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Chasing Katie

Heather Long

Contents

Chasing Katie

Author’s Note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

About the Author

Also by Heather Long

Chasing Katie

This SEAL is on a mission…

Six weeks after burying his sister and accepting the career ending injury to his hearing, Liam “Angel” Knight begins the hunt for the a witness to the devastating event that shredded his life. His only clue? The purse he was found holding. But he isn’t the only one looking for her…

This woman needs to hide…

Determined to keep her head down, Katherine “Katie” Hennessy hides on her family ranch. When a man arrives, seemingly looking for work, Katie recognizes him as the person who saved her life on that dark, horrible day. Guilt and terror eat her up inside, but Liam’s presence is strangely comforting—he seems to know what she is hiding, and his strength buoys her. Then he tells her he needs her to come back to New York with him, to identify the bombers.

The truth could cost her everything.

Katie holds herself accountable, and the weight of the lie threatens to cripple her. If she tells the truth, it might set her free—and cost her everything in the same breath. Then the attacks begin, and Liam refuses to leave her side. The man will risk everything for her—can she do any less?

Author’s Note

Just a quick note to say thank you for checking out Chasing Katie. I can’t begin to tell you how delighted I was when Elle James invited me to come and play in her world of the Brotherhood Protectors! Some of the characters who appear in this made their debut in Securing Arizona, and more will appear in future books of this series within series. I love my military heroes (and heroines), and I love cowboys.

Life is that thing that happens while everyone else is making plans. Sometimes, it happens when you’re in the right place at the wrong time, and others the right time. How do you know the difference? Usually, you can’t until long after. So saddle up with Liam and Katie, and get ready for a wild ride! I can’t wait to see where this journey takes us.

xoxo

Heather

Chapter 1

Cell phone to his ear, Liam “Angel” Knight started across the street, moving away from the Ever After Boutique. The laughter and chatter of too many female voices made it hard to hear James “Mickey” MacBride.

“Say again,” he said, as he reached the far sidewalk.

“I’m getting married.” Yeah, that was what Angel thought he’d said. Convenient timing, considering Angel was only in New York for his sister’s wedding. The rest of his family, scattered across the globe would be making their way in this direction over the next few days.

“Congratulations man, didn’t you just get out like five minutes ago?” They’d served together for five years on the same team. They were brothers.

“Funny, but I got a great story—if you’re not busy in about six months, I’m going to need a best man.” The invitation was an honor. Laughter and satisfaction filled the other man’s tone. Not everyone handled retirement well, the adjustment period could be hell or so Angel heard. Sounded like Mickey hadn’t wasted any time on finding the next mission for his life.

“It would be my privilege.” A car horn honked, and Angel glanced toward the cross street. The boutique was tucked into a charmingly gentrified alley with a few other specialized shops. Storybook Square was what his twin sister called it.

“Where are you?” The man’s laughter quieted, and Angel turned to look at the shop. He never got to answer. The wave slammed into him, and lifted him off the ground. Shards of glass glittered before a bright light blanketed his vision. He hit the wall, the impact drove all the air out of his lungs. Training had him tucking down, eyes closed as he covered his head.

The rain of debris impacted against his back, shoulders, and hands. A dozen tiny cuts slicing into him. Heat flashed against him next like the hot breath of a dragon. Ears ringing, Angel lifted his head. Smoke turned the air hazy. Snow fell—no—fabric and ash drifted down and where the boutique had been…a black, charred hole.

Stumbling to his feet, Angel tried to get his bearings and he shook his head. Refocusing his blurred vision, he stared at the shattered shop front. His mind couldn’t quite make the connection—a woman appeared in his periphery and he wrenched his head to the side. Soot covered her face, and her eyes were wild. A man had a hold of her, and terror creased her expression. Blood appeared at the corner of her mouth, and she struggled, frantic.

The man wasn’t helping her. He had a vicious hold of her arm, and wrenched it behind her back. No sound penetrated the ringing in his ears, but Angel didn’t need to hear to recognize distress as the woman twisted and fought. Lunging to his feet, Angel staggered and weaved. It was as though the whole world played out in slow-motion. The debris continued to rain down. Slapping his hand down on the arm of the woman’s attacker, he broke the hold.

Training galvanized him. He only intended to restrain the guy, then her assailant flashed a knife. It arced toward him, and Angel deflected, took control of the arm and a second later the guy was down. Rising, Angel looked around for her, but she’d vanished into the smoke.

Belatedly, he realized he held onto a bag. It had been in the other man’s hands and sometime between intercepting him and slamming the knife into the jerk’s heart, he’d ended up with the item.

Was she all right? Where was she? Then he turned, and stared at the blackened remains of the shop.

Loss dug its own injury into his soul. His sister had been in there. Sound returned with a scream of a siren and Angel staggered forward.

Moira was in there.

He made it another two steps when his knee collapsed. Reality caved in on him.

Moira was gone. The shop destroyed. He bled from a dozen different places.

His sister was gone.

Six weeks later…

The slow, mournful wail of the bagpipes accompanied Liam and his brothers as they carried his sister’s casket on the final journey from the church to the cemetery. Her fiancé walked, shoulder to shoulder with him. The man’s devastation, shared by Liam’s whole family, had made him a brother. The day passed in a haze of eulogies, tearful hugs, and half-hearted laughter. There was a hole in his heart where his sister resided.

Moira would give him so much crap for the malaise he’d lived in over the past two weeks. The doctors weren’t hopeful about his hearing—the explosion had done more than cut his body, and break three of his ribs. It had also done something to his inner ear. The result—his balance was off and it also affected his coordination. Though the Knight family had been in mourning since confirming his sister’s loss, they’d waited the funeral until all the remains had been identified.

His SEAL buddies, both active duty and retired, had shown up for the funeral, too. They, along with others provided security so Angel could concentrate on his family. After the interment at the cemetery, they retreated to a private ballroom for the reception and more remembrances. Mickey, and his fiancée Arizona, along with Ben “Cannon” Stone, and Jesse “Flint” McCoy stood in a clustered group at the back and welcomed him with strong handshakes, and in Arizona’s case, an awkward if genuine hug.

“How you holding up?” Cannon asked, his expression sympathetic.

“Decent. Niall and Kean are with Mom, Jacey is with Dad.” One benefit to an extended family, the siblings could spell each other to take care of their grieving parents. Liam wasn’t ready to deal with his own grief. Not yet. He tossed back the whiskey, a last toast to his sister, and glanced to where Chris “Jammer” Kirkwood stood talking to his parents. Chin up and shoulders back, the army man wasn’t paying a damn bit of attention to the world around him.

Grief, like a black hole, sucked at his soul.

“Has anyone claimed responsibility yet?” The bombing had claimed over a dozen lives, not counting the man Liam had taken out, and left more than fifty injured including Liam himself.

“According to a friend with the NYPD,” Flint said, his voice lowering automatically. A ringing in Liam’s ears prevented him from hearing the rest. It came and went, but when it intensified, the sound drilled right into his brain. He didn’t need to hear what Flint explained to their friends. Intelligence reported a heretofore unknown group bearing the moniker The Right Guard had declared the action a part of their campaign to wake America up from frivolity. What the hell kind of manifesto was that anyway? The right to celebrate life and to enjoy some frivolity was part of what Angel and the other SEALs fought to defend. People had a right to their lives.

The explosive had been identified, as had its location within the shop. No other bombings followed up and the story had slipped from the lead to fourth or fifth in the daily reports. A woman named Gertrude Wagner had reached out to him a couple of times, she was a producer for an on air news magazine—he didn’t remember which one—and she’d asked him a few questions about the incident. The only reason she stood out in a sea of other reporters and requests, was she never asked to take him on air for an interview. Instead, she’d been fact checking their reporting for accuracy.

The ringing ceased abruptly and only discipline kept him from shaking his head. “Angel?” Cannon nudged him, drawing him back into the conversation. The background chatter in the room rushed in.

“Sorry, what?” He hadn’t told anyone about what the doctors had to say. Worry that his hearing would never be quite right was the least of his worries. If the medical review board determined he wasn’t fit for duty any longer, then he would be mustered out and facing life not only with the loss of his sister, but the loss of his career as well.

“Just asked what you were planning to do next?” It was a straightforward question, but there was an underlying meaning. Did he plan to go after the bombers? Hell yes, he did—but first he had to identify them and he only had one clue.

“Not at the moment.” It wasn’t a total lie. He had a part of a plan, but to execute it fully he needed more info.

“We’re here for you, man.” Mickey didn’t need to say anything else. His guys had his back.

Wanting to change the subject, Angel said, “Tell me about your plans for the startup?”

It was common knowledge a lot of retirees didn’t make the adjustment to civilian life easily. More than one of them had gone into private security work, some for military contractors returning overseas with their expertise while still others worked at personal protection. Angel was familiar with several of them.

“It’s a work in progress,” Flint said. “We’re flying under the radar for now—kind of like Montana’s group.” Hank “Montana” Patterson had been on a different Team, but Angel knew the name and his reputation. “Arizona here was our first client…sort of.”

The woman in question snorted. “I’m their attorney now, too.” Mickey smiled at his fiancée then brushed a kiss to her forehead.

“She keeps us honest.”

The gambit worked, the conversation turned to their plans. They’d work from word of mouth, but they weren’t much further along than the discussion stages. The time spent with his brothers and his family only served to keep Angel distracted from stalking the investigators on the bombing case. He needed to talk to the other witness—the woman who’d disappeared into the smoke. As far as he knew, no one had come forward yet.

The only clue he had was the bag he’d been gripping when the first responders found him. There was no identification inside, but it contained other clues. Clues he planned to use to track her down.

A clinking of a glass dragged him back to the present. Their mother stood in the center of the room, and pulled all their attention. “We’re going to open the floor to more stories about Moira, then we’re going to turn up the music to celebrate her life. Moira was never a fan of the maudlin—she enjoyed a good laugh and this is how I plan to remember my baby girl…”

Angel’s vision tunneled, but he forced his breathing to regulate. He didn’t want to just remember his sister, he wanted to hold her hand and dance with her at her wedding. He wanted to come home and surprise her, sneaking up on her in her office or the kitchen. He wanted to hear her admonish him for being a jerk or offer him a beer as they played who had it worse.

The last pulled a reluctant smile from him as his mom told the story of their first day at preschool. Moira had punched a boy who’d sucker punched him. His sister had always had his back, always.

He’d won the who had it worse game—he was still here sans his twin. But he’d have her back, he’d find the bastards responsible.

It was a promise.

