by Nicole Helm
“You’re not going to be the lure, darling, so get it out of your head.”
“Oh, well, you’ve told me,” she replied, letting the sarcasm drip from her tone without trying to soften it any. She pretended to salute him. “Yes, sir. Et cetera.”
Zach cleared his throat. “Maybe I could be the tiebreaker?”
They both glared at him with such venom he cleared his throat again. “And maybe I’ll leave you two to argue it out. I’ll go to my room and, er, watch the surveillance tape.”
Jen didn’t even watch him go. She turned her glare back to Ty. He was scowling at her.
“Do you think I’m weak?” she demanded.
He didn’t even flinch, or hesitate. “No.”
She had to admit it soothed her irritation a little bit. Until he kept talking.
“But I think this is my fight. And you know what? Ten years in the military, yeah, I think I’ve got a little better handle on a psychopath who hates women than you do.”
“That’s doesn’t mean—”
“Yes, it does. You will stay put. You will do as I say.”
“Do as you...” Rage tinged her vision red. “You think you can order me around simply because I love you? Well, think again, Mister.”
“Are you really going to keep saying that?”
“Yes, I am. I love you a million times over, but you will not boss me around like I’m still seventeen and need a keeper. What we have now is an adult relationship, Ty, and we’re going to treat each other like adults.”
He stared at her. All that irritable energy that had been pumping off him was gone, somehow wrapped up and shoved beneath this impenetrable veneer.
Then he softened. Not so much visibly—he was still all rigid military muscle, but that fighter’s light in his eyes dimmed and he stepped toward her.
“I can’t stand the thought of it, Jen,” he said, his voice rough as he laid his hands on her shoulders. “You getting hurt in all this.”
She didn’t smile, though she wanted to. It was almost as if her whole life had been building to this moment—danger mixed with love, hope mixed with fear. “Tell me why,” she murmured, leaning into him. “Besides your incessant need to heap guilt upon yourself.”
For a hair of a second he went stiff, and honestly it soothed her as well as the gradual softening, the way his arms came around her. It wasn’t easy for him to love her. She’d always known that. It was the fact he’d do it anyway that had always meant the world to her. Love meant facing down all his fears and guilt, and he did so. For her.
It made the forgiveness for all that had come before easier and easier. It watered the seeds of determination until fear didn’t have room to grow.
They’d come through this because they’d come so far. They’d find a way to work together to get home because now they got to go home together.
“I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt because I love you. Which you said you already knew,” he grumbled.
“Doesn’t hurt to hear.” She sighed. “We’re a team. I’m not a person you’re protecting,” she muttered into his chest. “It’s not fair to use love against me to try to keep me safe and locked away.”
He kissed her hair. “Who said I was going to be fair?”
“We have to do something. We can’t stay shut up here forever. I have to get back to my store. I have to—we have to—get back to our lives. I don’t want to wait around for the next note. I want to go home.”
He pulled her back, though he held on to her shoulders. He looked into her eyes.
“I’ll get you home. I promise you that.”
“I don’t need you to. I need you to work with me. For the three of us to work as a team so we can all go home. I want you to promise me we’re in this together, not that you’ll get me home.”
He pulled a face, but he didn’t let her go, didn’t move away. So she traced her fingers along his scruffy jaw.
“I need that promise from you, Ty. As much as I need your love. Love might exist without teamwork and communication, but I think we both learned it doesn’t work without it.”
He sighed heavily, clearly struggling to agree, even though there was no way he could disagree. It was their simple truth, whether either of them liked it or not.
“I can’t promise not to act instinctively to protect you. I can’t promise to let you get hurt if I see a way around it, even if it hurts me. I can’t promise you that.”
“So, what are you going to promise me?”
“Just how demanding is new Jen going to be?”
She grinned at him, because she liked the idea. New Jen and more demanding. No, she’d never demanded things for herself. But now she would. Because life didn’t protect the good girls who bent over backward to make other people happy, any more than it protected women who did the opposite. Life was undiscerning, and there was no cosmic reward of safety.
“Yeah, I think new Jen is demanding, but fair.”
He swept his hand over the crown of her head. “New Jen’s not so bad.”
“Uh-huh. So, where’s my promise?”
He grunted, but he held on to her shoulders, kept her gaze. “I promise that the three of us work together to get home safely. No secrets, no sacrificial plans. We’re going to be smart. And we’re going to work together.”
Jen rose to her toes and pressed her mouth to his. “That’s a fine promise.”
* * *
HE WASN’T HAPPY about the promise. In fact, it sat heavy in his gut like a weight through the rest of the evening. Just like the knowledge Oscar was in prison. Just like the knowledge Jen was right.
They couldn’t stand around waiting for the guy to make a move. Eventually they had to go home.
