Текст книги "Striking Distance"
Автор книги: Pamela Clare
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
Her cell phone rang. She glanced down at the display.
Him again.
Something of her feelings must have shown on her face, because when Sophie spoke again, she sounded worried. “Who is it?”
“Derek Tower, the man who owns the company that handled my security detail.” Laura told Sophie about him—his phone calls, the accusations he’d fed to the press, his demand that she meet with him. “When I got out of the meeting with the FBI, I had another message from him. That makes three today.”
“Have you considered getting a restraining order against him?”
Laura had thought about that. “I’m not sure he’s done anything that could be considered threatening. If pestering people with phone calls and e-mails were an actionable offense, you and I and everyone else in the newsroom would be in jail.”
“You’ve got a point there.”
For a while they ate in silence.
Sophie set her fork aside. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Yes.” Laura could always refuse to answer.
“How do you stay so calm? If I were in your shoes, I’d be scared to death.”
That wasn’t the question Laura had been expecting.
“I
am
scared.” She hated to admit that. She was tired of feeling afraid. “I just try not to let it control me. If I did . . .”
If she did, she’d never leave the house.
Sophie took out a pen and wrote a phone number down on a clean napkin. “You and I haven’t known each other for a long time, but . . . if you ever need a place to stay, a place where you can feel safe, you’re welcome at our house. Marc—Mr. SWAT Captain—wouldn’t let anything happen to you. He’s armed to the teeth.”
“I carry a gun, too.” Laura rested a hand on her purse. “I keep it loaded and with me all the time. I even sleep with it under my pillow.”
It was a decision she’d made when she’d come back to the States. She would never be defenseless again, nor would she leave the responsibility of protecting herself entirely in someone else’s hands. So she’d bought a .22 SIG Mosquito, taken some classes, and then applied for a concealed carry license, which the sheriff had granted.
Sophie reached over and gave her arm a squeeze. “Good. I’m glad. But the invitation is open.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re coming to the party up at the Cimarron tomorrow, right?”
The barbecue at the ranch.
“Oh, well, I . . .” Laura had forgotten completely about it. “I don’t know. Parties really aren’t my scene. It’s been a hard week.”
“It’s only going to be past and present I-Team members and their families. I know they would all love to meet you.”
“It might snow, and I’m not used to driving on mountain roads.” She was digging for excuses now, and she knew it.
“You can catch a ride with us.” There was a hopeful tone to Sophie’s voice, as if it really meant something to her for Laura to come. “The trial will be over. You can get away from the city, see the mountains, meet Marc. It’s peaceful up there—no media, no Derek Tower, no one around for miles.”
It was on the tip of Laura’s tongue to decline, but hadn’t she just vowed in front of the whole world to live her life to the fullest? “Okay. I’ll come.”
“Wonderful!” Sophie’s smile broadened. “It will be a celebration.”
And despite Sophie’s kindness Laura found herself wishing she’d said no.
* * *
HE COULD ALMOST smell her fear.
Derek Tower kept to the shadows, watching as Laura Nilsson left the newspaper and crossed the street, hurrying through the parking lot, her head turning from left to right as she kept an eye on her surroundings. Yeah, she was afraid. She’d be stupid not to be after what Al-Nassar had said in court yesterday.
Derek followed her using cars for cover. The little bitch refused even to speak with him, referring his questions to her attorney rather than answering them herself. But he wouldn’t let her get away with that, not with three of his men dead and his business in bankruptcy. She owed him.
She held out her keys and clicked the remote, and the hazard lights on her car flashed—revealing to Derek exactly which car was hers.
He moved quickly, silently, opening her passenger-side door and sliding into the passenger seat beside her just as she slipped behind the wheel. “Ms. Nilsson.”
She screamed, reached for the door handle, but he had already locked the doors.
He grabbed her coat, forced her to face him. “We need to talk.”
