by Amelia Autin
After a minute, during which he counted her shallow breaths one after the other, she said, “Why did you do that?”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. “Because you’re not ready.” His voice was a deep rumble in his chest and his arm tightened imperceptibly around her shoulders. “I can wait until you are.”
She didn’t say anything for a long time, but her breathing quickened...and not in a good way. Liam knew that as surely as he’d known she wasn’t ready in the first place. “But...” she said finally. “What if it’s...never?”
“Then it’s never,” he said simply. She raised her head from his shoulder and stared at him in the light from the bedside lamp Liam had left on, disbelief written plainly on her delicately beautiful face. One corner of his mouth curved up in a deliberately understanding smile that invited her to believe him. Implicitly. “It won’t affect how I feel about you, Cate.”
“How can you know that?” she asked quickly. Almost sharply. “You’re a man, and I know how men—”
“Yes, I’m a man. But I’m not an animal.” Like him, he thought but didn’t say. He didn’t want to bring memories of Vishenko into bed with them any more than they already were. “I can control my desires, Cate. I want you so much I’m shaking with it at times—you already know that. But only when you want me too—just as much as I want you—will I ever do anything about it.”
“But...” She seemed stunned. “But...never?”
“Why is it so hard to believe? Have I ever lied to you?”
She was silent, gravely considering his question. Then shook her head slowly. “No, you’ve never lied to me, but...” She still couldn’t comprehend it. “Never?”
From somewhere he found the strength to answer with patience, even though part of him was hurt she wouldn’t believe him. “I’ll never do anything you don’t want, Cate, anything you’re not ready for.”
He could tell he’d confused her. “Then what was that all about...earlier?” she asked. “Why did you...”
“To prove to you—not to me—you were wrong about yourself. That you could feel what other women feel. That you could respond when a man makes love to you.” He held her gaze, praying she would believe this, if nothing else. “I’m not using those words lightly, Cate. I was making love to you...because I love you.”
She caught her breath, and Liam could see she hadn’t been expecting that. Not at all. It was another little dagger to his heart, but he was getting used to it where Cate was concerned. He continued, “I waited a long time to find a woman I could love. I finally found her. Okay, so she’s not ready to return my love. Not yet. That’s my problem, not hers. But I think she will...someday. And I think she’ll come to trust me completely. But the only way to win her trust is to be the man she needs me to be. Whatever kind of man that is. For however long it takes.”
He ducked his head and kissed her quickly, lightly, on the lips. “It won’t be easy—I won’t lie to you about that. But a man who can’t look and not touch isn’t really much of a man...not in my opinion. I can be a very patient man, Cate...when I want something badly enough. When you’re ready—and not a moment before—I’ll be right here, waiting for you. Waiting to share that part of my love with you.”
He tucked her head back down against his shoulder. “Now sleep. Morning will come soon enough, and I’m just going to hold you until you fall asleep. Then I’ll go back to my cot over there.”
“No,” she protested quickly, and at first he thought she meant she didn’t want him to hold her. But then she said, “Don’t go. Please.” Her voice was soft, hesitant, when she asked, “Stay with me?”
Inside he was doing cartwheels, but all he said was, “My pleasure, sweetheart.”
Chapter 13
Cate woke before Liam, and at first she panicked at feeling a hard male body next to hers in bed, even though they were both still clothed. Then she realized where she was and who she was with, and she relaxed. But it was too late—she’d already woken Liam.
“Hi,” he said, his dark brown eyes fixed on her face.
Liam didn’t waken slowly. He was asleep one minute, then wide-awake the next. Is that a result of his job? Cate wondered. Or is he just naturally a light sleeper? She didn’t know. There were so many things she didn’t know about him. But she wanted to. She was surprised at how much she wanted to know every little detail about Liam.
And yet, she knew the important things, like his need to protect. He hadn’t even known her, but he’d killed to protect her and the others in the courthouse when the machine guns had opened fire. He hadn’t hesitated—he’d risked his own life to do what he had to do. Despite that tough side of him, though, he was gentle. So very gentle. Patient, too. And kind. Those things she didn’t know about him were superficial. The basic character of the man—she already knew everything she needed to know.
“You okay?” he continued, and Cate knew he wasn’t just talking about now, the way she’d started awake, the instant panic. He was also asking about last night. The blood rushed into her cheeks, and a flush of warmth inundated her body as she remembered...and relived everything he’d made her feel.
She hadn’t believed it was possible. It was still incomprehensible...but it had happened. Liam had brought her body to life, had proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that Vishenko hadn’t killed that part of her. And in a secret recess of her heart, hope quivered to life.
“I’m fine,” she answered quickly. Though her first instinct was to turn away as sudden shyness overcame her, there was something about Liam’s eyes that refused to let her do that. Something that held her in place with nothing more than his gentle insistence.
“I meant what I said last night.” His deep voice resonated through her body, setting off little tremors of awareness. A good awareness of him as a man. “I love you, Cate. But I’m not trying to pressure you in any way. And I don’t want you to think there’s some kind of quid pro quo here—sex in exchange for my protection. My protection is yours for however long you need it, no matter what.” He touched her cheek with one finger, the same kind of butterfly caress he’d used last night. Then he threw off the sheet and jumped out of bed so quickly Cate didn’t have a chance to protest.
