by Tiffany Snow
Kade’s eyes focused blearily on me and I winced at the blood and bruises already forming on his face.
“What the fuck are you wearing?”
“What?” I was so surprised his words didn’t immediately register.
“What are you doing in that getup? You do know it’s about fifteen fucking degrees out here, don’t you? You trying to freeze to death?”
“Last I looked, I was saving your ass,” I snapped. “I wasn’t aware that you required a dress code.”
A grin flashed across his face but quickly faded into a grimace of pain. My irritation passed as quickly as it had come. I jumped to my feet, reaching down to help Kade stand. He grabbed the gun, shoving it into the back of his jeans. Moving slowly, we made our way back to the bar, Kade leaning heavily on me.
I helped him onto a bar stool and watched as he painfully shrugged off his jacket which I took from him. I noticed then that his shirt was dark and wet in a spot on his chest, underneath his arm. “Kade, you’re hurt,” I said stupidly.
“No shit,” Kade replied, grimacing as he tugged off his shirt. I gasped when I saw the angry slice through his skin.
“We need to get you to the hospital,” I said firmly, swallowing down my panic. There was a lot of blood on him.
Kade gave a huff of laughter. “For this? Please. Just get me some water and something to cover it. You have band-aids here?”
“You can’t be serious,” I protested. “That cut needs stitches.”
He was already shaking his head. “You going to get me some water or should I do it myself? And I wouldn’t mind a shot or two of bourbon.”
“Fine,” I groused, grabbing a clean towel from behind the bar and filling a bowl with hot water. Pouring a hefty portion of bourbon into a highball glass, I sat it in front of him, then came out from behind the bar so I was close enough to clean him up. Kade moved to take my towel from me.
“I’ll do it,” I said, stubbornly gripping the towel tightly in my fist. “You can’t even see what you’re doing.”
He relented and I dipped the towel into the water, carefully cleaning the blood off his face. Kade watched me as I worked, his blue eyes unfathomable. I worried my bottom lip between my teeth, his attention making me nervous yet I was determined to help him.
His lip was cut but had stopped bleeding and there was a deep abrasion on his cheek. I touched the skin gently, wincing even though he did not. It looked like it hurt.
“What happened?” I asked, breaking the silence and trying not to reopen the cut on his lower lip. “How did they get the drop on you?”
“I was...distracted,” Kade replied. “My own fault.”
“Distracted by what?” I asked, wondering what he could have been thinking about that would have allowed three guys to sneak up on him.
He didn’t answer and I paused in my dabbing at the scrape above his eye. “What was it?” I repeated, my brow furrowing as he studied me. I watched as he turned away, grabbing the glass and downing the amber fluid in two swallows.
“Bowers place was cleaned out,” he finally said, replacing the glass and ignoring my question. “I watched and waited for a while, thinking he might show, but nothing.”
“What about the phone records?” I resumed my task, frowning in concentration as I cleaned specks of blood from his jaw.
“Tracing numbers even as we speak,” he replied. “I was headed back in when they jumped me. Then this Playboy bunny showed up with a gun and scared the bad guys away.”
I gave a tight-lipped smile at his teasing even as guilt assailed me. “I’m so sorry, Kade,” I said, stopping again. “If it weren’t for helping me the other night, this wouldn’t have happened to you.”
“Don’t mention it,” he briskly cut me off. “Want me to get the rest? You’re squeamish, aren’t you?”
“Of course not,” I replied automatically, wringing the towel out in the now slightly pinkish water. I turned back to Kade.
“Can you lift your arm?” I asked. He hesitated before obliging, bending his elbow and putting his hand behind his head so I could better see the cut. I was distracted for a moment, the muscles in his chest rippled with his movement, and I was suddenly aware of our close proximity. Swallowing, I jerked my attention back to his wound. It was angry and blood still seeped sluggishly from it.
“You should really get stitches for this,” I said quietly, cleaning the cut as gently as I could. The water quickly turned a garish red as I worked. Kade didn’t so much as twitch, even though I knew it had to hurt.
