by Sabrina York
“So now you don’t trust any men?”
“I trust Jon.”
“Of course. But that’s not what I meant.”
“And what did you mean, Dr. Freud?”
“You know what I meant. It takes a lot of courage to put yourself out there, to have something real with a man, after what you’ve been through. Do you think you have the courage?” Yeah, it was a risk, going on the offense like this, but it was a risk he had to take. He couldn’t let her just walk away, out of his life. Not without at least trying. Not without giving what they had a chance.
“Who the hell do you think you are to talk to me about courage? You don’t know a damn thing about me, about who I am. About who I’ve become. What I’ve had to endure.”
He leaned forward and whispered into the shadows, “Then tell me, Vixen. Tell me everything.”
He thought, for a brief, delusional moment, that she would. But instead she snorted derisively. “You’re just like them,” she said. “I know it.”
But she was wrong.
Too bad he couldn’t prove it to her once and for all.
You’re just like them.
The words echoed in her head, hollow and harsh.
It wasn’t true. She knew this to the core of her being. He wasn’t like Jimmy, for sure. But she couldn’t release her bitterness, her resentment, her desire to hurt him, long enough to take it back.
Though she wished she could.
She wanted nothing more than to melt into this fantasy he incited in her head, of an end to loneliness, an end to running from her own needs.
She was tired of standing alone. Tired of feeling empty. Tired of denying herself the depth and beauty and oneness they had shared in that cave.
But she’d lived with her bitterness and mistrust for so long, she couldn’t give it up. She wasn’t sure who she would be without it.
He’d asked her if she had the courage to try, and that had hit her hard.
Was she craven? Was she just afraid? Was all her cynicism and toughness just a cloak woven from fear?
She didn’t like the thought, but it was probably true.
Still, opening up to him could devastate her. That was definitely true.
What she should do was just tell him who she was. Then he would understand why something real and lasting between them was such a joke. She opened her mouth to do just that, but a knock on the door forestalled her.
Matt glanced at her and then checked his watch. Sam didn’t need to check hers to know that an hour hadn’t passed. It was too soon for Grey’s men to have reached them.
“Come out, come out wherever you are.” The singsong voice sent a shiver down her spine. Because, crap, she knew that voice. “Come on, Vixie. I know you’re in there.”
Before she had a chance to react, Matt sprinted across the room, caught her arm and pushed her into the bathroom. “Lie down in the tub,” he barked.
“You lie down in the tub.”
“He’s here to kill you.”
“He’s here to kill you too.”
“Goddamn it, Vixen, do what I tell you.”
“I’ve never been biddable.”
“Tell me about it.” He lifted her bodily and placed her in the tub; the ancient porcelain was thicker than clapboard walls and more likely to withstand a hail of bullets.
She glared at him. “I am not going to allow you to risk your life for me.”
“You have no say in it.”
“I most certainly do.” She crossed her arms and fixed him with the most stubborn expression she could manage.
He didn’t seem terribly impressed, as though he were used to it by now or something. “Lie down.”
“No.”
“Vixen—”
His command was cut off as the first round shattered the window and splatted into the far wall of their tiny haven.
“Shit!”
She wasn’t sure which of them had spoken, or perhaps they’d cursed in tandem. She grabbed his hair and pulled him into the tub on top of her as more bullets peppered the room. Sam held her breath and held on to Matt as smoking rounds whizzed and zinged and splattered all around her. Chunks of wood and glass and tile showered them as a thousand rounds battered their refuge.
She thought for certain this was it. This was the end.
She looked up at Matt and their gazes tangled. They both knew. There was no escape from this.
And then, without a word, without a thought, without a fear, they came together. One last kiss. One last furious exchange.
And it was delicious.
If she had to go, this was the way she wanted it.
With him. With his weight on top of her, his lips locked with hers, sharing his breath, his warmth thawing her frigid heart.
It would have been a glorious end.
But it wasn’t. Not yet.
The hail of bullets ceased. Matt lifted his head and cocked an ear, listening in the deafening silence. He stilled as he heard it. A footstep crunching on broken glass and shattered timbers. It had to be Cooper, skulking in to see what damage he had wrought.
Judging from the sheer volume of fire, he hadn’t come to this rodeo alone. Likely, he had a platoon of Don Reymundo’s men outside with weapons locked and loaded. If he had a chance at taking Cooper down, this was it. Obviously he was sure he’d managed to kill them. He wouldn’t be expecting an attack.
To his annoyance, when he hefted himself from the tub, Sam followed. He tried to push her back down, telling her without words to stay put, but apparently she didn’t speak that language. She just kept popping back up as though to protect his flank.
He didn’t need her to protect his flank. He needed her to stay where it was safe. He glowered at her, but again, she ignored him.
Cooper’s footsteps neared the bathroom and slowed. Matt edged into the corner of the room, so Cooper would have to expose himself to look in. He shoved Sam behind him in case Cooper got off a shot before Matt could take him down.
As for the cartel’s henchmen? He’d deal with them later.
Tension crackled as Matt watched intently for a hint of Cooper’s presence.