Six weeks later…

Katherine “Katie” Hennessy looked out the window toward the Crazy Mountains. After everything went to hell in New York, she’d run as far and as fast as she could to the only place that made sense: home. The Arches had been in the Hennessy family since her great-great-grandfather made his way west in the 1800s. Once he’d settled in these mountains, he’d never left.

Hennessys might wander, but they always came home. They might as well have cross-stitched the saying on the pillows in every room. Folding her arms, she leaned against the wall and tried to get warm. Nothing chased away the chill in her soul. Her cuts and bruises had healed, slowly, but she couldn’t shake the horrific memory or the horrible role she’d played in all of it.

Snow fell everywhere. The blanket of white had begun falling two days before and continued to drop at an intermittent, if steady pace. Not even nature’s pristine decoration could distract her from the guilt eating away at her. Her parents weren’t there, they’d gone to Europe for a much belated second-honeymoon—twelve weeks of wandering to all the places her mother had always wanted to see. They’d even spent Christmas in Paris.

As much as she wished they were present for her to hug, and hold onto, she was also grateful they hadn’t seen her in the condition she’d been in. With most of the house staff enjoying extended vacations, she’d been able to hide her bruised and abused self away until she’d healed. Only the ranch foreman had seen her, and Old Tom was a good man, he’d reminded her where the weapons were and said he’d keep an eye out. She was pretty sure he thought her boyfriend had beaten her up.

He wasn’t too far wrong.

Just the thought of Nash made her skin crawl. They’d been dating for nearly a year. He always seemed like the perfect guy, involved in his work and with his friends. They saw each other regularly, but he didn’t make unreasonable demands on her time. The latter had been important while she pursued her career. Hadn’t the whole point of her moving to New York been to score a coveted role in a Broadway production? Instead, she’d waited a lot of tables and danced in a lot of chorus lines if she got a role at all—many times on the same days.

Nash had always been the guy who made time for her when she was available. They’d explored New York together, and he always had a new place to go or something she’d never seen. He was the perfect guy—too perfect.

Touching a hand to her neck, she explored the lingering remains of the bruise there. It had been far deeper than she’d realized, though the swelling reminded her of the man who’d wrapped his hands around her throat and tried to kill her.

Kill.

Ice slithered up her spine and she pushed away from the window. In the year she spent with Nash, she only ever mentioned growing up in Montana, but not the name of the ranch or the fact her parents owned hundreds of acres. The day she’d packed her car to take her chances back east, her dad said “The world is full of people who hate, and people who are kind. You’ll recognize the former when you have nothing to give them. Be the latter, darling.”

It seemed too simplified a way to look at the world. Yet, two years in New York City illustrated her father’s point clearly. She only wished she’d understood how kind those who hated could appear…rubbing a hand over her face, she blinked back tears. She’d come home to The Arches to figure out what to do, and not just to hide. Or at least that was what she told herself.

A shower rinsed away the last dregs of sleep. Once dressed in jeans, and a long-sleeved open thermal top and heavy socks, she descended the stairs. The upside of the staff having the time off was privacy, the downside—she had to make her own coffee.

It was colder downstairs than up, so she paused at the thermostat to nudge it upwards. She could build a fire in the living room, then pull out her laptop and get to work on researching her next steps. Broadway was the dream that became a nightmare, maybe it was time to make her dad happy and return to ranching. A lot of local talent had returned home—megastar Sadie Mclain for one. Mom had been beside herself, not only because Sadie was a local girl, but also because Mom loved all her movies.

She married Hank Patterson, a retired military guy. They’d both been a few years ahead of Katie in school, but she’d heard all about them. The town had grown, but it wasn’t that big. Coffee started, she checked the fridge. She’d only gone into town twice since returning, and requested one delivery. Avoiding contact as much as possible hopefully would prevent anyone from asking questions about her bruises.

The black marks on her arms and shoulder had been the worst, but her throat would generate the most questions. Turtlenecks hid the evidence while she traveled, and being alone in the house let her do the rest.

While the coffee pot sputtered, she got the fire going in the hearth. Maybe she’d read a book today—no, she had to make decisions today. As provocative as hiding at The Arches was, she couldn’t stay here forever, never leaving the ranch, never seeing anyone who wasn’t her family. It was fine while her parents traveled, but when Mom and Dad came home…

Shaking her head, she returned to the kitchen. She’d removed a steak the night before, and got it grilling. Eggs and toast would complete the meal—provided she could keep it all down. Nerves had turned her inside out, and screwed with her digestion. A bad habit from her teen years that led to endless discussions about bulimia with the school counselor and her family doctor. She didn’t try to purge, her body just responded badly to stress.

And I wanted to be an actress…sometimes I’m so stupid. Except being on the stage let her be a self that didn’t experience ridiculous…the sound of an engine penetrated her self-castigation and she reached over to shut off the burner beneath the steak. Tom wasn’t scheduled to stop by—he’d kept his visits to every seven days, including when he brought the extra groceries up. Leaving the kitchen, Katie headed to the gun case. After entering the code and unlocking the door, she removed a shotgun and loaded it before making her way to the door.

Every muscle in her body was stiff by the time she reached the front window. The truck bearing down on the ranch house followed the snowy drive way. Tom and the other guys kept it mostly clear, but the fresh powder had dusted it. The big black truck wasn’t familiar, but her pulse double-timed and sweat dampened her back.

Panting, she kept a grip on the stock of the gun. Maybe it was just a neighbor dropping in—that would be normal. Though everyone knew her parents were gone and she’d kept her own presence as low-key as possible.

The closer the truck came, the tighter the band around her lungs became. The engine veritably growled. The snow and gravel near the turn toward the main house crunched. Would it keep coming or bypass the house for the barn—maybe it was a ranch hand. She didn’t necessarily know them all.

Air backed up into her chest as the truck cut into the circular drive in front. Closing her eyes, Katie pressed her forehead to the cool wood. She could do this…it wasn’t anyone from New York.

Please don’t be Nash…please don’t be Nash.

The truck came to a halt and the rumble of the engine cut off. Then the door opened. Forcing herself to look, Katie readied herself and the man who stepped out was big, thick shouldered, and wore a baseball cap. The hat didn’t fit, most of the guys went for a more traditional look—it also shielded their faces more from the weather and the sun. He had his back to her, but she didn’t recognize him from his build.

The snow continued to fall, the enchanting appearance taking on a more sinister quality. The door slammed and he circled the vehicle slowly. There was something off in the cadence of the way he moved—or maybe she was imagining things. Suddenly, he turned and looked right at the side window near the main door. As if he could sense her watching him, then his gaze locked on hers and Katie forgot how to breathe.

The guy had been there…he’d seen her.

He knew who she was.

The blood pounding to her head left her dizzy with pain. A gunshot exploded the air next to her, and then darkness descended.

Chapter 2

The crack of gunfire galvanized Angel. Rushing up the steps, he hit the door and grasped the handle. Locked. No other sound echoed behind the first, but he switched his attention to the window. For a moment, he could have sworn he saw her through the glass. It could have been wishful thinking, but she disappeared in the same moment he’d heard the shot.

After tracing the woman to a permanent address in Eagle Rock, Montana, he had no intentions of losing the only possible link to the people who’d bombed the shop, killed his sister, and left him literally holding the bag. The detectives investigating the case assured him he wasn’t the prime suspect, but they couldn’t clear him fully either—not when so much of his work was classified, and his arrival back in the city coincided with explosion ripping apart the shop and damaging nearby storefronts—especially when he’d literally killed someone a few feet away.

A friend on the force had gotten him some of the key details from the now in evidence purse. Leaving New York had been a gamble, but he had to find her. Had to know what she’d seen—and why someone had tried to kill her. Angel had to know who’d killed Moira, more than anything else, he wanted his sister’s killers caught.

Planting his shoulder to the door, he slammed into it. The pain ricocheted through his joint and rocked him. The lock gave, however, with a splinter of wood and the door swung open. Glancing down, he found the woman lying on the floor. A quick scan of the interior didn’t reveal the shooter. The only visible weapon, a shotgun, lay on the floor next to her hand.

Plaster drifted down, and dragged his attention upward. The fresh, gaping hole in the ceiling suggested the shot hadn’t been at her, but—maybe by her? Scanning the room again, he cocked his head and listened. The crackling of a fire in the fireplace, and nothing else…

Dropping to his knees, he checked the woman’s pulse, then did a quick spot check for injury. A ring of bruises around her throat gave him pause. They were old—faded—but very much present. A similar set of bruises were on her wrists, but the long sleeves kept him from checking her arms. Running his fingers over her skull, he found a hint of swelling. Likely from hitting the floor. Another glance at the hole in the ceiling, the shotgun next to her hand and he held his palm over the barrel of the gun—warm.

Fuck. Scooping her up, he pushed the door closed. He’d have to fix it so it would stay that way—since he splintered the frame. Carrying her into the living room, he set her on the sofa nearest the fire in the hearth. After covering her with a blanket and checking her breathing once more, Angel paused.

The image he had of the woman he’d saved in the aftermath of the explosion had been a split second snapshot. This woman was close, similar bone structure and the right coloring, but even as he stared at her dark hair, pale—almost china doll features—and painfully thin body, he couldn’t quite reconcile the two. The oversized sweatshirt didn’t conceal her figure that much.

Had she been ill recently? Or recovering from injuries? The bruises dug at him. Whatever was going on with her, if he found the jackass who put his hands on a woman, and he might return the favor.

Dragging his mind away from that concern, he went to fix the door and pick up the shotgun. Outside, the snow continued to fall, so he secured the entrance, then checked on the woman. She was still out. In the kitchen, he frowned at the partially prepared food.

He’d interrupted her breakfast. After fixing an ice pack, he placed it under the bump on her skull, then checked his watch. If she was still out in ten minutes, he’d look at getting her to a hospital. Chances were, an ambulance might have trouble getting out to the remote ranch—or maybe not. The locals were probably prepared.

Returning to the kitchen, he finished cooking the food she’d left. Steak and eggs in hand, along with two mugs of coffee he returned to the living room and had just set the items down when she jerked and her eyes snapped open.

The firelight reflected in the dark brown of her eyes, and he went still as she tried to sit up—then halted as her gaze landed on him. For a moment, the image of the woman from the aftermath transposed over the woman on the sofa—the same fierceness echoed at him. That woman had been fighting for her life; the woman in front of him was ready to bolt or maybe he had it wrong. She’d had the shotgun.

When she lunged to her feet, he stayed right where he was—mug of coffee in hand. The shotgun was out of reach, but he wasn’t trying to terrify her. He was… Not really sure what the hell I’m doing at the moment. He found himself in unfamiliar territory.