It was a surprise to him that Jen had flipped it all on its head. He wanted to go home. He wanted to live that life they’d planned, but with this new version of themselves—strong and smarter and capable of facing down the world. Facing Bent and her father and the incessant ribbing they’d surely get from their siblings and cousins.
He welcomed that.
He’d been a coward. He could admit that now, in the dark on this uncomfortable couch. Grady had been right. He ran away, not from dangerous situations, but from emotions. From love and hope and the things his childhood had taught him were traps.
But his brother, his cousins and Jen had all proved that wrong for him, and it was time to stop being ruled by his past. By the guilt of the abused.
He looked over at the door to the room Jen was in. He’d given Zach the other bedroom since the guy had all sorts of equipment. Besides, didn’t he deserve to be the one on the couch since this was all his fault?
But Jen didn’t blame him. Not for any of it. She loved him, forgave him and thought they could embrace a future together.
It had only taken a threat against her for him to see it, believe it might be possible. There was guilt there, too, and he knew it would be easy to stay on this uncomfortable couch and drown in it. He’d always let himself drown in it, considered his guilt so brave.
But Jen had called it childish, and as much as he wanted to tell himself—and her—that she didn’t know what she was talking about, of course she did. She’d always known what she was talking about more than he did.
He rolled off the couch, surprised to find himself as shaky as he’d ever been facing down a dangerous mission.
This wasn’t dangerous, but it was daunting. This wasn’t life or death, but it was Jen’s heart and for that he’d face life or death. He walked to the door to her room. He paused, breathing through the unfamiliar nerves.
If he went into this room, he was making promises he couldn’t take back. He was accepting everything Jen had said. He was forgiving himself for a past he’d always blamed himself for.
Can you really do that?
He never thought t
he answer to that question would be yes, but it was. Because Jen had forgiven him, and she was the best person he knew. She had to be right in her forgiveness, so he’d believe in her, and forgiveness of self would follow.
He turned the knob, slipped into the dark room.
“Oh, Zach, is that you?” she murmured sleepily.
She was lucky he knew better. “You’re a real laugh a minute.”
She chuckled, so pleased with herself he couldn’t help but find himself smiling in the dark. She’d always been his joy in the dark.
“What took you so long?” she demanded.
“I guess I had some things to work out.” Even with no light, he knew exactly how many steps to the bed, what side she’d be sleeping on. He toed off his boots and then lowered himself onto the mattress.
She rolled into him, pulling the covers over him. No hesitation. She’d made her decision, and it wouldn’t waver. He couldn’t either.
He pulled her close, his decision made, no matter where it took them. “I don’t take it lightly.”
She snuggled in. “I know. I don’t either.” She pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Make love to me, Ty.”
“I figured a rousing game of gin rummy would be more my speed.”
“Hmm.” She kissed his temple, his cheek, his neck. “Are you sure about that?” she murmured, her hand drifting under his T-shirt.
He rolled her underneath him. “On second thought.”
She laughed, tugging at his shirt. “Oh, hurry. It’s been too long.”
Far too long, so he did exactly what she asked. He hurried. They tugged off each other’s clothes with more desperation than nimble fingers. He couldn’t get enough of her, worse than the kiss earlier today because she was naked underneath him. His. Always.
They came together on a sigh, and it didn’t matter his skin had scars and her curves had changed. They were the same here. Soul to soul. So he held her there, connected completely. So completely it didn’t even bother him to feel the wetness of her tears on his shoulder. This was so big, so important, tears seemed vital.
“I love you,” she whispered.
He said it back, for the first time without even an ounce of a twinge of guilt or regret, because she’d washed them away, with her love and forgiveness. All that was left in their wake was determination and surety.
So he moved, with slow, sure strokes, drawing her pleasure out with lazy patience. She chanted his name, rained kisses over his face, begged him for more, and still he kept a brutally easy pace.
Then she arched against him, scraping the lobe of his ear between her teeth. “All of you,” she said, fingers digging into his arms. “I want all of you.”
It unlocked that last piece of himself, and he gave her exactly what she asked for. All of him, every ounce of himself to her. Always and forever her.
They fell over that bright pulsing edge together, entwined tightly in each other. So tightly he was sure it took hours to unwind themselves from each other. Eternity to move off her, though he pulled her to him.
They lay there, breath slowing to normal, hearts eventually calming. And for the very first time in a very long time, he felt something like peace.
But they weren’t ready for peace yet. Something evil still lurked out there, and they had to vanquish it before they could have their peace.
“I won’t let anything happen to you, and you can get all prickly over that and go on about teamwork, but it doesn’t change the simple truth I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She was quiet for a long moment, drawing gentle patterns across his chest. In the end, she didn’t respond to that at all. She simply sighed. “I’ve missed you, Ty.”
“I missed you, too, Jen.” Never again would he let anything keep them apart that way. Not himself, and certainly not some maniac bent on terror.
* * *
JEN WILL DIE.
