It's Always Been You

by Paige, Victoria

  And she walked out. She fucking grabbed her purse and walked out. Travis wouldn’t have had a clue where she had gone if her phone didn’t have a tracking app. She checked into a motel. He let himself calm down for a day before going after her. He apologized. But the whole homecoming was ruined. And he had to leave again in a week. It sucked. That was the last time he listened to gossip. He ignored what some of his SEAL buddies told him. He knew they meant well, but being deployed so often, he had to trust her. Little did Travis know that an affair was the least of his worries.

  That very last day spent with her was everything he could ever savor. They stayed in bed all morning, making love. He never could get enough of her. And that evening, they sat on a swing on their front porch, looking up at the stars, planning their future. It would have been his last year with the SEALs. They would sell the house, move to DC near his parents, and he would find a job in the private security sector. He departed at zero-dark-thirty the next morning. Travis was always quiet when he left, not wanting to wake his wife. He’d made love to her one last time the night before. He looked at her, bathed in moonlight, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed with her. But just another nine months, and he could have that dream—stay in bed with her for as long as he wanted.

  The mission that time was brutal. They were dropped into Hindu Kush—the unfriendly mountain ranges between Afghanistan and northern Pakistan—to raid a village that harbored Taliban and Al Qaeda. It was a 20-man JSOC (Joint Special Operations Command) team against 150 Islamist militants indoctrinated with their hatred against Americans. They lost three men; five were badly injured. But they got their target. One of the dead was a SEAL, a close friend of his. Travis wanted nothing more than to head back to base, talk to Sarah over Skype, and remember what the fuck he was fighting for—a future with her.

  His Commanding Officer was waiting with two other SEALs when their Black Hawk returned from the mission. Travis thought they were welcoming the team home, which was not unusual given the gravity of their op. They were there for him. His immediate thought was his mom, who had been struck down with a bug the previous week, but Travis knew it wasn’t serious so that couldn’t be it. But the grimness on his CO’s face tightened the knot in his stomach.

  When they escorted him to a small briefing room, Travis thought for a moment that he had violated some stupid rule of engagement, and he was being reprimanded. Hell, he hoped it wasn’t enough to warrant a court-martial.

  “What’s this all about, Sir?” Travis asked tersely. Fuck the suspense. Just spit it out.

  “Lieutenant,” his CO began. “We regret to inform you that we’ve received news of your wife’s death.”

  Your wife’s death . . . your wife’s death . . .

  Those words echoed over and over in his head, making him certain that one of the explosions from the op had fucked up his hearing, or worse, his brain.

  “There must be some mistake,” Travis said hoarsely. “I talked to her not six days ago.”

  “The cable came in at oh-four hundred yesterday—”

  “H-how?” His questions were mechanical now. His legs were feeling numb, and it was a struggle to remain upright.

  “Vehicular accident. We don’t have the details. But there’s a C-130 heading out . . .”

  Travis heard no more. He found himself on the floor, on his ass, looking up at his CO and his fellow SEALs; his cheeks were wet.

  That was how his nightmare began. Weeks that started with grief and anger finally ending in numbness. Because if he didn’t numb his pain, he couldn’t function.

  He’d been thrown in jail twice. Both times for assault. The first time was for threatening the medical examiner with bodily harm—backing the man against the wall. The second, he punched out the detective on the case. The fucker insinuated that Sarah had been having an affair with John Cooper. Their car had exploded before falling into the Atlantic. It took two days to retrieve their bodies. Mutilated by the elements, Travis didn’t really have much of a body to bury.

  Nightmare.

  Travis’s house had been ransacked—had become a crime scene. John Cooper’s blood was found among ripped-out cushions. It became a cold case. Rumor was Cooper owed the Russian Cartel some money for drugs.

  Travis concluded that Sarah tried to help Cooper and got caught in the crossfire. After a two-week emergency leave, he went back to the mountains of Afghanistan a much-changed man. He became cold, methodical, and robotic on the battlefield. He served out the months required on his enlistment and quit.

