by Diana Gardin
I don’t recognize the robotic sound to my own voice, and I struggle to fight against the old demons battling their way to the surface.
“What’s going on, Sleuth?” Jacob Owen’s voice is as gruff as usual, but the underlying note of concern makes my hands clench tighter on the steering wheel.
Guiding the car into the parking space in front of the steps leading up to our second-floor apartment, I shove the car into park.
“I’m fine, but Indigo could have a minor head injury. I just want her checked out, and we can’t go to a hospital.” My shoulder blades dig into the leather seat as I lean back and scrub my hands over my face. “Will you send a doctor?”
“Of course I will. I’ll call an old friend of mine who owes me a favor as soon as I hang up with you. Sleuth…is the mission compromised?”
I’ve checked in with the team once since Indigo and I started our assignment, but they obviously haven’t heard about what happened today. For the first time since we got in the car, I glance over at Indigo. My chest tightens at the sight of the awkward way she’s holding her right arm and the lump on the side of her head.
I could have lost her today.
Stop. Don’t think about it.
Tearing my eyes off her, I reply to Jacob’s question. “We’re all good, Boss Man. We’ll continue the assignment until it’s finished.”
“Good.”
Ending the call, I climb out of the car and walk around to Indigo’s side to open her door. She steps out, and she doesn’t even take a step before I’m sweeping her into my arms and carrying her up the steps to our apartment. After unlocking the door, I set her down gently inside.
“I’ll be right back.” She opens her mouth to reply, but I close the door before she can get her words out.
Whipping my burner phone out of my pocket, I dial Ben’s number. When it goes straight to voice mail, I dial Thorn.
He answers on the first ring. “Hello?”
“It’s Sleuth,” I say.
“Sleuth? What’s up? You’re not supposed to be calling.”
“I know I’m not…but I need you, man. Can you come hang out with Indigo for an hour or so? There’s a doc on the way, and I don’t want to leave her alone.”
Thorn doesn’t hesitate. Even though he knows I’m going against procedure here, even though he has no idea why there’s a doctor coming to my apartment or why I would want him to stay with Indigo, his response is immediate.
“I’ll be there soon. Text me the address.”
As soon as I end the call, I shoot him a text with the address. Then I walk into the apartment.
The sound of the shower lets me know that Indigo’s in the bathroom just off the bedroom, and I drop my keys on the kitchen island before pacing the length of the small living room. The sound of the water shutting off doesn’t slow my steps, and neither does the creak of the bathroom door when it opens.
When Indigo emerges, I’ve just pivoted beside the window and started walking back across the room. But my steps stutter when my eyes land on her.
This is the Indigo that I can’t seem to get enough of. The fresh-faced, innocent-looking woman with ink-strewn skin and a river of inky hair. The wet strands hang heavy over one shoulder, the skin on the other exposed as her T-shirt falls over the delicate curve. Her black knit shorts expose the shape of her gorgeous legs and her bare feet make no sound on the hardwood floor as she pads toward me with tentative steps.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
And the feeling of panic, of paralyzing fear that I felt earlier today hits me all over again. I can’t take a deep breath, because all I can picture is her body lying on the cold, hard cement of the garage. What if I’d found her that way, instead of running toward me from the back office?
What if, because I’d let her go into that situation alone, I’d ended up never seeing her again?
“Lawson,” Indigo starts, but her eyes slide toward the sound of a knock at our front door.
Thank fuck.
Because I know—I know—that I can’t have this conversation with her right now. My emotions are too high; I’m still too raw and I don’t really understand why I react this way when it comes to her.
I turn and stride to the door, opening it to find a man who looks to be in his midforties standing there with a black messenger back on one shoulder.
“I’m Dr. Hughes. Jacob Owen called me.”
Nodding, I open the door wider and step back so he can enter the apartment.