“Who the hell are you?” The huskiness of her voice rolled over him, sexy as hell and reminding him of a classic jazz singer from a movie set in the 20s.

“Angel,” he answered automatically, then before he could add the rest of his name, she blinked as disbelief and horror collided in her expression.

“I’m dead?” Her gaze cut away from him, to stare around the room, before zooming back to him. “Angels aren’t sexy—well unless you’re playing the devil. But that’s not what you said—” She sat abruptly, and scrubbed a hand over her face then winced. “How did I die? The guy who showed up? Was he one of them?”

One of them? Did she mean one of the bombers? Someone else? And as tempting as it might be to play along to extract the information he needed, her stricken reaction demanded he fix it.

“My name,” he said slowly, keeping his grip on the mug and his position solid, “is Liam Knight, Angel is a nickname.”

A flush filled her pale cheeks with color before she covered her face with her hands. “Oh God. Am I dead? I can’t believe I just asked you that…” And as abruptly as she’d covered her face, she jerked her head up to look at him. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”

The flash fire emotions, and shifting reactions fascinated him. Not that he had time for his fascination. He was here to take her back to New York or at least find out what she knew. “I broke the door in when I heard the shotgun go off.” Absolute truth.

Twisting, she looked toward the front door, then her head tilted and he assumed she could see the hole she’d made in her ceiling. Since no one else appeared in the time since he’d come through the door, he assumed they were alone. He’d much rather have cleared the house, but he’d been curiously reluctant to leave her.

“How the hell did I…” She didn’t finish the question, rising to her feet. She put a hand to her head, and looked at him once more as she explored the lump on her skull.

“You were down when I came in,” he answered, keeping his voice steady. Every nuance of her reaction gave him a little more information. Genuine confusion. True discomfort. Most of all: fear. She’d come to the door with a gun. She had bruises on her neck, and seemed pale—even for winter—and her overall unhealthy appearance reminded him of someone hiding with limited resources.

Big ass ranch notwithstanding.

“I got you a cup of coffee.” He barely finished the sentence when she picked up the cup and took a large gulp. Then a second.

Okay, so she took her coffee black. Good to know.

“You apparently finished cooking my steak and eggs, too.” The dry observation pulled a faint smile from him.

“Didn’t see the sense in letting it go to waste. Won’t attest to how edible the food is.”

Then she pivoted to study him. Did she recognize him? “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Holding her gaze, he willed her to say it before he had to confront her. As much as he wished he could allow her the time to recover—a strange enough sensation he’d identify later—he had a mission to complete. The most personal one of his career. “You should eat. You look like you could use it.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Don’t be judgy.” Though she did drop back to a seated position and reclaim the ice pack he’d made. Pressing it to her head, she winced.

Ignoring her comment, he focused on her action. “Do you need a doctor?”

“I’ve had worse bumps coming off a green horse in spring.”

Well, all right then.

Then her gaze found his again. Her eyes didn’t betray her thoughts, nor did her expression. “What brings you to The Arches?” He must have looked blank, because she added, “The ranch is called The Arches. Why are you here? We’re not hiring at the moment.”

He could play along, instead he took a long swallow of the coffee and said, “You know who I am. You recognized me.” It was a gamble. She seemed to be playing it all close to the vest.

“I don’t know…” It was a lie. And a bad one at that, as her gaze cut away from him and from the way she glanced around, he suspected she searched for her shotgun.

Setting the mug on the mantle, he folded his arms. There were a lot of pictures scattered about, a number of them featuring a younger girl with her coloring—she was skeet shooting in some, riding horses in others, and on stage in a couple of them. This was her parents’ place. No parents in evidence, so either they were dead or away. He’d leave that part alone for now.

“Do us both a favor,” he said, studying her. “Let’s not pretend we don’t remember where we met—or at least saw each other.”

Her throat convulsed and her knuckles went white against the mug.

“You should eat. Your head probably hurts and the food is getting cold.”

“If you’re just going to kill me,” she said, raising her chin and glaring at him. “What the hell is the point of food?”

Angel raised his eyebrows. The girl had spunk and grit. Of course, when she’d been fighting amidst all the smoke and debris, she’d never stopped. It hadn’t mattered that her opponent had been larger than she and inflicting hurt on her. “I’m not here to kill you.” Sure, he could use fear and intimidation to get her to answer his questions. He could make the argument that since he didn’t plan to hurt her, it would simply facilitate the information gathering. Didn’t matter, he wanted answers, not fear. Taking a seat on the hearth, he reduced his threat footprint. She hadn’t touched her food, though she still held her coffee and her gaze slid to the side at least twice—probably looking for her shotgun. Well, he could add not a shrinking violet to his list of qualities about her. Faint not withstanding. “Let’s start again—my name is Liam Knight. Currently a lieutenant in the Navy, though I am facing medical discharge.” Even saying the words aloud didn’t make them real.

The ringing in his right ear increased in volume, but he’d been hearing it since the blast wave flung him into the wall. The glass had left him with more than a dozen lacerations, the impact with broken ribs. They had all or would all heal. His hearing?

Yeah, fuck bad luck and the horse it rode in on.

Her throat convulsed. Yeah. She knew him.

“We didn’t quite meet—but I was there that day, in New York.” The dilation of her pupils along with the compression of her lips until all the color drained from them were the final nail in the coffin. She recognized where she knew him from, too. “I stopped the man attacking you.”

Her gaze dropped to the mug in her hands, and her knuckles had gone white. Fear radiated from her in waves.

“He’s dead,” Angel assured her, why he thought it would make her feel better he had no idea.

She clapped a hand to her mouth and lurched to her feet. Only quick reactions on his part saved the mug she dropped. When she fled, he set the cups aside and followed. She raced down a dark paneled hallway tucked behind the stairs, her socked feet sliding on the hard wood, then skidded into a small powder room.

Angel hesitated for a split-second at the half-closed door. At the first sound of retching, he pushed in. Gathering her hair away from her face, he braced her so he could keep her semi-upright. The shadow of bruises around her neck were still visible.

Six weeks later—unless the son of a bitch who hurt her was somewhere on the ranch. Fury, instant and hot, threaded through his veins. He didn’t have to know this woman to know he planned on kicking that man’s ass until he could taste shit on his tonsils.

There was very little for her to bring up, she hadn’t even touched the food. When the gagging calmed, he reached passed her and flushed the toilet. After wetting a hand towel, he ran it over her face. She opened her honey brown eyes and they fixed on him. “You’re still here.”

“’Fraid so,” he said, almost feeling the need to apologize. “Feel better?”

“Not really.” The fear drifting through her gaze stabbed at him.

“Stupid question probably, but…what’s wrong, specifically, right now?” Even stupider that he cared—at best she was a witness, right? At worst, well he didn’t want to fucking contemplate worst. So why didn’t he just ask his questions and get the hell out of the frozen north?

“There’s a stranger in my house. I blew a hole in my parents’ ceiling with a shotgun I learned how to use at the age of eight.” She grimaced. “I fainted like some dopey, useless person.” Tugging the damp towel from his hand, she scrubbed it over her face with far more force than he’d been using. “I’m starving.”

“Okay…well your food is out there.” Okay, who was being the useless one here? “Probably cold, and you know…unpleasant. But it’s still food.”

She cut a look toward him, then began to laugh. The empty, hollow note gained strength as her chuckle came from a deeper place. Latching onto her amusement like a buoy in rough waters, he pulled her to her feet and brushed the dark hair away from her face. This close, with pain and humor tangling in her expression, demonstrated the mixture of contrasts she displayed—strength and delicacy, tough attitude and innocence.

“Or I could make us something else to eat, and we could try this again.” The unexpected offer eased his conscience.

“I’d like that.”

“Me, too.” The quiver in her smile thrust the knife a little deeper. Yes, he’d come here because he needed something from her, but he had zero intention of causing her such serious distress. Liar. How the hell else did you think you would get answers? Ignoring his conscience for the time being, he backed out of the powder room and motioned for Katie to precede him.

Blowing out a breath, she led the way through the living room to the kitchen. He paused to check the door. The air in the living room seemed colder than earlier. “Do you have something I can use to fix the door? I had to break it in earlier when you collapsed…”

Hesitating at the entrance to the kitchen, she glanced back at him. Her cheeks pinkened. “We can do that after we eat. It’ll hold for now and I’ll just turn up the heat.” The curve of her lips, and the way her eyes glistened in the light sent a wholly inappropriate bolt of lust through him.

Yeah, he wasn’t cold anymore. He also shouldn’t be looking at her that way—period. “If you’re sure…”

“No, but you’re here and the storm is going to get worse. The closest place is Old Tom’s and he’s three miles down the road, if you can get to it. So we eat, have fresh coffee, then you can tell me again why you’re here.”

Just like that… “You’re not worried I’m here to hurt you anymore?” Was he just gambling for trouble?

“If you planned on hurting me, you would have already.” Then she turned her back on him and continued into the kitchen. The fatalism in her statement kicked him in the gut.

Damn. He really was going to find the son of a bitch who gave her the bruises on her throat and her soul and he would…was it the jackass he already killed after the explosion? While somewhat satisfying, he wished he’d taken his time.

“Are you coming?” She called.

“Yep, just getting our dishes.” It gave him an excuse to get his shit together. Nothing about this trip had gone as planned.

His attraction to the witness least of all.

The panic attack wasn’t her first, but Katie couldn’t believe she’d fled the minute Liam assured her he’d killed JK in the aftermath of that explosion. JK, one of Nash’s best friends, or whatever terrorists called themselves these days, had caught her after the explosion threw her into the wall. She had the bruises on her back still. If Liam hadn’t been there…suppressing a shudder at the direction of where that thought took her, she concentrated on putting together a real meal. There was some bacon, and she had the eggs.

After scraping off the uneaten food into the trash, Liam set the plate in the sink, then rinsed out their coffee mugs. “Put me to work,” he said. The man was big, with broad shoulders, and sweet eyes that didn’t seem to go with the way his jaw set or how intently he stared at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. He wanted something from her, why else come all the way out here?

Fear fluttered in her belly. When she’d seen him outside, all she could think was that Nash or his guys had found her. She’d confided in Nash that she’d grown up in Montana, but had she ever mentioned Eagle Rock specifically? She couldn’t remember. That scared her.

Liam’s presence scared her, too. Worse, the strange compulsion to either trust him, or run like hell out into the snow. The former was dangerous, but was it more or less hazardous than the latter?

