by Regan Black
“Corey texted me that a medical professional will be here shortly to take care of your wounds.” She looked up from her phone. “I don’t understand why we can’t go to a regular hospital. I get that we’re hiding from the East Coast ROC and that you’ve pissed off the top dudes there, but what aren’t you telling me? Who do you really work for?”
“I can’t talk about it.” Let her assume it was CIA, as she had before.
“Hmph.” Her grunt dismissed him, as if he were playing a game with her. As grim ferociousness bloomed on her face, anger rose in his gut until he couldn’t cork his ire.
“What are you so upset about, Trina? Because I’m not seeing your view here. What difference does it make who I work for, what I do? You’ve made it clear you don’t want anything to do with me either way.”
“What do you expect me to say, Rob? If we hadn’t run into each other on this failed apprehension, I’d be taking flowers out to your grave at Arlington the next time I was in DC.”
Pow. Right to the solar plexus of his emotions.
Trina glared at him for several heartbeats. With a roll of her eyes, she shoved away from the counter and walked to the sofa, where she sat down, deliberately ignoring him.
“I took the job with TH, my current employer, so that I would be closer to you. Believe it or not, I finally realized after five years of dreaming of you that I needed to have closure. Face-to-face.”
“Uh-huh. How long have you been with them?” Her stubborn countenance hadn’t changed, for which he was simultaneously grateful and perturbed. He left the comfort of the counter and slowly walked to the easy chair opposite her position on the sofa. It was a pullout and where he’d sleep the next night or two while they waited for ROC to stop searching for them.
“A few months. Well, six, but I decided to move to Silver Valley three months ago. Until then I commuted from DC for each mission. A lot of my work is overseas, as well. But the only reason I rented a place in Silver Valley was so that I could see you.” To find her, face her and allow himself to move on with his life.
“I’ll give you the grace of your commuting time. So that leaves three months where you never approached me. Wait, make that five years and three months.” Her bitterness tore at him, but he couldn’t dwell on it. He had to make her see he’d come here for the right reasons.
“You don’t have the edge on everything, Trina. Put yourself in my shoes. It’s not so easy going to the woman you once cared deeply about and revealing that not only are you still alive, you need her help to put your demons to rest.” He loved being able to say her name aloud. To her, with her, in her presence. As angry as she was, he still felt the soothing waves of Trina’s essence pulsing off her, wrapping him in a cocoon of peace.
It was one true thing that hadn’t changed in five years.
“So fill me in, Rob. Tell me what you’re thinking.” At least she wasn’t sneering anymore.
He couldn’t help the grunts and groan as he lowered himself into the too-soft chair.
Trina was on her feet and at his side in a flash. “Wait—maybe you’d be more comfortable in one of the dining table chairs?” Her hand was on his forearm, and he’d do anything to keep it there. The point of contact was preferable as a focus point to the damned pain radiating from his ribs and arm.
He gritted his teeth and kept sinking until his ass hit the chair. “I’m. Okay. Help. Me. Situate.” She stayed with him as he folded himself into ninety-degree angles, bent at the waist and knees. Trina placed throw pillows between his back and the chair to keep him as upright as possible, with the least amount of pressure on his frame.
“Thank you.” His gratitude came out on a relieved exhale.
“I’ve been there.” She was squatting next to him, her hand on his thigh near his knee. As her face turned up to meet his gaze, he was stunned by the ferocity of emotion revealed in her eyes. Anger, yes, but also compassion and maybe even trust. After all of their history, much of it a blank page to Trina, she trusted him. Physically at least, or she wouldn’t risk being alone with him. She’d have told her boss to have the other marshal take him in, the one who’d been called off the case. Rob would take her trust in any amount available. As a trained killer, it meant more to him than if she’d miraculously healed his battered body with a wave of her feminine hands.