  He lost his purpose, but Benjamin Porter gave it back to him. In some way, his impromptu stint as a bodyguard for a senator gave him insight into the private security business, and the money to be gleaned from it. But the lead that cropped up following the discovery of the tattoo on the assassin, which was similar to Sarah’s, was the biggest boon motivating Travis to get his act together. He needed to get into the game. He sold his house, moved to DC, took out his investments, and started Blake Security Inc.

  His buddy, Nate Reece, who had been a paramilitary operative for the CIA Clandestine service, partnered with him to form BSI. And with much input from Porter, BSI had grown into what it was today. Travis couldn’t deny that he had a driving reason to succeed. The more clout he had with the big guys, the more access he had to information. Information he had hoped to use to find out the truth about his wife’s death, and a large part of him believed she was alive. After three long years, his determination finally paid off.

  Now he just had to figure out how to recapture the life they had shared. He looked at his closed study door and sighed. Hiding from Caitlin certainly wouldn’t contribute to that goal. Time to get his head out of his ass and man up. He’d be damned before he let John Cooper reach out from his grave to destroy them a second time.

  *****

  “Well, hello.”

  “Uh . . . hi,” Caitlin greeted the petite brunette tentatively. The woman gave her a broad smile, and gave her horn-rimmed glasses a push with a finger before entering the house.

  “I’m Emily Shephard. You must be Caitlin.”

  Emily walked over to the dining table and lowered an armload of files. Turning around, she extended her hand in greeting.

  Firm handshake and intense scrutiny. Caitlin felt like she was under a microscope. Being on the run meant avoiding people, and right now she was a bit uncomfortable.

  “Em.” A firm voice spoke behind them. “Are you trying to intimidate my girl?”

  A protest bubbled up Caitlin’s throat at Travis’s proprietary words, but the heated possessive gaze he shot her, well . . . shut her up.

  Emily burst out laughing. “Wow, Travis you don’t waste any time.”

  “I go after what I want.” Travis stopped right in front of the two women and crossed his arms, not taking his eyes off Caitlin.

  Caitlin frowned. Travis had some sort of epiphany during the fifteen minutes he had disappeared. She didn’t know whether it bode well for her or not. He seemed to have changed tactics from allowing her some leeway to a full-court press.

  “What do you have for me, Emily?”

  The brunette jerked her chin over to the files on the table. “Those are new contracts and applicants that may suit the job. Also Ed is suggesting you at least web conference in to the interviews this afternoon for the Kennedy account.”

  “Sounds reasonable.”

  “Why can’t you do the interviews?” Caitlin needed to speak up. “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to babysit me.”

  Travis scowled at her. “I’m not leaving you alone in a strange house or dragging you to the office with me on your first day home. Besides, we need to get you some basic stuff.”

  “Ah . . . I don’t think I’m up for shopping.”

  Travis mistook her hesitation for another problem. “I got you covered.”

  “It’s not the money, Travis,” Caitlin said desperately. “I’ll survive a few more days with the clothes I have, and you go
t me enough toiletries to supply a five-star hotel room for days.”

  “Thank you,” Emily piped in, obviously pleased that Caitlin approved of her bedroom. Turning to Travis, his assistant said, “You seem to forget, boss, not everyone’s like you—operating on a few hours of sleep and having no problems adjusting to time zones.”

  “You’re jet-lagged,” Travis stated in resignation.

  Caitlin tried to hide a smile but failed. What was he expecting? Take her on a tour? All she wanted was to sleep for days.

  “Food and sleep are all I need right now.”

  Something must have clicked in Travis’s brain for his expression turned grim. “Is that a side effect of—?”

  “Yes,” Caitlin cut in.

  “For how long?”

  Caitlin didn’t answer because Emily turned curious eyes on her. Thankfully, she was saved from responding when the doorbell buzzed.

  “That’s Beatrice,” Emily announced as she made her way to the door.

  “Fuck,” Travis cursed.

  Who is Beatrice?

  Beatrice turned out to be a statuesque redhead who towered over Emily. She was probably five-ten in heels. The new arrival walked confidently into the house, comfortable with the place like she lived here. Caitlin felt a twinge of irritation that quickly morphed into outrage at Beatrice’s words.