“Coffee,” she finally said, when she realized he waited for her. Making herself busy, she began beating several eggs in a bowl. “You might think I’m nuts—whether because I’m making food for you or because I ran like hell from New York, I don’t know. You’re right, if you’d wanted to hurt me, you had plenty of opportunity. So what do you want?”

Maybe it wasn’t the most polite she’d ever been, but the man had just held her hair while she dry heaved. They’d kind of tap-danced passed the niceties.

“I want your help.” He’d poured two more cups of coffee, then checked the cupboard over the coffee pot and pulled out a fresh filter, and reloaded the pot to get it ready to brew more.

Once she had the bacon frying, she studied him. In the light of the kitchen, he didn’t look so fierce. His hair was cut short, but there was an uneven length falling over his forehead. Stubble decorated his cheeks, and extended below his chin and along his throat. His eyes were gray, like the sky just before the first flakes of snow fell. He was too rugged to be pretty, yet the word hunk seemed kind of insulting.

“Is your car stuck in the snow?” Avoiding the memory didn’t make it go away, nor did playing dumb. The quick curve of his lips into a hint of a smile was worth the flip remark.

“No,” he returned, his tone droll. Of course it wasn’t stuck, she’d seen him pull up in front of the house. Ugh. “But it’s been snowing like that since I got here and the road nearly vanished on my way here.”

“Where did you drive from?”

“Bozeman.” He folded his arms, and leaned back against the counter. “Anything else you want me to do?”

“I was going to make omelets, so look in the fridge for vegetables you might like. Then chop them?” If he recognized the busy work, he didn’t argue. Turning back to the stove top, she turned the bacon. “And I can’t believe you drove from Bozeman in this weather if you’re not from around here. We’re crazy—hence the mountains. You’re something else.”

“Frogman.”

“Frogman?” Twisting, she caught the hint of a smile on his face as he made short work of the veggies. The speed of his knife chopping through the tomatoes was efficient and impressive.

“Navy,” he answered without looking up from his work. “Well, I was…won’t be much longer.”

“What happened?” Hank Patterson had been in the Navy, and he had more than a few military guys working for him. Maybe she could introduce Liam to them…

“Damage to my inner ear will make diving impossible.” He finished with the tomato, then reached into the fridge and came out with mushrooms. Captivated, she studied his motion…there was a hint of hesitation to his arm extension, and his leg dragged a little.

The explosion ended his career? Nausea swam through her. It took every bit of her concentration to get the bacon out of the pan. She laid a few more strips in the grease, and winced as some of the hot fat spattered her fingers. The little burns didn’t hurt near as much as realizing the people killed in the shop weren’t the only victims of her stupidity.

The man next to her was, too.

“Katherine?” His voice penetrated, especially when he used her full name. No one except her grandmother did that.

“Katie,” she corrected, and shook her head. “What?”

“I just asked do you have a cheese grater?” Then she noticed the block of cheese he held.

Omelets.

“Yeah, um…it’s there—in the cabinet next to the pantry.” She pointed to it. Then watched as he made his way across the kitchen. The faint drag she’d noted earlier was still present, but she doubted she would have noticed it if she hadn’t been looking for some sign. When he turned, grater in hand, their gazes collided again. “I’m sorry.”

“For the grater?” Doubt echoed back at her from his tone.

“No—for the explosion.”

Silence dropped like a second, incendiary device into the middle of the kitchen leaving only the sizzle of the bacon to pop and crackle in the air.

“Did you set it?” The quiet, yet deadly question sent an apprehensive chill over her arms.

Shaking her head slowly took every ounce of her concentration. “No.” Then she swallowed, and admitted the one thing she never wanted to say—ever. “But I didn’t stop it either…”

Violence seemed to lick the air around Liam as he returned to the counter next to her. “Explain.”

Swiping the back of her hand to her eyes, she searched for the right words. There were none. “I found out—by accident—what was going to happen. But I didn’t…I didn’t believe it. I thought I was blowing the information out of proportion.” Wincing at the pun, she squeezed her eyes shut. She could still see the papers scattered out on the table in the apartment. An apartment she wasn’t supposed to know about—a place she thought Nash had for his hookups. She hadn’t been wrong, but she’d pictured some woman not—not…

“I dated a man for the last year, I was always busy and so was he. I thought he was perfect. He never complained about my schedule, and he seemed to make allowances when I was free. It was—easy in a city where nothing was ever easy.” Not when she spent more time working as a cocktail waitress to pay for her studio apartment while auditioning every other free moment for roles that ended up with her either in the chorus line or nowhere at all. “None of which you really care about, except I thought he was cheating on me because he kept getting weird calls and one night, he got one at my apartment and I know it betrays the independent woman theory, but I had to know the truth—so I followed him.”

To the apartment.

Liam nudged her to the side, and turned the heat off under the bacon before removing the charred remains to the plate with the other more edible pieces. “I’m listening.”

Blowing out a shaky breath, she folded her arms and hugged herself. “After seeing the apartment—which wasn’t his—I couldn’t get it out of my head. And I went by a couple more times. I never saw anyone else, but then I noticed there were times he wasn’t where he said he would be and after three weeks…I did the dumbest thing ever. I went over to his secret place and talked my way inside.”

Just hopefully he didn’t ask what ridiculous story she concocted when she swallowed her pride.

“Once I was in there, I expected—I don’t know some ridiculous heart shaped bed, soft porn lighting and the realization that my perfect Nash was an imperfectly, flawed human being. The truth was—I wasn’t even torn up about it, just disappointed.”

As much as she hated the confession, she pressed on. He deserved some kind of answer.

“What I found were maps, schematics, and devices and wires…and it was like something out of a movie. I didn’t understand it, but then there was an address—for the shop in the square and the words detonate on a piece of paper. Detonate doesn’t have a lot of other meanings…”

“Why didn’t you call the police?” The ice in his tone was colder than the weather outside, and she bit her lip.

“Because I didn’t think it was real. I kept telling myself it was something else, that it had to be something else…and I went there to see whatever detonate meant—who knows someone who is going to plant a bomb? A real one? I’m an actress, a singer—and a waitress. Not some Mata Hari level spy. And who bombs a shop in Storybook Square? It’s a place where people go to buy fanciful things to make their happily ever after come true.”

Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to shed them. She didn’t have the right to cry when she was just as responsible as…

“So you didn’t call the police, but you came to the square?” The detached note in his voice didn’t invite her to confide, but why should he offer her comfort?

“I wanted to prove myself wrong, like I said. When I got there—I saw JK and Tim…they are—were—Nash’s buddies. JK saw me, and he was pissed. He grabbed my arm, and ordered me to leave. When I asked him what detonate meant, something in his face changed. It was, furious, cold, and more than the pissed off. I wanted to know where Nash was and what was happening and then…the world caught fire.”

Rubbing a hand over her face, she shook her head again. “I hit something, one of those low walls and I think I blacked out. When I came to, there was JK in my face. He wrenched my arm, and put his hand around my throat. I couldn’t breathe, and the world kind of blanked on me. The world was on fire, and it was snowing or something…and then someone dragged JK off of me.”

Not someone.

Liam.

“And you ran.” He finished for her. “Not stopping until you put a couple of thousand miles between you and your boyfriend.”

“Whatever he is, he’s not my boyfriend anymore.” Panic squeezed her chest. “I swear if I’d thought even for an instant he could do this, I would have told someone. I thought I was making it up in my head. I thought I’d imagined it. I couldn’t have imagined that nightmare, and then I was just scared. JK wasn’t the only one who saw me and I don’t know if Tim got out. Nash was in that apartment. They were his friends.”

“Does Nash have a last name?” He set the grater on the counter.

“Guiness. Like the beer.” She wiped away the tears which tried to escape. “Why?”

“Because he’s a dead man.”

Chapter 3

Most people referred to rage as fire, hot and burning, like a storm lashing the system. He’d heard it enough from the shrink the Navy used to interview him during the medical review. The woman mentioned how lighting the match on his temper might threaten to consume him. Two problems with that theory; first, the Navy trained him to focus his emotions and to use them as a tool for fueling his work. Disassociation served its purpose in the field, BUD/S having worn the jagged edges of personality to one finely honed blade.

Second, Angel had never experienced anger as a hot emotion. Instead, it settled into his bones like a deep freeze, which then began to ice through his system. The frozen state would slow his blood, cool his knee jerk reactions and give him the singular focus to achieve his goals. Every word Katie spoke incensed him, like compressing a nerve root until dispassion held him in a callous grip.

Nash Guiness. It didn’t even sound like a real name. Yet it gave him a target. Sliding his hand into his pocket, he pulled out his cell. He could make a few calls and begin tracking the bastard. Already in planning mode, he checked the windows and the curtain of white falling outside muddied the ‘daylight’ as if a true shadow lay over the ranch house.

No service appeared in the upper left corner of his phone. No trace of Wi-Fi was being picked up. Did she not have access in the house? Scanning the room, he spotted the phone on the wall, then zeroed back in on Katie. All at once the air solidifying around him released, the pressure a visceral pop against his system.

Her deep brown eyes had gone wide, glassy, and her flushed face pale. She blinked back a tremble of tears, swiping at the few which escaped with the backs of her hands. As angry as he was with the people who’d planted the bombs, he…he couldn’t quite get a fix on the conflict where it concerned her.

“Does the phone work?” Tactical information first.

“Yes,” she said, as though the single syllable took real effort to release. “I—I’m sorry.”

“So you said.” Then he wanted to kick himself for being an asshole. “Don’t—don’t move. Let me make a call.”

“To who?” The question pulled him around before he’d taken even a step. The earlier fear reappeared, and just as suddenly, an image of her fighting as flaming debris and ash filled the air with choking smoke. Pain and terror twisted together in her expression, and even in the fight against a man with easily a hundred pounds on her, she hadn’t given up the struggle.

“To a friend,” he said, softening his tone deliberately. She might not have reacted to the threat the way a trained operative would, but then she wasn’t a trained operative. She was—how had she described herself?—an actress, a singer, and a waitress. “I’m scaring you.” It wasn’t a question.

Katie nodded slowly, then she scraped her teeth over her lower lip. Moira had done that, the act of vulnerability usually indicated his sister was a step away from blowing her top at him or whomever was the target of the act. Chances were, Katie’s lip chewing didn’t mean the same.

Fuck. “I need a minute,” he said, biting off every word. The cold kept him in check, but it didn’t make him friendly. He needed to scale back up the cliff to something resembling human. It didn’t matter if that was his mode or not, Katie needed more from him than the business end of a Navy SEAL on an op. “I have friends back in the city, they can start looking and there’s a cop there—also a friend—who is working the case.”

