“Yes, I thought of that initially.” Although it hurt her heart to the core to think of his pain-filled eyes, to think he might actually try to harm her. “But one of the threatening calls came while I was with Brandon, so unless he’s got a partner, it isn’t him. A partner for him seems unlikely, since he’s cut himself off from everyone except me and his dog.”
“Okay, then.” While his eyes didn’t declare outright belief, he wasn’t walking away. “Does he know you’re here?”
“No. I didn’t tell anyone. I just dropped off my other dogs at the doggy day care and paid for a week before I left to drive up here. Why do you ask?”
“Do you think he would talk to me?”
“At this point, I can’t answer that. He was really freaked out by that phone call I got when we were together working with his dog.” She gnawed her lip before telling him the rest, risking what little faith he still seemed to have in her rationality. “I actually was going to come to your house, but halfway here, I realized someone was tailing me, someone in a silver sedan.”
“Holy crap, Rachel!” He sat up straight in his seat, muscles bunching with tension under his uniform, long legs tensed for action. “You should have called the cops again.”
“That hasn’t gone so well for me lately, in case you haven’t noticed.” Her joke fell flat. But then, she wasn’t feeling all that lighthearted. “Regardless, I was scared to lead the person straight to your house, so I went to the base instead, which worked, since the silver sedan peeled away once I got to the front gate. Hopefully, they’ll think I just went to the military authorities again.”
“Why hide in my car? Why not just wait for me to come out of work?”
The way he said it made her plan seem ridiculous now. Should she have just waited for him in the lobby at work? But she hadn’t wanted to announce to the world she was with him. She’d been thinking of his safety.
Sort of.
Yet just being here, she’d put him at risk. “I thought I was protecting you. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest plan.” She thrust her fingers through her still-damp hair and wanted to just tug, she was so frustrated. “But I’m not some freakin’ agent or cop or trained military professional. I’m a dog trainer. Give me someone to find or a canine to teach, and I’m good. But something like this mess? I’m in way over my head…”
The enormity of what had happened to her life kinked the tension so tight inside her, she shot to her feet, ready to bolt but feeling like a cornered rabbit with nowhere to go. Liam stood, clasping her shoulders and pulling her against him so fast she didn’t have time to tense up. She tucked her head under his chin and simply deflated against him, her hands fisting in his camo jacket. His arms banded around her, as muscled and hard as she remembered from their one kiss. Not that he made a move on her now.
He didn’t offer bullshit platitudes either or pat her back. He just held her while she breathed in the musky scent of him and absorbed some of his strength. She’d come to the right place after all. To Liam. A clock shaped like Texas hanging on the wall tick-tick-ticked away the seconds in time with Liam’s heartbeat against her ear. One breath at a time, she willed down the panic to a manageable level. She tuned in to the world beyond her fears, taking in details like the feel of Liam’s fingers in her hair as he cupped her head.
“Christ, Rachel,” his voice rumbled hoarsely through his chest, “I’m so damn glad you’re okay.”
She squeezed her eyes shut as if to somehow hold on to the sound of him longer. She was a strong woman, damn it. She’d only lost control twice in her life: when her mother passed away and when Caden…
She froze in Liam’s arms. Her hands fell from his chest.
And then he was gone. His arms, his warmth, his voice.
Eyes snapping open, she found him a few steps away, holding on to the counter, his back to her, broad shoulders moving with each ragged breath.
“Liam?” she said softly. Why had he pulled away? Had he felt her withdrawal? Were they already that in tune with each other? And God help her if they were.
He half glanced back at her. “I think we need to check in on your friend Brandon. We’ll take him to base and we’ll talk with some… uh, people I know there.”
People? Realization trickled ice down her spine.
“You want to take Brandon to a shrink, don’t you?” She didn’t expect an answer and didn’t get one. “You still think he’s imagining everything? Or that he’s the one harassing me, even if he was there when one of the calls came?”
He turned around, his shoulders braced, his jaw determined. He might as well have put on a suit of armor, he was so visibly prepped for battle. For her. “We’ll bring in officials along with a health-care professional. My presence will lend credence to your concerns. My number-one priority is making sure you’re safe.”
Just as she’d known he would, Liam was committed to helping her. She could only hope that help led to answers and not a straitjacket. “You’re doing more than I could have asked for. I appreciate it.”
“We’ll go back to base first thing in the morning.”
In the morning? “Why not leave now?”
“You’re tired and wet. And while I know you’re a kick-ass woman capable of taking care of herself, you’re a drowned mess.” He held up a hand; his half grin returned but didn’t reach his eyes. “Sexy and gorgeous, of course. But a mess. Get a shower, something to eat, a good night’s sleep, and you’ll appear more rational.”
What he said made sense. Except she wanted his arms back, even though that was selfish when she knew it couldn’t lead anywhere. She was lucky he even spoke to her after the way she’d ignored his calls. “Where do I go to make the transformation into a regular-looking citizen?”
“Bathroom is first door on the right. I’ll dig through my stuff and find some shorts with a drawstring and a T-shirt that’s shrunk.”
