Surviving the Fall

by Brittney Sahin

  “You went and bought Dirty Harry?”

  “It was that or Bridges of Madison County. I know you’re a Clint Eastwood fan, but I didn’t take you for a sappy romantic.” She spun around after tossing her jacket, almost bumping into him.

  “So you brought Chinese food, my favorite, and one of my all-time favorite movies?” He eyed her cautiously. “I guess this answers my question from earlier.”

  “Which question?” She clasped her hands together, and she looked far too innocent for who he knew she was. Was she playing another role?

  He thought back to her red hair at the hospital. How could he trust her when she had lied about their intimate knowledge of each other?

  “Oh . . . you mean about did we do more than kiss?” Her lips split into a grin. God, what was this woman doing to him?

  He trailed after her as she marched the food into the kitchen.

  “We spent a day eating Chinese food and watching old movies while you were in London.” She looked over her shoulder at him before beginning the business of opening cupboards—probably in search of plates. “Does that answer your question?”

  “Hardly. I’d like to know more.” He set the food and movie down on the kitchen table and tried not to focus on her backside, but her slender waist, perfect hips and ass—Jesus, what is wrong with me? And yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad. He didn’t notice the pain in his body right now. He didn’t even remember any of the horrid information he had learned earlier today. Every time he was near her, Alexa was like . . . medicine.

  How could he have possibly forgotten this woman?

  Alexa found two plates, and set them on the table. She opened the bag of food and the mix of sweet and sour aromas floated to his nose as she retrieved chopsticks from the bottom of the bag and began pulling out boxes of food. Yup, she knew his favorites: spicy orange chicken and rice with vegetables.

  “I don’t have much of an appetite.”

  “Sit and eat. You want the truth, right? Eat with me, and you’ll get it.” She sat down and popped a piece of chicken in her mouth with the chopsticks. She licked the sauce from her lips as he sank into the seat opposite her.

  “Fine.” The tender meat of the chicken and the sweet flavor met his tongue, the spice warming his mouth.

  She looked up from her plate a few minutes later and smiled at him. When she still didn’t speak, he waved a chopstick her way and narrowed one eye. “I’m eating. So, talk,” he said after swallowing.

  Her hazel eyes greeted his, and his pulse quickened at the simple look. She rested her chopsticks on the table and touched the napkin to her lips before pressing back against the seat. “My sister is married to a big-shot football player in England. He has a lot of friends. And I guess your sister is dating one of those friends, which is how we ended up at the same party.”

  “And?” He stopped eating for a moment, his heart racing as he waited for answers.

  “And you kissed me at midnight, and that kiss led to us chatting. You called me ma’am until I finally gave you my name.”

  “Your real name?” He raised his brows.

  “First name.” She rolled her eyes at him. “You weren’t exactly forthcoming with information, either. You didn’t tell me you were FBI.”

  “Keep going,” he urged.

  She pushed her plate to the side and locked her hands together on the table in front of her as if the conversation was making her nervous. The woman could hunt terrorists, but talking about how they met was difficult for her . . .?

  “We had way too much champagne, and we slept together,” she quickly said.

  He filled his lungs with air, intoxicated by this confirmation of his desire. Her saffron and vanilla perfume met his nostrils, and the muscles in his biceps tightened.

  “I tried to sneak out of your hotel room in the morning, but you caught me—and you wouldn’t let me go.”

  “You tried to ditch me?”

  “You were bloody persistent on me staying.” Her cheeks heated to a rosy color that gave her cheekbones a soft glow. “And then you kind of coerced me into spending the day with you.” She looked down at her hands. “And one day turned into seven. We were both on holiday, after all. Then you had to go back to the States, and that was that.”

  “We spent seven days together and then I left?” He pulled his lips together and nodded as he processed what she’d said. “Did we ever talk again? Did I call?”

  “No.” She cleared her voice. “We decided it’d be best to chalk it up to what it was—an amazing seven days.” Alexa pushed away from the table and stood, shifting away from him.