His heart gave a leap as the muzzle of Cooper’s SIG appeared. Matt sucked in a breath and aimed.
Wait.
Wait.
And now. As his once-friend peered around the ravaged doorjamb, Matt fired.
The explosion seemed deafening and was followed by a feral yowl. He’d hit Cooper, but only winged him. In the cheek, if he wasn’t mistaken. If he survived, he’d have a scar for life. Served him right, the arrogant fuck.
“Goddamn you, Devereaux,” he bellowed. “I am going to fucking flay you.”
“Not if we get you first.”
Matt glared at Sam. There was no point in antagonizing Cooper. The bastard had the upper hand and they both knew it. But they also both knew they had few options.
She motioned to him that they kneel and Matt complied. She was smart and had a way of reading her adversaries that he couldn’t deny. Indeed, when Cooper reached around the corner again, his weapon blazing, he aimed too high.
Matt made a sound, as though he’d been hit and Sam cried out as well, but then she bit her lip, knowing it was smarter to remain silent. Cooper let off a couple more rounds and then, satisfied that he’d completed his job, sashayed into the room.
They were ready for him and hit him with a blazing round of fire. He took three in the chest and staggered back, collapsing onto the floor. His weapon went skittering into the shadows.
“Did we get him?” Sam asked in a whisper.
“I think so. Stay here.” He scuttled toward Cooper, only slightly exasperated that she followed. He liked having her by his side, he found. He liked it more and more.
Cooper was splayed on his back and unmoving, but Matt knew better than to make any assumptions. He nudged Cooper’s foot with the muzzle of his weapon and it flopped lifelessly back. He was unconscious at best.
Another scream of gunfire
from outside made him lunge for cover. He hunched over Sam in a misguided attempt to protect her from danger. She didn’t want to be protected and wriggled free. “Cut that out,” she snapped.
But before he could snap something pithy back at her, they both realized that the barrage wasn’t directed at them, and there was answering fire.
The cavalry had arrived. Thank God.
He shot a speaking glance at Sam and smiled as he stood, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was staring into the demolished room and there was a look of alarm on her face.
He followed the direction of her gaze and horror curled through him as he saw Cooper pull another weapon from his holster and point it at Vixen’s heart.
Things moved quickly them, but in agonizing slow motion at the same time.
Matt lurched to the left to block the shot, but at the same time she whipped around, putting herself between him and the bullet.
He felt the impact to his teeth. It blasted through her and into him, slamming them both back and into the hard wall. She cried out and collapsed in his arms even as a searing burn registered in his belly.
Well fuck, he thought before darkness took him.
Cooper had killed them both, with the same bullet.
That sucked balls.
Chapter Ten
Matt woke up in a hospital room, surrounded by beeping machines. Grey and Athena stood over him with bleak expressions. They were staring at each other, though, so they didn’t notice he was awake.
He cleared his throat—a nasty rumble—and Grey’s eyes snapped to him. “Matt.”
“Such an enthusiastic greeting.” He forced a smile.
Athena frowned at him. “We thought we’d lost you,” she complained.
“I’m fine. It was just a scratch.”
“You lost your spleen,” Grey muttered.
Matt thought this over for a minute. “Do I need a spleen?” But it was a rhetorical question. He asked the one he really needed an answer to. “And Vixen? Is she all right?”
He hated the way those little lines tightened around Athena’s mouth. She and Grey exchanged a glance.
“Well?” A hint of panic in the wail.
“She’s…all right.”
Why didn’t he believe him? Grey never lied. “Where is she?”
“She’s here. In the hospital. She’s fine.” He set a palm on Matt’s shoulder. “Settle down.”
“I am settled down.”
“You both did a great job.”
“What happened to Cooper?”
Grey’s expression darkened. “He survived—”
“Too bad.”
“And he’s in custody. We’ll deal with him. You just focus on getting back on your feet.”
Back on his feet? Hell, he needed to get back to her. Needed to make sure she was safe. He tried to sit up in the bed but his muscles wouldn’t cooperate.
“Matthew Devereaux.”
He froze and locked gazes with Athena. She didn’t use that tone often, but when she did, a man paid attention. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Lie down. You’ll pull out your leads.”
“With all due respect, ma’am, I don’t give a f— fig for these leads. I need to see her.”
“She’s fine.”
“She took a bullet for me.”
“So I hear.” Athena’s lips quirked, as though she’d met a woman who might one day be a good friend.
“I couldn’t stop her. She just jumped in front of me.”
A dark chuckle rumbled from the door and another man stepped into the room. He was tall and muscular and had a military mien about him. “That sounds like her.” The newcomer approached Grey and the two men shook hands. He then shared a nod with Athena before he turned to Matt and thrust out a hand. “Jon Rudnick.”
His pulse gave a lurch. Jon Rudnick was legendary, and the man who’d founded GAPS. And he was Vixen’s boss.
“Sir.” His grip was firm and warm but all Matt could think about was how annoying it was that Jon Rudnick was so fucking good-looking. Did she think he was good-looking? When she’d mentioned him, her voice had been filled with admiration and awe.
