Humiliation burned his neck, his ears, his eyes. He had to get her to safety, then crawl back to his tent. Away from people.
“Let me take you to the hospital.”
She glanced down at her wrist, as if surprised to find it against her chest. Fingering it in several places, she tried an exploratory rotation.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Nothing’s broken.”
Closing his eyes, he released a low, shuddering breath. When he opened them again, she stood before him, a hand lifted toward his cheek.
He jerked away, nearly falling in his haste.
Concern clouded her features as she lowered her hand to her side. “Coen—”
“Why were you crying?” he choked out.
She blinked at his sudden change of topic. Her hand shot to her back pocket. When it came away empty, she whirled in a circle, searching.
“What are you looking for?”
“My phone. Do you see it?”
He spotted it several feet away and bent to pick it up.
Cracks splintered the screen.
“Oh no.” Riley ripped her phone out of his hand. “No, no, no, no.”
“I’ll buy you a new one.”
Tears filled her eyes again as she looked up at him. “Do you think the text messages are gone?”
Technology guru, he was not. “I doubt it. Your provider should be able to transfer all your data to a new phone.” At least he hoped so.
“I gotta go.” She marched back to her Jeep.
“Where?”
“To get a new phone.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He caught the door before she shut it. “It’s past ten. None of the stores will be open.”
Her body deflated and her head dropped onto the headrest.
Crouching at her side, he asked, “Did you receive bad news?”
Nodding, she swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes shut as if speaking and seeing were too difficult.
He debated his next move. His actions had caused her both mental and physical harm. Leaving her here while he disappeared into the woods was out of the question. And she didn’t appear to be in the right frame of mind to drive herself home.
“Scoot over, I’ll take you home.”
Without a single word of protest, she shifted to the passenger seat and buckled herself in. Alarm kicked his guilt to the curb.
They rode in silence. The same kind of thick, deafening silence that falls over the land after a mortar strikes and all the debris has returned to the ground.
Minutes ticked by, then Riley stirred. She lifted her head and squared her shoulders. Her knee began to bounce.
Her brilliant mind had broken through whatever grief had consumed her back at the center. And now it was analyzing, plotting out a plan of attack.
What had been in the text she’d received?
When he made to turn in to the farm’s entrance, she spoke for the first time. “No, take me home. Please.”
“Where’s home?”
“In town. I’m staying at Randi’s house until I find a place of my own.”
“How’s that working out?” His small talk skills were rusty, but keeping her talking about everyday issues seemed like a good way to keep her mind off other things.
“Take a right at the next intersection. What do you mean?”
“Living with your cousin’s fiancée?”
“Randi isn’t there. She moved into Britt’s cabin several months ago. Once they’re married, I think Randi will sell her bungalow.”
“To you?”
She chuckled, though he detected no humor in the sound.
“No bank would lend me the money. Not until I get a stable job.”
“Your job at the center isn’t stable?”
“The third house on the left.” She pointed to a one-story bungalow. “Once I finish surveying the conservation area, my contract expires.”
“So make it an extralong survey.”
“I’ve thought about it.”
Pulling into the driveway, he killed the engine and exited. Determined not to make this an awkward situation, he had already planned out his next several steps. Walk her to the door, check the inside, and head home. It wouldn’t take him more than thirty or forty minutes to hoof it back.
He sailed through the first step and part of the second before his plan disintegrated into ash.
32
The moment Riley entered the bungalow, she headed straight for her bedroom. Flicking on the light, she all but dove for her tablet resting on her nightstand. She unplugged it and went through the process to get to her messaging app.
“Come on, come on.”
“Do you mind if I join you?”
She glanced over her shoulder and found Coen hovering just outside her bedroom. Although her mind was still on the text, she felt a trickle of heat work its way up her neck. If it had been anyone else, she would’ve teased him about his virtue being safe, but her words clung to the back of her throat at the thought of all that solid muscle entering her bedroom. She waved him inside.
With no other options in the room, he would have to sit next to her on the bed. Good. He needed to get past what happened in the parking lot. If she hadn’t been stupid and touched him, the strike would never have happened. Although painful, it was a good lesson learned. She wouldn’t do it again.
Keeping her attention on the screen, she waited for the bed to shift beneath his weight. The sensation never came. Instead, a pair of cowboy boots appeared in her peripheral vision.
When her list of messages finally displayed, she almost cried with relief—and renewed pain.
“Everything okay?” Coen said behind her.
“Yes and no.” She could get to the last text message, but she couldn’t bring herself to open it.
“You got an upsetting text?”
“Yes,” she said, unable to take her eyes off the name in the sidebar. “From someone I worked with in Costa Rica.”
“Would it help to talk about it?”
Yes. She wanted to share this burden with someone. With Coen. But she couldn’t get his stricken expression out of her head. Seeing her tears had triggered a memory. A horrible one, involving Kendra. The same name that he’d called out the other night.