He wanted to carve those words into his skin, but he settled for the tree trunk. It was dark, a blackness that suited everything about his mood. Clouds had rolled in and not even the moon shone.
He couldn’t see where he carved, but he carved the words anyway.
Jen will die.
Jen will die.
She’d let Ty touch her, and so she would die.
His hands cramped, and still he carved. Carved and carved trying to get rid of the need to carve the words into his own skin.
It would be her soon enough. The wait would have to be over.
At sunrise, his plan would begin.
Jen will die.
And Ty would watch.
Chapter Fifteen
Jen awoke the next morning with a contentment completely incongruous to the situation she found herself in.
She knew she should be worried and focused on the trouble at hand, but Ty’s warm body next to her was everything she wanted, and the worry wouldn’t win.
If there was anything she’d learned from the past year of troubles and fear for her family, it was that love endured. Hers and Ty’s had endured all this time apart, and it would endure whatever danger the universe indiscriminately threw at them.
A few threatening notes and one arrow through a window were hardly going to take away this satisfied contentment, and that was that.
Her stomach growled, more than a little empty after she’d only picked at her dinner last night. She figured the numerous times they’d turned to each other in the night had burned off quite a few calories.
She looked at Ty’s face in the dim glow of dawn filtering through the curtains. So strong and stern, even in sleep. It made her smile. It made her want to press her mouth to his. But her stomach was insistent and she figured Ty could use some extra sleep.
She slid out of bed and moved as quietly as possible for the door. The wind was rattling the cabin walls and it seemed to muffle the sound of her footsteps. She opened the door and peeked back at him. He didn’t wake up, so she closed the door quietly behind her and went for the kitchen.
There was some bacon in the freezer she could defrost, along with some frozen hash browns she could fry up. She was in the mood for a deliciously filling, greasy breakfast and would be happy to putter about the kitchen for a bit. It would keep her mind occupied and her nerves settled.
She moved quietly around the kitchen, even let herself daydream about once this was all over. Would they spend the night at his place or hers? She couldn’t imagine living above Rightful Claim, and not just because it would give her father a heart attack...but so would the alternative.
A Carson tramping around the apartment above the Delaney General Store. The thought made her smile.
A door creaked and she looked up, trying to hide her disappointment when it was Zach coming out of his bedroom door rather than Ty coming out of theirs.
He peered over at what she was doing. “You know you’re an angel, right?”
She smiled at him. “An angel of fat.”
“I’ll take it. First I’m going to head out. One of the cameras is down. Could have been some animal interference, but I want to get it back up and running.”
She frowned at Zach as he unlocked the door. “Don’t you think you should wait? You shouldn’t go out there alone.”
“It’s a typical malfunction.” He held up his phone and tapped the screen. “I’ve got all the cameras tied in here, so I can look in all directions. I’ll know if someone’s out there before they know I am. Plus I’m carrying.” He patted the gun at his hip. “You can watch me on the video on my computer in my room if you’re nervous—I’ve got everything set up, you just have to walk in. Where’s Ty?”
“Uh.” He was still in her bed, fast asleep. Even though she wasn’t embarrassed of being with Ty per se, it was a little awkward considering they were sharing a cabin with Zach. “He’s, uh...” Her bedroom door opened and Ty stepped out, sleep rumpled and
shirtless. “There.”
“Ah.” But Zach didn’t say anything else. Just nodded his head and opened the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Jen’ll fill you in.” With that, he left and closed the door behind him.
Ty frowned, flipping the lock before turning to her. “He leaving us to our own devices?”
“A camera is down. He’s going to check it out. Apparently he can see all the feeds on his phone and we shouldn’t worry about it, but I don’t like it.”
“Me neither. I’ll get dressed and head out there.”
“I don’t like that either,” Jen muttered, but not loud enough for him to hear. She had no better ideas. Only dread creeping across all those places that had been happy and hopeful just a few moments before.
Ty returned, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, boots on and laced. He’d fastened on his old Wild West‒style holster that seemed more ominous than just part of his personal Carson style today.
“He said we can watch him on his computer. It’s all set up. Maybe we should just do that? Zach was an FBI agent. I feel like we should trust him a little.”
“Shows what you know. FBI agents are a bunch of pencil pushers,” Ty grumbled, but he strode for Zach’s room instead of the door. Jen focused on breakfast prep as Ty returned with a laptop. He placed it on the kitchen table so she could see it out of the corner of her eye and he could sit at the table and watch.
On the screen were six boxes. Five of them showed areas around the cabin, but one was completely black.
“That must be the broken one,” Ty murmured, sliding into a seat and watching the screen intently.
Then they were quiet, the only sounds Jen cooking up the hash browns and then the bacon. She plated breakfast, all daydreams lost to reality. When she slid into the seat next to Ty, they ate in continued silence, watching the screen of Zach’s laptop. Occasionally Zach would appear in one box, then disappear.