She swore in a language he didn’t understand, the fear in her eyes flashing into anger. “What the hell are you doing following me?”
“It’s just business.” He glanced around the parking lot to make sure no one was witnessing this little drama, then turned back to Ms. Nilsson, only to find himself looking down the barrel of a SIG Mosquito.
Damn.
He hadn’t been expecting that.
He released her, gave her some room.
She glared at him, her aim rock steady. “Falsely accusing someone of wrongdoing is slander. Following me to my car is harassment and stalking.”
“Put the pistol away before you hurt yourself.” He reached for it but froze when her finger curled around the trigger.
The woman was serious.
She glared at him, the ferocity on her feminine face pissing him off—and turning him on. “Get the hell out of my car right now, and don’t come near me again!”
“I lost three men that day, Ms. Nilsson—three good men, men with families, men who’d been my friends since—”
“Nico, Cody, and Tim were
my
friends, too!”
Cold rage had him leaning closer, the pistol now a mere inch from his throat. “I served with them for a decade in Special Forces. You can’t
begin
to understand what that means. Now they’re dead, and I want answers.”
“Try Ask.com.”
“Oh, you’re a cold bitch, aren’t you?” Beautiful, but cold.
“Or go talk to the State Department.
They
did the investigation. In case you’ve forgotten,
I
was the target.”
“I remember. Except you lived, and everyone
else
died.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What are you implying?”
“I’ve spent the better part of three years trying to piece together how this happened. My sources in Islamabad say that Al-Nassar’s men were tipped off by an
American
who said he’d heard from you exactly where you’d be that day.”
She glared at him. “That’s impossible.”
“Is it? How many nights did you hang out with all the other reporters at that ex-pat bar in the hotel? Maybe you got a little tipsy and said more than you should have. Maybe you picked some guy up and let him fuck the intel out of you. Either way, my men paid with their lives. My company probably won’t recover from the loss of reputation caused by your disappearance—”
“Loss of reputation? Your
company
?” Her voice quavered. “I spent eighteen months of my life trapped in a living hell!”
“You don’t look any worse for wear.” He knew what had happened to her, but she had survived, hadn’t she? “My men are
dead
. I want answers from you, and I’m going to get them. Now,
put the pistol away
.”
She tightened her grip, fear and rage in her eyes. “You’re insane! Get out, and stay away from me, or I’ll get a restraining order!”
As if that would stop him.
Tired of the bullshit, he grabbed her wrist, angled the barrel away from his body, and wrenched the weapon from her grasp. He held the little pistol for a moment, let her sweat it out. “Nice bit a steel. SIG makes a good pistol, but it won’t do you a damned bit of good if you’re not willing to fire. Don’t draw if you don’t plan to kill.”
She rubbed her wrist, defiance on her face, only her rapid breathing betraying her fear. “That was assault.”
He removed the magazine and racked the slide to expel the round from the chamber, then tossed the firearm in her lap. “You told someone, Laura. Who was it?”
She stared warily at him, still rubbing her wrist. “You really are crazy. I
never
disclosed my travel plans, not even to my own mother. I certainly never talked about them in the bar. As for guys, I wasn’t seeing anyone.”
Derek was an expert at reading people. It had been part of his training, part of what had kept him alive behind enemy lines for so long. Her shock seemed genuine, nothing on her face to suggest she was lying. Then again, she might not remember.
He deliberately softened the tone of his voice. “I know some of your memories are vague, but you need—”
The shrieking of a car alarm interrupted him.
Her car alarm.
She watched him, a look of dark triumph on her face, the panic button on her keychain gripped in bloodless fingers. “Get out!”
He should have taken the damn keys from her. “You’re a journalist, Ms. Nilsson. Don’t you care about the truth?”
Out of time, he unlocked the door and opened it. “And, hey, not such a great idea to unlock your car till you’re near the door. Those flashing hazard lights give you away, tell an assailant right where you’re headed. If I’d been one of Al-Nassar’s followers come to kill you, I’d have slit your throat before you even knew I was here.”
