by Kris Norris
A hand clasped hers, and she recoiled.
“Easy, Addy. Still me.”
“Christ, you scared me. When I didn’t hear… Where is he?”
Silence.
“Kent?”
“There’s no one there. At least, not anymore.”
“What do you mean, there’s no one there? He was at the corner of the house. He had a gun with a suppressor. I saw him!”
His hands engulfed hers. “Another snapshot?”
“I know what you’re thinking, but I didn’t imagine it, and it wasn’t a flashback. It was real. He was real.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t real. It’s just… I didn’t see anyone.”
“How could you miss him? He was standing right there! Hoodie. A hint of a smile. His shadow moving along the wall.”
His grip tightened. “There’s no wall, sweetheart.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You said his shadow moved along the wall. The lightning would have cast it against the bushes, not the house.” Air moving. He’d knelt in front of her. “Come on. I took a quick scout around. There’s no one out here. Let’s check the house. Get you warmed up.”
She shook her head, stumbling to her feet then tripping backwards against the house. She pulled her hands away when he tried to take them in his, again. “I saw him. He was wearing a dark-colored hoodie. He had a gun with a suppressor. He was coming around the corner—”
“I believe you. But he’s obviously gone. Must have bolted when you shouted out that he was there. Regardless, you’re soaked, and you’re shivering. Let’s get inside, clear the house, then we’ll talk. Okay?”
He hadn’t raised his voice. Hadn’t injected any kind of judgmental tone into it that suggested he was lying or trying to placate her. But she’d caught the hint of worry. The slightly higher pitch. He wasn’t saying she’d imagined it, but he was obviously concerned for her well being.
Good. So was she. After not having any indication her condition was getting better, to have all these flashes in the span of a few hours unnerved her. It didn’t make sense. Why this was happening, now? Why she couldn’t seem to make it stay? And she knew she’d lose her sanity if it continued. Being blind was one thing. Seeing the world in a series of occasional snapshots no one truly believed she’d experienced was crippling.
“Addison.”
“Fine.”
He took her hand then quietly led her back toward the gate. It creaked as it slid closed, the telltale click of the latch engaging echoing around them. They rounded the house then headed for the front porch, stopping beneath the overhang. The wind gusted, and she wrapped her free hand around her torso in an attempt to combat the chill.
Addy waited for Kent to open the door, but instead, he backed her up, positioning her beside one of the posts then told her to wait. She tried to follow his movements, but all that registered was the rain against the roof. The splash of drops in the puddles on her driveway.
“Kent? I thought we were going to clear the house?”
She’d kept her voice low. Barely an exchange of air because despite what he’d said, she couldn’t shake the feeling someone was watching them. Waiting to strike. And the fact he’d half hidden her behind the post only amplified her stress.
A rush of air and he was at her side—pulling her firmly against him. “Someone’s been through the front door.”
“What… How do you know that?”
“I left a small piece of paper wedged in the frame. So, I’d know if it was opened. It’s lying on the porch. There aren’t any wet footprints, but a pro wouldn’t leave any. I sure as hell wouldn’t. Which leaves us with three possibilities. One—the asshole’s still inside, waiting for us to come through the door. Two, he’s come and gone, and the threat’s over.”
When he didn’t continue, she nudged him. “And three?”
“Bastard’s gone because he left us a surprise.”
“A surprise? You mean like a bomb or something?”
She felt his shoulders lift. A shrug.
“That’s what I’d do.”
“You were an ordinance soldier. I doubt many people think along those lines.”
“Only takes one to kill us, sweetheart.”
Obviously, this wasn’t an argument she’d win. Not that she was going to argue. “Okay, so, what do you want to do?”
“Option four. My truck. We’ll go someplace safe for the night, then I’ll come back and check it out in the morning.”
Without her.
He didn’t say it, but it hung between them. He wanted to come back when he didn’t have to watch out for her. When she wasn’t liable to get him killed because, no matter how much she wanted it, how much she willed it to be true, she couldn’t back him up.