“Forget it,” he said.
“What’s the deal, Kade?” I asked in exasperation, feeling that my ministrations were woefully inadequate. “It only hurts for a second when they numb you and then-”
“And we’re done here,” he said briskly, lowering his arm. I stepped back in surprise, and then it hit me.
“You are kidding me,” I said in wonderment.
Kade looked at me strangely. “What?”
“You’re afraid of needles, aren’t you?” I asked.
“Right,” Kade snorted, but I watched in disbelief as his ears turned pink. I couldn’t help it – I laughed.
“It’s okay,” I said, grinning. “I swear I won’t tell anyone.” I held up three fingers. “Girl scout’s honor.”
“I am not afraid of needles,” Kade insisted. I nodded as if I believed every word, though I couldn’t wipe the grin from my face that said otherwise.
“Fine,” he said with ill humor. “But I’m not afraid of needles. I just...don’t like them. That’s all.”
I grabbed his glass, rounded the bar and refilled it. “And yet,” I said, pulling out the first-aid kit I’d insisted Romeo buy from underneath the bar, “you have a tattoo.”
I’d missed it before, but now I saw that on his upper arm was tattooed an intricate red and black dragon about the size of my palm. I moved closer to inspect it, running my fingernail along the myriad links and circles that made up the dragon’s body and wings etched into Kade’s skin.
“What does it mean?” I asked quietly, our eyes meeting. He glanced down, then away from my gaze.
“Tattoos are different,” he said, swallowing the bourbon and turning the stool from me so he faced the bar. “Not like the needles they use in hospitals.”
I sighed. He obviously wouldn’t answer some of my questions, and there was no point in trying to pursue something he didn’t want to talk about, though my curiosity about the tattoo was overwhelming.
Grabbing the antibiotic ointment, I squeezed some into my hand. “Lift your arm again,” I ordered. Kade did as I requested and I quickly smeared the gel into the cut. Kade stiffened. I worked as fast as I could, knowing the ointment probably burned like the devil. Peeling some bandages, I pulled his skin taut and criss-crossed over the cut, careful to keep the adhesive itself away from the wound.
“There,” I said in satisfaction once I was finished, “that should work for now. Though you need a real bandage. We should stop at the drugstore on the way home.”
Kade grunted and I smiled behind his back. That may be the closest he’d come to thanking me. I put the cap back on the ointment and was turning away when something caught my eye. I carefully sat the first-aid kit back down and stepped closer to Kade, who ignored me.
The light above the bar shone directly down on Kade’s back as he leaned against the counter, nursing his drink. I stared in shock at the dozen or so round pockmarks, each about the size of a dime, scattered all over his back.
“Kade,” I choked, then stopped, unable to say anything more.
He glanced at me over his shoulder. “What?”
“Your back...”
I reached out one shaking finger to gently touch one of the marks, the scarred skin slightly puckered.
“It’s nothing,” he dismissed, “just chicken pox scars. No big deal. Not everyone has perfect skin like you, princess.” He smirked at me, his smile fading when I said nothing. I could only stare.
“I know those aren’t from chicken pox,” I said, my voice hardly above a whisper. The only reason I even knew what they were was because of a horrible child abuse case my dad had once worked. A case where the stepmother had thought it amusing to put her cigarettes out on the child. “Who did that to you, Kade?”
My stomach lurched at the mere thought of Kade, an orphan at the age of six, enduring something like that. Blane had said that Kade would never tell him what had happened in the foster homes he ran away from, and I thought I might be sick just imagining what he’d gone through. I reached for him again, I wasn’t sure why, but found my wrist suddenly caught in his vice-like grip. Kade jerked me toward him, pulling me between his spread knees. My hand instinctively came up to his chest to brace myself.
“I don’t want your pity,” Kade snarled, his face inches from mine. Gone was the softening of his eyes, the genuine smile curving his lips. In their place, his eyes were empty pools of blue, his mouth set in a firm line. A nerve pulsed in his clenched jaw.