Indigo stands beside the couch. Her eyes are warm when she greets the doctor, but her mouth doesn’t transform into one of her rare smiles. She stretches out her left hand for him to shake. I notice she’s holding her right down by her side.
“I’m Indigo,” she murmurs. “Thanks for coming, Dr. Hughes.”
He nods. “Are you my patient?” He sets his bag down on the couch and runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.
Indigo walks around the couch and perches on the edge of a cushion. “Yeah. I had, uh, an accident today. A man ran into me, and my arm and head hit a cement wall.”
Dr. Hughes frowns, assessing her, and then sits on the coffee table opposite her. Opening his bag, he removes a stethoscope and a penlight. “Let’s take a look.”
I don’t even realize my arms are crossed stiffly over my chest until another knock sounds at the door. Reaching out to open it for Thorn, who closes it behind him, I stuff my hands into my pockets.
Indigo glances up. “Oh…hey, Thorn.”
Her eyes flick to mine, but I don’t hold her gaze. “Thorn’s gonna stay here for a little while. I’ll be back soon.”
Indigo bolts to her feet. “You’re leaving? Where are you going?”
Thorn’s eyes bounce between us, and I can read the question in them. He doesn’t say anything, but he’s wondering why I haven’t told Indigo that he was coming or that I’m going to step out.
“We’ll talk when I get back.”
Those are the only words I can offer her, and I try to ignore the way my gut churns when I see the hurt expression cross her face.
I sip my Coke and allow the smell of the bar to settle in my skin as I let my eyes scan the room. I told myself I was just coming here for a breather, that I was just going to sit alone with my thoughts for a while and try to sort through the raging emotions tearing a hole in my chest.
I’m overreacting. I realize that. I know Indigo is fine and that the doctor is going to stitch her up, leaving her as good as new. I know this, and yet…
I’ve kissed her. And now that I’ve kissed her, touched her, held her…I don’t want to stop. It’s something I want to repeat again and again and again. I’m in too deep. I know that. And yet…I have no desire to dig myself out again.
And that’s why the thought of losing her sends me into a tailspin?
I swallow another sip of soda and try, again, to slide a lid in place over the voices screaming at me from deep inside. The ones that say, in order to settle my soul, I need to make someone pay for their sins.
It’s not your job, remember? It’s why you went to work at NES. Your job is to protect the ones who need protecting, save the ones who need it. Not go after the justice.
Placing my glass down on the table, my mind wanders to the woman I helped on the street earlier. I’m hoping that she’s contacted my sister by now, but I can’t be sure. Lilliana’s told me more than once that you can’t save someone. They have to save themselves and let you help them along the way.
I finish my drink in three gulps. My thoughts turn back to Indigo.
She’s definitely one of the toughest women I’ve ever met. She has the ability to keep herself safe. She’s a partner, not a client. But I still feel this overwhelming responsibility to her. Like it’s my job to make sure she comes back in one piece.
But don’t I feel the same responsibility to my team at Night Eagle? And didn’t I feel the same tug for my brothers in the Navy?
No matter what Indigo says about being
able to take care of herself and not needing anyone, I’m going to consider her safety and well-being a top priority. It’s a part of my makeup, and I can’t change it.
As my mind whirls, my fingers twitch, wishing I could reach out to Lilliana. She’s the person I go to when I can’t calm down my thoughts, but right now it’s out of the question. I can’t talk to her until this assignment is over.
My attention’s pulled away from my thoughts by the sound of raised voices from the booth in the corner.
“Didn’t you hear me? I said I’m not interested. We’re here for a girls’ night. Bye.”
The young woman sitting in the booth with two of her friends flicks her wrist to the man standing beside them, swaying slightly on his feet. His inebriation is clear, and it’s probably the reason he didn’t get the hint the first time the woman gave it.
“Whatever, bitch,” he mutters as he turns away.
I catch the menace, the gleam in his eye as he walks away. He glances once over his shoulder, and it’s the kind of glance that lets me know he’s not forgetting the way the women dismissed him. Anger causes my fists to curl under the table.