He disappeared into the bathroom, then emerged a minute later. Cate couldn’t see what he was doing—the screen shielded him from her view. But the sounds that came to her were the unmistakable sounds of a man dressing, including the rasp of the zipper on his jeans. And Cate’s imagination moved into overdrive thinking about the strong male body that had held her through the night.
She slipped out of bed, grabbed her clothes and hurried into the bathroom. She was quick, though not as quick as Liam, and that thought made her smile. As she washed her face and brushed her teeth, she stared at herself in the mirror over the sink. Wondering why she looked so different. Then it came to her. She was still smiling. And not just the perfunctory smiles she used to make the people around her think she was okay. She was really, truly smiling, because she felt good. Energized. Because she was looking forward to the day. Because of Liam.
Then the smile faded when she unbuttoned her pajama top as she started to change into her day clothes. Liam hadn’t undressed her last night when he made love to her. Because of the scars? she wondered now. Last night she’d been grateful he hadn’t attempted to get her naked any more than he’d gotten naked himself. Last night she hadn’t been ready to go that far, and somehow Liam had known it. But this morning she couldn’t help but wonder if the reason he hadn’t was because her scars would turn him off. The way she’d always thought they would turn off any man.
She’d shown him the scars the other night—angrily. Defiantly. Needing in some perverse way for him to know just how damaged she was, physically as well as emotionally. Trying to push him away before he could reject her, so it wouldn’t hurt quite so much. He hadn’t turned
away from her in disgust, though—not the other night. But his actions last night took on a totally different meaning...now. Was that the real reason he hadn’t undressed her? Because of her scars?
She turned around and craned her head so she could see the scars in the mirror. It was more than seven years since the last scar had been inflicted, closer to eight. Because when she’d finally realized her only chance for escape would come once Vishenko believed she’d been totally vanquished, she’d surrendered. Seemed to surrender. She’d never surrendered in her heart, but she still retained guilt she hadn’t fought him to the bitter end. That she hadn’t died rather than let him think he’d conquered her.
All these years later the scars had faded. Not completely—nothing would ever erase them. But they weren’t the angry red of freshly healed scars the way she always imagined them in her mind. Now they were silvery crisscross traces of where Vishenko had beaten her until her back was bloody and her resistance shredded.
Last night she’d confessed almost everything to Liam. Almost everything. The one thing she hadn’t told him—the one thing she’d never told anyone except Angelina and Alec, and subsequently the prosecutors—was that she’d eventually surrendered her body to Vishenko. Not willingly. But knowingly.
Which meant that Liam—a man with such strong moral convictions, a man who professed to love her—would never love her if he knew the whole truth. Which also meant she could never tell him.
* * *
Dinnertime had come and gone, and so had Callahan. He’d brought news, too. Good news. “One of the marshals wounded in the firefight was discharged this afternoon,” he’d said in his dry, acerbic way. “And the other should go home tomorrow.” He’d hesitated a second, then added, “The other prosecutor’s injuries are more serious, but his condition has been upgraded and he’s no longer in intensive care.”
“Thank God,” Liam had said in such a heartfelt tone Cate had known he meant it literally.
Liam still believes in a just and merciful God, she thought now. Just like Alec. Just like Angelina. She wished she could. A tiny voice in the back of her mind reminded her that she had escaped. And she’d kept her freedom for more than six years before Alec located her. But that wasn’t God’s doing, she told herself now, ruthlessly squashing that tiny voice. That was just...happenstance. Luck. And never settling into a routine. Never staying in one place for very long. Never risking anything, especially her heart. Because what you didn’t risk you couldn’t lose, and she’d already lost more than she could afford. Her pride. Her dignity. Her self-respect. Survival had depended on risking nothing more.
She dried the last of the dinner dishes—Liam had cooked so she’d washed up—and put them away in the cabinet. Liam had already made a perimeter check, and was now sitting on the back porch, watching the sunset. She squelched the urge to join him, and instead fetched one of her treasured books, settling herself in the rocking chair to read.
But instead of opening the book, she pushed the rocking chair with one foot and stared into the empty fireplace, remembering. Remembering how it felt to lie in the shelter of Liam’s arms in this very chair. Remembering how she’d confessed nearly everything to him, and he hadn’t judged her. Hadn’t condemned her.
Could she tell him the rest? Could she risk it? Could she build a relationship with him if she didn’t? And even if she could, he’d know the truth soon enough, and he’d never forgive her for deceiving him.
She rocked slowly until the light left, her thoughts in turmoil. She rocked until shadows crept around the rocking chair, the book still unopened in her lap.
The back door opened and Liam came inside. “You missed the sunset,” he told her quietly as he flicked on the overhead light, dispelling the shadows. “Why didn’t you come outside?”
“I needed to think.” About what, she wasn’t ready to tell him. “I needed to be alone.”