  “And why don’t I believe you?” He was on his feet, but as he started for her, a sharp stabbing pain greeted his side and jolted down his thigh. “Dammit.”

  “What?” She whipped around and went to him as he grabbed hold of his outer thigh.

  “It fucking hurts sometimes,” he bluntly responded. Even though he didn’t break a leg, he must have landed on his side after the explosion—his hip and leg taking the brunt of the fall.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “It must have been a hell of a week we had together.” Jake’s eyes locked with hers.

  Her lower lip had trembled a little before she caught it between her teeth. “It was one incredible week,” she said in a soft voice. Her eyes slid down to his mouth, and her chest slowly rose with deep breaths. “Really, really incredible.”

  Jake gulped as her words baited him like sin. He leaned closer. “Just doesn’t seem like something I’d do,” he said in a low voice and stepped back.

  “What do you mean?”

  “To meet a woman like you and never look back.”

  “Maybe the you-at-twenty-two wouldn’t do that, but maybe last year you would.”

  He tipped his shoulders up. “Maybe. Or maybe not.” He left the kitchen, not waiting for her to speak or to follow.

  “You’re angry at me again?”

  He turned at the sound of her voice as he stilled in front of the fireplace, which was still blazing. He’d been chucking wood in there all afternoon. The fire had helped calm his nerves.

  He crouched down in front of the fireplace and grabbed the poker, shoving at the logs as sparks met the air. “I’m sick of you holding the truth back from me.”

  “And what makes you think I’m lying? Hell, if you can’t remember everything, then why are you the expert on what happened?”

  Her voice was as cool as the Montana air, and it straightened his spine. He pushed back up to his feet, ignoring the throbbing in his thigh. “I’m the one with the memory issues, but it looks like you’re having some trouble yourself.” He kept his back to her.

  “How can you be so certain that I’m not telling the truth?”

  “I think you don’t know when you’re acting and when you’re being real.” Maybe he had no right to question her—he couldn’t even remember anything but their first kiss. But something inside him screamed that he was right, that she was afraid, that he would never have turned his back on her.

  “You might be right,” she said as her voice grew farther away, and he realized she was probably leaving. He turned and faced her as she was putting her jacket back on. “But I definitely never pretended when I was with you.”

  Jake sucked in a breath as she twisted the doorknob.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jake. If you still want to work together, that is.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alexa pressed her ear to the door of the master bathroom but heard nothing.

  “Jake? Are you okay?” He’d disappeared into his bedroom within minutes of their arrival and hadn’t come out for over half an hour.

  When he didn’t answer, she touched the doorknob and turned it, hoping it wasn’t locked.

  It wasn’t.

  She slowly pushed open the door and her breath caught in her throat. He was sitting against the bathroom cabinets. One knee was bent, and the other stretched out in front of h
im on the peach, travertine floors. His eyes were closed, his neck bared to her. Small white tablets scattered over the floor from the open bottle near his right hand.

  “You didn’t take a bunch of these pills, did you?”

  He rolled his head to the side as his eyes opened, landing on hers. “I didn’t take a damn one of them.”

  “Then what happened?” Alexa knelt next to him, not sure what to do. She wanted to touch him—to do something—but she kept her hands pressed to her thighs.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he grumbled with a dark edge to his voice.

  He was clearly still pissed at her, and how could she blame him? Things hadn’t ended so well last night. “Please, Jake. I’m sorry for last—”

  “I remembered why I joined the Marines,” he suddenly said, cutting her off.

  Oh.

  He reached for the pill bottle and clutched it in his right hand. It wasn’t what she’d been expecting him to say, nor did it explain why there was oxy all over the floor. But he was talking to her, so that was a start. “And?”

  He cocked his head and looked over at her. There was so much pain in his eyes that it was nearly impossible to look at him without absorbing some of it.