  “Do you need me to take out the trash for you?” Beatrice eyes bore into Caitlin before slicing over to Travis. Her meaning was not lost on Caitlin.

  There was a gasp from Emily and what sounded like a growl from Travis.

  Travis’s expression darkened to a scary degree as he stepped in front of Beatrice causing the redhead to appear to reconsider her words.

  “You will apologize to Caitlin, right fucking now,” his voice vibrated with controlled rage. “Or in five seconds, you’ll find your ass parked outside.”

  A hint of color crept up Beatrice’s face and her whole demeanor changed as she looked at Travis and said, “Um, I guess you don’t need my help?”

  “No.” He turned to Caitlin. “Caitlin, this is Beatrice Porter.”

  “Porter?”

  “She’s Benjamin Porter’s daughter and a close friend of mine.” Travis narrowed his eyes at Beatrice. “Although I’m reconsidering.”

  “Sorry. Travis always uses me to shield him against the attentions of women throwing themselves at him,” Beatrice explained her earlier actions. “I’m his fake girlfriend.”

  “Bee—”

  “I should have known Travis wouldn’t bring a one-night stand to his house—”

  “Bee, this is my wife, Caitlin Kincaid,” Travis cut in.

  Beatrice face registered mostly shock, some indignation, and part hurt.

  “Tell me you’re kidding me.” Beatrice took a deep breath. She wasn’t looking at anyone, but she had an arm cocked at the elbow, index finger pointing up in a wait a second gesture. “You disappear for a few days, abandoning one of the most lucrative security contracts I’ve negotiated for you, and get MARRIED?” She looked at Caitlin apologetically before glaring at Travis. “I’m your best friend, Travis. I didn’t know you were even dating.” To Emily she said, “You’ve got some explaining to do, sister.” Whipping her attention back to Travis. “Was Nate at the wedding?”

  Caitlin was feeling the onset of a migraine. At least she thought it was a migraine. What a mess. Did Travis really think it would be easy to insert her back into his life? Was she even his wife anymore? Sarah Blake is dead.

  “There was no wedding—”

  “What? You eloped? That’s not—”

  “Damn it, Beatrice. Shut up for one second and let me speak,” Travis snapped.

  The redhead bit down on her lip, visibly struggling to follow Travis’s order.

  “Caitlin is Sarah. My wife. Sarah’s not dead.”

  Beatrice’s mouth hung open, and she was about to say something when Travis glared at her.

  “Caitlin has amnesia and couldn’t remember the events that took her from me. The DNA and autopsy reports were obviously fabricated, which tells me the whole thing was a cover-up. I’d rather not get you involved, Beatrice. Your father is aware of the situation, and if he has not shared or mentioned anything to you about it, he has his reasons.”

  “The reasons being it’s dangerous.” Beatrice turned her curious eyes on Caitlin. “Who exactly are you, Caitlin Kincaid?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “That was rhetorical—”

  Caitlin smiled. She liked Beatrice’s snarkiness, but wasn’t too keen on her closeness to her husband.

  Shit.

  Husband. When did she get comfortable with that word in reference to this annoyingly handsome man before her? It would have been easier to keep a logical perspective if Travis didn’t send her female hormones into a tailspin by merely standing beside her.

  Beatrice’s gaze turned critical. Caitlin tensed.

  “Are you sure she has amnesia?”

  “And you’re done,” Travis said, firmly clasping Beatrice’s upper arm and escorting her—not quite gently—to the door.

  “Wait a minute,” Beatrice snapped. “Don’t for a minute think you’ve sidetracked me from my purpose here.”

  “You sidetracked yourself.”

  “Well, yeah,” Beatrice said sheepishly. Then her face turned serious. “The Kennedy contract is due for presentation tomorrow. We’re two people short, and Emily tells me you’re handing the reins to Shephard. I put my ass on the line for this gig, Travis. All eyes are on the Kennedy delegation to Ukraine. I have every faith in Shephard, but your disappearance over the past few days threw me for a loop and made me nervous.” She looked at Caitlin before fixing her gaze on Travis. “Now I understand why. I’ve known you for over two years, and you’ve lived for your job. That’s why you’re at the top of the game now. Is this about to change?”

