Because he wasn’t made to sit still, Tripp pushed off the floor and hurried into his small, adjoining kitchen. There wasn’t much in his refrigerator, other than leftover Chinese takeout from two days ago and a six-pack of cheap beer, which was probably stale. His cupboards were as bare. But Bob’s Best Pizza Oven was only a couple blocks away, and the jug of well water in his rented water dispenser had just been replaced. Ice water now, pizza later. Sounded like a plan. He’d order after Ashley came to.
In the meantime, Tripp ran to his room and changed into jeans. He knew he needed a shower. He’d been working out when Ashley had first knocked, but a shower could wait. Ashley couldn’t. In his kitchen, he filled a glass with ice and water. Back at her side, he set the glass on the end table and ran the back of his fingers over her cheek. She had some color now, and her breathing was even. No fever, thank God. Just fear.
If a woman passing out because she was frightened didn’t humble a guy, nothing did. Tripp folded into a cross-legged position, ashamed at how he’d spoken to Ashley. She’d just been doing her job. It wasn’t her fault Trish had tagged him. Come to think of it, now he had a lead on his sister’s whereabouts. That whole thing about twins having radar for each other was urban legend. The only thing Trish ever had radar for was his football buddies, or his paycheck. She had the uncanny ability of homing in on testosterone and cash, her two favorite mortal sins.
Moaning, Ashley lifted one arm and fluttered her fingers over her lips. Her shoulders lifted.
Tripp scooted back a foot to give her more personal space. He was the last thing she needed to see the second she opened her eyes. His chin dropped to the floor. He was twice her weight, and he was as rough a cob as any former soldier. He, of all people, should’ve known better than to badger a woman, even if he’d been right.
“Where… where am I?” Ashley asked sleepily.
“You’re safe. You passed out. You’re in my place.” He looked up at her then.
Her head snapped to her right. “Your place?”
He put both palms forward. “Yes, ma’am. I wasn’t going to leave you on the sidewalk.”
Groaning, she covered her face. “I passed out? On the street? Oh, darn, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Are you cold? Too hot? My mom’s afghan might be too heavy. She likes to crochet. Think she’s made enough to blanket the whole world by now. I can get you something else. Need a drink?” He reached for the glass of water.
“Where’s my bag? I need my bag.”
Of course, you do. “Right beside you on the floor. Might as well know I searched it. I was looking for something that might indicate if you had a medical condition.”
“You looked in my bag?”
“Yup. Hope the expiration date on that can of mace is still good. Most become less effective after four years. Over time they lose aerosol and can’t maintain enough internal pressure to overpower anyone.” And he was talking too much.
The moment his fingers curled around the glass, Ashley pulled herself up and backed into the opposite corner of his couch. Her knees drew up into her chest, and Tripp recognized that for what it was. She’d created a barrier between them, like she’d done with her hair before. That was another one of her tells. She was still scared.
Tripp played it cool and didn’t make eye contact. “Here. It’s just well water,” he told her, as he handed the glass over. “You’re lucky I caught you before you hit your head.”
Like a frightened animal, she reached forward just far enough to take the glass, then cowered back into her corner.
“You have PTSD,” he told her gently but bluntly. “Like me, Ashley. Not sure where yours came from, but mine showed up the day a kid bombed a mosque in Kabul, Afghanistan. He killed eleven civilians. My squad and I were nearby, so we humped it over there and caught him before he could kill anyone else. I won’t go into specifics, but what happened the day after, triggered something in my brain I still can’t process. Don’t know why. I sure can’t explain how PTSD works. It’s like one of those alien probes is stuck inside my skull. Every once in a while, something reminds me of him, and that probe lights up and pokes at me until I need to get the fuck away from everyone and everything.” And now he was cussing.
“Like today?” Ashley asked quietly, her gaze on the water she still hadn’t sipped.
“Nah, today was nothing special, except I helped Mrs. Harrison, and I finally met you.”
She looked at him then, her blue eyes flat and dark, not a sparkle of her radiant inner glow in sight. “But you didn’t want to go to coffee with me,” she whispered.
