by Dee Davis
There was something exciting in the idea. And frightening. He’d never allowed himself to depend on another person. To trust anyone on a level so intimate. And yet, here he was nearly unmanned by just the feel of her body moving against his.
Cradling her in his arms, he carried her into his bedroom and laid her against the sheets. Together, they pulled off their clothes, laughing in their haste, their need making them clumsy. And then she was reaching for him, her blue eyes clouded with passion, her body waiting and ready.
He straddled her, his gaze holding hers, as he allowed himself to simply drink in her beauty. And then she twined her arms around his neck, and he was lost. Bracing himself over her, he rubbed a knee against the moist juncture between her thighs and then bent his head to savor her breasts. Kissing first one, then the other. Teasing her with his tongue before finally taking her into his mouth and biting her nipple, her responsive cry almost his undoing.
He tasted the other nipple and then trailed kisses along her stomach, tracing the soft skin between her thighs, finally allowing himself the pleasure of tasting her, his tongue thrusting where he longed to follow, sucking and pulling, nipping and teasing until he felt her rise off the bed in her release.
He slid upward again, lying with his head cradled between her breasts, content for the moment just to listen to her heartbeat. But then with a slow smile she moved, and they flipped over so that she was straddling him. Her fingers circled him, moving up and down, the sensations washing through him on a wave of pure pleasure.
She teased him with her hands until he couldn’t stand another minute, and in one deft move he lifted her, thrusting inside her, the wet, hot moisture surrounding him. Grasping her hips, he moved her up and down, setting the rhythm. And with a tiny smile, she braced her hands on his shoulders, pulling upward so that they were almost disengaged and then slamming home again with a force that threatened to send him spiraling out of control.
But he wasn’t ready to surrender, and bending his legs, he pulled up to a sitting position, cradling her against him, rocking slightly so that he moved inside her, the motion sending her squirming against him.
He smiled, kissing her cheeks and her eyelids, his hands cupping her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples, each movement designed to move them closer to the edge. Then he kissed her. And with a moan, she pushed him back again, pumping hard against him, the exquisite pain building inside him until he was meeting each and every thrust with one of his own, the two of them driving together, reaching out for that moment of bliss.
And then it was there, the intensity electrifying, and he knew that even if he never had this moment again—he would cherish it always.
Jillian zipped her jeans and then pulled her sweater over her head. Simon was still sleeping, looking younger in repose. More like the boy she’d fallen in love with all those years ago. But last night had been an aberration—a one-off. A new memory for her to hold in her heart.
Yet even as she had the thought, she knew she had to let him go. There was too much between them. And she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to deal with the possibility that if she told him the truth about Ryan, he might choose to reject her—again. Better to cut her losses now, get out before it had the power to hurt her.
“Going somewhere?” His voice was thick with sleep, and she shivered as she remembered the power of last night’s shared passion.
“We need to get downstairs. There’s work to be done. And people will talk.” It sounded priggish, and she suppressed a smile. She wasn’t at all worried about what the other members of A-Tac thought. She just knew she had to get out of this room before she let herself get in any deeper.
Simon sat up, the muscles in his chest rippling with the movement, his eyes dark with emotion, and she swallowed reflexively, taking an involuntary step backward.
“You’re not going to solve anything by running away,” he said, his gaze pinning her to the wall. “We need to talk.”
She nodded, moving cautiously to sit on the end of the bed. Not sure that this was a good idea, but pretty certain that she didn’t really have a choice in the matter, and besides, her legs probably wouldn’t support her anyway.
“Look,” he started, then stopped, staring down at his hands, clearly at a loss for words. The silence stretched for a moment, and then he sighed, lifting his gaze to meet hers again, the pain reflected there almost taking her breath away. “I know you blame me for what happened to Ryan.”
“What are you talking about?” Surprise made her voice sharp. She hadn’t expected him to say that. “I don’t blame you.”
“Well, you should,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “Because I was the one who got him killed.”
“He was killed by an enemy combatant. During the raid in Somalia. I have a letter. And they talked about it when he received the medal of honor. Bravery during a firefight.”
“Well, there’s more to it than that.” He leaned forward, regret creasing his face. “A lot more.”
She studied the line of his shoulders, the slant of his head, forgetting about her own problems for the moment. This was clearly eating him alive. She wanted to reach for his hand, to soothe him somehow. He was close enough that she could feel his breathing, but she dared not touch him. Not if she wanted him to talk.
“So tell me what happened.”
“On paper it was a pretty simple operation.”
“You’re talking a Navy SEAL team,” she said, working to keep the emotion from her voice. “Nothing you guys do is ever simple.”
“True.” She could see his face soften just a little as he smiled. “But this one shouldn’t have been that hard. We were tasked with extracting two journalists being held hostage in Somalia. Just a quick in and out. Our recon indicated that the building was only minimally fortified. We came in on two choppers. Sixteen in all. It turned out there was over double that number waiting for us once we’d landed.”
“I thought you said—”
“Yeah, famous last words. I still don’t know how we got it so wrong. But by the time we figured it out, we were already on the ground. I was in charge of the mission, which meant that once we realized what we were up against, it was my call whether we stayed or we aborted.”
