“Happy hour in Denver.” He smiled at the memory of her talking about coming home and hanging out at happy hour like a normal person. “Have you enjoyed many beers since coming home?”
“Quite a few, yeah.”
They smiled at each other, the first truly peaceful moment they’d shared in months. He sighed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. Unable to maintain eye contact, he looked around the room. His gaze fell on the wooden box containing her letters and his unmailed responses.
“I wrote you back,” he whispered without looking at her. “I used to read your notes and imagine where you were when you wrote them, tried to visualize your surroundings. I read them over and over again. When I was recovering from surgery number two, you’d sent a note written on a cocktail napkin from some hotel in Egypt. I read it again and again until it fell into pieces.”
She stopped fidgeting with the ring and stared at him as if he’d shape shifted into another being in front of her eyes. “You wrote me back?”
“Yeah.” He flicked his gaze toward her before focusing on the pizza box. Maybe he shouldn’t have admitted that, he didn’t know. Perhaps that had been the wrong thing to say when he’d wanted to avoid another fight.
“Well, that’s something, isn’t it?” She rubbed the back of her neck again, eyes closed and sighed. “I should probably go, leave you alone, and let you do whatever it is you were doing.”
“I was just sitting here...I’m not exactly busy these days.” He grinned, not quite believing the words coming out of his mouth. “Can you stay for awhile? Hang out?”
“Hang out?” She laughed before looking at him. Exhaustion shadowed her green eyes. “Yeah, I can hang out. Just don’t let me fall asleep. I need to get home and take Dude for a run later tonight. Deal?”
He nodded, words failing him. When it came to Hope, he realized he didn’t have the right words anymore. Logic battled with love. For five months, he’d thought he was doing what was best for both of them by pushing her away and going it alone. Now he wasn’t so sure. He’d missed her so damn much. Nothing felt real...not being with her, sitting in this room, eating pizza, drinking a beer. He’d died in a war zone and woken up in Germany thinking he’d be paralyzed forever. It had been constant fight or flight mode since then.
She pushed away from the table and walked toward the sofa without waiting for him. With a sigh, she grabbed a blanket from the back of the cushions and curled up in a corner. She twisted her hair into a loose knot at the top of her head, face averted toward the television.
He moved to the sofa, locked the brakes on the chair, and took a deep breath. Even though she didn’t appear to be paying attention to him, he didn’t want to embarrass himself by falling onto the floor in a heap again. He’d practiced this a hundred times in the past few months, but never with her in the room. With as much nonchalance as he could fake, he moved from his wheelchair to the sofa. Not looking at her, he shifted his weight and dragged his paralyzed left leg in front of him.
All the surgeries coupled with physical therapy had been emotional torture for the past months. Sometimes he’d felt like someone had gutted his brains like kids taking out the insides of a pumpkin for a jack-o-lantern. He’d been trained for a lot of things--combat, strategies, even torture--but nothing had prepared him for feeling helpless.
“Baby’s got skills,” she said with a smile as she scooted closer to him on the sofa. “Sexy move.”
He grinned without making eye contact. Awkwardness rattled the air between them. Asking her to stay had been a moment of weakness.
She curled her arms around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder. When she sighed, he closed his eyes and soaked up the moment. Damn, she felt good pressed against him. He dropped his arm around her shoulder and caressed her shoulder.
“It’s okay to relax now,” she said, her hold tightening. “The worst is over.”
“Are you sure?” He absentmindedly rubbed the back of her neck, gaze locked on the top of her head. “Seems like the worst is just beginning.”
“Such a cynic.” She dropped her head further down on his chest to grant him easier access to her neck. Damn, the woman’s muscles were in knots.
He decided not to press the issue. The simplicity of the moment wasn’t lost on him. It felt good, actually. Surreal, yes, but nice. He sighed, rubbed her neck and watched the television without really listening. Before he knew it, she’d fallen asleep against him, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He liked it more than he should.
His gaze slid toward the wooden box. Maybe he’d give her his unsent letters, let her see that he’d missed her more than he’d claimed. Or maybe not--perhaps that day would never come. For now, all he knew for sure was that he enjoyed her sleeping against him while he rubbed the knots in her neck loose. He’d forgotten life could be this easy, even if only for a moment.
Chapter Seven
A field trip of loud elementary kids ran past her in the museum as she waited in front of the Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton inside the main entrance to Denver’s Museum of Nature and Science. Her gaze moved toward a group of women balancing strollers on the escalators. Stay-at-home moms...kids on a field day...the innocence of it all intrigued her as if she were watching a foreign film and couldn’t quite make out the subtitles. She loosened the yellow scarf from around her neck and glanced down at her leather coat, black dress and boots. With a sigh, she shoved the scarf inside the messenger bag and shrugged off the discomfort that seemed perpetually wrapped around her shoulders.
She briefly thought of Dalton, wondered if he’d visited the museum with his grandparents, felt a pang of sadness for the lonely life he’d led without his parents and the confusion he must feel now that his father had returned yet...hadn’t. It must confuse him, this state of limbo they were all living.
“You look lost in thought,” Rourke said from where he’d suddenly appeared at her side.