“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “Guess I didn’t think you really wanted to be seen with me.”
“I’m not usually this bad.”
“It’s me, isn’t it?” he asked earnestly. “I scare you.”
She swallowed hard again. “No. Not you specifically. It all started…” She stopped talking, licked her lips, and whispered, “…a long time ago.”
Tripp let that explanation be enough. If she didn’t want to talk about what happened Friday night, fine with him. “You don’t ever have to tell me anything you don’t want to, Ashley. I’m nothing special. But it’d be good if you found someone to talk with. Someone who cares. Honestly, you keep your stress well hidden. I never would’ve guessed you had PTSD until you freaked.”
Her head bobbed, and for the first time since she’d come to, a tiny smile curled the corners of her mouth. “I did freak, didn’t I?”
“Yes, ma’am. Officially, you scared the shit out of me, and that’s saying something. I’ve been to two county fairs and a goat roping, but I sure didn’t see that coming.”
“I’m usually very careful. I don’t go out at night, and I don’t go to unfamiliar places, and…” Her eyes widened as she took in his apartment. “I never take chances. But last week and today…” Her shoulders lifted. “I guess I thought I was stronger than I am.”
She’d almost revealed what had happened Friday. Darn. Tripp wished she trusted him more.
“You’re a control freak,” he teased.
Actually, she was a victim. The attack Friday night had left a deep impression. A scar. But the problem with control freaks was the total impossibility of their self-assigned goal in life. Because life was not controllable. Shit still happened.
Chapter Ten
Desperate to escape, to reimagine herself, to at least transform the prison she’d created for herself, Ashley stepped out of her comfort zone and bravely asked, “Would you, umm, h-h-hold me?”
The brightness that exploded over Tripp’s ruggedly handsome face was like the sun breaking through black clouds on a stormy Easter Sunday morning. “Yes, ma’am,” he breathed. Not moving an inch, he just spread his arms wide and let her make the first move.
Which was the best answer. Ashley set the glass on the end table and, like a limp ramen noodle, poured herself off the couch. Cautiously, she landed in his arms, her backside on his crossed legs, and her heart beating like a frantic herd of wild horses. This might be the craziest thing she’d ever done, but she was so tired of being at the beck and call of the ugliness of that day. That other day. And now Friday night...
Once she settled, she wrapped her arms around herself. Tripp was much bigger-boned, and his legs were like sitting on crossed tree branches. Everything about him was so much harder than her, but those thick thigh muscles were warm and solid. Without saying anything, he wrapped his arms around hers like a blanket. He held her gently, as if she were a fragile package, which, at the moment, she was.
Ordinarily, she steered clear of getting this close to men she didn’t know, but not once had she gotten a predator vibe from Tripp. He was big, but teddy bear big. And he was kind to stinky dogs and elderly women and—her.
While half of Ashley still held her breath, her other half looked up at the first man she’d taken a chance on in years. Everything about him was larger than life, yet she wasn’t afraid any
more. At least, not scared witless, like she’d been when she’d passed out. How embarrassing.
He started rocking then. Slowly. His fingers were splayed on her back and her opposite shoulder, forming a solid circle around her. He’d turned into an impenetrable shield no one else could get through. Not even him… that other him...
At last, the frightened part of herself took a deep breath, then another. Her nose flared to inhale more of the masculine scent of his skin. The iron band around her lungs uncinched. She really was safe. She could breathe again.
“Believe it or not, I still have panic attacks, too,” Tripp murmured confidentially. “It’s not so bad now, but light a firecracker, and you’ll see how fast I turn into a rabid dog. Foaming at the mouth and everything. Mom and me have a solemn pact. She doesn’t allow fireworks near her house on the Fourth; I don’t tear her place apart.”
Ashley wiped her face on her crossed arms and listened as his belly expanded with a deep, manly breath.
“It’s what happens to guys and gals who’ve seen combat. No big deal. I’m coping. A lot of them have it worse than me. I’m actually better now, but when I first came home…” He blew out a soft sigh against her cheek. “Things were pretty intense. You got someone to talk to? A counselor? Family?”