The sound—like a wounded animal—would haunt her for years. What god-awful thing had he survived? Had Kendra?
She wouldn’t add her situation to the horrible weight that already forced him to live in a tent, far away from humankind.
Clicking off her tablet, she set it aside. “Thank you for asking, but I reacted from shock and then concern that the text had been lost.” She gave him a tired smile. “Other than needing to replenish my body’s salt supply, I’m back to my old self.”
He tilted his head to the right, assessing her.
With her nerves still raw, she couldn’t tell if she’d managed to wipe away the worry from her brow. She needed to change the subject. Get his thoughts off her and onto him.
“Would you say that you’re a good lover?” She blinked. Where had that come from?
His head snapped back as if she’d slapped him. “What did you say?”
You started it, Kingston, better go with it, or he’ll think you’re a crackhead.
“Good lover? Are you?”
“Looking for a distraction? Or trying to shut me up?”
He had distracted her in one way or another since the first moment she glimpsed his tormented eyes and well-toned body. No boy in high school and no man in college had ever tempted her thoughts away from her studies or work long enough to envision tangled limbs and sweaty backs.
But Coen had.
Allowing herself a small smile, she said, “A little of both, I suppose.”
When he didn’t return the gesture, she forced out a self-deprecating chuckle and wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans before rising. Nothing like making a fool of herself in front of a gorgeous guy. Hadn’t she decided he’d had enough to deal with?
He caught
her arm in a light grip, then immediately released her.
She neither snapped nor spoke. She barely breathed. The ache in her heart was fracturing her from the inside out.
“Riley?”
Looking into his eyes was out of the question. God only knew what he’d observe on her face—embarrassment, confusion, sadness, fear… need.
“Don’t lose that spine of steel now.” The back of his finger caressed her face, from her cheek down to her chin. He nudged her head around until those rock-solid gemstones feathered over her mouth, her nose, her eyes. “What was in that text?”
“There’s no need for you to sort through my baggage.” You have enough of your own.
“I’m a good sorter.”
Riley shook her head. She couldn’t. She couldn’t do it to him.
“Don’t look away.” He released her arm and cradled her face in both hands. “It’ll take more than a text to break me.”
Her eyes widened.
“Ah, so that is why you’re being stubborn. I wasn’t sure.”
Shock gave way to annoyance. “You’ve made no secret about why you’re in Steele Ridge. I don’t want to impact your recovery.”
“Recovery?”
“Or whatever you call it. I assume you’re trying to work through some things—or forget them. Maybe both.”
“I am. But that doesn’t mean I can’t help a friend.”
“Didn’t we establish that we’re not friends?”
His thumb grazed the rim of her lower lip. “A determination you made, not me.”
“You barely know me.”
“I know enough to recognize you’re deserving of my help.”
“Do friends kiss?”
Amusement softened his eyes. “Some do.”
The unexpected intimacy in the Jeep sat between them. Repeat or regret?
If she’d had a clock on her wall, she could’ve logged the agonizing seconds that followed in the wake of his answer. He didn’t elaborate. Just continued gazing at her while his thumb tantalized, but never sated, her lower lip.
Anticipation always destroyed what little patience she harbored. Finally she caved. “Are you going to kiss me?”
Something warm curled around one corner of his mouth. “Are you going to share your bad news?”
Emboldened, she placed her palms on his chest. “Later,” she said. “Otherwise you’ll have to contend with my runny nose.”
Her hands skimmed over the hard planes of his pecs. Perfection.
As if mesmerized by her own movements, she followed her fingers while they glided up his throat and skimmed over his hair. Silken, cool strands tickled her palms.
Closing her eyes, she lifted up onto her toes, preparing to meet his kiss.
But he didn’t budge. Not one little centimeter.
She cracked open one eye. “Did you forget how this was done?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Bad neck?”
“No.”
“Foul breath?”
“God, I hope not.”
“Not interested?” It was her turn not to budge or breathe or even blink.
His hands slid down her shoulders and arms, finding her waist. He drew her in closer. So close her nipples grazed his chest and his hard length nestled into her lower stomach.
“Answer enough?”
“Then what g-gives?” she asked on a shuddering breath.
“I’m waiting on your promise.”
“What promise?”
“The one that ensures you’ll share the details of the text that made you cry.”
“It doesn’t feel right.” Her heels dropped to the floor, and she released him.
Strong fingers grasped her forearms, urging her fingers back into his hair. “It feels exactly right.”
Unable to stop herself, she massaged his scalp, eliciting a deep, satisfied groan from him.
“Promise me,” he said, rolling his head deeper into her grasp.
“Okay.” She squeezed his skull. “Now kiss me.”
It happened so fast. Her hands went into free fall when he dipped to claim her mouth.
His initial kiss was swift and hard. But then his mouth became more deliberate. Each movement was designed to sweep her doubt to the curb, leaving only pure pleasure behind.