“I don’t like wasting time, Rourke.” She slid him a sideways glance before looking back toward the dinosaur. “Interesting meeting place. I thought you wanted to lay low, not be seen with me, all of that.”
“I’ll be out of it by the end of the day. I promise you that.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his anxiety palpable. “Listen, when this first started, I had no idea what I was getting into.”
She snapped her head around to look at him at that. “Sounds like a confession, Rourke.”
“We’re not on the record.” He handed her a flash drive. “I’m asking you not to look at this until tomorrow. One more thing, it’s important that I protect my family from any fall out, do you understand? If you mention me at all, can you do me the courtesy of using my name favorably?”
She doubted it. She stuffed the flash drive into her pocket and studied him. The man had a squirrelly vibe to him. His tie was askew, hair a mess and eyes wild with desperation. She stepped back.
“Why wait until tomorrow before looking at this content? What difference can a day make?” she asked.
He shrugged, defeat shrouding him. “You’re going to do what you’re going to do, I don’t have control over that. All I’m asking for is a favor, which I know I don’t deserve. One day, Shane. That’s all I need.”
She swallowed and looked away toward the field trip kids who were now headed up the escalator. Fear skittered over her skin on a million spider legs. Something was off.
When Rourke suddenly grabbed her forearm and forced her to focus on him, she stiffened as if ready for a blow. He leaned close, the scent of alcohol wafting to her, eyes bloodshot and fearful.
“Listen, Shane, you need to understand that I never wanted any of this. I didn’t know.”
“Liar.” She squinted at him, not pulling away as she stared into his eyes. “You knew. Guilt is pushing you to do this, to rat them out...why me? Why not go to the FBI and let them put you in witness protection or something?”
“You’re so naive. Don’t trust anyone, Shane. Money corrupts even the
purest of idealists.”
“Give me names. Talk is useless without something to back it up.”
“This goes higher than you think, that’s all I’m saying.”
“You’re not saying anything, that’s the problem.” She leaned toward him, instinct told her danger lurked close and adrenaline sloshed through her veins like lava. “Come with me. Let me get this on film, we’ll disguise your identity. I protect my sources, Rourke. Trust me. Come with me. Let’s do this together.
“You’re not afraid, are you? Not even slightly. You don’t even look away from me, instead you look like you’re ready to battle. That’s scary, Shane.” He dropped his hands from her and stepped back, a sad energy swelling around him that made her sick to her stomach.
“I’ve been called worse,” she muttered, her fingers closing around the flash drive in her pocket. “What’s at stake here? Exactly, no more innuendo. If you want to redeem yourself, then stand with me. I know people. I have ways of protecting you and your family. You want me to trust you so maybe it’s time to trust me.”
“Trusting you isn’t the issue and you shouldn’t trust me at all...you shouldn’t trust anyone. Then again, you don’t, do you? It’s all a game to you, isn’t it? This act of trust me and I’ll trust you...you could care less about my family or me. You want the story.”
“That’s why you came to me, isn’t it?” Sometimes she wished she smoked so she’d have something to do with her hands. In old movies, all the reporters and private eyes smoked and she understood why...nervous energy.
Rourke exhaled a long breath, his gaze moving beyond hers to the escalators moving to the levels above them. “My wife used to bring the kids here when they were little. Everything was different then. Simple. It’s not a safe world anymore, Shane. I have a sixteen-year-old daughter now. I can’t believe what I’ve been a part of, the things I’ve done. They’ll never forgive me.”
Everything about this man screamed desperation. She didn’t like it.
“I don’t have all day to sit around here and play word games with you. Come back to the station with me and let me make some calls. Own this situation, Rourke,” she said.
“It’s too late to protect me.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Own the situation? Isn’t that what I’m doing? Protect Angel...she’s your source now. What you need to know is on that flash drive, don’t let anyone else see it. Promise me you’ll protect Angel.”
Angel, huh? No way in hell she was going to wait to read the content of that flash drive. “I’ll protect her.”
“Promise me.” Intensity rolled off of him like an avalanche.
She flinched at the stench of bourbon on his breath. “I promise I’ll protect Angel. C’mon, Rourke. You’re not in this alone anymore...come back to the station with me.”
He shook his head before glancing around the space as if seeing it for the first time. “It’s funny how I never thought of the consequences, not once. I thought I was above it all somehow...that money insulated me from morality. Give me a day, Shane.”
He turned abruptly and walked toward the exit.
All the old feelings she used to have in Afghanistan rolled through her like a muscle spasm. Fear. Caution. A knowing that all hell was about to break loose. She followed him, almost running to catch up even though she didn’t know why. Instinct moved her feet until she stood outside in the chilly air.
Sunshine blinded her. She lost sight of him for a minute while she searched for her sunglasses. Then she spotted him toward the back of the parking lot weaving between cars.
Gunfire froze her mid-stride. The crack shattered the still cold air. She watched Rourke fall behind a SUV, heard kids, mothers, teachers and pedestrians screaming as they raced for cover after another gunshot rang out. Then another. Whoever was shooting wanted to make sure they got their man. She stood, breath trapped in her throat, as people raced around her.