“No cops.” She hugged herself again, the whites of her knuckles adding another nuance to her abject terror.

“Yes, cops. The men who did this—the guy you were seeing—they’re terrorists and murderers. They killed people.” They’d killed his sister. His twin. Half of him had been sheared away, the ragged ends of his soul cauterized in the same brutal explosion, which was ending his career even as he stood in the frozen tundra of Montana.

“You want me to tell them what I saw,” she said, her assessment accurate.

“Hell yes, I want you to tell them what you saw. I want you to paint for the authorities the picture you painted for me. The people who did this deserve to be punished.” Long, slow, and with extreme prejudice. Dead worked for him, too.

“They’ll kill me.” The words broke on a hiccup. “I came here to get away from them to…”

“You came here to escape your guilt.” Holy fuck man, harsh. Back it off. Biting off the next words, Angel raised his hand, palm forward and sucked in a breath. The ice inside him cracked, acid pouring on the open wound of his loss. “Fuck. Fuck.” He exhaled both words, then refocused his attention on her. “Katie.” He liked saying her name, an incongruous thought if there ever was one. “I can be a jerk, and I’m trying to not be one to you, you don’t deserve it.”

The admission settled something within him, the disparity between how she’d reacted and how he would have. She ran because she didn’t think she had options and he’d chased because he wanted more.

They were a lot alike, but he had training she didn’t possess.

“You came here because you were scared for your life.” A legitimate fear considering the one she called JK had been trying to kill her in the aftermath of the explosion. The guy probably reacted on impulse to cover their tracks, or at least eliminate her as a witness. The latter thought validated her concern further. He might have been successful if Angel hadn’t been there.

A chilling thought.

Meeting her too wide eyes, he took a step toward her and the tension holding his shoulders rigid eased. He needed to avenge the dead, and find justice for his sister, the singular goal kept his grief at arms length. The living innocent, bad decisions or not, was not something he could sacrifice to achieve his goal.

“You ran because you were alone, it was an act of survival. You evacuated the field, and retreated to a safe location.” Though based on how he’d found her, if those guys had any kind of resources, they could track her here to a big house in the middle of a ranch where no one was watching her back. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Katie glanced toward the vegetables he’d sliced, and the burn bacon, then back to him. Her chin lifted, and her hunched shoulders relaxed. The shocky look in her eyes dissipated. “Can I trust you, Liam Knight?”

“Yes, ma’am. You have my word.” The automatic answer flowed easily, he didn’t even have to consider the alternative. As long as there was breath in his body, he’d keep her safe. “And after my phone call, we’ll have backup. I’ll protect you Katie, I didn’t chase you here to hurt you. I need your help.”

She blinked, then blew out a shaky breath. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Then let me believe enough for both us.”

Though she hesitated, and his impatience leaked through the fissure in the ice of his soul, Angel waited. He’d just promised to have her back, but he needed her to believe him. She turned to the window, and seemed to search the storm outside for an answer, and he waited. The woman might be an actress, but the emotions playing over her face seemed to give a voice to whatever thoughts she wrestled with inside.

Patience.

If he pushed her, he could do more damage. Instinct combined with training kept him in place. Even if a part of him wanted to close the distance and put his arms around her, offer her comfort. They weren’t there yet, especially considering the tension salting the smell of burnt bacon in the air.

“I have no idea why I trust you, except you saved my life in New York.” No doubt existed within the statement. “But I thought I knew Nash, I trusted him.” The sting of betrayal did far more damage than a bullet, the wound it inflicted deeper and more insidious.

Crossing the gap between them, he paused at her side and held out his hand. The next step had to be hers. “I’m Liam Knight, I lost more than a career that day. I lost my sister.” He didn’t tell her to inflict more harm. “You lost your faith in the world, and in people. You’ve been deceived, and they hurt you, too. I can’t take back what happened that day, I can’t turn back the clock no matter how much I wish I could. What I can do is give you my word—you’re not alone. I’ll protect you, but I need your help.”

Katie turned those wide eyes on him. “Do you prefer Liam or Angel?” The incongruous question gave him pause.

“Whatever you want to call me, sweetheart. I’ll answer.”

Her mouth curved, the hint of the first smile he’d seen since dread stormed her in the living room. “I think I like Angel—the angel who appeared out of the snow to save me.”

It didn’t fit, at least not the saving part. “You don’t need saving.” The sentiment fit, so he went with it. “You might have when JK was after you, but you don’t need saving now. You survived. You just need a team to go back into the fight with, a partner…me.”

“We don’t even know each other.” Was she asking him or telling him?

“No, but we survived the same battle field.” It wasn’t equivalent to military service. Even the most narrowly known of his brothers among the SEALs were still his brothers. They’d all survived BUD/S. They bonded over their missions, over their service, and over their brotherhood. “SEALs have a saying, ‘the only easy day was yesterday.’”

“As in Navy SEALs?” Suddenly, she focused on him with an intensity, which demanded an answer. The delicate woman had an iron will, not that it was a surprise to him. He’d seen her in a fight. She hadn’t given up. Running isn’t the same as surrendering. She did what she needed to survive… The thought on the heels of the rest sundered the last of the ice shelf blockading his reactions.

Katie was a civilian and an innocent. She’d made some bad calls, but she hadn’t had enough data to make the right ones. No matter what else happened, he’d protect her. It was a promise to himself as much as to Moira. His twin would have long since smacked him upside the head and told him to look at the whole thing, not just the part pissing him off.

“Yes,” he answered her question, wary of the way a smile chased away the shadows in her expression.

“I know you wanted to call your friends, but I need to call one of mine first—not someone in New York,” she added quickly, as if reading his mind. “His name is Hank Patterson, he owns a ranch here in Eagle Rock. If he says your good then…then I’ll do whatever you ask.”

Hank Patterson? Could it be Montana? Really? He knew of the man, hadn’t met him face to face, but the man’s voice had been on comms during one mission. “Go ahead.” Hopefully he didn’t end up regretting the choice. “We need to finish making this food.” With that in mind, he let her circle him to go to the phone hung on the wall while he started the fire again beneath the bacon pan. Loading the strips into the pan, he kept his attention on her and waited.

The old fashioned phone with its spiral cord took him back to days at his grandmother’s place. At least the phone had buttons and wasn’t a rotary. The middle of nowhere was already a little bit out of a fairytale with the storm roaring outside.

“Hi Sadie,” Katie said, a hint of forced cheer in her voice. Forced, only because he found no trace of the emotion in her expression. “It’s Katie Hennessy.” A pause, then. “Yeah, they’re in Europe enjoying their second honeymoon, and having a grand time.” Another pause, before she said, “No, I wasn’t supposed to be home. It was kind of an impulse. Hard to shake the dirt off your boots even after living in the city. Anyway, I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to talk to Hank if he’s there.”

She went quiet. Instead of looking at him, she stared at her feet. After turning the bacon over, Angel followed her gaze. A pink polished toenail was visible through a hole in the top of her right sock. Incongruous as it was, he smiled and then glanced up to find her self-conscious grimace as she caught him looking. The whiteness around her lips eased as her expression gave way to humor. For a split-second, they were in total accord.

Then the smile vanished, and she said, “Yes, sir. I’m here…I’m sorry Mr. Patter—Hank.” With a laugh, she ran a hand over her face. “You were both way ahead of me in school, and I knew Sadie better than you. Still, it made more sense to say sir—and I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.”

The one-sided conversation was alternately amusing and frustrating for him.

“Okay, yes, I’m fine and congratulations to you and Sadie. Mom told me you got married and I’m thrilled for you, but that isn’t why I’m calling.” After taking an audible breath, Katie set her shoulders. “I have a man here named Liam Knight, he has a call sign of Angel. Or maybe it’s a nickname, not really sure how it works. He says he’s a SEAL…”

Good girl. Don’t believe everything you hear now. Some lessons, especially the painful ones, stuck and it pleased him to hear this was one of them.

“Yeah, he’s right here…” Katie lowered the phone from her ear but didn’t cover the receiver. “Hank wants to talk to you.”

“Trade with me so this bacon doesn’t burn.” He’d shredded the cheese, too. They did the little kitchen sidestep shuffle as she handed him the phone receiver. He waited a beat to put it to his ear as she returned to their nearly abandoned breakfast prep. When she took a swallow of the now cold coffee, he bit back another smile. Two more cups got dumped in the sink and she refilled them for the third time.

Their track record for eating and drinking while it was hot sucked.

“Lieutenant Liam Knight, Mr. Patterson.” He knew the man’s rank, if he was the same Hank Patterson, but it was better to check.

“I know the name Angel, what the hell are you doing in Eagle Rock?” The voice was real familiar.

“That’s a story, Montana.”

“I’m listening.”

Switching the phone to his left ear when his right began to ring, he nodded to Katie when she offered him fresh coffee. Leaning against the wall, he watched her get started on their omelets and brought the other SEAL up to speed.

Baring her soul to reveal the depth of her stupidity in trusting Nash and their so-called relationship left her spent. It had also bled her of the tension she’d been cradling since she fled New York. Though Angel detailed what brought him to Eagle Rock. His sister had died in the explosion.

The unimaginable loss he had to have experienced—she’d meant it when she said if Hank could validate him and his story, she’d do whatever she could. It didn’t matter if the idea of returning to New York, of offering evidence and being a witness might get her killed. She’d do it for him and for his sister. When she’d gone to find out what the address, detonate and everything had to do with the apartment and Nash—she told herself she couldn’t imagine what they were doing.

Part lie and part denial. She hadn’t wanted to think it could be possible, yet in truth what the hell else could detonate mean? The first omelet came out fluffy, as did the second. The third batch of bacon was crispy and not blackened. The food was ready, but Angel continued to speak into the phone. His voice dropped and he paced away from her.

Cradling her coffee mug, she leaned against the counter and waited for him to finish the call. If she’d wanted, she could have followed him to the edge of the dining room, which was as far as the cord stretched. Still, if he wanted the quiet to speak to Hank, she’d give it to him.

No matter which way she looked at it, he’d had plenty of opportunities to hurt her. He hadn’t. When she’d admitted her part in the explosion, the anger and the pain in his eyes had been all too real. He lost his sister, by all rights, he should hate her.

“She’s still here,” Angel said as he walked back into the kitchen. “Hang on.” As she had earlier, he lowered the phone but didn’t cover the receiver. “Hank wants to talk to you again.”