She shook her head. “No. Yes. I mean the doctor said—” Darn. She hadn’t meant to let that slip.
“A doctor was involved, huh?” Tripp’s arms tightened and his voice turned ragged, like he really wanted to do more than just talk. “That tells me whatever happened must’ve been damned scary, that you were hurt.”
He hesitated as if waiting for her to elaborate, but there was no way she’d talk about either of her mistakes. Because that’s what they were, and she was to blame for her two assaults. If she’d been smarter and more aware of what was going on around her, neither would’ve happened.
“You don’t have to say another word,” Tripp continued. His arms were solid, as big as her thighs. He was kind of like a warm, living wall that really could keep monsters out. “I understand how hard certain things are to talk about. When you’re ready to ask for help, you’re smart enough to ask. You’ll get it. In the meantime, I’m here for you. Promise.”
Those words… No. It couldn’t be. Tripp was not her avenging angel. About the only thing he had in common with that guy was his size. Nothing else.
Pursing her lips, she focused on breathing slow and easy, like women in labor did. The worst of her attack was over. Because of what happened Friday, she’d have a monster headache for a couple days, sure, but eventually, she’d be okay. Once Tripp let go, she’d lock herself in her apartment, pull her room darkening drapes shut, and turn her music on. She’d light all of her nightlights. Peewee didn’t mind. She was a responsible pet owner and a hard worker. She had plenty of sick leave, too. Maybe she needed to take another day off. Or two or three…
“There’s lots of things I’ve seen and done that I don’t talk about, either,” Tripp said quietly. “I know how scared feels. I hate it. Trust me.”
“You? You get scared, too?” She couldn’t imagine what could frighten Tripp, but she was beginning to trust him.
“Oh, hell, yeah.” By then his cheek was against hers. She relaxed into him. “Anyone who says they aren’t scared when rocket-propelled grenades are coming straight at them, and IEDs are blowing up beneath their boots is a damned liar.”
A cell phone vibrated from his jeans pocket. “Oops, sorry. That’s my boss,” he breathed into the side of her sweaty head. “I’ve got to check in. Don’t go anywhere.”
“Oh, that’s funny,” she tried to joke. “Not sure I can stand or walk straight right now, much less go anywhere.” She pursed her lips and exhaled again. Slowly. Then listened to his polite conversation. Why not?
“Understood. Sure, Mark. The Bureau thinks it’s the same guy?”
Brushing her hair out of her way, Ashley dared glance up at Tripp’s handsome profile. He’d transformed into a stern professional, listening intently, and nodding to whoever he was speaking with. His brows were sharp and his green eyes shone as bright as broken glass. His jaw was tight, angular, and his lips were pursed, like he was thinking. Whatever was going on, it sounded serious.
“Damn. That’s brutal. How many?” A tense pause. “How long has this creep been active?” Another pause. “And no one has any idea who he is?” Tripp glanced down at her and winked. “You bet. I’ll be there in five. Might even bring a friend if that’s okay.”
She shrugged, not sure that she was ready to go anywhere. Until today, hiding out, taking time off, or crying herself to sleep was her proven cure when these awful panic attacks struck. She refused to use OTC sleeping meds and avoided prescription drugs. She didn’t need the side effects. But for the first time in, well, forever, going somewhere with a man like Tripp sounded better than being alone with her bird.
“Yeah, yeah, smartass, I’ve got friends.” He chuckled as his arm tightened around her. “Not all of them are in low places.” He blew out a sigh. “You got it. Sure. See you soon.” Tipping to one side, Tripp stuffed his phone in his back pocket and said, “I’ve got to go into the office. Won’t be long. Come with me?”
Ashley pursed her lips and breathed out, expelling another tiny bit of the poisonous panic that had snuck up on her. That was what panic attacks felt like, poisonous gas. The key was in breathing properly to get it out of her system. Running a hand over her face, she met his gaze and admitted, “I’m a mess. Not sure I’m up for meeting anyone else today. Think I’ve surpassed my twenty-four-hour limit.”