Ignoring the horror on her face, he climbed out of the car, shut the door behind him, and did his best to disappear.
CHAPTER
4
JAVIER SHOOK ZACH McBride’s hand. “It’s an honor to meet you. It’s not every day a man gets to drink beer with a Medal of Honor recipient.”
Javier had read about McBride’s heroism and the catastrophic mission that had claimed the lives of McBride’s men and had left him gravely wounded. Every SEAL had.
Tall with short, dark hair and a strong handshake, McBride met Javier’s gaze through sharp gray eyes. “The honor is mutual. West told me how you were there for him, how you pulled him out of the burning debris, stayed with him.”
And Javier knew that McBride and Nate were close. That wasn’t a story Nate shared with everyone.
Javier grinned. “He talks too damned much.”
McBride chuckled. “How long have you been with the Teams?”
“Fourteen years.”
“Going for twenty?”
“That’s the plan.”
For a while the two of them traded stories—instructors they’d both had in BUD/S, the joys of eating sand with their MREs in Iraq, the scorching heat and freezing cold of Afghanistan. It was always like this when Javier met another SEAL. Each and every one of them was like a brother, the bond between them forged from the unique challenges, risks, and deprivations that came with wearing the Trident.
And for a moment Javier forgot about Laura.
Women’s laughter drew McBride’s gaze. He gestured with a nod of his head toward a pretty dark-haired woman who was sitting next to Megan, the two of them reading something. “That’s my wife, Natalie. She’s decided she wants to write fiction—romance novels. I hope that means I get to help with the research.”
Two heads came up, and Natalie glared at McBride. “The books are
not
just about sex.”
Javier lowered his voice. “I guess you said the wrong thing, man.”
The doorbell rang again, and Megan rose to answer it.
Javier’s pulse skipped.
You’re excited to see her,
chacho
. Admit it.
Sure, he was. Not a day had gone by since Dubai when he hadn’t thought of her. Yeah, he was excited to see her again. And more than a little tense.
When Megan returned, it wasn’t Laura walking beside her. Instead, Javier was introduced to Julian Darcangelo, a tall son of a gun with a dark ponytail who’d once worked with the FBI but was now head of Denver’s vice unit. He’d brought his family—his wife, Tessa, a sweet thing with long, curly blond hair and a mother’s soft curves, and a little girl and a baby boy.
The doorbell rang again.
This time it was Reece Sheridan, the state’s newly sworn-in lieutenant governor, his wife Kara McMillan, and their three school-aged kids. They were followed not two minutes later by Kat James, a pretty Navajo woman, her husband Gabe Rossiter, and two little ones under the age of two. Then Nate’s brother-in-law, Marc Hunter, Denver’s SWAT captain, and his wife, Sophie, arrived with their two kids.
Between the adults talking and children running and squealing, it was chaos. It might have bothered some guys, but Javier felt right at home. He came from a big family with two brothers, three sisters, six nephews, and nine nieces, not to mention aunts, uncles, and a few dozen cousins, most of whom had kids. When they got the whole family together—which they did whenever Javier was on leave—the laughter, music, and conversation were loud and lasted late into the night.
He found himself outside on the deck shooting the shit with Hunter and Rossiter, while everyone got ready for an afternoon of skiing, snowshoeing, and sleigh rides.
Rossiter, who was a climber and former park ranger, was talking about his grand plan for the afternoon. “You can ski some incredible places with a paragliding sail strapped to your back. It’s like flying, BASE jumping, and skiing combined.”
Ski paragliding wasn’t a sport that interested Javier, in part because he couldn’t see the point. He shook his head. “I don’t know—strapping some kind of ’chute to your back and letting the wind pull you down the mountain? Either ski or jump.”