Pity he was in no condition to punch him in the—
“I really appreciate you taking care of our Sam. It was a pretty close call from what I hear.”
Matt nodded, and then froze. Gaped at Rudnick. His gaze flicked to Grey and back. “Wait. Did you call her Sam?” Something sizzled through his solar plexus. It felt like…presentiment.
“That’s her real name. Samantha Sawyer, actually.”
His heart lurched. His pulse pattered. His breath caught. Could it be? But how could it be? Somehow, on a cellular level, though, he knew. Somewhere, deep inside, he’d recognized her. “Samantha Sawyer, daughter of Sergeant Thomas Sawyer?”
Jon’s eyes glimmered and he gave a small nod. “The same.”
“How on earth did she come to work for you?” And why wasn’t she dead?
And God! She wasn’t dead.
It was nearly too much to process. Especially with his brain all foggy with drugs.
“I served with her father in Iraq.”
God. God, oh God, oh God. It was her. His Samantha. “But…didn’t she die? It was on the news that she died.”
Grey had been watching the exchange like it was a Ping-Pong match, but now interjected, “Wait. Do you know her?”
Matt ignored his boss, never a good strategy with Grey, but he had to know. He stared at Rudnick until his eyes watered. “Tell me.”
He crossed his arms and studied Matt for a moment. “All right. Yeah. After her father died, her mother hooked up with a man named James Bartlett. A mean SOB. But then, when her mother was killed, Sam approached the Attorney General with evidence that, not only had her stepfather beaten Margery to death, he was running a heroin ring in DC. That brought her onto my radar again and, as a friend of the family, I called in some favors to protect her. Since both her parents were dead, and the ring swore retaliation, we put her in Witness Protection. The official story was that she died.”
“But she didn’t.”
“Um. No. She didn’t. She’s alive and well and recuperating down the hall from taking a bullet for your ass.”
“I didn’t ask her to leap in front of me!” God, his heart had nearly stopped when she had. It had hurt more than the bullet that had plowed through her and lodged itself in him.
Jon glanced at Grey. “She had her mission. Just like you had yours. She’d rather die than fail.”
Fuck. He couldn’t bear that. Just couldn’t.
“I need to see her.”
“You’ll have to wait.”
“Why?” His soul wailed.
It prickled that neither Jon nor Grey would make eye contact.
“Why?”
“Because she’s in ICU.”
Shit.
“I need to see her.”
“Well, you can’t. Not until the doctors are sure she’ll pull through.”
Athena set her hand on his. Her voice was soft as she skewered him with the most painful words he’d ever heard. “She’s critical, Matt. We don’t even know if she’ll wake up.”
And there it was. His worst fears, realized.
He’d found Sam again.
After years of aching and wanting and howling for her, an eternity of darkness, he’d found her again.
But had the miracle come too late?
Sam awoke in a fog with everything hurting, especially her chest. She glanced down, beneath the hospital gown, to see her left shoulder was tightly wrapped. She closed her eyes—it was a lot of effort to keep them open—and recalled the showdown with Cooper. Questions swirled in her mind—was Matt okay? Had they killed Cooper? Was that discomfort down there really a catheter?—but there were no answers. None that were satisfying at least.
She shifted a little to ease the soreness in her back and her leg nudged something hard and heavy lying on top of the covers. She peered at it and her pulse jerke
d as she recognized Matt’s journal.
She glanced around. She was alone in her room. Everything was silent in the night except for the beeps of the machines by her bed.
Without debating if it was right or wrong to read his personal journal—because she didn’t care—she reached down and picked it up. She clung to it for a moment, this piece of him, and then slowly, she opened it and read the first lines.
January 1, 2016.
Dear Sam—
Her heart lurched.
He’d been writing a letter in this journal.
A letter to a girl named Sam.
Not to a wife or a girlfriend.
Her.
Fascinated, she resettled and began to read.
It’s New Year’s Day. Another one. Without you. Hard to believe this is the tenth.
Ten long years since I saw you.
I still think of you every day and wonder what life would have been like if we hadn’t been separated. If you weren’t gone.
I don’t have those dark thoughts I used to have. You should be happy to hear that. I like my job and the guys around me are tolerable and sometimes even amusing. My boss is a great man, and it’s an honor serving him. I feel like I have a purpose again.
They always say time heals all wounds. But that’s not true. Some wounds can’t be healed. We just have to learn to live with the pain.
I’m happy to say, I think I figured out how to do that. I guess I realized I had a choice. I could go on living in misery over something I could never fix, or adjust.
Consider me adjusted.
But I still dream of you at night. And ache for you.
I hope you are somewhere beautiful and sweet.
Love forever, Matt
With shaking hands, she flipped the page, and the next and the next. One for each day. Describing his day, his thoughts, his hopes, to her. Day, after day, after day.
“There are more.”
Her head snapped up to find him leaning against the doorjamb and watching her, so handsome and huge. He filled the frame, he was so huge. Something in her chest fluttered. “M-more?”
“More journals. More letters.” He looked down for a second and when he raised his head again and his gaze locked with hers, there were tears in his eyes. “I wrote you every day, Sam. I never forgot you.”