She leaned over to readjust a pillow and her T-shirt sagged open, revealing the tops of her beautiful breasts and the lacy fringe of her pink bra. So the US Marshal still had her penchant for sexy lingerie. He involuntarily smiled, the reflex stretching his skin over the bruises Vasin had dealt. A flash of gold just above her cleavage caught his eye. A charm suspended on a thin gold chain hovered between them. It was a camel. He’d bought her a twenty-four-karat camel charm when they’d taken a quick break and gone into the souk that was just off base. And she was still wearing it, five years later.
“How’s that?” She asked about the pillows, his comfort level. He responded to the tiny flicker of hope that had been lit deep inside him.
“As good as could be expected. Maybe even a bit better.”
CHAPTER 5
Trina looked into Rob’s eyes and knew he wanted distraction from his pain. She reacted instinctively, making sure he was as comfortable as possible on the motel furniture.
“After you…disappeared, I wasn’t myself. The grief, it was unbearable, and I was unable to focus on my job. I didn’t tell anyone about us, not then, because it seemed too self-serving. As if I was looking for attention when all the focus needed to be on you and the other SEALs who were lost, and the ones who’d survived.”
She knew he understood; it was something only a veteran would. They’d kept their relationship quiet to be able to keep their professional bearings intact. There was nothing preventing them from dating, as they’d been from different units and both officers. They didn’t share the same chain of command. What they had shared was still sacred to her, she realized. He deserved to know her experience. All of it. Including Jake.
At Rob’s silence, she stood up and sat on the coffee table directly across from him. Their knees were almost touching. The dog crawled under the table and curled up as she stroked him. “I insisted on staying in the seat, flying the next mission. The P-8 isn’t like a fighter jet, as you know. We have lots of options when it comes to crew and pilots within a mission’s time frame.” She referred to the dozen or so crew members to include at least two pilots on every flight. “We got shot at while I was in the seat. Shoulder-launched antiaircraft missile. Normally we fly too high for it to be a concern, but we were low, conducting surveillance on what we thought was land in the middle of nowhere, with no civilian occupation. We were wrong, and more importantly, I was wrong. Intel had mentioned there could be a resistance unit in the mountains but I dismissed it. It nearly cost me my crew. And the plane.” Trina could smell the inside of the plane’s cabin as if she were back there and not in the hotel room with Rob. She looked at him and saw he was listening intently. Like he used to do when they’d talk for hours on end after a hot lovemaking session in her quarters. Communication had always been their strength, physical and verbal. And that unseen yet tangible spiritual connection.
“Did it hit you? The missile?”
She hated this question, even five years out. “No, I evaded. I was the PPC.” She’d been the patrol plane commander, flying the aircraft and in charge of the crew. “But the maneuvers coincided with losing an engine, and we had to ditch. We took a belly landing on a dirt road in the middle of Iraq. I’m lucky our folks got to us before the bad guys did.”
“You were injured?”
“The plane broke apart a bit on the landing, let’s say.” She wasn’t going to go into specifics and in fact couldn’t. How the plane bore the stress of the ditch was classified. “The copilot and I each had a few broken ribs, collapsed lungs, you know, the usual.” She shrugged. “The worst thing w
as that everyone back at the base tried to make it out that we were heroes. We all got back alive and the classified material was saved or destroyed, to include the airframe. No enemy learned anything from one of our newer military platforms.”
“You are a hero, Trina.” Quiet words.
“No, no I’m not. A hero would have listened to intel and never been anywhere near that enemy encampment. Certainly not flying at one thousand feet.” A true heroine would have told her flight surgeon she thought she might be pregnant, and grounded herself from the op. She stood up, ending the intimacy created by sharing her story with Rob. “That was my last flight. I requested a transfer to shore duty. The squadron was coming home the next week, so it didn’t hurt the operations that I grounded myself.” Since she’d also begun to suspect she was pregnant, she didn’t want to do anything to harm her child. Their child. Holy hell, she was going to have to tell Rob the truth.