Without looking away from the chaos while security guards called for help, she reached into her messenger bag for her beat up hat and pulled it over her hair before grabbing the scarf. She thought of Rourke’s words about not trusting anyone, turned her back on the crime scene, and walked away. She had someone named Angel to protect, and, from the look of things, she didn’t have time to waste.
“Devon,” she said when her friend answered on the first ring, “City Councilman Rourke’s just been murdered at the Museum of Nature and Science. I’m on my way into the station with a flash drive. I need you to find out everything you know about Rourke, who he hangs out with, what projects he’s been affiliated with, where he gets his money from, both legally and illegally. I want everything you’ve got on the man.”
“Did you say he was just murdered?” Devon asked.
“Yeah, but this story is bigger than that. I’ll be at the station in ten minutes. Don’t tell anyone what we’re researching, not even Marion. Until we see what’s on this flash drive, I don’t want to attract any attention.”
“Stop. You were there? You witnessed him being murdered? Where are you?”
The problem with dealing with other journalists was the perpetual questions.
“I’ll be there in ten.” She ended the call and walked toward her Jeep while sirens blared in the distance. Maybe Rourke had been right in his assessment of her coldness, but she’d seen too many people die--friends she’d loved--and didn’t care about a dirty politician involved in a human trafficking organization. If that made her cold, if that made her less than human, well...she couldn’t dig deep enough in her heart to give a damn.
* * * *
He’d had another series of spasms and passed out after Gabriel had given him a shot of some kind. Everything had gotten foggy. He had woken to a nurse adjusting his pillows and saying something about dinner. Exhausted from the day and the pain that had ripped his body to shreds, he went along without saying a word.
After dinner, a nurse helped him into the shower and gave him his medication. He insisted on dressing himself. His pride may be shredded, but it still existed. He combed his wet hair, gaze lingering on the scar that ran across his forehead.
Coward, huh? Maybe. Becky’s words from yesterday rang in his ears. He dropped the brush and stared at his reflection. He gritted his teeth. He had saved too many lives, faced death too many times, yet maybe Becky had been right yesterday with her assessment of his lack of progress.
He eyed the bed. Everyone told him that he should be able to do more than his legs would do. He chewed the inside of his lip. He felt something in his right leg…but it wasn’t pleasant and it wasn’t strong. He had died and been brought back to life, had endured seven operations and yet here he sat about to lose his son and with a wife he didn’t deserve. He checked the brake on the wheels and held onto the arms of his chair. Damned if he would be called a coward.
He pushed upward, arms protesting after the day’s physical therapy, and pushed until his entire torso shook with the effort. He would not be called a coward. Not here, not by Hope or her sister, not in front of his child, never.
Nothing. No movement. He fell back into his chair and smacked his thighs with his palms.
“You’re going to give me a heart attack if you keep doing stunts like that without anyone around,” Hope said from where she leaned against the doorframe.
He snapped his gaze in her direction. “Don’t you have a job to do?”
“Oh, I’ve been doing it, don’t worry.” She looked self-conscious as she entered his bedroom. She tucked her hair behind her ears and grinned at him. “So do you do that often?”
“Do what?”
“Attempt to stand.” She sat on the edge of his bed and moved her gaze over him.
“Not as often as I should.” He looked away from her, wanting to tell her everything yet unwilling to do so.
“Yeah, well, maybe that’s the problem.” She shrugged, eyes full of gentleness. “It hasn’t even been six months yet since the…since everything happened…” she motioned between them. “It f
eels like it was years ago yet…sometimes it feels like it’s happening right now.”
He blew out a long breath. The mandatory psychotherapy hadn’t done much to heal him, then again, he hadn’t said much during any of his sessions. He knew she had pulled the strings to get him in here, wondered how many people she’d had to bully, how many favors she owed. He watched as she folded her hands together on her bare knee to stop them from trembling.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Define okay.” She grinned, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Us being together like this again after so much has happened.”
He undid the brakes on his chair and moved closer. What was weird was seeing Hope almost docile, all quiet and sad. That was weird.
“I freaked you out, didn’t I? Yesterday?” he asked.
“No, you don’t freak me out. I get you.”
“Then what’s up? You look agitated.”
“Gee, why would I be agitated? My husband would rather be here than come home to me. I was at the museum earlier...have you thought about what you’re going to do about Dalton?”
“I’m not discussing Dalton.” He leaned back in his chair and studied her from beneath half-closed eyes. “Why were you at the museum? I heard something on the news about a shooting there today...was that you?”
“Me? You think I’m an assassin now?” Her twisted grin didn’t reach her eyes.
“You know what I mean.” He squinted, his certainty growing that she’d been there. “Were you a part of that?”
“No comment, Colonel.” She looked away from his gaze and glanced around the room. “I’m a lot like you. I don’t fit either. I can’t stand the quiet so I sleep with the television on. I stay busy because I can’t sit still or I think about things too much. I don’t know how to be back here, but I can’t go back over there. I make promises I’m not sure I can deliver, which isn’t like me at all. It’s all a mess.”
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