Ford
I didn’t want to leave her. Not even for a minute, but these clothes have seen better days, and the scent of blood—mine and hers—doesn’t take either of us happy places. So now, under the shower spray, I clench my fists at my sides, letting the hot water ease some of the knots in my shoulders and back.
Holding her felt so right, so familiar, despite how much we’ve both changed. And when sh
e relaxed against me, burying her face against my neck, it was like coming home.
Not wanting to be away from her for long, I rush through the shower, ignoring the stubble covering my cheeks. My shoulder still throbs, but having Joey with me, truly with me, eases the rest of the discomfort from Faruk’s interrogation.
With a towel around my waist, I pause with my hand on the door knob. She trusts me. She’s seen me naked a hundred times. But this is all new. We’re two strangers in love, and I don’t know where the lines are.
Time to find out.
When I throw open the door, Joey’s back is to me, but she whirls around, her panicked gaze scanning the room. Words of reassurance die in my throat as I register the bruises covering her back around her bra straps and peeking out of the waistband of her black pants.
You’re a fucking idiot. You saw that asshole kicking the shit out of her and you never even asked.
“God, Joey. You’re hurt.” I take two steps closer to her, and she tenses, but then gives me a little shake of her head.
“I’m okay. Nothing’s broken.”
This close, she has to crane her neck to meet my gaze, and I hold out my hand until her delicate fingers touch my palm, then sink down onto the bed with her still standing in front of me. “Will you let me see?” I don’t take my eyes off hers as I bring the back of her hand to my lips. After a moment, I add, “Trust takes time, buttercup. I won’t force you.”
As if I’ve just said the magic words, she takes a deep breath, and her shoulders relax as she turns around.
“Can I touch you?”
Flexing her hand several times, she stutters, “Y-yes.” When my fingers brush along the border of one of the worst of the bruises, she flinches and makes a fist hard enough I can see the blood leave her fingers. Just as I’m about to tell her to stop, though, she relaxes, her hand uncurls, and I think I hear her whisper, “Let yourself feel.”
“What?” I’m frozen in place—one hand on her back, the other curved around her hip. “Talk to me, baby.”
Her head bows, and she lays her hand over mine. “Before this trip, I hadn’t hurt myself in years. But for a long time, I couldn’t stop. I was numb. Like…I moved through life rather than experiencing it. Because if I let myself feel—anything—I’d feel everything. Their h-hands on m-me. The dirty f-floor.”
As a sob shakes her entire body, I take a chance and wrap my other arm around her, pulling her between my legs and against my chest.
The contact seems to steady her, and she clears her throat. “Cutting let me feel something I controlled. The pain helped me focus. And…before long, I needed it. The only time I felt anything was when I cut myself. But then I found a new therapist, and she helped me understand that not every one of my feelings would hurt me. Some of them…could help me heal.”
Twisting in my embrace, she faces me, her eyes clear, and offers me the barest hint of a smile. “I used to love it when you’d touch me. Just…touch. You’d rub my back in bed when you thought I was asleep. And after…we made love…you’d run your fingers up and down my arm.”
Her left arm holds deep finger bruises, but I start stroking her right bicep, the smooth muscle relaxed and supple under my hand. “I couldn’t get enough of you, Joey. I still can’t…” It doesn’t matter that we’re not there yet, or that Trevor’s in the next room. Not to my dick. Half-hard and getting more insistent by the minute, the damn thing starts tenting the towel, and when Joey notices, she sucks in a sharp breath.
“Ford, I don’t know how much I can give you…” Sorrow creeps into her tone, and her shoulders hunch.
“I don’t care.”
Snapping her gaze to mine, she shakes her head. “Ford—”
“Baby, you’re it for me. You always have been and you always will be. If this—holding you—is all we ever have, if this is all you can ever give me, I’ll still be the happiest man in the world. Do I want all of you? Hell yes. And I’ll give you all of me. But only if…or when…you’re ready.”
The storm raging in her eyes settles. “I don’t deserve you,” she whispers. Before I can correct her, she wraps her arms around me. “But you’re it for me too.” When she kisses me, something flares, bright and hot, and it isn’t until she pulls away and reaches for her shirt that I put a name to the feeling.
Hope.
Joey
It feels so good to be wearing “normal” clothes. Tennis shoes. Socks. The black pants hang off of me, but the tank top alone makes me feel more human. I stare at the purple, long-sleeved blouse designed to cover me when outdoors, and for the first time in years, I wonder what it would be like not to hide my arms.
Ford knows now. Everything. Or…almost everything. I didn’t technically tell him I haven’t had sex in twenty years, but he probably figured that part out.
“You don’t have to, buttercup,” he says as he pulls on a black t-shirt. The material hugs his chest and leaves the corded muscles of his forearms bare. I always loved his arms. His strength.