After setting the mug on the counter, she motioned to the food. “You should probably eat then or it will get cold on us.” At the rate they were going, they’d cook all the food she had and fail to eat any of it. If the headlines read PAIR STARVES TO DEATH AFTER RUINING ALL THEIR MEALS it would be humiliating.

Biting her lip to hold back the inappropriate laughter, she accepted the phone. His fingers brushed hers, and the warmth sent a tingle over her. “Hi Hank,” she said into the phone, tucking her free hand under her arm.

“You okay, kid?” The ‘kid’ appellation got her. The last time he’d called her that had been during a game, when she’d been hanging out with the pep squad because she was going to try out for them the following year. Only then, he’d asked if she wanted a drink.

“No, not really.” Hank was good people, a local boy who’d gone on to be a hero. Her parents thought he hung the moon. Katie just trusted him the way she did Sadie—they were familiar. “I’m scared.” The word made her feel small, too small and vulnerable. Not feelings she wanted to associate with being home. Standing at her kitchen counter and eating his way steadily through the omelet she’d made, Angel caught her gaze and all she found in those enigmatic gray eyes was sympathy.

“That’s smart.” The compliment from Hank didn’t offer much in the way of comfort. “Sounds like you were involved with the wrong kind of people.”

“Yeah, but they’re back in New York, so I’m safe here, right?” Only after she asked the question did she realize she wanted to hear a response from Angel, too.

“Maybe,” Hank said even as the man in her kitchen shrugged. “The thing is, if Knight could track you down and he didn’t know you, the boyfriend who knows you better will likely be able to find you.”

“I don’t think I ever told Nash Eagle Rock’s name.” That would help, right?

Angel winced, and Hank cleared his throat. “Only one family named Hennessy in Eagle Rock, maybe four in Bozeman? And your dad has people up close to the Canadian border, right?”

Okay, so not smart. “It’s snowing like hell, I’m surprised Angel made it here.”

“I’m not. That said, you listen to him—I had one of my guys run him while we talked. He’s solid, and you can trust him.” Hearing Hank say so, thus confirming her own assessment, took a leaden weight off her shoulders. “Swede and I will be by tomorrow. We’re going to dig deeper into this ex-boyfriend of yours.”

A sour taste coated the back of her throat. “What do you need from me?”

“Everything you can remember about him, birthdate, addresses, employment—even if you think it’s something small, don’t hold back.”

Pushing away from the wall she returned to her coffee cup. Before she could reclaim it, Angel filled it again. “I’ll try to tell you everything I remember.” A part of her didn’t want to confess how many blanks she came up with when Hank first detailed his questions.

An hour later and wrung out from the questioning, she sat on the sofa in the living room and stared at the fire. Angel had gone out to move his truck into the garage at her suggestion. The skies darkened beyond the windows, and it felt like sundown rather than lunchtime.

Storms like these reminded her of long hours spent playing board games with her mom or working on a project with her dad in the tool room attached to the garage. When the weather turned bad, they found ways to do things together. Tears escaped the corners of her eyes, and she swiped at them.

The bump of the sofa next to her sent a skitter of surprise up her spine and she jerked. Twisting, she blew out a shaky breath at Angel sitting there. He’d found a cowboy hat in the garage and it sat on his head sideways, as if he were Napoleon. “What do you think?”

In spite of everything, she laughed. The sound came out little jagged and wet. “That is not how you wear it.” This close, she couldn’t really cover the tears, so she swiped at them again with the back of her hands.

“I know,” he said, adjusting the hat to the proper position before settling his arm on the back of the sofa. “You looked like you needed some absurdity.”

The man had to be grieving, and he was trying to make her feel better? Playing along, she clasped her hands together and said, “You also shouldn’t be wearing one in the house.”

Without further ado, he plucked the hat off and set it on his knee. “Killjoy.”

The insult sparked a fresh wash of humor, then she shook her head. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” He cocked an eyebrow, then glanced at the fire. “Here, hold this.” He dropped the hat on her lap before rising to add some wood and stoke the flames back up. The heat washed toward her like a warm hug rushing out to embrace her. “I fixed the door, sort of. We’ll probably need to wait until the weather passes and put in a new frame, but I found weather stripping in the garage. A fresh layer on the inside will keep most of the chill out.”

Then he turned and looked at her again, backlit by the fire. The image of him, head bleeding and face cut swam up at her from the past. All she’d been able to do in those frantic moments, ears ringing, was scrabble against the grip JK had on her throat. She’d clawed at him, desperately wishing she’d had acrylic tips or something, because at least then she could have scratched the hell out of him. Nothing she had done worked until the man in front of her had risen like hell’s own angel amidst the fire and smoke.

“How do you offer me comfort or try to make me laugh after everything you’ve been through? Why don’t you blame me?”

After dusting off his hands, Angel studied her. The guarded expression he wore fit her expectation more than his goofier earlier action. “I think you blame yourself enough.”

Wait… “Earlier, when I told you that I went to the apartment then down to the square, you demanded to know why I didn’t call the authorities? Not that you were wrong to ask me that, and maybe if I had…” She couldn’t complete the thought, not when her stomach hurt as she remembered the result. No matter where she ran, she’d never be able to escape the image.

“Because going alone into the fire without backup is stupid.” Well at least he didn’t sugar coat it. “You could have been killed. In fact, you nearly were.”

Also true.

“You were also a victim.”

Without intending to, she flinched at the description.

“You were caught in that blast, you suffered for it…you’re still suffering.”

“So are you.” She didn’t deserve anyone’s sympathy. “Far more than I—you lost…you lost your sister.”

Folding his arms, he sighed. “I suddenly understand why Moira would throw her hands up and roll her eyes at me.”

Moira. “Was that her name?” It was a beautiful one.

“Yes,” he answered, then he smiled. “She was four minutes younger than me, but you would have thought she was the older of us. It never stopped her from telling me what to do or why I should feel a certain way. If I was mad at her for something, well then I was obviously wrong and I should have already forgiven her. But if she was feeling guilty about something, and I’d already gotten over it—then she thought I should still be blaming her. You want me to blame you, you want me to hold you accountable.”

All true. Her stomach hurt so bad, she pressed her fist against it and tried to shove it back where it belonged. The hammer of her pulse seemed to echo in her gut. “Someone should.”

“Only for the part where you ran away and didn’t report what you knew. There’s an investigation and you had information. Instead of going to the authorities, you ran away.” Raising his hand, he seemed to be asking for her to wait. It was only then she realized she’d opened her mouth to respond. “It was dangerous to run, you don’t know if anyone else saw you or if your boyfriend is planning to come looking for you.”

“Ex.” He wasn’t done, but it didn’t matter. Nash wasn’t her anything anymore.

“Fine, your ex-boyfriend. So first you ran, second you ran to a place where you’re all alone. What if I’d been Nash out there instead of me?”

“I had my shotgun.” Not really a defense.

“Yes and that ceiling is never going to hurt you again.”

The laugh that escaped her was sharp, and the pain in her stomach eased. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she hoped her face didn’t look as red as it felt. “I’ve been shooting since I was eight years old.”

“Well, you definitely plugged the ceiling.” His expression didn’t twitch, but the corners of his eyes crinkled.

“Now you’re being mean to me.” It was definitely the right thing to say, he released a big, booming laugh and it eased the knots in her belly more efficiently than anything else she’d tried.

“Women,” he said, still chuckling.

Biting the inside of her lip couldn’t stop her own giggle. “Men.” It was weak retaliation, but he left the fireplace and returned to the sofa and dropped down to sit next to her.

As the laughter subsided, they were left alone with only the crackle of the fire. Twice she opened her mouth to say something and both times, she closed her mouth. What could she say that they hadn’t already covered?

Really?

Chapter 4

The storm abated sometime around midnight. Katie had long since fallen asleep on the sofa. The dark shadows beneath her eyes and the pallor of her skin worried him, but he didn’t see any signs of other injuries. Fear and stress could debilitate a body. Despite trying to set her at ease, the day dragged as the weather continued to lash the house. At one point, he’d gone to the phone to call Hank back to suggest they wait the storm out, but there was no dial tone.

When Katie asked him if he wanted to watch a movie, he’d let her pick whatever one she wanted. It gave her something to do, and she’d fallen asleep ten minutes into the romantic comedy or whatever it was. He’d barely noticed it, instead he turned over all the information he’d learned since arriving in Eagle Rock.

After putting his truck in the garage, he’d used the phone installed out there to call Mickey. Katie trusted her friend Hank and his people—and while he couldn’t fault her faith in another SEAL, Angel trusted his guys. Mickey worked with Flint and Cannon on their special project. While he didn’t have all the particulars, he trusted them and their contacts. Mickey promised to reach out to Jacko, and they would work up the background on her boyfriend.

Ex-boyfriend. She’d been touchy on the subject, not that he could fault her. Angel made sure to keep the fire fed. A part of him argued, he should take her up to wherever her room was or at least wake her up so she could get in her own bed. The rest of him didn’t want her out of his sight. They might be snowed in a remote ranch house in the middle of nowhere Montana, but his gut warned him to keep her close.

He trusted his gut.

He’d barely left the room to even make coffee, but he could go forty-eight hours before he’d need to at doze. And he could go 96 with light naps.

They’d need all that to get back to New York, as long as the weather didn’t hold them hostage. So aware of the low-level roar of the wind, he’d noticed the moment it ceased. Staring out the windows, he traced what buildings he could make out in the near absolute dark—the faintest shadow of what might be a barn, and the line of fences. He hadn’t noticed any animals when he’d driven in, and she hadn’t mentioned going to tend any…

“Angel?” The whisper of her voice pulled his attention.

“I’m still here,” he assured her. “Go back to sleep.”

“What about you?”

“Everything’s fine, sleep. You’re tired.” Glancing over his shoulder, he studied her. She’d risen on one elbow, and her dark hair tousled over her face. The firelight played over her, casting her half in shadow and the rest in the soft orange gold of the flames. “Are you comfortable there?” If she wasn’t, he could adjust his watch to be near her room or in it once she was asleep again.

“Yeah, I’ve slept here plenty of times.” Yet she didn’t pull the blanket over her or curl onto her side. Instead, she ran a hand over her face, then studied him. “What was your plan?”

“To get you back to New York, to have you identify the others involved, give the cops the information on the apartment.” Though there was a damn good chance they’d already scrubbed the place. If it had been him, he would have.

“No, I meant when you got here? What if Old Tom had been at the house? He’s the ranch foreman. Or my parents? Or if I hadn’t recognized you? What was your plan?”

Scratching the stubble at his chin, he considered the question. “Always been more of a make it up as I go along kind of guy.”