“I’m not...I don’t-” I stammered, unsure what I was trying to say. Kade interrupted me.
“What are you doing anyway? This playing nursemaid crap?”
“I’m just trying to help you-”
“Well I don’t need your help,” he bit out.
“Everybody needs somebody.” He was starting to scare me. My wrist hurt from where he still tightly gripped it.
“I don’t.”
“Okay, fine. You don’t need anybody.” I wanted to cry. Whatever had happened to Kade, whoever had abused him so awfully, had taught him to not trust people – even if they cared about him. To my surprise, I realized I now fell into that group. I cared about Kade and I hated to see him hurting.
Kade abruptly released me, turning back to the bar to grab his shirt. I watched him uncertainly, thinking I should probably retreat while I had the option, but not wanting to. The scars on his back seemed to stand out in stark relief until Kade dragged his shirt down to cover them.
“Maybe,” I began hesitantly, “you could talk to someone. There are people that specialize in that sort of thing.”
“Why the fuck would I want to do that?”
I was at a loss for words, the hostility in his voice making me reconsider putting some space between us.
Shrugging on his jacket and grabbing his glass, he slid off the stool and approached me. I gulped but stood my ground. He watched me for a moment, then swallowed the last of the bourbon.
“I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened,” he finally said, “and I suggest you do the same.”
“But Kade-”
I gasped when he threw the empty glass on the floor at our feet, shattering it into a thousand pieces. I stared in shock at the mess. I could see shards of glass caught in the nylon covering my legs. Kade’s boots crunched on the glass and suddenly his hands were on my shoulders. I winced when his fingers dug into my bare skin.
“Do you think I want to relive it?” he snarled.
I shook my head.
“Do you think I want Blane to feel guilty for what happened?”
“No, Kade-”
“I don’t want Blane to know anything-”
“I won’t-”
“-and I don’t need you feeling sorry for me-”
“I never said-”
“-and I don’t want you inside my head!”
I was shaking now, the force of his rage both scaring me and making my heart break inside my chest. Tears spilled unchecked down my cheeks, but I didn’t dare blink.
In the next moment, he was out the door and gone.
I stood alone in the silence for a long time.
Chapter Ten
I was woken by my alarm clock the next morning and my hand slammed down on the snooze button, silencing the insistent beeping.
I groaned. I was exhausted. I’d been at the bar later than I’d planned, cleaning up the mess Kade had left on the floor, then I hadn’t been able to sleep after I finally climbed into bed shortly after 2 am. Worry for Kade ate at me, and my argument with Blane made me feel sick to my stomach. I hadn’t heard from either of them, which probably wasn’t surprising.
I showered and got ready for work on auto-pilot. When I walked into the kitchen, I was startled to see that Kade's suitcase had moved. Glancing at the couch, I realized that the quilt from the Christmas tree farm had been neatly folded and left on the cushions. Kade must have come by last night after I'd gone to bed and he was already up and gone.
I saw he'd made a pot of coffee that was still warm. As I poured myself a cup, I noticed a note on the counter.
Have business to take care of. Stay put. I'll be back to take you in tonight.
Well, at least last night hadn't pissed Kade off so completely that he'd decided to forgo the whole security detail, which made me feel a little better. Though if he thought I was just going to sit around my apartment all day watching Oprah and eating chips, he'd thought wrong. Kade had given me a new job and I was going to do it.
Digging in my purse, I pulled out a scrap of paper on which I’d scrawled the address of Adriana Waters, ex-wife of Kyle Waters. It seemed she was staying at the Crowne Plaza hotel downtown for the duration of the trial, and since she was a witness for the prosecution, it was probably on the taxpayers’ dime.
I grabbed my purse and coat and headed out the door. A half an hour later, I walked into the lobby of the Crowne Plaza. Knowing they wouldn’t just tell me her room number, I paused at one of the tables and pulled an empty envelope from my purse. Folding a hotel brochure, I stuffed it in the envelope and sealed it, then scrawled “Adriana Waters” on the outside. I walked to the front desk.