Hunter chuckled, pointing to Rossiter. “You wouldn’t believe the sick shit I’ve seen this guy do. If a sport involves gravity, snow in any form, and a high likelihood of death, he’s in.”
A flash of short platinum-blond hair—and a body that could kill.
It wasn’t Laura Nilsson, but . . .
Javier gave a low whistle.
Hunter and Rossiter looked over their shoulders, then back at Javier.
Hunter shook his head. “Oh, no. No, no. Don’t even think about it.”
“He’s human. He’s male. He’s going to think about it.” Rossiter grinned. “That’s Holly Bradshaw. She’s one of the paper’s entertainment writers. She’ll chew you up and spit you out.”
That didn’t sound so bad.
Hunter looked over at her. “What she needs is to fall for a man who refuses to sleep with her.”
Javier was about to say a guy would have to be gay as a daisy to turn down a woman like Holly, when suddenly
she
was there.
His heart skipped again—and gave a thud.
Wearing jeans and a white blouse beneath a blue angora cardigan, Laura shook hands with Nate and McBride, then Natalie, her pale blond hair catching the light, the smile on her face hitting Javier in the gut. She shook Megan’s hand, then knelt down to talk to Emily, giving the little girl her full attention.
¡Ea Diablo! She was beautiful!
Hunter and Rossiter saw her, too.
“Oh, hey, she came.” Hunter sounded surprised to see her. He lowered his voice. “Sophie said she didn’t think Laura was going to make it. Derek Tower—the asshole who owns the security company that was supposed to have kept her safe in Pakistan—accosted her in the parking lot outside the paper last night. He forced his way into her car. She drew on him—a double deuce—but he tore the weapon out of her hands, even left bruises. She filed a report with DPD last night. Uniforms went looking for him but haven’t found him.”
Javier had heard of Derek Tower, hadn’t known what to think of him. Now he hated the bastard. His gaze snapped back to Hunter. “Doesn’t she have protection—a bodyguard?”
Hunter shook his head. “Sophie says the FBI doesn’t believe she’s in any real danger, and she can’t afford to pay for protection herself. Sophie wants me to talk to Old Man Irving—Denver’s chief of police—and have our local boys fill in.”
“Not a bad idea.” Javier had never understood how the federal agencies worked. It all seemed like red tape and bullshit to him.
“Let’s go say hello.” Hunter opened the sliding patio door and walked inside, Rossiter behind him.
Javier followed the two men indoors but hung back, watching while the others introduced themselves.
She probably doesn’t even remember you.
“Welcome to the Cimarron. It’s a real pleasure to meet you. Make yourself at home.” Jack pressed her hand between both of his. “Can I get you something to drink—wine, beer, scotch, soda, some overpriced bubbly water?”
Laura smiled, a genuine bright smile that put dimples in her cheeks. “Overpriced bubbly water would be lovely. Thank you.”
Jack turned back to the kitchen.
Hunter stepped forward, held out his hand. “Marc Hunter. I’m Sophie’s husband. Sophie has said great things about you.”
“Thank you. She’s said good things about you, too.”
“All true, I’m sure.” Hunter grinned.
“I’m Julian Darcangelo. I head up the DPD’s vice squad. My wife, Tessa, is a big fan of yours. She’s an investigative journalist herself and has written a few books. She used to be on the I-Team before she went freelance. I can’t believe she hasn’t found some excuse to visit Sophie at the paper so she can meet you.”
“Sophie has mentioned her.” Laura’s eyes narrowed. “You say she’s written books? Wait—is her name Tessa
Novak
?”
Darcangelo nodded. “That was her maiden name. She still uses it for journalism.”
“I’m a fan of hers. I read the two books she wrote about human sex trafficking. She inspired me to look into the issue in Pakistan and India.”
“Hearing that is going to make her day—hell, her entire
year
.”
Rossiter pushed his way forward. “Gabe Rossiter. I’m Kat’s worse half.”
