Way of the Warrior

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “Yes, they’re in place.” Chase met Kristy’s gaze. “You don’t want to get out of here for dinner?”

  She lifted a shoulder, trying to play it casual. Despite the fact that it must be friggin’ obvious that she wanted to spend time alone with Griff. Sheesh. “I’d like to talk to Griff a little more. I have a friend whose cousin is a plastic surgeon. Maybe he could, you know, do some pro bono work.”

  “Already tried,” Chase said. “I told Griff I’d made some arrangements in repayment for his help here, but he turned me down.” He gave her a curious look. “Maybe you could provide him with different motivation. I’ll be at the lodge in case the sensors go off, but I don’t anticipate any problems.” He looked at his people. “Let me know when you leave and when you get back.”

  “You bet, chief,” Risk said. “Let’s go. I’m famished.” He glanced back at Kristy, trying to maintain a serious expression. “Must have been all that laughing.”

  She flung her hand, sending tiny bits of mud at him. “Brat.”

  Addie thunked him in the back of his head. “Big time. You ought to live with him!”

  Kristy watched the four depart, Risk taking Addie to task for her quip with a mock abusive kiss. She couldn’t help but smile at their playfulness. Their joie de vivre. She wanted that. She wanted affection, too, aching for it as she watched Julian pull Mollie against his side and plant a kiss at her temple.

  Wait a minute. She’d shut desire down a long time ago, when Eye had threatened the guy with whom she’d gone on a first date. Who could want romance when a stalker continually called with his threats and orders and admonitions? Where had this gut-wrenching ache come from?

  Kristy turned to Griff, who was hosing himself down. He ruffled his fingers through his hair and soaked down his shirt. Like her, he wasn’t exposing more than he had to. His shirt, though, clung to his muscular build, and his khakis molded to his ass and legs. She swallowed a sigh.

  She bet he’d shut down that part of himself, too. They’d had that moment, and then he’d yanked down the wall and said he was flirting with her for the camera. The film crew was packing up, making plans to join the other four for dinner. Griff wouldn’t be able to use that excuse if he slipped into the playful mode again.

  She needed to get him there.

  He looked up as she approached. “Here comes trouble.”

  She suspected he meant that in more than one way. “And don’t you forget it.”

  He met her gaze, looking all too serious. “I won’t.” Then the serious mask slipped as she kept advancing, and he held the nozzle out like a pistol. “Back off, woman. I see that predatory gleam in your eye.”

  She froze for a second, thinking he’d seen her desire. Then she realized she was still covered in mud, and he thought she was going to slime him. She raised her arms to her sides. “You could hose me off, neutralize the threat.”

  “Mmm, don’t tempt me.”

  Was he tempted? She hoped so, because something about Griff pulled and tugged at her. She wanted to make him laugh again, to smile a lot. She wanted him.

  He used his chin to point to the outdoor showers. “There are showers, you know.”

  “I know.” But she remained in position, amazed at her brazenness. She simply wasn’t like this around men. Even before Eye.

  He put a kink in the hose, unscrewed the nozzle, and let the water flow again. “All right, come here, trouble.”

  He held the hose above her head, and the water poured over her face and down the front of her. She tilted her head, closed her eyes, and sank into the sensation of the cool water. The day had been warm, but now the early fall evening was cooling down as the sun sank in the sky. Griff ruffled his fingers through her hair as he’d done for his own. Heaven. Gently, tentatively, he worked the mud out of the strands. His fingers brushed her back through the net.

  “Kristy.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Er, you should probably…”

  She opened her eyes to see him gesturing to her body. “Oh. Yes, of course.” She thought about taking off the net cover-up, which would make washing off the mud easier. But she worked out the dirt the best she could, sticking the hose beneath her bikini top and even down into the bottoms to get everything out. When she glanced up, Griff averted his gaze.

  “Here.” She handed him the hose. “Is there another one? I could help you hose these Jeeps down. It’s getting dark fast.”

  “You should probably get on back to the lodge. The camera guys are about to head out. Get yourself some dinner with the rest of the group. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He didn’t want to spend time with her. Old insecurities reared their head, pushing her to turn and leave. “Should I bring you something?”