I watch as the man returns to the bar, throwing glances toward the back booth every minute or so as the women continue their night. My attention snaps back to their table when the woman who sent the man away from their table stands, digging a cigarette and a lighter out of her purse.
“Be right back,” she announces to her friends. “Smoke break.”
The other two women offer her eye rolls and disgusted expressions, and she turns her back on them. They obviously aren’t smokers, and I guess that’s why they aren’t joining her outside.
I swivel my head back toward the bar and watch the creep who hit on the table of women watch her walk out the front door. He flicks his attention back toward the table, where the other two women are still chatting, and then he pushes off the bar and heads for the front door.
As soon as the door swings shut behind him, I stand and toss a bill down.
Rage roars in my ears, pounding to the rhythm of my heartbeat.
Nah, motherfucker. Not today.
I walk out the door, letting my anger, boiling and bubbling in my blood, drive me. They aren’t standing right out front, and I turn to the left just in time to see someone disappearing around the side of the building. A short cry, cut off suddenly, has me picking up my pace as I jog toward the sound.
“No…stop! Get off!” The panic in the woman’s voice, mixed with tearful fury, pulls me to a stop when the situation in front of me registers.
The fucker has her pressed against the wall, one hand reaching up her skirt while the other presses hard into her stomach to keep her pinned.
“You were playing hard to get,” he mutters, his words not as slurred as I’d expect them to be.
Maybe he wasn’t as drunk as I thought. Just a fucking creep.
“Hey.”
At the sound of my sharp tone, he drops the hand from under her skirt but doesn’t let go of her. His head turns toward me, the surprise in his eyes not enough to make him step away.
“Where I come from, when a lady says no, you respect her wishes.” I take a step closer. I can’t hide the menace in my tone, don’t even want to at this point.
All I want is for the demons to shut their fucking mouths and go back into hiding.
The man actually chuckles, not moving. “Then where you come from, men are pussies.”
I lift a brow, my eyes scanning him for any sign of a weapon. “Really? You think men in the Navy are pussies?”
The man’s brow furrows, and his gaze turns shrewd as he assesses me. Finally, his shoulders lift when he makes his decision. He thrusts the woman at me; she stumbles over her heels as I catch her.
“Take her. She’s not worth it, stupid bitch.” He turns and walks away, disappearing around the corner of the building.
My palms literally itch with the impulse to go after him. To make him bleed. To make him feel as helpless and as scared as he makes women feel when he victimizes them. I know it would help me quiet the anger still roiling inside my stomach. Instead, I pull my burner out of my pocket and shoot Bain a quick text, asking him to get in touch with the WPD and giving him the man’s description and last location.
Then I focus on the young woman. I steady my breathing and stoop so I can look into her eyes. Her entire body is trembling in my hands, and I rub my palms up and down her arms to try and soothe her.
“Hey. Shhh…he’s gone. You’re safe now. Let me walk you back to your friends.”
I put an arm around her and walk with her, straight back to her table. Depositing her in her seat, her friends looking on with shocked and confused expressions, I remind her not to go on smoke breaks alone anymore.
Then, with my hands in my pockets and my brain no less muddled than it was before, I leave the bar.
15
INDIGO
“So, you want to tell me what’s going on with you and my teammate?”
Thorn’s voice is casual as he reaches into the pizza box and snags a gooey piece of meat lover’s. He let me pick the topping, which is good because meat lover’s is the only type of pizza I’ll eat.
I pause, my bite halfway to my mouth. Cheese drips from the slice. “What are you talking about? We’re partners.”
It’s funny how naturally the phrase rolls off my tongue. We’re partners. Like I wasn’t completely averse to the idea when Russ first brought it to me. Like the idea of a partnership with someone, in any sense of the word, didn’t used to give me hives.