“Okay, so make it up. Say my dad answered the door. What then?” She worried at this thread like a dog with a bone.

“Would have said I was here to apply for a job, or said I’d gotten turned around in the storm.”

She appeared to consider the idea as she sat up the rest of the way and pulled her knees to her chest. “Dad would have invited you in, especially with the storm in the offing. He has a sixth sense about these, I used to—but I totally missed it until the white out happened.”

Based on what he’d observed when she’d roused from her collapse, PTSD sounded about right. Was she even aware of the way she clenched her fists, the white knuckles the tense lines around her mouth? She’d survived an explosion and a murder attempt. If she needed to play this game, he’d play it. “Once inside, I’d have seen those family photos.” Photos he wouldn’t admit he’d studied earlier. She’d been a wild child, riding horses, four wheelers, and snow mobiles. There were skinned knuckles and knees in some of the images, her long hair always pulled back into ponytails or braids. In the summer, her skin looked a deeper shade as if she’d tanned by being outside so much. While in winter, there was a rosiness to her cheeks.

What he’d noticed more than anything were all the recital photos, and awards, and constant smile. It kicked him like a mule, she’d been happy. The bombing that ripped through his life had done the same to hers.

“What would have said to my parents?” Her eyes seemed so large, they reminded him of an anime character’s. The woman was a knockout, and absolutely unaware of it in her baggy pants, socked feet and sweatshirt. Dressed for comfortable warmth, she seemed to be dwarfed by the clothes.

“Found a way to strike up a conversation, see if you were here and if necessary, apply for that job so I could meet you. Recognizing you wasn’t enough, I needed to see you—to know if you remembered the event, and…” Here he hesitated. She’d already kicked herself enough in his opinion.

“You needed to know if I was involved.” Blowing out a breath, she shoved a hand through her hair. “Which I answered by freaking out.”

“And shooting the ceiling.” The action brought him through her door, and reminding her about it made her laugh. A far better look on her than the vicious self-reflection she often fell into. “What about you? You said you were an actor and a singer, earlier. Was that why you were in New York?”

“Yep. My parents didn’t always get why I wanted a career in the showbiz as they called it, but they were always supportive. Daddy drove me into Bozeman once a week for a day of lessons for voice, dance, and acting—usually on the day he had business there—every week for twelve years. When I had musicals or plays that I got into, he and Mom always made sure I got back and forth. Once, I had an opportunity to do a two week intensive in Seattle, so Mom and I packed up the truck and drove there. We stayed at this hotel for the whole time, and when I was in classes, Mom went exploring.” A wistful look eased the stress in her face. “They were amazing. After I graduated high school, I got accepted into a college in Eastern Pennsylvania, great theatre program. I finished in three years, and I had the bug. I loved being on the stage.”

Settling against the wall next to the window, Angel spared the occasional glances to the darkness in between watching her come alive. The subject had been the right one, animation flooded her smile and she released one of her knees to sit forward.

“When I told them I wanted to go try my hand at some Broadway and off Broadway roles, I know they were disappointed. I kind of always got the impression they were waiting for me to get it out of my system. Dad wired me money to get an apartment, and said he’d help out in whatever way I needed. But I didn’t want him to underwrite the experience, the best way to measure success is if you can feed yourself on the profits.”

Not a bad analogy. “So were you successful?” Moira would have been better at this conversation. She loved living in the city, loved going to the theatre as often as she could. His sister would have made the aspiring actress her best friend. Loss accompanied every thought of his twin, the idea he’d never hear her laugh again or be able to tease her. That he wouldn’t get to see her fat and sassy when she began having the half-dozen kids she’d always said she wanted…but even though that pain flowed through him, so did the elbow to his soul as if his twin stood right next to him.

She would have mouthed, “She’s cute, you should go for it,” at him. Moira never knew when to butt out of his business. The feeling went both ways. Meeting her Delta Force fiancé had given him the chance to playfully ignite the rivalry between the services when he said he’d kick his ass if the man hurt his sister. Jammer agreed with him wholeheartedly. The army guy promised he’d cut his own throat before harming her.

Son of a bitch…

“We don’t have to talk about this,” Katie said, concern filtering back into her tone.

“I want to hear,” he assured her, and not because of Moira or the grief pulling him back down. Worse than the pain of losing her was all the good memories they lost out on.

“I wasn’t, not anymore than anyone else. I’m not even the golden girl of Eagle Rock. There are lots more successful people who came out of this town, you know like Hank’s wife Sadie. She’s a bona fide star.”

If she said so.

“It was easy to be the best here, without a lot of competition and at school, there were my classmates and fellow theatre nerds. In New York, though? I was one of the thousands looking to make my bones.” With a wry twist of her lips, Katie spread her arms. “I was good, but I wasn’t always the best. There were dozens just like me, some with more experience, some with less. The best I ever managed was a chorus part in a huge ensemble. I didn’t have any solos, and sang only back up—but I got to dance on that stage and hear the audience cheer and clap. The rest of the time I worked as a waitress to pay the bills. I still took loads of classes every chance I got, so I pretty much ate, drank, and slept theater.”

The laughter in her eyes faded, and it added another reason to his growing list to kick Nash Guiness’s ass. The man used her naiveté and genuine warmth against her.

Fucking pissed Angel off.

“I suppose all of that is over now. They probably evicted me from my apartment since I disappeared, and my stuff is probably in the dumpster if not already claimed by someone else. If I go back, I start over from scratch…”

“Not if,” he told her, spurred by the idea she might give up entirely. “When. If you want to reclaim your life, then you do it. I’ll help you, do whatever you need to make it happen.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” she said, stretching. The act pulled her sweatshirt up, and revealed her toned midsection. He had no trouble believing she was a dancer. “If anything, it’s the other way around.”

“We already covered this. You were as much affected by all of this as I was.”

“Except,” she argued. “You saved my life. And I didn’t manage to do the same for you. I didn’t do it for anyone.”

Self-pity was a dangerous and seductive trap, especially in the dark of the night, when the temperatures outside were frigid. Determined to ease her out of it, he took a step toward her. That was when the glass next to him cracked. The hollow sound pulled his attention. A whisper of icy air punched through the glass, and splinters crawled away from the hole punched into the glass where he’d been standing.

Diving away from the window, Angel tackled Katie right off the sofa and another spray of shots hit the mantle. The bullets tore up the wood. She let out a cry, then tucked her head down as he pressed her into the thick rug. More bullets shattered the glass, and a rush of icy air invaded the warm cocoon of the living room.

She crawled out from under him, moving like a trained soldier and staying low. Determined to cover her, Angel followed. Then she reached the hallway and sprang to her feet, out of sight of the windows. A half-dozen steps, and she was at the gun cabinet.

“They’re shooting at us,” she said, even as she entered the combination and got it open. A couple of shotguns and a pair of rifles were secured inside. Katie reached for none of them, instead she opened the drawer and pulled out a .38. A revolver. The gun was too damn big for her.

Taking possession, he checked the load and then handed her the shot gun. “Don’t shoot the ceiling—or me.” Then he pointed to the corner. “Hunker down there.”

“Where are you going?”

“To take care of the guy shooting at us.” With that in mind, he slid the strap of the rifle over his shoulder. The revolver looked and smelled clean. Based on the condition of the other weapons, he could only hope her dad took as good care of the rifles. After loading the revolver, he added more bullets to his pocket then pulled out ammo for the rifle. “Stay. Here.”

The position was defensible. If anyone came through the front door, she was out of the line of sight and could get a drop on them. At her nod, he brushed his knuckles lightly down her cheek. Though he didn’t want to leave her, he had to move fast. Up the stairs to the second floor, he identified the window above the living room. The lights were out, giving him the cover of shadow. Assuming their assailant had night vision, he slid across the floor belly down until he found a good position.

Cloud cover kept the stars obliterated and there was little moonlight to illuminate the landscape. The sound of gunshots ceased, and he settled into position with the rifle and checked the scope.

Someday, Angel hoped he met her dad. Then he could kiss him. The man had a night scope. Fixed, he used it to check the distances where the shots could have come from. The land outside looked like icy tundra, but then he caught the hint of metal—a car. No an SUV. They’d been firing from the road. It was a hell of a shot, and the vehicle pulled away even as he fixed on it.

The rifle he had was accurate, but not at that distance. He also had no guarantees whoever was in the SUV was behind the shoot. Still, he tracked it as it vanished. There was only one curve in the road he’d driven that gave them the line of sight, otherwise the house was tucked back and away from the road. He’d only glimpsed the one side as he passed.

So had they been firing blind? Like some stupid teenagers? Or had they been sitting there waiting for her to expose herself at that window. Based on the weather, and the terrain, he might have done that.

He’d once lain in the same spot for twenty-seven hours waiting for his target. With the right amount of patience, anything was possible. Shifting his position slightly, he checked the drive approaching the house. It was still heavily covered in snow, and no tracks disturbed the pristine covering. Adjusting his angle slowly, he skimmed across the open land between the house and the woods nearer the road.

Same, nothing moved, and no sign of tracks in the snow.

Still, he continued to wait. The easiest way to go from live target to dead one was to rush to judgment.

Thirty minutes later, he finally abandoned his post at the window, but drew the curtains tight. They’d had little light to make him out with downstairs, except he’d stood between the window and the fire, that gave him a shadow profile.

At that distance, without the right scope, they could have mistaken him for her.

Either way, her house wasn’t safe for her anymore.

And they still had another—he checked his watch—six hours until dawn.

Dawn brought Katie first relieved breath of air since someone opened fire on the house. Someone shot at her house—who did that? The thought seemed to be a recurring theme throughout the next several cold hours. Angel put some plywood over the damaged window. Thankfully, he’d noticed it in the garage. It didn’t help with the heat, but they retreated to the kitchen at his behest. The windows back there faced away from the road, and toward the mountains.

He’d also covered them and kept the lights out inside. They’d sat in the dark, armed, and drank their coffee while he asked her about the shows she’d done and he told her about some of his Navy buddies, though he didn’t talk about his work specifically. She got the feeling it wasn’t on the list of acceptable subjects

When the first rays of morning began to edge around the window treatments, she’d never felt so relieved. Stealing a peek from the edge of the sink, she blew out a breath. The clouds had begun to break apart, allowing the occasional gray-blue sky to appear. The sun wasn’t visible, not really, but the curtain of darkness parted.

“I’m going to shower,” she told him. “I can use the one in my parents’ room if you want to use mine.” The minute the words left her mouth, she grimaced. It came out sounding far more like an insult.

“I’ll be fine. Show me where the bathroom is so I can check the access.”

