Highly Charged!

by Joanne Rock

  What if her heart opened up to him as easily as her body? Her feet burrowed in the wet sand as she crossed her arms against a chilly ocean gust.

  She glanced back at Brad, the hard planes of his face relaxed into an impossibly handsome visage.

  Was a highly charged, two-week affair possible without putting her heart on the line?

  The text message got it right in one sense. When Brad’s leave ended, she would be unprotected. But it wasn’t her physical safety she worried about. If she got too attached, she’d be devastated when he left. She was all too familiar with that feeling.

  Nikki’s stomach churned with uncertainty as she turned back to the rough sea. For now, she needed to keep her guard up.

  Feet padded behind her. Nikki’s back stiffened as she was engulfed in Brad’s powerful embrace. He rested his head atop hers, pulling her close.

  “Morning, beautiful,” he murmured huskily in her ear. Heavy black clouds gathered on the horizon.

  Nikki’s traitorous heart drummed, nearly drowning out the rising waves.

  “Looks like rain,” she replied. Lightning forked in the distance. An ominous rumble confirmed her prediction.

  “‘Red sky at night, sailors’ delight, red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.’” He tossed out the old adage as he trailed a molten flow of kisses down her neck, wreaking havoc with her senses and her willpower.

  It would be so difficult to keep things light between them.

  “Then we should both be warned,” Nikki managed, breathless from his touch. “We’d better get going before the downpour arrives.”

  Brad’s eyebrows slashed downward, his inscrutable eyes narrowing. But the whole concept of “no guarantees” was his rule. So why did he appear more frustrated than relieved?

  “Sure thing” came the clipped reply. He shook out the blanket and slid on his shorts before she’d even picked up her beach bag.

  He strode up the beach, away from the shore and their night together.

  Nikki jogged to keep up. What was his deal? Good thing she’d kept her distance after all. Her bare toes tangled in something, slowing her down. She prepared to pull seaweed from her foot and discovered she’d tripped on a half-buried metal chain. She squatted for a closer look. Lt. Frank Peterson’s dog tags. Nate must have lost them in the roughhousing yesterday.

  Her fingers traced the embossed letters for a moment before she tucked them into her dress pocket. The tags felt so small compared to the hero they represented. How could an entire life be reduced to a piece of metal and a loyal woman’s memories?

  What would it be like to be that woman?

  The first raindrops fell as she reached Brad scrambling to gather the rest of their belongings by the volleyball net—their strained silence as charged as the electrified air.

  They raced up the path to the open field that had served as a parking lot yesterday, trees swaying wildly overhead. The wind howled, whipping the leafy canopy into a frenzy. Just as the downpour hit, they clambered into the Jeep.

  Nikki sighed. That was close.

  Strangely, the deluge had kept things from getting too heavy. She’d survived one morning after without falling hopelessly in love with Brad Riddock. Only eleven more to go.

  AT NIKKI’S HOUSE, BRAD HANDED over her beach bag after walking her to the door. He didn’t know what to make of the cool distance she’d opted for this morning, but a gentleman walked a woman to the door and he’d damn well honor the code even if she didn’t seem to want him there.

  Nikki pushed back her dark hair, the curls soft and abundant after she’d fallen asleep with it wet the night before. “I didn’t mean to be standoffish this morning, Brad. But I thought maybe we needed a break after how intense things were last night.”

  Okay. Way to address the issue head-on. He appreciated that. Nodding, he wished his chest weren’t so damn tight. Wasn’t this what he’d wanted?

  “I figured as much.” But that didn’t take away how much it sucked to be shot down when he’d already been planning how to get her naked again.

  “I’d still be grateful if you’d like to sleep here tonight,” she continued, setting her beach bag on the patio table. “I just need some time to think before then.”

  Relief flooded through him. She hadn’t shut him out.

  Killer barked from the porch, interrupting their onesided conversation.

  “Come here, boy,” Brad called. Killer looked from Brad to Nikki, whined, but refused to leave the porch. “You like her better now, huh?” He reached up and rubbed the dog’s belly through the peeling porch spindles. “Can’t say I blame you.”

  The blue jay squawked and the chipmunk squealed as Nikki ascended the steps. She gave them a quick once-over, then turned to pet Killer, as well.

  “Brad, you’re okay with that, right?” Her green eyes peered down at him anxiously. “I’m sure you don’t want to complicate things either.”

  Brad took the porch steps in one bound and backed her up against a newel post. He kissed her long and hard. Palming her ass, he hauled her up against him. When he released her, she grabbed hold of the post and gasped for breath.

  Ego appeased, he grinned.

  “Darlin’,” Brad said as he backed down the steps, “this can be as simple as we want to make it.”

  He hopped in his Jeep and roared out of her driveway. If she needed time to mull things over, let her think about that.

  He drove to the VA facility with the windows down. The air had lost its oppressive humidity and blew in the smell of freshly cut grass. The lighter weather matched his optimistic mood. He’d gone all night without playing host to the recurring dream. That meant he was straightening out, right? He couldn’t wait to tell the shrink as much, except—oh, yeah, he’d only copped to a couple of nightmares in the first place.