“And you chose to stay.”
“The journalists were innocent. And they were women. And all I could think about was what might be happening to them. So I made the call.”
“You couldn’t have just left them. Not after coming so close.”
“That was my logic. But I never stopped to think about what the cost was going to be. I was so focused on the objective that I forgot about collateral damage. I sent half of the men, with Ryan in charge, into the building, while the rest of us tried to hold the attacking enemy back. I figured it was our best option.”
“So what happened?” she asked, still wanting to take his hand, to erase the pain etched across his face.
“There were more men inside. Almost as many as there were outside. We tried to close ranks, but I’d effectively split us in two. Somehow Ryan and his men managed to get the women freed. The two of them came running out the front of the building, bullets still flying everywhere.”
“And Ryan?” she asked, not sure she wanted to hear it again, to relive the horror of his death. It only made her feel more confused and guilty. But Simon needed to say it out loud.
“He never came out. None of them did. And I didn’t have the manpower to go in after them. Not with the journalists caught in the crossfire. They were my mission. So I made another choice. I left my men there to die. I sacrificed them to save those women.”
“You did what you were charged with doing.”
“We don’t leave our men behind, J.J.” Something in his voice reminded her of the boy he’d once been. Innocent. Untouched by the horrors reality held for those who dared to fight for a better world. And this time she didn’t resist the urge, she took his hand in hers.
“You had no choice, Simon.”<
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“Maybe not at that point. But yeah, I had a choice. I could have chosen my men. I could have aborted the mission the minute I realized that we were outgunned. But I didn’t. I just couldn’t take my eye off the prize.”
“The prize was two women’s lives. By your own words, two innocent women. What you did—what all of you did—was heroic. And had you done anything different, you wouldn’t have been able to live with yourself.”
“I can’t live with myself now. Because of me, my best friend is dead. Your husband is dead. I did that, J.J. I made that choice.”
“Well, you didn’t make it in a vacuum,” she said, anger flashing as she thought of Ryan. It always came back to him. “And you sure as hell didn’t force him to go into that building. Even if you’d forbidden it, Ryan would probably have still gone in. He thrived on the danger. It’s what he lived for.”
“Yeah, but that’s the point, isn’t it? I was supposed to be the one who held him back. Who kept him from doing stupid things. But instead, I was the one who sent him in there. If I hadn’t done that, he’d still be alive.”
“You can’t know that. Even if you’d decided to retreat, you still might have lost your men. The odds were against you the minute you landed. But if you’d pulled back then you’d have accomplished nothing. All those people would have died for nothing.”
“But I killed Ryan.” He bit the words out, and Jillian wondered if he’d ever actually said them to anyone besides himself.
“No. You didn’t. Ryan died in combat. He died doing what he loved. It was a risk he willingly undertook every damn day of his life. And sooner or later, it was going to be his time. If not Somalia, then somewhere else. He was never the kind of man who would have been content to just die in his bed. It wasn’t your fault.”
He lifted his gaze to meet hers, looking so deeply she thought for certain that he would be able to see all of her secrets. But then with a sigh, he looked away, pulling his hand free, his face still tight with anguish.
“You have to find a way to forgive yourself, Simon.” She watched as he gripped the pillow, the muscles in his shoulders tightening as he fought his demons. “You were just doing your job. Had the roles been reversed, Ryan would have done exactly the same.” Only he probably wouldn’t have been as conflicted.
There was significance in the thought, but she wasn’t ready to try to figure out what it might mean. Instead she pushed off the side of the bed. “I don’t blame you.” She was repeating herself, but if nothing else, she needed for him to believe that. “I never did. Not for a single second.”
“Then why…” he trailed off, his confusion tugging at her heart.
She sucked in a breath, wishing she were a stronger woman. Wishing that she’d made different choices all those years ago. But she hadn’t. And she wasn’t ready to admit that. To tell him everything. Truth was, she might never be. She hated herself for being so afraid. But it was better to close the door and walk away now. While she was still standing.
She squared her shoulders, hard-won self-preservation kicking in. “I can’t do this, Simon. It’s all too much. You. Me. Ryan. It’s too complicated. And it hurts. I just can’t.”
She waited for him to say something. To try to stop her maybe, but he just looked so damn sad. And she knew then with absolute certainty that she was making the right decision. So she turned and walked out of the room.
CHAPTER 12
Simon walked into the makeshift war room still reeling from the night before and the words that had followed. They’d found each other again. Despite everything. And it had been even better than before, if that was possible. It had been everything he’d remembered and more.
And because of that—because of her—he’d found the courage to face his greatest fear. To admit the guilt he carried for his part in Ryan’s death. It had almost killed him. But he’d said the words. Out loud. To J.J. And then he waited for her condemnation, but there had been none. In fact, she’d begged him to let it go. To forgive himself. She’d held his hand and reminded him all over again why he’d fallen for her all those years ago.
He’d actually felt a small glimmer of hope.
Then she’d walked out the goddamned door. And he felt as if he’d been sucker-punched.