“It sounds like you might need some closure, too.” His voice soothed, but she fought against it. She didn’t want his compassion.
“I have my closure, Rob. At least, I did.”
“And then I walked into your gin joint.” His attempt to lighten the mood by referring to her favorite movie only fueled her regret.
“You remember.” They’d watched Casablanca on her tablet computer, huddled next to each other on her twin-size cot. A wartime desert date.
“I never forgot.” The fierceness of his statement gave her pause. The tiny part of her that desperately wanted to believe him, wanted to think he’d never stopped caring for her, was growing. She couldn’t let it become the biggest part of her, though. Her heart wouldn’t survive it this time.
* * *
After the doctor had checked Rob over, declaring he was severely bruised but most likely had no broken bones, Rob’s hunger made an appearance.
“Where’s sandwiches?”
Trina straightened from setting down a bowl of water for the dog. She pulled a bright yellow plastic bag from the mini refrigerator and handed a wrapped bundle to Rob. “Here you go. Chicken Caesar wrap.”
She’d remembered his favorite salad from the military canteen. It could be coincidence, but when she unwrapped a tuna sandwich for herself he knew it was more.
“You still like tuna, huh?”
A small smile painted her lips. “Yes.”
They ate at the tiny kitchenette counter. Rob stood as it was simply less painful. He was constantly aware of Trina next to him.
“We can order takeout later if you want.” She bunched the paper from her sandwich and tossed it into the garbage bin in a perfect arc.
“My appetite’s not as strong since I took the acetaminophen. But maybe by then I’ll be hungry again.” It was a miracle he was hungry now, with the pain still throbbing at several points on his frame.
“I still don’t get why you didn’t take the stronger meds the doctor offered. There’s not a whole lot that’s more painful than bruised ribs. And I don’t care what he said, I’ll bet you have a small fracture in that arm.”
“They’re manageable. And my arm’s not broken, which is a plus. I’ve had more success using non-opioids and ice, frankly.” Besides, his head needed to stay clear in case they had to make a run for it again. His interior radar was pinging, and he had to fight his urge to flee. It was probably having the object of his dreams sitting right next to him. After five long years.
“Suit yourself. But if you change your mind, I can go to a quick drive-through pharmacy.”
“I think we’re going to do everything drive-through or delivery, at least until we’re back in Silver Valley.”
She gave him an odd look. “How did you know you’d find me, taking a job in Silver Valley? It’s a big enough town, and close to a good-sized city, but still…”
“I looked you up. You haven’t remained off the grid as much as a lot of our former colleagues have. I saw you were working in Harrisburg. I didn’t know you were a US Marshal, though, until I took this recent job.”
“You’re telling me that the CIA resources didn’t tell you where I was and whom I worked for?”
Score one for Trina. “Maybe they could have. But I wasn’t one to abuse my privileges. And I wasn’t ready to come find you again until I realized I was done working for the Agency. It was time to come clean and do something a little different. I took five months off between the CIA and this current agency. That’s when I did the hard counseling work I probably should have done at least four years ago if not sooner.”
“I’ve learned that beating myself up about the past doesn’t work.” She was still holding something back. He’d wait her out. “It doesn’t strike me that you’re doing anything different. You’re still some kind of undercover agent, for what? A CIA contractor?”
“Something like that.” He couldn’t divulge Trail Hikers’ existence. Wouldn’t. He’d signed a nondisclosure agreement that was just as binding if not more so than the one he’d signed for the US government on other occasions.
She got up from the counter and moved into the small U-shaped kitchen area. “Coffee or tea?” She filled a mug with water as she spoke.
“I’ll have a coffee. Full strength is fine. Nothing keeps me awake, except…”
Their eyes met, and he watched her absorb and process his words. At one point he thought she’d laugh, but she quenched it by biting her lower lip with teeth as pearly as they were even. Her smile had only grown lovelier over the time they’d been apart. Time he suddenly felt had slipped through his fingers like the finest dust. Never to be captured and relived.
