Hard to Hold

by Stephanie Tyler

  He put his head down, nuzzled against her shoulder, and for a minute she let the overwhelming feeling of trust wash over her.

  Jake took Isabelle straight from Cal’s house to the base clinic—that’s what she wanted and even though all of this was against his better judgment, it wouldn’t be for much longer. Rafe would be found soon.

  He hadn’t bothered to tell Isabelle that this kind of game, the one that Rafe was playing and the one that he and Isabelle were dancing around never really had any rules to begin with.

  What the senator had told him earlier had kicked him in the gut nearly as hard as the look in Isabelle’s eyes when she’d learned he’d betrayed her.

  “You’re no match for this man,” the senator said, and Jake wondered how the women in this family knew exactly the right way to cut him to the quick.

  “I’m a match for Rafe in every way, Senator. Make no mistake about that. But I won’t go against your wishes.”

  “I’ll make the arrangements—the FBI will take her into custody tonight.”

  Jeannie Cresswell’s tone wasn’t debatable and he hadn’t bothered to argue with the woman—Isabelle was her daughter—although certainly, when the time came, it would be Isabelle’s choice. And she’d made her decision.

  Based on Clutch’s calculations, Rafe could be on U.S. soil already—it would be a stretch but Jake wasn’t taking chances. He refused to leave the clinic, hung out in one of the empty office cubicles in the back, where he had a view of the rear parking lot.

  Both Nick and Chris had offered to take tonight’s shift for him, because his brothers knew what day tomorrow was. A day he never wanted to relive, and one he did, brutally, in his dreams.

  It was a night for ghosts, living and dead.

  Dammit, his body felt sore from underuse. He wanted to run along the beach, let his bare feet pound the rough sand until there was nothing else but the rhythm of his body taking over every recess of his mind.

  Everything was far too raw.

  CHAPTER

  19

  Although she hadn’t seen Jake around much, Isabelle sensed his presence more strongly than ever. True to his word, he’d driven her to the clinic early that morning—she’d spent the day clearing new recruits and bandaging up some female Marines who were nearly through boot camp. They walked and talked with tight swaggers, similar to the male posturing she’d seen among young soldiers.

  She wished she felt half their confidence, had been faking the I’m doing fine thing all day long. But every time the clinic got too quiet, all her own doubts about her safety came rushing back to her.

  She’d been barely holding it together when she thought Rafe was in prison—now that she knew he was running free, and coming back for her, her tenuous grip slid perilously out of control.

  At six, toward the end of the twelve-hour shift, she grabbed a stack of files and noted the small package that had been laid on the corner of her desk. Plain brown envelope, addressed to her with a return address of Norfolk, but no name.

  Without thinking, she opened it, figuring it to be medical books or supplies, but when the red kanga—the same cloth she’d used as a blanket in Africa—stared up at her, the dizzying fear overwhelmed her. When she opened her mouth to call for Jake, nothing came out. She tried again and found herself hyperventilating.

  Her office phone began to ring, and even though she didn’t have the breath to speak, she picked it up, waited for the silence to greet her.

  This time, she was greeted by something far more sinister.

  “I’ve got your SEAL, Izzy.”

  Isabelle wasn’t sure how she managed to stay standing after she heard Rafe’s words, but she was, firmly on her own two feet and dialing Jake’s cell phone.

  She held her cell to her free ear, and within seconds she heard the ringing phone calling through to Jake. But she didn’t hear the ringing phone on Rafe’s line. “You’re lying.”

  Rafe laughed, a soft sound she used to enjoy. Now it made her blood run cold. She closed her cell phone before Jake could pick up and reached for the gun that she’d put in the bottom desk drawer, unlatched the safety and backed herself against the wall.

  “He’s no match for me. He knows it too. Did you like the present?” he asked. “Remember how I used to wrap it around you when the nights got chilly?”

  She did remember that—remembered all of it, no matter how hard she tried to delete it from her memory. “You bastard—you left me for dead.”

  “You’re a fighter. I knew you’d make it. Just like you knew I’d come back for you,” he said, and then the line went dead. She threw the receiver down on the desk, hard enough that it cracked into pieces and tumbled to the floor in a mess of plastic and wires. And then she held the gun by her side and walked out of her office as the claustrophobia got worse.

  Jake appeared in the doorway before she reached it.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded. She stared between Jake and the gun. “Isabelle, what’s wrong?”

  She still couldn’t talk, merely pointed at the kanga lying on the desk. He looked toward it and then at her, helped her to take a few steps out of the office and into the fresh, cold air.

  “Is it …”

  “It’s got a return address in Virginia,” she managed. He released her for a second and let her stay in the opened doorway while he walked over and grabbed the brown package.

  “It’s postmarked New York.”

  “That doesn’t mean he’s in New York now.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Let me take you—”

  “How does he know about you?” she interrupted.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He called me. Called here. But this time he talked to me.” She hated that her voice shook.