Laura took Rossiter’s hand and smiled that beautiful smile of hers. “I’ve heard about some of your adventures.”
“He’s the most famous one-legged extreme athlete in the world,” Hunter quipped. “Just ask him.”
That made her laugh.
Her gaze shifted to Javier. The color drained from her cheeks, and her eyes went wide, her lips parting as she stared up at him. “It’s . . . It’s
you
!”
* * *
LAURA COULD HEAR nothing over the thrum of her own pulse, her gaze fixed on the face of the tall man who stood before her.
Javier Corbray.
Somehow, he was standing right here in this room with her.
“Hello, Laura.”
A feeling of light-headedness swamped her, the floor tilting.
Strong hands caught her shoulders, steadied her. “Are you okay? Why don’t you sit down for a sec?”
He wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders and led her over to the leather sofa in front of the fireplace, sitting on the coffee table across from her, his gaze fixed on her, his two big hands taking hold of hers.
She found herself staring back at him, this man from her memories—memories from another life. He seemed out of place here, her past now standing right here in her present. A trill of panic shot through her.
She drew her hands away, words spilling out of her. “I didn’t think I would ever . . . I never expected . . . I didn’t know you’d be here, and . . .”
“Small world, isn’t it?” He smiled. “Nate and I are old friends.”
It was then she noticed that the room had fallen silent, apart from the chatter of children playing down the hall. She looked up to find everyone watching her. Feeling strangely exposed, she shifted her gaze to the fireplace.
Javier leaned in. “Why don’t we find someplace quiet where we can talk?”
A chance to talk with him in private. “Yes.”
“Try the library,” she heard Nate say.
She got to her feet, following Javier down the hallway and into a spectacular two-story library with its own fireplace. Under normal circumstances the room would have made her smile with delight. Today, it was just a room. She sat in front of the fire in a soft leather wingback chair, her gaze drawn to him. He sat down not in the chair beside her, but across from her, as if to give her room to breathe.
She needed it. For so long he’d been just a memory, a man with whom she’d spent one precious, luxurious, uninhibited weekend. And now he was here.
“Are you okay?” His eyebrows pressed down in a concerned frown. “Can I get you something to drink—that bubbly water Jack promised you?”
“No, I’m fine. I was just . . . surprised.” An understatement.
“Sorry to give you a shock. I had no idea there was any connection between you and Nate until he told me you might come to the barbecue.”
“Please don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.” She allowed herself to look at him, to really
look
at him. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
Oh, he was a beautiful man—dark, exotic, sensual. Some men were intelligent. Some were tall. Some were sexy. Some had thick hair or broad shoulders or natural athleticism. Some had lips that made women long to kiss them.
Javier had it all.
His short, dark hair had a bit of curl, his nose straight, his jaw strong. High cheekbones, full lips, and long lashes added a boyish touch to his otherwise masculine face. He was muscular without being bulky, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist.
She’d noticed him the moment she’d walked into the restaurant in Dubai. Wearing a dark T-shirt that stretched across the muscles of his chest and shoulders, he’d stood out in a room full of European businessmen in suits and Arabs wearing traditional
kanduras
and
gutras
. When he’d come to her table to rescue her from those drunk Russians, she’d known they would end up in bed. Despite what Derek Tower might think, she didn’t make a habit of sleeping with men she met in bars. Javier was the exception, and she hadn’t regretted it. He’d been the most giving lover she’d ever had—sensual, focused, attentive to the smallest details.
Something stirred inside her at the memory, something she hadn’t felt in a very long time—physical attraction.
And her sense of panic grew.
She’d thought about him for so long, wondered what it would be like to see him again. Now she knew. It was like being slapped in the face with the life she’d lost, with the life that Al-Nassar had stolen from her.
“Neither have you.”
She gave a little inadvertent laugh. “We both know that’s not true.”
“I’m so sorry about what happened. I saw the news broadcast when you were taken. I . . . I’ve never felt so damn helpless in my entire life.”