  But first came rehab. He rode the exercise bike then went through his prescribed routine of leg pumps, curls and extensions. The large, airy space was filled with dozens of bikes, elliptical machines, weight benches and other work-out equipment. Grunts accompanied the clanging of metal on metal. The stench of sweat and iron made Brad’s nose curl. Not that he should talk. He reeked as bad as the other ten servicemen in the gym, but figured he’d hold off on a shower until after he’d worked out. One, Brad noticed, had lost an arm.

  “Hey.” The guy lifted his chin at him as he handcurled forty pounds.

  “Impressive.” Brad gestured to the oversize dumbbell while he worked on a military press with the barbell.

  The soldier grinned and finished another set of ten before lightly placing the weight in its slot and grabbing the fifty pounder.

  “James,” grunted the wounded warrior. He worked through another impossible set.

  “Brad.” He mopped his brow, amazed the guy had barely broken a sweat. It felt like a hundred degrees.

  “Navy?” James asked, finishing his last set at the same time Brad ended a round of squats.

  “Unit 12—Norfolk.”

  “Unit 4.”

  An assault unit. That explained the guy’s Hulk-like strength.

  “You with the explosive division?” James asked, flipping a towel over one shoulder as they headed toward the locker room.

  “Yeah.” Brad thought about that missing arm, wary about where the conversation could land.

  “IED specialist?”

  “That would be me.”

  “Bad-ass, dude.” James grinned then expertly disrobed and disappeared into the steaming showers. Brad followed suit two stalls down, and when he emerged, he found James twirling his locker combination onehanded, a towel securely tucked around his waist. The exposed amputation must have been healing for a while, the rounded, puckered flesh no longer red.

  “You never seen one?” James asked, catching his stare.

  “I’ve seen them.” He grimaced, his mind flashing to the Iraqi farmer’s grisly wound. “But they’re usually fresh.”

  James’s locker clicked open and he efficiently donned his
clothes, even buttoning his shirt with ease. Seeing how well he’d adapted made Brad wonder if the Iraqi farmer could recover some degree of normalcy after his injury.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Depends.”

  “You get that from a bomb or gun?”

  “IED.” He shrugged casually, shouldering his gym bag. “But what’s the difference? Life’s gonna bite you in the ass whenever it wants. It’s not like we got any say about it, right?”

  “I hear that,” Brad echoed, knowing it with one hundred percent freaking certainty.

  He dressed quickly and headed to a private psych facility a few blocks away; the base counselor had had too many patients to take him on. Just as well since it sort of sucked running into guys you knew while traipsing in and out of the shrink’s office. Not that there was a stigma attached to the whole ordeal…far from it. If you did combat time, chances were good you’d be in there for one thing or another eventually. But the anonymity here, away from the base, was just fine with him.

  The assistant at the front desk waved him in and he put on his game face.

  “Come in, Lieutenant,” boomed his doctor, Sean Leonard. He came out from behind his desk to gesture toward the informal seating nearby. “Have a seat.”

  “Thank you.” Brad dropped into a straight-backed solid-oak chair that must have predated WWII. He glanced at the clock. The large white hand ticked. Only fifty-nine more minutes to go.

  Dr. Leonard took out a file, flipped it open and rapidly perused its contents. He glanced up, his eyes keen. He had the clean-cut appearance of someone who’d taken care of himself his whole life—from the fit runner’s physique to the brown eyes that broadcast simple sincerity. Under any other circumstances, Brad would have probably liked him.

  “The last time we spoke you said your most recent nightmare was the one witnessed by Lieutenant Staley a week ago.”

  “That’s correct.” Ashley’s fiancé had borrowed his car and walked in on the nightly horror show. Brad didn’t know who’d been more freaked out—him to know someone else had witnessed his demons, or Joe who sure as hell hadn’t wanted a backstage pass to another guy’s private hell.

  “Any more since then?”

  “No, sir,” he lied.

  The doc made a note in the chart.

  “How often do you think of the incident in Mosul?”

  “How often?” Brad stalled, unsure what the normal response would be.

  “How frequently do you picture the events that precipitated your leave?” the doctor asked again patiently.

  Brad went with the truth because, damn it, you’d have to be born without a freaking conscience not to think about it sometimes.

  “At least once or twice daily, sir.”

  The pen flashed again. A lengthy scrawl of sentences followed. Brad looked around the wood-paneled room, noting the doc’s educational certificates and citation awards. A yellowed picture of a much younger Leonard, his redheaded wife and their three freckled children hung on the wall beside his oversize desk.

  “Would you describe your feelings and thoughts when you think of the incident?”

  Sweat popped along his brow and he wished he’d thought to tell the shrink right off that he’d been working out first. Because, damn it, that’s why a bead had rolled down his back just now and not because of some knee-jerk reaction at the thought of talking about his freaking feelings. No way was he getting into all that.

  “Regret.” Brad resisted the urge to mop his forehead and ended up looking at the clock instead.

  Damn.

  “And what is it that you regret, Lieutenant?” the doctor queried, still scribbling.

  The guy’s cool detachment bugged him. How could he sit across from him, dry as a freaking Right Guard commercial, while Brad sweated it out trying to find the correct answers to impossible questions that would allow him to go back out and do his job?

