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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 gri
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.