Laura didn’t know what to say. Most people avoided mentioning her abduction and what had followed.
He stood, walked to the fireplace, added wood to the blaze. “I followed your story. What you did took brains and guts. Speaking to them in their own language. Using their culture and beliefs to force them to see you as a human being. Yielding on the outside but fighting to stay strong on the inside.”
He spoke the words matter-of-factly, but when he turned back to face her, his gaze was soft with sympathy.
Laura looked away, his praise making her uncomfortable. She didn’t deserve it, any of it. “I’m just lucky I was able to speak Arabic and—”
“Luck had nothing to do with it.” His tone was adamant, brooking no challenge. “I have a world of respect for you, Laura.”
She looked up, willed herself to meet his gaze again. If those words had come from anyone else—her mother, her grandmother, her therapist—she would have dismissed them as nothing more than attempts to distract or console her. But coming from Javier, they seemed to slip inside her.
“I would have gotten in touch with you a long time ago, but I’ve been out of the country most of the past two years. And when I didn’t hear from you, I thought maybe you didn’t want contact.”
“We said no strings.” She changed the subject. She couldn’t go there. She just couldn’t. “How do you know Nate?”
“He and I served together in Afghanistan.”
“So you
are
military.” She found herself smiling. “I knew it.”
A dark eyebrow arched. “Oh, yeah? What gave it away?”
“You just have that look.”
The other brow arched. “What look?”
But there was something important she needed to say. “It’s good to see you again, Javier, but you should know that I . . . I’m not the same person I was in Dubai. Too much has happened since then.”
She hoped he understood what she was trying to tell him. This wasn’t going to be like last time. She wasn’t going to rip off her clothes and fall into bed with him. Even if she’d wanted a relationship, a lover, she couldn’t have one. She didn’t think she was capable of enjoying sex right now. Besides, her body had changed.
If they slept together, he would discover the stretch marks on her belly, and he would know she’d had a baby. She couldn’t share that secret with anyone—not yet, not until Klara was safely with her here in the U.S.
“I’m not going to make demands of you. I’ve got no expectations.” His lips curved in a lethal lopsided grin. “But it is good to see you, too,
bella
.”
Bella. Beauty.
That was what he’d called her in Dubai.
She looked away. “So . . . what branch of the military were you in?”
“The navy.” He seemed to hesitate for a moment. “I’m a SEAL.”
* * *
“YOU’RE A . . . A SEAL?”
“It’s not something I’m supposed to spread around.” Javier watched some of the tension leave Laura’s body and found himself feeling both pride at her reaction and annoyance at the fact that she seemed more at ease with him as a frogman than as the man who’d made love with her.
“I’m sure you already know this, but a team of SEALs saved my life. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her motions revealing dark bruises around her wrist where that bastard Tower had grabbed her.
Someone needed to deal with him.
But before Javier could give any thought to that, he found himself in the awkward position of listening as she described her rescue. How she’d woken up to screams. How hearing American accents had made her panic. How the other women had held her back, the one Javier later killed threatening to cut out Laura’s tongue if she spoke. How she’d realized with a shock that she was American, too. How the sight of “the tall SEAL” walking toward the helicopter had pushed her into shouting out.
And Javier realized she was talking about
him
.
“I didn’t think he’d heard me, and I knew Zainab would kill me, but then he turned. He shouted at me to stop and get down, and I thought he was going to shoot me, but he shot her instead. He killed a woman. He didn’t even hesitate. He tore off my burka, and the next thing I knew, he was carrying me onto the helicopter.” Laura’s hands balled into fists and pressed together tightly in her lap, the only outward sign that talking about this was hard for her. “He punched Al-Nassar in the face when Al-Nassar threatened me again. He was my hero.”
How do you like that, Corbray? You’re upstaging yourself.
Javier cleared his throat. “I bet he remembers that night, too.”