  Jake immediately pulled her away from the open doorway and inside the office with him. He stared at the phone on the floor and then back at her.

  “He said, I’ve got your SEAL. How does he know everything?”

  Jake shrugged. “I have no fucking idea. But we’re not going to stand around here and figure it out. He’s never called you at the house, right?”

  She shook her head hard. “No, not there or on my cell phone either.”

  “Then he associates you with this place. We’re out of here.”

  The Blazer bounced over the ruts in the backwoods, a trail not made for a car, but Jake didn’t seem to care about that.

  The farther away they got from the base and the clinic, the worse she felt.

  “Please, pull over—I’m going to be sick,” she told him.

  He did so immediately, and she pushed out into the brisk night air and just breathed.

  She heard Jake get out of the car. He hadn’t cut the engine, stood instead in the beam of the headlights and watched her.

  The nausea subsided after a few minutes, but the woods closed in around her, dark and dank … and when was all of this going to be over?

  “He knows where I work, maybe where I live, even. He’s coming back for me and no one seems to be able to stop him.”

  You’re no match for this man, Lieutenant Hansen.

  “I won’t let him get to you. He’s not going to be able to get through me, Isabelle. He knows that. He’ll try a different tactic this time.”

  “My mother. Or Uncle Cal,” she whispered.

  “Yes. That’s what we’re thinking. We’ll go back to the house.”

  “And then what? I sit inside like a prisoner, waiting for Rafe to make his next move? Dammit, Jake, I can’t do this.”

  “I know how hard it is for you, but you’re going to get through this. I know you’re strong enough.”

  She swallowed hard. “What do you know? It’s so easy for you—you’re not scared of anything or anyone. You’re made of steel, remember?”

  “If you’re trying to push me away, you’re doing a damned fine job, so keep it up.”

  “And what about you? After you fix me, what guarantees are there that you’re going t
o hang around?”

  “Funny thing, Isabelle. You haven’t asked me to hang around. You’ve asked me to be there for you, to touch you … but you talk about being solitary and about going back to Africa. Then you told me to back off completely. The one thing you never talk about is how you really feel about me. You dance around it, talk about our bond … you wonder if it’s just the rescue, and hell, I don’t know how to move past that.”

  She didn’t answer him. Couldn’t. It didn’t matter—he was angry enough for both of them now.

  “What does it take to earn a spot in your inner circle, Isabelle? What does it take to earn your trust? Because I’ve got to know if you’re in this with me.”

  “What does it take to earn yours?” she shot back.

  He didn’t hesitate, untucked his shirt, yanked it roughly over his head and threw it to the ground. He turned around slowly, put his head back and squared his shoulders and she squeezed her hands so hard into fists to keep from gasping that she was sure she cut her own palms.

  “Go ahead, Doc. I know you felt them. Maybe even saw them in the shadows, so go ahead—now’s your chance.”

  He stood silently, almost proudly as she stared at the map of crisscrossed scars that traveled along his shoulders and down to his lower back.

  She took a tentative step and then a few more quick ones so she could see up close. Her fingers traced the raised scars—there were many, so many crisscrossing his back. She knew what instruments would make each mark, identified chains and belt buckles. How the hell had he survived this?

  “Yeah, I have no idea what it’s like to be afraid, right, Isabelle?” He jerked away from her touch, turned to face her.

  “You think showing me these scars is enough? Everyone’s seen these scars—every woman you’ve ever been with. But how many of them know the story behind them?”

  “None of them.”

  “None of them, including me. That’s a great defense.”

  “Don’t you dare talk to me about defenses.”

  “Hits too close to home?”

  His chin rose. “You think it’s all about sex … about breaking through that one particular barrier, but it’s not. It’s about breaking through all your barriers. It’s about you breaking through all of mine. So just get back into the car, Isabelle. I need to get you over to the house.”

  “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

  Jake’s hand tightened on the door handle as Isabelle’s voice floated up from behind him, echoing in the dense woods. Her normally soft, smoky tone, the one that drove straight through him when she whispered his name when she came, or when he touched her, was couched in pure steel.

  He wondered how far he could push her tonight—how smart a move that would be, with danger right on their six.

  He turned to her fast, made her start. “Get in the car. Now.”

  And still, she held her ground. “You may be running this show, Jake, but I’m in charge of my life. You don’t get to give me your speeches and then walk away with no more than a peek at your past.”

  And there it was—the real anger was rising up from the fear.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere. Now we’re getting to it, past the I’m going back to Africa bullshit and down to the real issues.”

  “Drop it, Jake.”

  “I’m not dropping anything. Why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?”

  “I know you think …” She faltered for a second. “I know I did the wrong thing by going with him. But even if I didn’t, he had all that training.”

  “His training wasn’t the problem.”

  “So what, he didn’t have to use his training? All he had to do was say the word and I went along for the ride?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was vulnerable.”

  “Yes.”

  “I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “What he did was unconscionable. You let him do it to you over and over every time you let him stop you from really living.”