The truth settled hard in her stomach. Not that she blamed him. She was a liability, and she couldn’t watch his back. Not unless her brain decided to give her more than a five-second glimpse of her surroundings.
Kent’s hand gripped her elbow, then they were walking. Her driveway tapping beneath her boots before she heard the truck locks disengage. He opened her door and lifted her up before she could do more than gasp—reach out for something solid to grasp. She was still searching for the seatbelt buckle when his door opened, allowing a gust of rain to sweep through the cab.
She tried to focus on where she thought he was, still fiddling with the belt. “If you’re worried about someone rigging the house, aren’t you concerned—”
“Truck’s clear. Already checked.” His hand settled over hers and clipped the seatbelt in place. “Hold on.”
He’d already checked? And why did she need to…
Kent hit the gas, knocking her back in the seat. She reached for the frame as the vehicle spun beneath her, executing what felt like a full three-sixty and pinning her against the seat cushion. She braced one hand against the window, inhaling as the truck fishtailed a few times before finally straightening. She gripped the handle near her head, wishing like hell she could see—anticipate any other maneuvers he might spring on her in the hopes of keeping her stomach below her throat.
Kent didn’t seem to have any issues with his stomach. He wasn’t breathing hard like she was. Probably didn’t have a death grip on the steering wheel. She knew her knuckles were most likely white, much like she suspected her face was. It wasn’t that she had a weak stomach, but not being able to see what would happen next definitely messed with her equilibrium.
They traveled in silence for several minutes—Kent putting his truck through a couple more of those hard, full spins, before the rumble of the road slowed a bit. The energy around her calming ever so slightly.
She forced herself to swallow without gagging. “Anyone following us?”
Not that she thought anyone could follow them. Not with the way he’d been driving. The endless stunts he’d executed.
“Nothing so far. But…”
But he wasn’t taking any chances. Wasn’t letting up his vigilance.
She nodded, wondering if he even noticed. “So, where are we headed? Do you live nearby?”
A sigh, higher than she’d thought. Damn, the guy was big. “No. But even if I did, I wouldn’t risk taking you there. Not when there’s a chance they’ve made a connection between us. That they know my name. That I drove you home. Ice—Russel’s wife, Harlequin. She has a loft not too far from here. She keeps it for when she has to come back to do assignments. She’s a photographer. Russel tries to coordinate it with jobs so she isn’t alone. I usually stay with them if I’m working out this way.”
“You never told me what you do. I assumed it was some kind of…security.”
God, she’d almost said mercenary. Because that’s what immediately sprang to mind. All those strong, firm muscles she’d felt, and his obvious skill with a gun—being a hired soldier seemed like the logical conclusion. He’d killed the guy threatening her at the auction without pausing—still running toward her at a sprint. She’d heard his
footsteps. He hadn’t missed one.
“Pretty much. I work for a company called Brotherhood Protectors. We provide personal security for anyone who needs it.”
She laughed. “You’re a bodyguard?”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Not bad, just…unexpected.” Hell, if he’d said assassin or CIA, she would have been less surprised.
Kent chuckled. “What were you thinking? Spy?”
“Or a contract killer.”
“Not sure how either of those would make me one of the good guys like I’d claimed, but… I hope the truth doesn’t disappoint you.”
“It’s a nice surprise. And trust me, surprises rarely turn out that way for me.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
She paused. He’d had that tone, again. The same one she’d heard when he’d talked about not sleeping. The one that sounded as if it was torn out of him—had to scratch its way to the surface.
“So, are all of the people who work for this company ex-military?”
“Mostly Special Forces, to be honest. SEALs. Rangers.”
“Christ. I bet you’re busy. Who wouldn’t want a MARSOC as their own personal security guard? So, Russel and your other buddy—”
“Sam, though folks call him Midnight.”