  The two friends eyed each other challengingly.

  “I won’t have you questioning how I run my company, Beatrice,” Travis said after a tense beat. “Your job is to find me clients—”

  “Exactly,” Beatrice fired back. “I’m putting my reputation as a security consultant at stake here.”

  “Your concern is legitimate. So, in answer to your question, are things going to change? Fuck, yes. BSI is important to me, and I’m not about to let it implode. I’ve got capable people working for me. I’m just too bullheaded to delegate. But not anymore. Make no mistake, Bee. The Kennedys will get what they’ve paid for, but it’s only fair to let you know, Caitlin comes first.” Travis speared Caitlin with an intense stare. “My marriage is my priority.”

  Emily was grinning from ear to ear, and if Caitlin was speechless before, she could pass for a mute right now. Her whole body tingled with warmth. Travis didn’t mince words when it came to his commitment to her. It was exhilarating and frightening at the same time.

  Beatrice’s face was expressionless as she considered Travis’s words. And then suddenly, it cracked with a tender look as she whispered, “So happy for you, Trav.”

  “Shit. You’re not going to cry, are you?” Travis asked warily.

  Caitlin snickered inwardly. Men.

  “No, you jerk.” Beatrice punched Travis on the arm fondly. “I’ll leave you guys to discuss business. Nice to meet you, Caitlin. I see Emily has everything under control. I’ll see you both at the meeting tomorrow.” She glanced back at Travis. “You better be there, Blake.”

  “I will.”

  Travis shook his head and closed the door as the redhead sashayed out.

  “She’s an interesting character,” Caitlin said slowly. “Fake girlfriend?”

  Travis winced. “Ahhh . . . we attend functions together, but really, we’re just friends. The media puts a different spin on it, and we just let it play out. Bee’s not interested in a relationship. That’s according to her.”

  “She’s gorgeous. I can’t believe she’s not taken.”

  “She’s a handful,” Travis muttered
.

  “Actually, she had quite an intense fling with Travis’s SEAL buddy, Gabe,” Emily piped in.

  “Emily.” Travis’s tone held censure.

  “We can gossip later,” Emily told Caitlin, sotto-voce.

  Travis scowled.

  “Oh, give it a rest, boss. I’m not raking you over the coals.”

  “Aren’t we supposed to go through these files?” Travis demanded sorely.

  “I’ll leave you two to it. I’m feeling a nap coming on,” Caitlin announced.

  “How long have you been awake?” Travis asked.

  “Three hours.” Travis looked disappointed. Caitlin didn’t understand why because he had to work anyway. “Eat. Sleep. Remember?”

  “Leave your door unlocked.”

  “What? Why?”

  “So I can check on you later.”

  “Travis, I’m just taking a nap.”

  “Please, sunshine.” He walked to her, looming tall. Caitlin failed to avoid his lips when they touched hers so briefly. “I just need this.”

  “Okay,” she whispered back. She walked unsteadily to the stairs, trying to convince herself that her balance was impaired from her need for sleep. If she was honest with herself, it had everything to do with the merest brush of those damned sexy lips.

  *****

  Your wife is dead, Blake. You failed to protect her.

  Travis jerked awake. Beads of sweat trickled down the side of his face, and his body protested the awkward angle; he had fallen asleep sitting on his chair. That was a fucking nightmare. Porter was standing over the body of Caitlin looking at him accusingly.

  Fuck.

  It had been a long-ass day. The interviews were conducted from three to nine p.m. All the applicants had already gone through tactical evaluation, and this was just the situational interview, the test of their mental ability. Whoever wore the BSI badge needed to be quick in body and mind. Shephard was excellent in this—what he called his hell-of-a-mind-fuck test. They hired three guys instead of the planned two. The more experienced, older ones were going on the Kennedy detail to Ukraine. One was a former army ranger; the other had previously worked in a private security firm. Travis pulled out the file of the third man. Twenty-five-year old Sam Harper, a mixed-martial-arts fighter, had several stints as a bouncer in the trendiest clubs in DC. He needed work with firearms handling, but Travis had read his tactical evaluations. The young man had potential. Travis also needed a bodyguard for Caitlin.