To keep from reaching for him again, she scooped up her backpack, yanking the zipper open with shaky hands. “No need to share your clothes. Aside from the fact they would be too big, I brought a spare outfit and some toiletries.” She fished inside, pitched her wallet and a candy bar on the table before she held up a thin, folded stack of clothes. “I wanted to be prepared for anything.”
She backed down the hall, her mind full of how panicked she’d been when she tossed things into her backpack willy-nilly. How scared she’d been. How much calmer she felt with Liam’s arms around her.
“Then get to it.” He pushed to his feet in a tall lanky glide. “I’ll scrounge up something for us to eat.”
She hesitated half in, half out of the bathroom doorway. “Liam?”
He looked up, his glance slamming into hers. “Yeah, Rachel?”
There were so many things she wanted to say to him.
About how she’d missed him.
About why she’d never called in six months.
About how that silence actually said more about how much he’d affected her than if she’d called him up to shoot the breeze. But she wouldn’t.
She settled for “Thanks for believing me.”
Liam wanted Rachel to be right.
And damn, but that made him bat-shit crazy. He shouldn’t be standing here in front of the stove, throwing together stir-fry for supper, actually hoping she was being chased by a military traitor. The possibility that anyone he served with could actually be involved in something as unthinkable as betraying their country churned acid in his gut.
Olive oil popped in the pan and splattered the front of his uniform. Draping a black apron over his neck, he wrapped the ties around and yanked the strings into a knot in front. He chopped the last of the red pepper and pitched it into the wok with onions, carrots, and broccoli. The routine of cooking helped him channel his thoughts. Here, he could do something. He could take care of Rachel, even if it was just by making sure she ate. The way he’d cooked a kazillion meals for his mother during her cancer treatments. If she ate right, maybe she would heal faster. And if there was food on the table, his father would actually show up, which made Mom happy, even though the whole “happy family” picture was a joke.
Shit.
Just cook and quit ruminating… except he knew damn well why he was thinking of his mom right now. Because having Rachel here made him start thinking about having someone at his table, in his house, in his life. Holding her for thirty-five f**king seconds had just about killed him. He’d pulled away to keep from taking advantage. She was vulnerable, for Christ’s sake. He was supposed to be helping her.
Leaning into the fridge, he pulled out a leftover grilled steak from last night to cut up. After less than an hour with Rachel again, he felt himself tumbling head over ass in love with this woman who’d ignored him for six months. Now wouldn’t his team have a field day laughing at that? While they played marry one, kill one, screw one, he played marry one, marry one, marry one. Liam whack, whack, whacked the steak on the cutting board, raised the knife again, and—
He felt eyes on him. Felt? Hell, was he becoming paranoid?
No. He trusted his sixth sense when it came to personal safety. He looked behind him and found…
Disco sat at the head of the hall, between him and the bathroom, staring him down. Making it very clear he was protecting Rachel.
“Good boy.” Liam flicked a strip of sizzling steak into the air toward the dog. Disco caught it before it hit the ground. “Yeah, she probably has some rules about not feeding you table food. But technically it hasn’t hit the table yet.”
He settled back into preparing the meal, a ritual to make him feel more a part of family life and routine. Yeah, he missed having a woman around. He hadn’t entered any of his marriages lightly. There’d been no shotgun weddings. He’d planned to spend his life with each one. So while he trusted his instincts in the professional field, his team had a point. His relationship radar was unreliable. He was out of the marriage market, and Rachel was too special to risk having a quickie affair with.
The sound of the shower spray hitting tiles drifted down the hallway to torment him, only to be made worse by the interruption as a body slid underneath. Rachel’s body.
He grabbed the remote control and turned on the television, filling the room with the seven o’clock news. The lead story was kicking into gear about the upcoming international summit on satellite technology. Diplomats and military generals were traveling in from around the world. As he listened to the broadcaster detail the ramp-up, he couldn’t help but wonder if somehow Rachel’s airman might be losing touch with reality, blending the upcoming national summit with traumatic delusions. Regardless, they needed to talk with base security and make sure the young man wasn’t a risk to himself or others.
And plug whatever security holes that had allowed Rachel to break into his car undetected.
“Breaking news…”
The announcement interrupted the regular report and his thoughts. Liam glanced up at the flat-screen mounted on the wall behind the oak table. A map of Southern Florida filled the image, with a star flashing over a street map of a neighborhood.
“City block explodes into flames… One resident is believed dead… more unaccounted for… Fire marshals are unsure of the cause, but terrorism isn’t being ruled out…”
His sixth sense tingled with that bad, bad feeling to check his back… or Rachel’s.
He looked up at the newscast again just as Disco whimpered, pawing at the cabinets. Florida was a big state. The odds of that blast having anything to do with her were a million to one. The same odds he would have given on her showing up in his Jeep.
Her wallet lay on the dining-room table, where she’d tossed it when she’d fished out her clothes from her backpack. Without thinking twice, he left the sizzling stir-fry and strode straight over to flip open the well-worn tan leather. He pulled out cards stuffed inside until he found her driver’s license, checking her address.