Oh, he did. Yes, he did.
“He and his men were all so kind to me. I never got to thank them.”
Javier wanted to forget he’d ever heard of OPSEC and tell Laura that
he
was the tall SEAL, that
he
had carried her out and punched that bastard in the face. He wanted to tell her that no mission had ever meant as much to him as that one, that rescuing her had been the highlight of his career as an operator. God, he wanted to tell her. He knew she wouldn’t run to the press or write an article about it, but he’d been ordered not to discuss the mission with anyone who hadn’t been a part of it.
He fought to keep his voice and his facial expression neutral, choosing his words carefully. “I was amazed to find out that you were alive—and damned grateful.”
Laura’s eyes went wide, and she stared at him.
You gave it away,
cabrón
! She knows. She figured it out.
“You could do it! You could thank them for me, couldn’t you?” She looked at him with such hopefulness. “Naval Special Warfare wouldn’t give me their names, but they’d pass on a message for you, wouldn’t they?”
“Uh . . . You want me to thank them for you?” Okay, this was too fucking surreal. “Yeah. Sure. I can do that.”
You bet he could. He had the surviving members of the team on speed dial.
She gave him a relieved smile. “That would mean a lot to me. Thank you.”
There was something fragile about her now that hadn’t been there in Dubai, a vulnerability that put an ache in his chest. He clamped down on the urge to walk over to her and take her into his arms.
“Hey, no problem.”
She looked toward the fire. “I pray for him, for all of them, every night. I’m not religious, but those men are out there somewhere in danger, putting their lives on the line. They risked everything to save me. Who knows? Maybe prayers help.”
She had no idea that some of the men she was praying for were already dead or recovering from severe wounds, and he couldn’t tell her.
His throat grew tight. “I’m sure they would appreciate that—if they knew.”
She looked away again. “I suppose we should get back to the party. Everyone must be wondering what’s going on.”
“I suppose so.” Javier got to his feet. “Hey, you want to grab some dinner, maybe catch a movie? I’m in town for a few weeks.”
He knew the moment the words were out that he’d said the wrong thing.
A shadow passed over her face. “I don’t know . . .”
“This isn’t me trying to trick my way into your bed. Don’t insult me,
bella
. I already told you—I’ve got no expectations.”
The wariness on her face eased a little. “Okay. I’d like that.”
CHAPTER
5
LAURA LEFT THE Cimarron right after supper, making her way quickly and quietly to her car while everyone else was sledding down the hill behind the house. She felt bad about not thanking her hosts and saying good-bye, but she just had to get away.
It was harder than she’d thought to be around the children, especially the little ones. Sophie’s little girl Addison was about the same age as Klara. Every time Laura had looked at Addie she hadn’t been able to help but think about her own daughter, the one she’d never seen except from across a room. Then, when Tessa and Kat had nursed their babies, the sight had made something twist in Laura’s stomach, her mind overtaken by a confused memory of swollen, aching breasts, her nipples leaking milk meant for a baby she’d never held, let alone breast-fed.
And then there was Javier.
She’d never thought she’d see him again, and although a part of her had felt true joy at seeing him, he had served only to remind her of how much she had changed. The adventurous, sensual woman who’d enjoyed two days and three nights of crazy, passionate sex with a man she barely knew no longer existed.
Laura spent the rest of the evening swallowing her emotions along with a pint of Godiva white chocolate raspberry ice cream. Then, when it was late enough, she Skyped her mother, who was just getting out of bed in Stockholm. They talked about the trial, Al-Nassar’s threats, Derek Tower.
“He says he has sources in Pakistan who told him that an American tipped off the terrorists to my location that day, claiming to have gotten the information from me. Tower thinks I gave away my itinerary. I know that’s not true.”
“Of course it’s not.” Her mother let it go.
And then Laura told them about Javier.
“It was
him
, the postcard man? And he’s a SEAL? Oh,