When his tongue slipped between her lips, she increased the pressure of her body against his. His embrace felt like a sun-warmed blanket. She wanted to burrow deeper into him.
She slipped her hands beneath his shirt, splaying her fingers wide as she glided her palms up both sides of his back. Then she made the same movement over the ridge of his spine.
A few inches later, smooth flesh turned mottled and hard.
He stiffened at her touch, and her exploration halted. She drew away from his unresponsive lips and took in his granite-hard features, his burning eyes that refused to look at her.
Sliding her hands down to his waist, she circled him and grasped the edges of his shirt. “May I?”
“It’s not pretty.”
Taking his quiet words as consent, she slowly lifted his shirt until a landscape of horrific burns and jagged scars was revealed. Something shattered in her chest.
The pain. Oh, dear God, the pain he must have endured.
Her dinner began to roil and work its way back up her throat. She set trembling fingers against her lips, swallowing back the anguish, the rage.
Who could do this to another human being? Who could be so evil?
On a logical level, she knew such people existed. But this… This was the first time she’d witnessed the result of such malevolence in a person.
Realizing that she’d been studying him too long, she glanced up. Shoulders locked and fists hard, he stared straight ahead. Right into the large mirror that hung over her dresser. Their angle was such that he could see the horror on her face.
Steel etched into the column of his neck, his jaw, his eyes.
“Does it still hurt?” she asked.
“Not really.”
“What does that mean?”
He stepped away and wrenched his shirt back in place. “It means just what I said.”
Calm, calm, calm… She replayed the mantra over and over in her mind. He already struggled with memories haunting his dreams. Having her gawk at his scars probably dug up all sorts of unwanted emotions.
“I’m sorry, Coen. I shouldn’t have pried.”
With his back still turned to her, he propped his hands on his hips and dropped his chin to his chest. He stared at the floor for so long. She considered going to him, wrapping her arms around his solid waist and pressing her cheek against his tortured flesh.
But she stood unmoving and unsure. She thought back to her conversation with Way. Had Coen’s post-traumatic stress turned into a disorder? Isolation, nightmares, short temper, flashbacks. Symptoms of stress? Or the onset of a disorder? Or a combat soldier assimilating back into civilian life?
Was the incident he kept reliving ruling his world now? Would he be able to return to duty? Did he even want to?
“The burn scars no longer hurt,” he said in a low, rough-edged voice. “But they’re still sensitive and can tingle.”
Had he been a prisoner of war? He must have been. It’s the only thing that made sense. She wanted to ask, wanted to know who’d caused him such pain. But she’d already upset him enough for one evening.
“When you’re ready, I would like to hear the story.”
In the silence that followed, she knew he would never share that much of himself with her. The realization hurt more than it should.
“The text I received was from Camilla, my assistant in Costa Rica.” She sat back down on the bed and opened Camilla’s message. “She sent me three links… and a warning.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face a few times as if to cleanse away the past few minutes. When he finally slid his attention to her, she held out her tablet.
“What kind of warning?”
“I’m
not sure. Maybe you can help me decipher it.”
Coen bent his attention to the message and read, “You’re next. Run.”
33
“What does she mean, ‘You’re next’?”
“Open the links.”
Coen tapped the first link. An internet page popped up, then shifted to a social media account. A picture of a dark-haired man stood before a copse of towering trees. He wore a big smile and an enormous backpack.
The caption below his photo read “Earlier this week, the world lost a beautiful spirit. While hiking in the mountains of his beloved Amalfi Coast, Leo fell to his death, doing what he loved most.”
He glanced up. “An obituary?”
She nodded. “Next link.”
The second URL opened into an actual obituary in the online newspaper. A thirty-one-year-old female had died while tending her garden.
“Lauren did everything right,” she said into the silence. “There’s no way she died of a heart attack.”
“How can you be sure? People are struck down by freak, unknown medical conditions all the time.”
“I might have been able to accept that line of reasoning,” she nodded to the tablet, “if not for the others.”
“These are all death announcements?”
“Yes.”
“You know them all?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“We all worked together on Project Endurance.” She swiped at a tear that tracked its way down her cheek.
You’re next. Run.
He opened the links again. “They all died within a couple of weeks.”
“Hence Camilla’s warning.”
Her shoulders rounded, and her gaze dropped to her clenched hands. “They were brilliant scientists from all over the world. Now they’re gone.”
Handing the tablet back to her, he eased himself down onto the bed. He wanted to embrace her, comfort her. But after he’d lashed out at her, he didn’t think she’d welcome his touch. So he did the next best thing. He kept vigil while she grieved.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Responding to Camilla.” She tapped out a message. “I need to make sure she’s okay and see what else she knows.”
“Do you know where she might be?”
“I’m assuming she’s still in Costa Rica.”
Searing Need Page 15