“Excuse me,” I said, giving a friendly smile to the man behind the counter. “Would you please deliver this to Adriana Waters?”
He eyed me suspiciously, but I maintained my smile. Taking the envelope from me, he said, “Of course.”
“Thank you.” I turned and walked a few steps before pausing to glance back, watching as he slid the envelope into one of the myriad mailboxes on the wall behind the counter. The one he chose was marked “1282.”
I took the elevator to the twelfth floor. The hallway was empty and quiet when I got out. The thick, beige carpet muffled my footsteps as I walked. I passed a maid cleaning one of the rooms, the noise of the vacuum obscuring my passage. When I reached room 1282, I knocked and waited. No one answered. I knocked again, harder this time. I heard the scrape of a lock and the door eased open. A woman stood there, and I was taken aback at how young she appeared.
“Yes?” Her tone was cold as she surveyed me.
“Adriana Waters?” I asked.
“Who wants to know?”
“My name is Kathleen,” I said. “I’m with the Kirk and Trent law firm and I’m investigating your ex-husband’s case. May I speak with you?”
She grudgingly nodded, standing aside so I could enter the hotel room.
The room was large, the space encompassing a large sitting room and dining area complete with a table and chairs for six. I walked to a sofa situated next to a chair and sat. Adriana sat across from me, crossing her trouser-encased legs primly at the ankles. She was dressed simply, a black sweater and black pants complete with black heels. She was very fair, her hair nearly white it was so blonde.
“How may I help you?” she asked once we were both situated.
“I was hoping you could tell me of anyone who might hold a personal grudge against your husband,” I asked as I reached into my purse for a notepad and pen.
“You mean other than the family of that poor dead man?” she asked belligerently.
“Yes,” I said simply.
She sighed. “I’m not surprised it’s come to this. Those guys think just because they’re SEALs and have guns they can do whatever they want.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked, startled at her accusation.
“Do you even watch the news, Miss Turner?” she asked condescendingly. “We shouldn’t
even be over there, but that’s where Kyle is, killing unarmed civilians. That damn lawyer you work for turned it all around, made it seem like they did the right thing.” She glared at me. “Lawyers are nothing but lying bastards.”
“Blane Kirk is trying to get your ex-husband acquitted,” I defended Blane. “Do you really want to see Kyle go to prison?” I couldn’t imagine that. Even if they were no longer married, did she not care anything about what happened to him? What would happen to a US soldier put in a prison with thieves, rapists and murderers?
“He deserves what’s happening to him,” she said angrily.
Now my temper was starting to rise as well. “Ms. Waters, do you know of anyone who would want Mr. Kirk to lose this case so badly they would threaten him?”
“Losing this case would move the country a big step forward,” she said.
“Why do you say that?” I asked, surprised at her vehemence.
“You are so ignorant,” she said with disdain. “If Kyle is convicted, that sets a precedent. The soldiers won’t be allowed to just kill people anymore; they’ll know they have to answer to the courts for their actions and the family members left behind.”
Her gaze was unflinching and she spoke as though she were absolutely sure of the outcome of this case. The passion in her voice sent a chill through me. I wasn’t at all sure her vision of what the military should be and do was the ideal solution.
“Do you have any idea where Brian Bowers is?” I asked. “He disappeared a few days ago and the police can’t seem to find him.”
She shrugged, unconcerned. “Brian is Kyle’s buddy. You should ask him, though I wouldn’t blame him for leaving town, the coward, rather than face the press and the public.”
Something occurred to me as I studied her implacable features.
“You know,” I said, “if it were me, I'd think it would have been really hard to handle my husband having such a dangerous job, and then to have him re-enlist. That must have been difficult for you.”
Adriana winced ever so slightly, but didn't reply. Convinced I was on to something, I continued.