She smiled. “They all work for the same place?”
“Helps if you have people you trust watching your back. I’m sure you know all about that. Had a partner you trusted.”
A stab of pain through her head made her wince as she nodded, absently rubbing her temple.
“Hey? You okay?”
“Fine.”
“You don’t sound fine. And you winced.”
He’d noticed her wince?
“It’s nothing, just a pain in my head. I get them, sometimes.” As in every day since the raid. She could practically hear him frowning.
“Anything in particular set them off?”
Breathing. “Mostly when I think about the raid that left me…” She waved her hand in front of her face. “The doctors call it retrograde amnesia. Like being blind isn’t enough. I don’t remember anything about that night, either. Only what I’ve been told. But yeah, I had a partner. His name was Will. Will O’Toole. He had my back from the first day I joined narcotics. Never once let me down. He…he died that night.”
A swirl of air, then his hand landed on hers. Engulfing it. “I’m sorry.”
“Me, too. Guess that means I was lucky.”
“Funny how living doesn’t always feel that way.” More of the same, rough tone.
“Sounds like you have some experience.”
“Some.” He gave her fingers a squeeze. “Why don’t you rest? We’ll be there in about twenty.”
“You want to focus on the road. On checking if we’re being followed instead of making idle conversation.”
“That obvious, huh? But you really should rest. You barely got any before I woke you up.”
What she wouldn’t give to be back in her house, snuggled in his lap. While she wasn’t sure how long he’d held her, it was still the most relaxing rest she’d gotten since coming home from the hospital.
“Not tired.” How could she be? Her heart was still pounding in her chest, her muscles still braced for any sudden shifting of the truck. “But it’s okay. I’m fine just sitting here. I mostly talk to Blade, and he hasn’t answered me, yet, so…”
She tried to chuckle, but it fell flat. Nothing like having her lonely, pathetic life put in the spotlight. Laid bare for all to see.
A sigh, then his fingers opened, slotted through hers and closed, again. “Addison.”
“You’re right. I should try to sleep.”
She closed her eyes to give the pretense of resting. Anything to avoid the awkward atmosphere growing between them. She hadn’t meant to sound as if she couldn’t sit there without him carrying on a conversation. But her social skills had deteriorated since the raid, and it seemed everything she said, lately, just came out wrong.
That, or simply being near him short circuited her brain. Made it hard to focus on anything other than the warmth of his hand. The solid feel of it.
The miles droned on, marked by the steady hum of his truck. The slap of the wipers. She was just on the verge of actually dozing off when the truck rocked to a halt. He released her hand and touched her shoulder, jerking her back from the haze. She looked around for a moment, before remembering it wouldn’t help, then focused on his side of the truck.
“We’re here. I’m sure Harlequin has some clothes you could borrow. Get you out of that dress, not that you don’t look stunning in it, but you’d probably prefer something that isn’t soaked through. I’m sorry I didn’t think to tell you to change, first, before you fell asleep.”
She pushed her hand through her hair, wondering if she was sticking it up in every direction. “It’s fine. Are you sure your friends won’t mind us showing up in the middle of the night?”
“Nah. They probably just got home.”
His door opened then closed, followed by hers. Like before, he lifted her down, waiting until she was stable then leading her to some kind of elevator. She grabbed Kent’s arm when it shuddered into motion, using his strength to keep from toppling over.
Kent muttered something then wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her close until the machine rumbled to a halt, and she heard the doors whoosh open. Another few steps, Kent punching in a code, and they were through a door and into his friend’s apartment. She sensed a change in Kent the moment the door closed behind them. His muscles eased, and his grip on her waist loosened. He obviously felt safer here.
He stopped and shifted in front of her, one hand cupping her chin. “I’ll go see if I can get some clothes, then we’ll change, and I’ll make you that tea I promised.”
She smiled. “Do you even know how to make tea? You don’t strike me as a tea type of guy.”