Now there’s no other word for what Lawson is to me. We’re equals. We have each other’s backs.
At least I thought we did.
Until he walked out on me tonight, when I was hurt, without a second glance. I don’t even know what he was so pissed about. We agreed that I’d do the meeting alone. He was close enough that when shots popped off, he was right there. So why was he so angry?
He couldn’t even look at me.
Unease settles deep in the pit of my stomach like a sinking stone.
“Of course you are,” answers Thorn. “But what else?”
I give him a blank stare.
Thorn focuses his clear blue eyes on me. He offers his smiles easier than Lawson does, but he’s not as jovial and lighthearted as their friend Ben.
His white teeth flash as he offers his grin. “The way my boy looks at you? That’s not just a partnership, sweetheart. And he was shaking when he stormed out of here. I’m guessing that’s because he couldn’t stomach the thought of something bad happening to you, and he has no clue how to deal.”
I’m shaking my head before he even finishes his sentence, even though the thought that Lawson might feel something for me other than professional courtesy makes butterflies dance in my chest.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Thorn. It’s not like that with us.”
He studies me for another second and then nods, like he saw exactly what he was searching for on my face. “Whatever you say, Indigo.”
I’m almost finished with my slice when the front door opens. I don’t bother to glance over my shoulder at the door from my seat at the island, because I know it has to be Lawson.
Thorn gestures toward the pizza box. “We got hungry. Help yourself, brother.”
Lawson strides into my view, standing on the opposite side of the island from me. He washes his hands in the sink, and the entire time I can feel the burn of his gaze on my skin. But I can’t bring myself to look at him. My skin flushes as I recall Thorn’s words.
Thorn polishes off another slice and then stands. “I’m gonna get out of here. You two stay safe.” He points at me. “And no more incidents, young lady. You hear me?”
I crack a smile in spite of myself. A real one. I’m pretty sure that the guys from Night Eagle have given me more smiles in my adult life than the rest of the people I’ve ever met combined.
“Let me walk you to the door.”
/>
He nods, then reaches across the island to grip Lawson’s hand in one of those manly bro-shake things. Lawson holds Thorn’s eyes for just a moment, and neither of them say anything. And in that time, I witness two friends saying a million words, none of which I can hear.
“Thanks, man.” Lawson’s tone is solemn.
“Don’t mention it.” Thorn looks at me. “Lead the way, Indigo.”
Opening the front door, I shut it behind me as I walk out on the porch with Thorn. I fold my arms across my chest and lean back against the closed door. My right arm is still sore but is feeling much better after Dr. Hughes insisted on me icing it. He also gave me stitches and a painkiller for my head and my arm.
“Thanks, Thorn,” I tell him. “For tonight. I’m not sure why Lawson had to go, but I know you broke protocol coming here. I appreciate it.”
His smile is crooked, melancholy. “You should listen to him tonight, Indigo. I know him…He has shit going on that even he doesn’t understand.”
Before I can respond, the door across the hall opens. Frannie backs out of her apartment, her arms full of platters and bags. She’s humming, and completely obvious to us as her off-key tune drifts toward my eras. Apparently, Frannie is a Katy Perry fan, because the distant strains of “Last Friday Night” are wafting through the air on our landing.
I don’t know what to say, because I’m probably the most awkward friend on the planet, but before I can figure it out, Frannie turns around, balancing a tray of something delicious on the palm of her left hand. When her big blue eyes meet ours, she freezes and almost drops her tray.
Thorn swoops in and catches the platter—brownies—before it falls.
“Um…Frannie? You baking again?” I reach for her keys, which are dangling from a finger, and snag them in my own hand. “Can we help you to your car?”
She shoots me a grateful smile. “Thanks so much, GoGo! Yeah…a coworker of mine just had a baby, and I made her dinner and dessert. I’m taking it over to her now.” Her bubbly personality and sunny smile aren’t as much of a shock to me this time as they were the first time I met her.