  “No, but thanks. I’m going to throw some burgers on the fire pit.”

  “That sounds nice. Mind if I just stay here with you? I’m not really up for a lot of socializing.”

  A sound rumbled from deep in his throat. Agony? Hunger? He handed her the hose and headed over to the showers to pull out another hose, then went to work on the next Jeep.

  Okay. Well, he hadn’t said no. That was a start, anyway. But what is it the start of?

  CHAPTER 3

  Griff watched the marshmallow at the end of his stick bubble and burn and eventually drip into the fire pit’s flames. Dumb idea to roast marshmallows. At first, all he could think about was his charred skin. At least these smelled good.

  It had been worth it to see the delight on Kristy’s face when he’d suggested it. “Like a campfire!” she’d said, clapping her hands together.

  They’d cooked burgers, and he’d scrounged up carrots for her ’cause she wanted a healthy side. She wasn’t one of those women who picked and ate like a bird though. She’d eaten two burgers, a handful of the fries he’d thrown in the oven, and half the bag of carrots.

  Now she was working on her third marshmallow. He liked a woman who ate. In fact, he’d had to pull his gaze away time and again before she caught him. Before she got the wrong idea.

  And you have enough wrong ideas for the both of you.

  Hell of a time to get his libido back. Well, it was knocking at his door anyway, reminding him that he hadn’t so much as taken a hand to himself since the explosion. She was going to be gone before long. And it was very likely he’d misinterpreted her flirting. Of course he had.

  And now Lady Antebellum was on the radio, singing “Just a Kiss.”

  “You just lost it,” she said.

  He blinked in surprise. Had she read his thoughts? “What?”

  She nodded toward his stick, now with just a smear of marshmallow at the tip. “Or you’re just lost in your thoughts.”

  He took in the way the flames flickered across her face, gilding her like an angel. Yeah, he was lost all right. “Thinking about tomorrow, is all.”

  “What are we doing tomorrow?”

  “Can’t say. They want to capture your expression when I tell you.”

  Her marshmallow dropped into the flame. “Oh, hell. On both accounts.”

  He couldn’t help chuckling. “You’ll be fine. You did great today.”

  “Hmph.” She speared another marshmallow, looking endearingly indignant. “Glad I could be so entertaining.” Her mouth turned into a smile in one second flat. “You know what I liked best?”

  “What?”

  “You laughing.”

  He sat back. “What do you mean?”

  She tilted her head, giving him her full attention. “You have a great laugh. And a nice smile.”

  He forced himself to look away from her beautiful face, staring into the fire. He’d heard that plenty…before. “Now I know you’re yanking my chain. My smile’s messed up. But it’s nice of you to say.” He’d purposely sat on her left tonight, so she’d only see the worst side.

&n
bsp; “You think I’m yanking your chain? Griff, you’re a handsome man.”

  He reached over and took hold of her bottle of water, sniffing it. “Hmm. I don’t smell any alcohol.”

  She smacked his arm, pulling the bottle away. But she kept a grip on his arm so he couldn’t sit back. Her eyes searched his. “I’m serious. When you smile, your mouth tugs in this adorable way. Like this.” She tried to emulate this supposed adorable smile. “Haven’t you seen yourself smile?”

  “I don’t look in the mirror much. Only enough to shave.” He rubbed the normal side, wondering what she’d think of the broken mirrors in his bathroom that revealed just his jaw and cheek.

  She touched the side of his face, as she’d done earlier. He wanted to pull away, needed to for his own sanity. But hell if he could. “Why are you doing this? Touching me, telling me this?” His voice came out hoarse.

  She feathered her fingers over his scarred cheek. “Because I want to.”

  “Why?” he asked again, uncomfortable with the raw need to know so clear in his voice.

  She placed her other hand on the good side of his face. “I feel a connection to you, Griff. Maybe because we both have scars.”

  He couldn’t help the scoffing sound. “You’re perfect. You don’t have a lick of makeup on, and you’re so damned beautiful, it hurts to look at you.”