  “My best friend joined the Marines when he was eighteen,” he said slowly with a steady voice. “He got hurt four years in, but it wasn’t bad enough to force him out. He was on leave for a bit . . .” He lowered his head until his chin almost touched his chest, and he heaved out a deep, ragged breath. “I had recently graduated college and was applying to teaching positions. I was wrapped up in all of that and didn’t notice what was happening to him.”

  Oh, God. Her eyes drifted to Jake’s beat up cowboy boots, and then over to the pills again as she lifted a hand to her mouth.

  “He got addicted to the pain meds, and they discharged him from the Marines. I didn’t know any of this, of course, until I found him with a suicide note clutched in his hand.” His voice fell until it was hardly a whisper. “He overdosed.”

  Alexa’s hand swept to Jake’s arm in one fast movement. “You found him?”

  He nodded.

  “And his death made you want to join the Marines?” She might have done the opposite, to be honest—she would despise the people who stole a friend’s life.

  “I hated seeing him go out like that when all he’d ever wanted was to be a Marine. I felt that I’d be honoring him if I joined. I told myself that for every man I could save in the field, that’d be one less soldier lying in a hospital bed. One less potential victim of addiction.”

  Wow. “That was bloody brave of you.” She chewed on her bottom lip, and then reached for his hand and wrapped her fingers around it.

  “Or maybe stupid. I probably should have taken my rage out on the military instead of on strangers in the Middle East.” He faked a laugh as his gaze swept to their hands. “Now I’m a killer . . . they were nameless people to me, but to others, they were husbands, brothers, fathers . . .” He lifted his free palm to cover his face.

  “They weren’t innocent people.”

  Jake dropped his hand and gaped at her. “Really? You so sure about that?” He pulled his other hand free from hers and stood, but then clutched his leg, fighting back a grimace as he put weight on the injured leg. “What about this Bekas guy? Were his twin daughters and wife dangerous? And, hell, all the people he’s killed as a consequence of that drone strike are on the military’s hands, too.” He turned and braced the bathroom counter, staring at his reflection until Alexa was on her feet next to him. His eyes flickered to meet hers, and he lifted his hands, staring down at his palms. “How much innocent blood do you think is on these hands?”

  She touched the middle of his back. “Jake, you can’t do this to yourself. It will tear you apart. Please.”

  “Have you ever killed someone?” His dark brown eyes lifted to hold her gaze once again.

  “Yes, but maybe we can save that story for another day,” she said softly and took a step back, kneeling down to the floor to pluck up the pills, one by one. “We should—” She stopped herself when she stood, finding herself alone in the bathroom.

  She sighed and went to the toilet and flushed the tablets, staring as the swoosh of water circled the drain. She cupped a hand to her mouth, her shoulders trembling slightly as she focused on the toilet basin. She recalled the memories of her past—of her ex—in a daze. Memories of the one time she had pulled the trigger.

  And then the very real sound of gunfire close by turned Alexa toward the door in a panic. She reached behind her back for her weapon as she started for the noise, but realized she wasn’t carrying. She cursed under her breath as she skidded to a halt at the entryway between the hall and living room.

  “Get down!” Xander screamed, crawling with his head tucked down. Another bullet tore through the fractured windowpane with a tiny sonic boom.

  Trent was crouched on one knee with his pistol extended alongside the sofa. He shifted up for a moment to take a shot out the window, but as he did, there was another loud crack . . . and the dull wet thud of a bullet against flesh.

  Trent’s arm lurched back, his Glock smacking the ground as he fell onto the sofa behind him. Blood started to seep from the wound. “Fucking bastard!” Trent shouted.

  “Get him out of the line of fire,” Randall shouted to Xander.

  Where the hell is Jake?

  “Stay here,” Xander commanded to Alexa, and she squatted down and watched with shallow breaths as Randall and Xander grabbed Trent by the shoulders and stooped low as they tugged him over to her.