An unfamiliar warmth stirs deep in my center, and I don’t realize I’m staring until he says my name.
“Don’t have to what?” I ask as I tear my gaze away from his biceps.
“Cover up.” His fingers skim the lines on my skin. “Just keep it close in case we have to run.”
My muscles lock, and it’s almost like I can hear panic flooding my system as his words register. “Do you think that’s—?”
His eyes soften, and he links our fingers. “No. I don’t. But I’m not taking any chances with your safety.” Ford cups my cheek, dips his head, and brushes a soft kiss to my lips. “I can’t lose you again.”
When he touches me, it’s like all of my anxiety melts away. As I tie the blouse around my waist, Ford laces up his boots and slides his holster onto his belt.
“Ready?” he asks, his hand on my lower back.
In truth, I want to burrow under the blanket and hide. But I nod and let him open the door for me.
Trevor’s hunched over a laptop on the couch, typing furiously, two energy drink cans at his elbow.
“Any word from Nomar?” Ford asks.
With a grunt, Trevor pushes to his feet, grabs the empty cans, and limps off towards the kitchen for another of the caffeinated drinks. “Not really. I got a single blip on the radio an hour ago. But all I heard before he cut out was the passphrase and him saying “twenty-four hours.”
“You’re hurt.” I eye his gait as he heads back with a fresh can. “What happened?”
Focusing on me, as if he didn’t realize I was even here until just now, he shakes his head. “Just my ankle. It’ll heal. You okay?” His gaze lingers on my arms, but rather than focusing on the scars, he seems to be more concerned with the bruises.
With a roll of my eyes, I point to the couch. “Sit. Take your shoe and sock off. I’m a doctor, remember?”
Trevor arches a brow at Ford as he drops down. “I’d do what she says, Trev.” Ford chuckles as he opens the fridge and rummages around inside. “You hungry, buttercup?”
“Yes. Very.” For the first time since this whole ordeal began, I feel…comfortable. Like I could eat. Sleep. Laugh. Even though we’re still trapped in Afghanistan, Faruk is probably hunting for me, and too many people have died, there’s something normal about Ford offering to cook for me and examining a patient, checking for injuries.
“You sure you want to do this?” Trevor asks as he prepares to pull off his boot. “My last shower was a while ago.”
“Unless you’ve suddenly developed gangrene, I’ve seen worse. Actually, scratch that. Even if you have, I’ve seen worse. Off.” Patting my knee, I wait for him to strip off his sock and put his foot up. His entire ankle is swollen, but there’s little to no bruising and as I manipulate the joint, he only winces a little. “Just a mild sprain. I can wrap it for you. Let me get the first aid kit.”
When I’m done, he flexes his toes, stands, and eases his weight onto the foot. “Damn good wrap job, Doc. Ford, I’m going
to catch a few hours. The encrypted connection on the laptop’s a little spotty, but you should be good to contact Dax and have Joey message her family. Just don’t tell anyone where we are or when we’re coming back.”
“Do we even know when we’re going home?” I ask.
“Soon,” Trevor replies. “We’ll give Nomar until twelve hundred tomorrow, then we’re getting the fuck out of this country. If he doesn’t show by then, we’ll call in Ryker. You might want to give him a heads up.”
With a nod to Ford, Trevor limps off to the second bedroom, shuts the door, and a few seconds later, there’s a dull thud like he literally fell over onto the bed.
“I don’t think he’s slept in thirty-six hours,” Ford says. As I join him in the kitchen to wash my hands, my stomach rumbles. He’s already diced fresh fruit and portioned it out into bowls, and buttered bread for grilled cheese sandwiches.
“We can really get in touch with my family?” I ask. “It’s safe?”
Ford wraps his arm around my waist and buries his face in my hair. “Email only, but yes. It’s safe. Wren—she works with us at Second Sight—is a tech genius. No one goes into the field without her equipment.”
“There’s so much I don’t know about you.” Resting my cheek against his chest, I listen to his heartbeat, the strong, steady thumping easily my new favorite sound. I fell asleep to it last night—or this morning. Whenever he held me. And now…it’s like my touchstone. This is real. He’s real. And he’s mine. My throat tightens, emotion threatening to steal my words, but I tip my head up to meet his gaze. “Tell me about Second Sight.”
15
Joey
Outside the windows, darkness shrouds the quiet neighborhood. I spent the afternoon in Ford’s arms. Curled on the couch talking about…everything and nothing. His job. His coworkers and friends: Dax, Wren, Clive, and Ella. How much he loves helping people. My time with St. Jude’s. The kids I’ve helped save. The ones I’ve lost.
By Lethal Force Page 13