  She gave him a soft smile, still brushing her fingers across his skin. He wanted to grab onto her hand and stop her because he was about to fall into the sensation. So simple, so innocent, and so powerful all at once. He hadn’t been touched by anyone but a doctor or nurse in over two years. That she was touching his scarred skin with such tenderness and reverence, he could barely stand it.

  She unzipped her jacket, slowly, and pulled the two sides apart. The top beneath it dipped low, showing a hint of cleavage. But that’s not what riveted his attention. Faded red slashes marred her chest nearly up to her neck.

  “I’ve been hiding from the world, too,” she whispered after a few moments. “Not just because of Eye.” Another few moments passed, and she said, “Say something.”

  He’d forgotten to breathe. But even a long breath didn’t ease the ache in his chest. “He did this to you?” He had to hold back a string of curses unfit for a lady’s ears.

  She nodded. “He was hiding in my apartment. When I came home from a night of partying with friends, he attacked me with a knife from my own kitchen. He’d called two days earlier—he always managed to get my phone number—furious because he’d seen an advertisement I’d done in a bra and underwear. That’s as undressed as I ever got, but it infuriated him. I called him a bully and a coward and hung up. That really pissed him off.”

  Griff wanted to touch her the way she’d done to him, but he held his hands still on his thighs. “He tried to kill you?”

  “No, he said he didn’t want to kill me. He wanted to give me scars so I couldn’t model anymore. So I wouldn’t ‘show off my body like a whore.’” She showed him the side of her hand where two more slash marks showed, then tilted her chin up to reveal another scar just beneath. “This is as far as he got. Then my roommate rushed in, after hearing my screams, and threw a lamp at Eye. That gave me the diversion I needed to get away, and Eye took off. He wore a mask, so I still couldn’t identify him.”

  She pulled her knees up and hugged her legs close. “He got his way, and that’s what makes me the maddest. I’m not modeling. I’m hiding. I hate that he won.”

  Griff felt the same anger burn inside him. “We definitely need to take this son of a bitch out.”

  “So you see, Griff, we both suffered bodily injury at someone else’s hand. We’re both hiding because of it.”

  He flattened his hand on his chest. “But the suicide bomber did what he did because of some ideal, as screwed up as it is. He wasn’t tormenting us for some sick pleasure.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?” The question floated in the air, gentle as mist.

  He’d stopped telling the story months ago, but her expression wasn’t of morbid curiosity. It held genuine interest. “I was part of a scouting convoy, three Humvees. I was the gunner in the turret.” He stared into the flames as they licked the darkness. “It was my job to spot attacks. I didn’t see him until he was right on us, and I couldn’t get the gun around in time to…” Guilt infused him. He swallowed hard. “The guy detonated himself. I remember the fireball, and then I was lying on the ground, staring up at the sky. I’d been blown right out the door.” He had to push out the words, “I was the only survivor. Four men died.” Because he’d failed.

  She touched his arm. “It wasn’t your fault. You did the best you could. You, a lot of those soldiers, they’re only kids. You’re what, twenty-two?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “Damn, Griff. You’re still carrying that Humvee and all those guys on your shoulders, aren’t you?”

  He met her eyes, seeing only compassion. He didn’t need to answer, though; she could see. But instead of trying to talk him out of his guilt, she only said, “Guilt’s a bitch, isn’t it?” She gave his arm a squeeze. “You’ve gone through enough on the outside. I can’t even imagine what that was like.” She let that hang, not quite a question and yet…

  “I was put into a coma for three weeks right afterward. When I woke up in Brooke Army Medical Center, they told me I was burned over twenty-five percent of my body. The first few times I saw my reflection, I didn’t believe it was me. It felt like I was seeing a stranger. Then I’d turn and look at the good side of my face. And yeah, it was me, all right. I had thirty surgeries and put in two years of rehab before I was able to come home ten months ago.”

  She was looking at him with compassion, and because it wasn’t pity—because she’d been brave enough to share her scars—he pulled off his shirt. It was easier to look at his body than his face, so he knew well the line of scarring across his chest, down his side.