“Then let’s get you over to your place,” he replied easily, not a titch of coercion or condemnation in his tone. “I’m not leaving until I know you’ll be okay.” He lifted to his feet, taking her off the floor with him.
She leaned into his side once she was upright. Panic attacks took everything, her strength and her willpower. Tripp seemed to understand that. He hadn’t let her go, had even pulled her under his arm and against his side to steady her, instead of letting her waver like a drunk.
There might still be a way to turn this day around. “I’d sure like to go with you, though,” she said. Of course, then she had to huff out a quick breath to stall another rising tide of panic. This time, it was much smaller, and Ashley just plain didn’t want to hide anymore. Not today. She wanted to be brave. If Barbara trusted Tripp, she would, too.
“Only if you’re sure. TEAM HQ is only a few blocks south. I can run over and be back in under an hour. Then, I’ll order pizza. That is, if you want to see me again.”
He sounded so hopeful that Ashley couldn’t resist. She took another slow breath, swallowed hard, then said, “I’ll go with you, Tripp. Let me grab my bag.” She didn’t go anywhere without the mace in it. “On second thought…”
Things had to change, darn it. No longer would she live like a hermit in the dark. She wanted sunshine back in her life. Basking in the pretty green sunshine in Tripp’s eyes was a great way to start.
She glanced over her shoulder at the man who’d stood by her. A gorgeous smile split his handsome face. Sparkles all but burst out of the dark centers of his eyes. “That’s the first time you said my name. I like the way it sounds.”
Oh, that. “I’ve been such a jerk. I really am sorry.”
“So what?” he asked, smiling like a teasing little boy who’d just been handed an ice cream cone and might give you a taste if you were really nice to him. “I’ve been a jerk once or twice in my life. Forget it. I’ll be right back. Just need to change into work clothes.”
He returned a few minutes later, dressed in crisp black jeans, a matching black polo, work boots, and a leather jacket. He’d combed his hair and… Dayum. He’d shaved. The spicy, musky, male scents drifting off him were delicious.
Ashley breathed in the lusciousness of the incredibly sexy badass. She knew he was taller, broad-shouldered, and thick-chested, but all cleaned up? Tripp McClane was b
reathtakingly beautiful. No wonder he ducked when he entered most rooms. He filled doorways like they were picture frames, and everything about him consumed every last breath of air. A shiny, silver badge on his belt declared he was in law enforcement, which she hadn’t realized until then.
“The TEAM?” she asked, not sure she’d read it right.
His head bobbed. “Yup. I’m an authorized private agent, not a cop. Alex Stewart owns The TEAM. Stupid name, I know. Ever heard of him?”
She cocked her head, thinking. “That name sounds familiar. Where did you say his business is?”
“King Street, across from the metro station. You’d like him. He does good work. Hires mostly vets. You ready to go?”
“Sure.” Ashley left her bag where it lay, but slipped her keycard to the apartment complex and her apartment key into her rear pocket, before she took hold of Tripp’s hand. It was so much larger and rougher than hers, and he was a good foot taller. Made her feel like a little girl.
“Where’s your coat?”
She shrugged. “It’s still warm. I won’t need one.”
“Are you sure? I’ve got a couple extra hoodies. You can sure borrow one.”
“I’m fine. Let’s go.”
Back on the street, he helped her climb up into his monster truck, but not once did he touch her butt. Which was too bad. By then, she wished he would.
Chapter Eleven
Tripp paused when the elevator doors opened to TEAM HQ. He’d been so pleased to have Ashley along, he hadn’t considered what entering a predominantly male office, where a bunch of aggressive, alpha-types worked, joked, and argued, might do to her. Also, because of what he’d done just a couple nights ago.
He’d turned the radio on during the drive over, to discover that those two young men had blabbed about the hate-crime that had nearly happened to them, and the strange appearance of a giant man in black who’d prevented it. How they would’ve died if not for him. How he’d appeared out of nowhere, then flown across the bridge like he had super powers. How he’d overcome five brawny bikers with his bare hands. How, when the fight was over and the bad guys were dead or dying—which wasn’t true—he’d promised he’d always watch over guys like them.
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