“Lucky you. I can’t have caffeine after three in the afternoon.” The microwave beeped, and she pulled out the mug and placed a tea bag in the steaming liquid. His cup was next, and in short order they each had a steaming hot beverage.
“You never drank anything but coffee when I knew you.” He deliberately nodded at the mesh bag of herbs she steeped in her prepared water.
“No, I was pretty much a live wire in those days. I uh, had some, some health issues that forced me to evaluate my nutrition and caffeine intake. Nothing major, just enough to find out what does and doesn’t work for me and my body type.”
“Define ‘body type.’” Because if she couldn’t, he could. Without hesitation. He deliberately intoned the demand so she’d know exactly what he meant.
A hard glare was his reward for pushing her past her comfort zone. His dick got the message in a different way, and he wished he could take back the tease. A relationship with Trina was not happening. It would spell disaster for both of them. If he wanted to stay in Silver Valley, work with TH for the long term, he didn’t want to always be concerned about running into her. At work or out in town. Friendship was the best option.
“By ‘type’ I mean fast or slow metabolism, more of a muscular frame versus a more slight, fragile set of bones.” Her words were carefully neutral.
“Makes sense to me. My metabolism hit the skids when I left the SEALs.” He sipped his coffee.
She looked him over, and he wanted to strut around like a peacock, fanning his tail and turning in a circle. It’d never been this way with another woman. He was a guy; he liked knowing he turned a woman on. With Trina it went to a primal level, this elation at her approval.
“You don’t look any worse for the wear.” Spoken like the compliment it wasn’t—sincere but with a grudge. He got it. Someone who came back from the dead should look like they had died. Not all strong and healthy.
“Don’t be fooled. Sure, I’m a little broader, stronger. But I can lean toward a beer belly since I’m not burning it all off like I used to. I’m not a SEAL. Staying in shape is one thing, but that kind of conditioning is for the very young. They say it gets worse as we age.”
“My mom says that all the time. But she tells me to enjoy the extra cookies now, before my metabolism shuts down.”
&nb
sp; “I don’t remember you having a sweet tooth.”
She sighed. “I’ve always adored my mom’s homemade baked goods. And it’s true. It is harder, much harder, in fact, to lose weight. Especially after—” She stopped dead cold.
“Especially after what, Trina?”
The Trina moat was fully flooded again, her drawbridge pulled up and away. He wasn’t going to glean any new information from her. And they’d only been talking about metabolism. It wasn’t as if it was anything personal.
She didn’t budge on the drawbridge. “Nothing. Hey, we’re each five years older. It’s to be expected. I’m going to hit the shower. Do you mind keeping an eye on the dog? You okay waiting out here?”
“Where will I go without you?” He tried to be humorous, but it fell flat, as had every emotion he’d tried to express to her. It killed him to admit if only to himself that how Trina felt, how she viewed the world, was as important to him today as it had been all those years ago.
Her eyes narrowed. “Exactly. You can try to take off, but trust me, Bristol, I have eyes in the back of my head and I’m not afraid to use them.” She flashed him a bright smile. “If you need me, holler. I can be dressed and holstered in a minute.”
He’d really like a variation of that—maybe Trina holstered and undressed. But he remained silent. Timing was everything, not only in covert ops.
* * *
Trina took her time in the shower, as if by lingering under the hot spray she’d somehow gain back her peace of mind.
A US Marshal wasn’t guaranteed serenity of any sort, but knowing she could still work in a role supporting the government after she resigned from the Navy had been a godsend. As a new mother her priority was completely Jake, and remained so. But as he grew up and needed her less for the physical routines of the day and more for his emotional and mental support, she found herself wondering if there wasn’t another job she should be looking for. Something that would keep her closer to home, able to pick him up after school and see all of his athletic events.