  Her eyes roamed over his body, a slow sweep that returned to his face. “At least you had this place. And your family, I imagine.”

  “Thank God for them.” Sometimes he didn’t feel he deserved their support. “I suffered from what the hospital therapist called survivor’s guilt. There were times in those first few months of recovery that I wish I’d died that day with my friends. It’s hard, knowing I lived and they didn’t. Why me? Why them? But every time I think of my family’s reaction when I came home or when they visited me at the hospital, their relief that I was alive… I couldn’t wish I had died. I’m here. I have to live enough for my fallen comrades.” He fought the urge to pull on his shirt again.

  “When will you venture out into the world?”

  The thought of it tightened his gut. “I’ve only just begun taking out hunting parties. Mostly men, a lot of vets, so they don’t pay a lot of mind to my face. I saw the way people looked at me while I was at the hospital, the short outings I did in San Antonio. Horror. Pity.” He shook his head. “I’m happy here.”

  “Are you?”

  The gentle challenge on her face made him uncomfortable. He stared into the flames again. “Yes. It must seem unfair, me holing up here on purpose when you’ve been stuck in hiding.”

  “Only unfair to you.”

  The crack of a twig in the woods shot her to her feet, sending her whirling around staring into the darkness. “What was that?”

  “Critter. Maybe a coon.”

  She zipped up her jacket, her eyes wide. “Are you sure?”

  He hated the fear that tightened her pretty mouth. “I grew up on this land. I know the difference between a human’s footstep and an animal’s. But we can go in.”

  She nodded, meeting his gaze. He pulled his shirt back on, but his eyes went right back to her. The words wanted to come out: you could stay with me, if it makes you feel safer. No expectations of anything, ’cause I don’t even have that inclination…r />
  But he did, and his body stirred at the thought of lying in bed with her. Holding her. She swallowed hard, and her eyes pleaded with him to kiss her. Maybe he was misreading her. Maybe he was crazy. No, he was definitely crazy, because he brought his hand up to her cheek. She moved closer, tilting up her chin, softening her mouth. He leaned down…

  Another sound, coming from the front of the lodge, stopped him. Tires on gravel.

  “They’re back,” he said. Relief and regret warred inside him for not having pushed out the offer. But she would feel safe now with everyone back. And it was better that he and Kristy didn’t start something they couldn’t finish. He couldn’t condemn her to a life of hiding out here.

  He waited inside with her until the group filled the lodge with the sounds of laughter. The BBQ place was a hit, the sawdust covered floors quaint and the band raucous. Griff pushed past the longing to experience the latter two elements and bid everyone good night.

  It only hit him later, as he stretched out alone in his bed, that the word he’d used to describe his life here was condemned.

  CHAPTER 4

  Kristy sat with the others in the Mud Room, eating a hearty breakfast before their mystery event. Addie and Mollie looked as nervous as Kristy felt, but at least they had their guys to encourage and egg them on. Griff was nowhere in sight. It was annoying how disappointing that was. Just because they’d almost shared a kiss, and showed their scars, didn’t mean they’d bonded or anything.

  She let out a soft sigh. Except she did feel a bond that she couldn’t quite explain. Not one of the guys she’d dated in college or met during her brief dalliance with the party scene had made her feel like this. Yet, what kind of future could they have? Griff didn’t seem inclined to leave here, and she couldn’t blame him. She needed the excitement of city life, meeting new people, living out loud.

  And she only had one more day, one more night, before being escorted back to Atlanta. They lived three hours away from each other but worlds apart.

  Once she was done with her oatmeal and banana, she wandered the room, studying the pictures on the walls. Yeah, she was looking for Griff. She knew his uncle had started MUD’N HUNT right after Griff enlisted, so he wasn’t in many of the pictures showing guests holding up huge fish, strings of rabbits, and trophies while standing in front of mud-covered trucks. But she found one of Griff as a teenager with a buck draped over his shoulders. He’d been gorgeous, with a carefree glint in his eyes. He was no doubt different now than that cocky young guy in a Marines T-shirt who raised a beer with a bunch of friends all perched on a hulking truck. She probably would have never connected with that Griff.