  A whizzing sound—ffsh!—hissed toward the kitchen entryway, and Jake was standing there. He barely flinched as the bullet went right over his shoulder.

  “Get down, Jake!” Alexa hollered.

  “We need to get this son of a bitch,” Randall said, turning to Xander. “You carrying?”

  Xander nodded before reaching for the piece he had strapped to his ankle. “See if you can patch up Trent,” Randall told Alexa, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Jake.

  What was he doing, just standing there? Xander’s eyes followed her own.

  “Get cover!” Xander shouted, but Jake did the opposite. He rushed to the center of the room and lunged to the ground, snatching Trent’s Glock in stride. As he came back upright, a bullet tore into the hardwood floor where he had been.

  “Bloody hell!” Alexa screamed. Xander’s arm was extended in front of her, blocking her as she pushed against her friend, wanting to run to Jake.

  “I’ve got him,” Xander said when Jake barreled out the front door.

  Did Jake have a death wish? Did he even remember how to fire a gun?

  Xander and Randall raced through the kitchen, heading for the back door.

  Alexa sank to her knees and pressed both her hands to the wound at Trent’s shoulder, now wishing she had the oxy back. “You’ll be okay.” She kept her hands over the bloody hole as she stared at the open door through which Jake had fled.

  A gust of wind suddenly slammed it shut, and she found herself alone with Trent.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jake held the compact firearm in his hands as he pursued the gunman. The grainy, pebbly feel of the metal handle felt like he had slipped a well-worn leather glove over his fingers.

  It was familiar. It fit.

  The shooter dodged shots, his white ski jacket and matching pants blending and blurring into the snowy terrain, and then appearing in stark contrast against the dark Douglas firs.

  And then he was gone.

  Jake blinked as he searched for the shooter. Had he fallen through the ice on the pond?

  No, not this time of year.

  And the guy wouldn’t flee the scene until the job was done. So, where the hell was he?

  Jake hunkered down and scanned the yard, ignoring the bruising pain in his body and the lashing cold chill as winter burned his face.

  “Come and get me, you asshole,” Jake shouted when he saw Randall and X
ander sprinting around the side of the house. He shut his eyes and listened. If only he could be the man he had once been—just for a second. Of course, maybe he was already becoming him again.

  Then again, a trained FBI agent probably wouldn’t have gone right out the front door in plain sight.

  Jake opened his eyes and peeked over his shoulder. Randall and Xander had disappeared.

  A wave of dizziness washed over him. Was this just another one of his sick dreams?

  “Did you kill my team?” Jake slowly stood, hoping that the shooter would show himself if Jake drew his fire. Wherever Randall and Xander happened to be, Jake hoped they would be faster on the draw than the man who had begun this attack.

  Of course, there could be more than one guy, right?

  He extended the gun forward, holding it tight between his palms, his finger resting gently on the trigger. Then his stomach began to roil, and his head sagged as memories clawed to the surface. Shit, not now. He groaned as he faltered, his arms lowering as he took a step back. The snow was thick and heavy here. It clung to his calves.

  And then, somehow, everything changed.

  His eyes widened, and his body trembled. Surrounding him were crumbling, war-torn buildings that had been obliterated by recent bombings and the raining of gunfire. Before Jake was his friend who had visited him at the hospital, Michael Maddox. Michael was sprawled out on the ground, trying to rise despite the blood that dripped into the dirt beneath him. Michael was gasping for air, but he wasn’t giving up. Before him was another Marine with a knife to his throat.

  “No!” Jake screamed, and he wasn’t sure if he was saying it now or if he’d shouted it back then. He squeezed his eyes tight, trying to comprehend what was real and what was the past as he heard the sound of a bullet splicing fast through the cold air.

  His eyes flashed open as he saw the shooter lying face down in the snow some fifty feet away. The gunshots he’d heard—he had thought they were in his head, but apparently not because the snow seeped red, soaking with blood like a disgusting slushy.