  “How about regret that a civilian lost his arm? Regret that befriending the civilian’s son led to his father’s injury. Mix in some regret that the same kid had to see the horror with his own eyes and then top it all off with a crapload of regret that getting close to anyone ends up being dangerous as hell in my experience!”

  The quiet in the room seemed intense after an outburst that had ended with a little more volume than he’d intended. Taking a deep breath, he swallowed back any urge to say more.

  The doctor finally looked up; his brown eyes assessing Brad carefully.

  “Regret is a normal emotion,” the shrink began. “But thinking that personal closeness is dangerous is not.”

  Brad kept his face impassive. Never show doubt or fear.

  “Would you describe the relationships you are currently in?” asked the doc. Brad was not falling for that game again.

  “I have a dog.” The mutt had adopted him before he’d found Nikki, after all. Surely that counted as a relationship. “He’s a scrawny thing—maybe some daschund in the mix—so I called him Killer—you know, help the little guy’s self-image.”

  Leonard didn’t seem inclined to discuss the psychology of small canines.

  “How long have you had the dog?”

  Brad swallowed. “One week.”

  “I see. Your parents?”

  “Passed away ten years ago, sir.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. And my apologies, Lieutenant. I see there’s a note in your file about the plane crash.” The oak chair squeaked as he squirmed under the doc’s penetrating stare. “Any other relationships?”

  Since he didn’t want to get into his need to help out Frank’s widow and her son, he found himself saying, “A girl, Nikki.”

  The pen clicked again, poised over the folder.

  “And what is the status of your relationship?”

  Good question. If only he knew the answer.

  “Physical, I think.”

  “So no emotional attachment?”

  Brad hesitated. He couldn’t bring himself to deny the feelings she aroused in him. For that matter, something about Leonard’s tone made him think that a lack of emotional attachment equated with a one-way pass to Crazy Town.

  “I wouldn’t go that far, sir. It’s just hard to say where things will lead when we only met three days ago.”

  The pen started scribbling furiously and Brad wondered why his relationships were so important. Wasn’t emotional detachment critical to his job?

  “Brad, our time is nearly up,” began Doc Leonard. Brad looked up at the clock, shocked the minutes went so quickly this time. “But I want to see you back next week and hear how things are going with Nikki and—” he looked down at his notes “—Killer.”

  Brad stood quickly, ready to jet out of there.

  The doc raised a thick, gnarled finger, holding him. “This week explore what you’ve begun with Nikki, beyond the physical. Try to remember that not every personal relationship is harmful. That’s not to say either one of you won’t get hurt in the process, but the point is, you have to be open, and willing to try.” His yellowed teeth flashed in a kindly smile. Brad suddenly realized that the doc was older than he thought and had probably worked beyond his retirement.

  “Yes, sir.” Brad nodded his thanks before hightailing it out of there with an appointment card in hand. The session might have moved faster today, but he still couldn’t wait to leave.

  And, hot damn, had he just received a prescription for hanging out more with Nikki? For the first time in the history of his crappy injury, he decided he would be a very compliant patient.

  9

  MIDAFTERNOON SUN ROASTING the back of her neck, Nikki was grateful for an excuse to shut off the power sander when her cell phone rang in the middle of the afternoon. Still, she approached the device like a rattlesnake, knowing chances were high it would be another creepy text message. She really needed to create a separate ring tone for her texts.

  “Hello?” She didn’t recognize the number, but at least it was a real call and not a text.


  “I’m looking for the hot professor that all the kids at school have been talking about—”

  “Hi, Brad.” She peeled off the gloves she’d been wearing and leaned back on the porch spindles she’d tackled today. “I’m glad you called. I forgot to tell you I found Nate’s dog tags on the beach this morning. You’ll probably want to contact his mom to let her know you have them.”

  “I’ll do that. I have to call Ashley anyway to set up a time to take Nate to the fair this week.” He sounded as if he was in the Jeep, the drone of an engine combining with the whip of wind in the background. “How’s it going at the house? No trouble with harassers?”

  “It’s been quiet except for the power sander.” She brushed some paint chips from her T-shirt.

  “Any time to search for the diaries?”

  “No. But I’ll step up my efforts on that score now that we’ve made some serious progress on the house. If the Ralston family succeeds in taking the house from me, I’ll want to know that I searched the property as much as possible first. Having all the original diaries published together was really important to Chloe.” And from a scholarly perspective, Nikki couldn’t wait to read them to see what they contained that was so important to her friend. What secrets might they reveal?

  “I think the harassment is going to stop once the diaries are made public. My gut says whoever is behind the threats is trying to suppress their release. So the sooner we find them and hand them over to a publisher, the safer you’ll be.” His voice took on that growly tone that sent a ridiculous thrill through her.

  “You might be right.” She clutched the phone tighter, enjoying the completely unfamiliar feeling of having someone look after her. She could become way too used to this. “What have you been doing today?”

  “Miss me already?”

  “Possibly.” She hugged herself like a teenager on the phone with her first boyfriend. Damn it, how old was she? “But don’t evade the question.”