Everyone was already gathered. Avery and Nash stood by the fireplace talking. Hannah and Harrison were huddled over their computers. Half-eaten bagels and cups of coffee littered the tabletop, and Drake, Tyler, and J.J. were seated on the far side, their conversation animated.
Considering everything that had happened, Simon felt even more like an outsider than usual. Maybe it was just his lot in life to be once removed from the people he cared about. His latest attempt to reach out to someone had failed so completely that she couldn’t even find the words to tell him why.
Walking the rest of the way into the room, he grabbed a bagel and a chair by Hannah.
“Glad you could join us, Kincaid.” Nash grinned. “We were wondering if you’d make the meeting.”
“Very funny,” he said, feigning a laugh as he reached for the cream cheese. “You try getting shot at close quarters and see how spry you are the next morning.” He’d meant the comment to be offhand, but for some reason it had the opposite effect, everyone sobering as Avery moved to the head of the table and Nash took a seat.
“So how are you feeling?” Avery asked, his dark eyes probing.
“I’ve been better, but then again I’ve been a lot worse.” He wasn’t actually sure about the latter, but it wasn’t something he wanted to discuss. And Avery wasn’t referring to his heart anyway. He was talking about Simon’s leg. Which wasn’t exactly working at full capacity. But he wasn’t going to share that fact either. “Basically, I’m ready for whatever these bastards want to throw at us next.”
He shot a look in J.J.’s direction, but she ducked her head, avoiding his gaze. One step forward, ten steps back. But damn it, he wasn’t going to give up without a fight.
“You and me both, brother,” Nash was saying, fortunately oblivious to the turn of Simon’s thoughts as he grabbed a pot on the buffet and poured himself a cup of coffee.
“So now that we’re all together,” Avery said, “why don’t we get started? Tyler, now that you’ve had time to look at the SUV, did you find a common signature for the smaller bombs?”
“Nothing that would lead me to a specific individual, unfortunately. And I did run the information through all of our databases. But there are enough commonalities for me to be certain that the same person was behind the smaller blasts. I was also able to lift traces of the explosive used, and the compound in all three was identical in structure—which points to it all coming from one source.”
“Like the apartment on Fulton.”
“Affirmative.” Tyler nodded. “I’ve got my guys digging for trace over there right now. Although confirming place of origin isn’t going to help when it comes to figuring out who actually did it.”
“Well, Lester seems an odds-on choice.” Simon took a sip of coffee and then leaned back regarding the assembled company.
“I’d have to agree, but there’s no evidence to link him to any of the bombings.”
“Which isn’t true when it comes to the shootings.” Sporting pale blonde streaks and a fairly modest pair of tortoiseshell frames, Hannah lifted her head from her computer with a smile. “We got the ballistics report on Lester’s gun. It’s a match to all three murders. Wilderman, Sanchez, and Sara. So I’d say that it’s safe to conclude that he’s our shooter.”
“So if Lester killed Sanchez,” J.J. said, still avoiding Simon’s gaze, “it’s possible that the Duane Reade bag was a set-up. If he was working with Dearborn, why would he have done anything that would have given away the bomber’s location—unless the plan all along was for us to find it and believe that the killer had somehow missed it when he took out Sanchez?”
“And if Lester, in effect, handed us the address to the apartment on Fulton,” Hannah continued, “then we c
an be fairly certain that the explosion there was meant for us as well.”
“But why would he risk the bomber’s operation by sending us in just before what was meant to be a detonation at the seaport?” Nash asked.
“Maybe the bomber was already supposed to have been in place,” Drake suggested. “That way the two explosions would have been almost simultaneous. One taking us out and another taking out the seaport and everyone in the vicinity.”
“I don’t know,” Simon said, wheels turning. “If that was the case, and the timing was off, then why not take the opportunity to get the hell out of there? Even abort the mission if necessary?”
“Zealots, if that is in fact what we’re dealing with,” Avery answered, “aren’t known for making logical decisions. The man committed suicide by bomb, after all. Not someone I’d expect to act rationally.”
“Well, as usual, it seems that someone definitely has a hard-on for A-Tac,” Drake quipped. “Or at least for Jillian, Harrison, Simon, and me. The bomb in the SUV was definitely meant for us. There’s no other explanation.”
“Now that I think about it,” Hannah said, “it rules Lester out as our bomber. I mean, we know he didn’t have time to put it in place. Drake and the SUV weren’t at the gallery.”
“And he never left my sight when I was with him at his apartment,” Drake added.
“So we know there’s another player.” Simon frowned. “And he’s got to be tied to Lester somehow. What else have we got on Lester?”
“He comes from Arizona originally,” Hannah said. “Went to college in New Mexico and majored in art. He moved to the city shortly after graduation and seems to have made a name for himself and his gallery among art patrons in the city. His finances don’t show anything hinkey. He does travel a lot. But that’s to be expected in his line of work.”
“He’s not on any watch lists,” Avery continued, “and so far we haven’t been able to tie him into any kind of international movement. For the most part, he’s been pretty apolitical. He hasn’t voted in the last three elections, but he’s also never shown any kind of anti-American sentiment.”