“I could rig a bomb from what’s under Harlequin’s kitchen sink. Pretty sure I can figure out how to make a cup of tea.”
She heard the smile in his voice. The lighter tone, and damn if the thought of him happy didn’t make her smile, too. “Or you could let me…”
Another flash of light. Of the room just appearing out of the darkness. They were in a large, open area, a kitchen off to one side, living space to the other. Kent had his back to a hallway, his broad shoulders blocking most of her view—except for the silhouette poised behind him—arm extended. Ready to pounce.
She reacted on instinct. On years of facing shadowed threats. One step, and she had Kent shoved to the side. Had her hands up in front of her.
Another, and she’d grabbed the guy’s wrist. Stepped into his attack. Had him off-balance and off to her right. A spin, a shift in her arm, and his elbow was locked beneath hers, his body bent forward. He grunted, but Kent was already at her side, gripping her shoulders.
“Easy, sweetheart. It’s just Russel.”
He was chuckling, just like the guy she had in the arm lock. She looked up, saw the way his eyes crinkled in humor—his incredibly blue eyes. Even with the lights out, there was enough of a glow coming from outside—street lamps or maybe the moon. Had it still been raining—there was no mistaking the stunning color. As if everything else was bleached into grays except his eyes. Even the scars running down his face didn’t draw her attention. Didn’t detract from the sheer beauty of him or the brilliant blue staring back at her.
She could see him.
She released her hold. Barely noticed the guy turning—standing beside Kent because she couldn’t stare at anything other than his eyes.
Both men frowned, then those beautiful blue eyes narrowed. “Addison? Can you…see us?”
She tried to answer. Tried to make her lips move the way his had. Luscious full lips she wanted to taste. Feel slanted over hers because, in that instant, she realized he was the reason she was having flashes. Whatever was happening between them—some miraculous twist of fate.
The kind she’d stopped believing in—it had jumpstarted her brain. Given her a reason to want to see, again, when she hadn’t even known she’d been searching for one. Needing the promise of a future, of something bigger to push her past the never-ending darkness. Vanquish the demons lurking beneath her skin.
Then, it was gone. Nothing but unforgiving blackness. All that color extinguished with a blink of her eyes. Leaving her unbalanced. The world tilted beneath her feet, and she fell.
Chapter 9
Rigs lunged at Addison, catching her before she’d wobbled and crashed into a piece of furniture. He tugged her against him, one hand cupping her neck, the other around her waist. Her frantic breath washed over his chest, cooling his damp skin, not that he cared. He could be naked in a snow storm, and he’d still hold her. Cradle her in his arms if it meant calming her down. Helping ground her when she was obviously unstable.
She’d caught him off-guard—a rarity. One minute, they were talking, the next, she’d shoved him sideways and had Russel in some kind of arm lock. Rigs wasn’t sure who was more surprised—him or Ice, because the other man’s eyes widened. Then, he was laughing.
The tension had eased until Rigs had glanced at Addy. That’s when he’d noticed the odd expression on her face. The way she was staring directly at him. A focused stare. Not like the searching gazes she’d had before. This one was narrowed in on his eyes, and he got the unnerving sensation of being watched.
She was looking at him. Actually seeing him. He knew it. He had the gut-wrenching realization that she could see his scars. That he hadn’t covered them up, even told her about them, and now they were visible. On display just like they’d been back at the auction.
But she’d stumbled back and fallen off to one side before he could think of a way to explain. Not that he would have let her fall. Hit her head or worse. Didn’t matter if he had to throw himself across the room. Leap over couches or walls—he’d always catch her.
Of course, all he’d had to do was reach out—pull her against him. Even Russel had made a move for her, the PJ in him kicking in. But Rigs had gotten to her, first. Grabbed her elbows and rested her head against his chest. Her hands instinctively splayed across his ribs, one landing right on top of some of his scars. Christ, could she feel them? Was the sensation as unnerving and new to her as it was to him?