He nodded as a reflective expression settled over his face. “I’m that way sometimes, too,” he told her. “But I missed you.” He wasn’t saying it in a critical way, Cate knew. Just a statement of fact. He would have liked to share the sunset with her because he enjoyed her company. That was all. Even if no words were exchanged between them, her presence mattered to him.
He went to his duffel bag and pulled something out of it, then sat down at the kitchen table. She watched silently as he pulled his gun from its holster and placed it on the table in front of him. He removed the clip and the bullet in the chamber, then began taking the gun apart. Curious, she left the rocking chair and came to sit across from him.
He glanced up once, then turned his concentration back to what he was doing. He didn’t wait for her to ask, volunteering, “Just some regular maintenance on my SIG SAUER. Nothing to worry about.”
She propped one elbow on the table and leaned her cheek against her hand as she watched him take a small cloth and carefully wipe each part of his gun. Fascinated by his methodical movements. Then, apropos of nothing, and without looking at her, he said, “I wanted to ask you about what you said yesterday.”
She wrinkled her brow in a question, but she knew he couldn’t see it, so she asked, “When yesterday?”
“Right before Callahan showed up. When you called yourself a coward because you hadn’t killed Vishenko when you had the chance.”
She’d forgotten about that...but Liam hadn’t. And she could tell it was still bothering him. She hadn’t intended to tell him, but it was too late—she couldn’t unsay those words.
Liam put down the piece of his gun he was holding and looked at her, his deep brown eyes stern. But there was also something fierce in their depths. “You are not a coward,” he said now. “You hear me? You are not a coward.”
His unshakeable faith in her reverberated in her soul, but she honestly believed his faith was misplaced. “You don’t know,” she began, but he wouldn’t let her finish.
“I do know. You think because you couldn’t kill him in cold blood that makes you a coward? You’re so wrong, Cate. Totally wrong.”
“But I—”
“No,” he reiterated. “If you could kill him like that, it would make you the monster he is. But you’re not. You’re not a cold-blooded killer any more than I am, and you never will be. But that doesn’t mean you’re a coward. It means you have a conscience. It means you know right from wrong. And that’s a good thing, Cate. A wonderful thing.”
In the silence that followed Liam picked up the piece of his gun he’d put down and continued wiping it. Then he took the little bottle he’d pulled from the case in his duffel bag, applied a minute drop of oil from it and rubbed the oil into the metal.
“How many men have you killed?” Cate asked abruptly, surprising herself as much as him.
His hands stilled for a moment, then continued. “Three,” he said finally, not looking up from his task. “Three men who deserved to die.” He drew a deep breath and let it out long and slow, then said, “But it wasn’t something I planned. Just something I had to do.”
“Because you were the only one who could do it.”
His gaze met hers, his eyes very dark. Very grave. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“That’s what Alec said about Angelina. He said she killed a man who was trying to kill him. That she didn’t want to do it, but she had to...because she was the only one who could save him.”
“Alec told me about that.”
“I figured he had.” She thought for a moment. “How do you know, Liam? How do you know when you have to kill someone because it’s necessary...and you’re the only one who can do it?”
He didn’t answer immediately, as if he wanted to consider his response very carefully. “It’s not a conscious choice,” he said finally. “You don’t think, ‘I have to kill this man because he’s endangering someone.’ Or, ‘I have to kill this man or he’ll kill me.’ You don’t have
time for that. You go on instinct. And you pray your instincts are right.”
“Are your instincts always right?”
“For me—so far—yeah. But I don’t take that for granted. Every time I hear about a cop shooting an unarmed civilian or a kid with a toy gun that looks real, I think, ‘There but for the grace of God goes me.’ All I can do is the best I can do at the time, Cate. All I can do is pray I never make the wrong decision.”
“But how do you know what the right decision is?”
“I train. Constantly. So my reaction time gives me that fraction of a second I need for my brain to assess the situation and respond correctly.” One corner of his mouth twitched up into a rueful smile. “Sometimes it’s easier than other times. For instance, in the courthouse Alec and I were looking the other way when the gunmen opened fire. But we both knew instantly what was happening—the sound of gunfire is unmistakable—and we both knew what we had to do.”
“You saved my life.”
“Yeah, we did, both of us. But I don’t look at it quite that way. I was going on instinct. I wasn’t saving you so much as I was reacting to the situation—I just couldn’t let those machine guns keep firing, endangering everyone. Not a conscious thought, just instinct. And I’m sure that’s what Alec was going on, too.” He’d finished his task as he was talking, and now he put the reassembled gun back in its shoulder holster. Then his gaze met hers again. “It’s a little different when it’s personal, though.”
Cate caught her breath at the intimate look Liam gave her. “What...what do you mean?”
“My brother-in-law, Cody, told us—my brothers and me, in this very cabin—about the time my sister was shot. About his visceral reaction when he saw it go down, and what he did as a result. I’m not faulting him—in that situation I might have done the same thing. Not that what he did was wrong, but his reasons for doing it...maybe. And yet, we’re only human, Cate. When someone we love is hurt, we want to hurt back. That’s natural. We just have to accept that we’re human, and go from there.”