  “It’s so easy for you … your monster’s dead.” She went to push past him, to get into the car.

  “I thought you were going to stay and fight.”

  She whirled back around to face him. “Fight? How am I supposed to fight against someone who’s not in front of me?”

  “You’re doing a good job of fighting—you’re going to work, doing what you need to. Making plans.” He paused. “What would you have been doing for the past couple of months if Cal hadn’t lied to you?”

  “Now you agree with what he did?”

  “Answer the question.”

  “I would have …” She stopped, shoulders slumped, defeated momentarily. “I think I hate you.”

  She pushed him hard, with the butt of her palms against his chest, just the way he’d taught her. And then she took him down at the knees.

  He fell with the grace of someone who was ready for it, ass in the mud, and she was on top of his chest within seconds, her arm across his throat, barely seeing straight through her anger.

  She pummeled his chest with her fists, as hard as she could. He didn’t stop her and she hit him harder.

  “You’re not going back to Africa to prove to yourself that you’re healed, you’re going back as if that can turn back time, like that can make you the person you were before Rafe hurt you. But that’s not going to happen—I don’t want it to happen. Don’t you get it? If you go back to the way you were, you might never have been able to let me in.”

  “I haven’t let you in anyway.”

  “Yeah, you have. You’ve let me into your dreams. Halfway into your bed, halfway into your heart. This—this is life beyond survival, getting past the fear and getting angry.”

  “And then what?”

  “If necessary, you do it all over again. You did that when you wanted me to kiss you. That wasn’t an act of desperation, it was an act of life. That’s when I knew you were going to fight to get your life back. That’s when I knew …”

  He stopped, mid-sentence, as if his words were too powerful for him to say them out loud.

  “That’s when you knew what?”

  “Now’s not the time.”

  “What’s it the time for, then? You want me to be strong, Jake? Okay, how’s this? Come and get me, you bastard! I’m right here, out in the open! Come on out!”

  He lunged forward to grab her, to shut her mouth, because everyone knew you didn’t invite trouble, but she was grabbing at him too, and somehow, in between the anger and hate and mud, they were kissing, passionately locked in a fierce tangle of arms and legs and mouths.

  It was dirty and hot—so hot, even though their breath turned white between them. He tried to stop her, to pull her away, but her hand went between his legs, slid down the front of his jeans and circled him.

  That effectively killed any thoughts of throwing her off of him. “Isabelle, please, not like this.”

  “Yes, just like this. I want you to lose control—the way you’ve made me lose control.”

  “You’ve already done that to me—don’t you understand?”

  But still her fist stroked him, his hips bucked and he let a hoarse cry escape his throat. She’d used her other hand to unbutton and unzip his jeans and the cold air did nothing to deter his cock from throbbing, pulsing, needing with a life of its own and not listening to his protests.

  He gave up, closed his eyes and let her kiss him, over and over until he didn’t care about anything that was happening in the world beyond this little patch of dirt in the middle of the woods. She was teasing his nipple with her mouth, sucking hard and setting the perfect rhythm with her hand and he covered his eyes with his hands and let himself come with a ferocity that had him seeing stars.

  He lay there for a few seconds, panting, her hand still on him. Then he sat up and pushed her away, gently.

  “I’m not him, Isabelle,” he managed finally. “I’m not the man who hurt you.”

  She sat back on her heels. “I know that—
don’t you think I know that?”

  “I don’t know what you know. I’m just a man who’s falling in love for the first time in his life, a man who doesn’t know the rules of the game and who thinks he’s going down this road alone. And then I remember, alone is how you like to do things.” He stared at her as if he realized he’d revealed way too much, but he didn’t take any of it back.

  “My God, Jake, I’m …”

  “I told you that night I picked you up from Cal’s—you never have to apologize to me. Don’t let anyone stop you from taking your power back, Isabelle. Not even me.”

  CHAPTER

  20

  “What the hell happened to you two?” Nick demanded when Isabelle and Jake came through the kitchen door.

  Isabelle ignored him and pushed past them to go up to her room. Jake started to follow but she turned on him. “You don’t have to …”

  “I do. Every time. Let me go first.”

  “Nick’s been home.”

  It didn’t matter. He needed to check for himself—Nick would understand.

  He took the stairs two at a time until he reached the third floor—he checked the windows and doors, the bathroom, the closets. All clear. He went to the fourth floor—the converted attic that Chris called home, and checked there too—and finally he swept the back staircase.

  “You’re all set. Keep the windows closed. Keep your weapon with you. Even in the shower. And keep your door open.”

  She gave him a mock salute before she turned tail. He headed back down the stairs and found Nick waiting at the bottom of the flight leading to Isabelle’s rooms; his brother’s face was set in serious lines. “I found something.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’ve got Rafe’s file,” Nick said quietly. His fist was tight around the side of the thick brown folder, so much so that the material was bent from the tension in his hand.

  “How?”

  “You don’t want to know.”