Not a thought that would ever have occurred to her, but he made security checks sound so matter of fact. Up the stairs, she waited in the hallway while he inspected the room, then the bathrooms. Finally, he said, “Hall bathroom is better. The window in there is much smaller. Let me cover it with something to keep the light from escaping. I don’t want to give them any more targets than we have to.”

A chill coiled around her spine. “I hate that we have to think this way.”

“Better to be careful than to be dead.” The admonishment reminded her she had little to complain about. At his scowl, she folded her arms. “I’m not mad at you, Katie.” The patient tone chided her more effectively than if he’d raised his voice. “Someone took a shot at the house last night. You can argue it was stupid teenagers, though I have a hard time believing even teens would go out after a blizzard. You could argue they were shooting at me, but the only guys who know I’m here aren’t going to take shots at me.”

He paused as if to consider his words. “Then again, if those guys wanted to shoot me, I’d be dead.”

“Not comforting.”

“Not trying to be, the most obvious culprits are the people who want to keep you quiet. The one person who can tie them to the event.” Valid point or not, it didn’t do much for her system to be reminded of the fact someone wanted to kill her. Maybe multiple someones. “That means where you go, I go. You want to go somewhere, I clear it first. I will keep you safe, but you have to let me do it.”

“Deal, but with one caveat.” She didn’t have a martyr’s bone in her body. If he said duck, she’d duck. If he said hide, she’d hide. Running away may not have been her finest moment, but looking back—she didn’t know who to trust or how complicit she’d been. Running had seemed her only option. “Don’t sacrifice yourself for me.”

Eyebrows raised, he studied her. “I can’t make that promise. If someone’s shooting at you, they are shooting at me. I’m not going to run into the line of fire, if you don’t.”

“That’s not what I mean.” The right words were elusive, like a leaf chasing away from her on the wind. “I mean—you went through hell. You still are. I can’t put myself in your shoes, I can’t know what you feel or how you’re feeling. But if you lose anything else because of me, I’ll be honest, I don’t know if I can live with that.”

To her surprise, he put his hands on her shoulders. The contact was electric, then he pulled her into his arms. The strength in his embrace held her up, buoyed her and then he set his chin to the top of her head. With the steady thump of his heart against her ear, she closed her eyes.

“Katie,” he spoke in a soft voice, one she had to strain to hear. “I can’t make you believe that nothing that happened to me was your fault. If anything happens on the way, know I’m where I am choosing to be. That doesn’t make it your fault either. It makes it my choice. If you want to back out, if you want to stay hidden and not go back to New York…I won’t force you.”

For real? Forcing her arms to unfold, she slid them around him. Sturdy muscles met her hands when she gripped him. Solid. Warm. The promise of a port in the storm. “If I don’t go back, will they catch them?”

“Yes,” he promised her.

The easy answer would be the one that said keep running, hide. Don’t face the guilt or the shame. Don’t face the danger.

Staying on the ranch had been the easy answer growing up, too. Coming home after college would have been easier than living as a struggling artist in New York, or working and auditioning until she was ready to collapse.

Easy didn’t mean right.

“I’m going back,” she said against his shirt, aware of the rich masculine scent of him. Sweat. Snow. Smoke. And something more. “It’s the right thing to do, and I want to be able to look myself in the mirror.”

“Then I’ll make sure you get there.” Pulling away, he braced his hands on her shoulders again and met her gaze. “Thank you.”

Less than 24 hours had passed since he’d pulled up in front of her place in the rental truck. A man she couldn’t imagine ever seeing again or wanting to see again, not when their only meeting had been amidst raining debris and unimaginable loss. After they got back to New York, would that be it? Would she not see him again?

Shuttling that thought to the side, she summoned a smile. They had to get there first. “Thank you,” she repeated his earlier words. “Thank you for coming to find me.”

“Go shower.” With a gentle nudge, he released her and ushered her into the bathroom. “I’ll be right out here.”

“Um…” She hesitated and he gave her a long look. “I kind of need to get a change of clothes first.”

He didn’t roll his eyes or laugh. “Which bedroom is yours?” After she pointed to it, he checked it first, and made sure to block the window before letting her inside. Ten minutes later, she brushed her teeth while the water heated in the shower. Instead of worry about the people gunning for her, or having to see Nash again, or even confronting what might be the accusations of being involved when she returned to the city—the only person on her mind was the man waiting for her in the hall.

Liam promised to take the risks to get her there, to stay by her side. He’d already proven both. Could she do any less for her angel?

Meeting her gaze in the slowly fogging mirror, she nodded and the fear fisting in her chest since she’d first discovered the second apartment released.

Come hell or high water, this Montana girl was going back to New York and she would take on those bad boys.

They weren’t getting away with it on her watch.

Not again.

Chapter 5

The flow of the shower ended and he could hear her moving around inside the bathroom when the rumble of engines carried from outside. Angel lifted a hand to knock, when Katie opened it. Damp hair clung to her flushed cheeks. Somehow she seemed smaller, and more delicate than earlier.

“Snowmobiles.”

At his nod, she dumped her dirty clothes into her room and then followed him down the stairs. Smart girl went right to her corner next to the gun safe and picked up her shotgun. Once certain she was secure, he made his way to the damaged front door. The insulation had held, and the covers he’d placed over the side windows shielded him.

“Katie. Angel,” a male voice called from outside. “It’s Hank Patterson, and I have a couple of my guys with me. You’re clear.”

The voice sounded familiar, but Angel eased the door open with the .38 at ready. He didn’t know any of the men, but the guy standing two feet back from the front door also held a satellite phone.

“Friend of yours,” he said, extending the phone to Angel. “Just in case you needed someone to vouch for me.”

Gun steady, Angel took the phone and put it to his ear. Katie could vouch for Hank, since she knew him, but he’d rather not expose her yet.

“Knight,” he said into the phone.

“Angel, buddy of mine,” Jacko’s welcome refrain relaxed him a fraction. “Meet Montana, six feet tall, brown hair and green eyes. The men with him are Swede—6’2, blond hair and blue eyes. Faint limp. The last guy is Bear, 6’1, brown hair and brown eyes. He was Delta Force, but we’ll forgive him the lapse.”

“I heard that,” Bear grumbled. Hank and Swede both grinned.

Not missing a beat, Jacko continued, “Flint and Cannon are both in New York and they have eyes on your guy. Word on the wire is that there’s a bounty on the woman you’re with, and there might be some freelancers in your area. Montana’s guys are going to take you out overland, hook you up with a vehicle, and then we’re putting you on a private plane.”

Private plane? Since when did any of them own a private plane? Angel kept the thought to himself. Jacko had walked him out of more fires than he cared to count. If he had it covered, the genius had it covered.

“Mickey will cover you at the airport, it’s a private one and we can control the security there. Jammer will meet you on the ground when you get to the Empire State.”

Jammer? His former future brother-in-law being involved steadied him. Jammer wanted these bastards caught every bit as much as he did. Angel lowered the weapon.

“Anything else?”

“Anything else?” Jacko actually sounded offended. “Jacko take care of this, track this down Jacko, book tickets for me Jacko—I just handed you a fucking silver platter of awesome, don’t push it.”

“Good to talk to you, too.” And he grinned, for the first time since he’d boarded the flight at La Guardia to head west, Angel had guys around him he could trust. A wall of skilled muscle to put between Katie and the threat. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me five,” Jacko said, hardly mollified but with a hint of humor in his voice. “Not that I’m counting. Stay safe, and hang onto this phone. I’ll call if anything changes.”

Then the line went dead and Angel blew out a breath. The air outside had a bite to it. “Come in.”

“We need to get moving,” Hank said, pulling a bag off the back off his snow mobile before he followed him inside. “Bear and Swede will keep an eye out.” Smart move.

Katie didn’t put in an appearance, and Angel grinned. Good girl had listened. “It’s Hank and his guys. We’re safe.”

She set the shotgun aside as she stepped out, then she greeted Hank with a big hug. The man lifted her off the ground much to her delight based on the squeal she released. Irritation flashed through him, but Angel suppressed the emotion. They didn’t have time for him to crack.

Setting Katie down, Hank gave her a critical look. “Sadie is annoyed you didn’t tell her you were here, but considering the circumstances—you’re forgiven. Get changed, we’re going out on the snowmobiles. We’ll double up with you and Angel on one, and Swede will ride with me.” With that, Hank tossed the bag to him. “Those should fit, you need to insulate against the wind and snow.”

“Problem.” Responding to the other man’s all business tone put Angel back on mission. “Never used a snowmobile before.”

“I have,” Katie said, still waiting at the foot of the stairs. “I can drive it, if you don’t mind sitting behind me.”

He could shield her from there and it left his gun arm free. “Good. There’s coffee in the kitchen,” he told Hank, then led Katie up the stairs. He double-checked her room before leaving her to change. He stripped in the hallway and added the layers to his clothes. His duffel was in the truck, he’d grab that before they left.

Ten minutes later, bundled up, he slid onto the snow machine behind Katie and she handled it like an expert. Bear took the lead with Hank and Swede falling in behind them. Bear also promised to get a crew over to fix her parents window, door and ceiling. Good as new, he’d assured her. The way Katie lit up under the promise added a fresh wave of irritation to his earlier annoyance.

Shoving the reactions to the side, he braced a gloved hand on her waist and kept himself steady as she accelerated through the snow. The sun kept peeking through the clouds, and it turned the snow-laden landscape into something right out of a fantasy novel.

The wind bit at any exposed skin, but they all wore neoprene masks to protect their mouths and noses, and goggles for their eyes. Katie had tugged a dark wool cap over her damp hair before she’d pulled up the hood on her parka. The only thing disturbing the stillness was the hum of the engines.

Thirty minutes into the ride as they followed Bear up a sharp incline, another shot echoed through the air. A glint of light gave him a clue where the shot came from, and the bullet slammed into the chassis of the machine, right between his and Katie’s legs. The snowmobile wobbled, but he tightened his grip on her middle—a squeeze and said, “Go—stay with Bear.” Then he lifted his gun hand and fired in that direction, several quick shots designed to buy them time.

Hank’s snowmobile was already peeling away from them. The repeated pops of sound coming from Swede’s gun as he fired in the same direction. Bear turned sharp at the top of the rise and Katie stayed with him. They made a run, then they were in the trees again and paralleling the road. Trusting Hank and Swede to deal with the threat from behind, Angel kept watch for the next problem.

Their path took them along the shoulder of the road, and the depth of the snow impressed the hell out of him. He hadn’t seen it this bad since they did cold weather maneuvers. Ahead of them, an SUV waited for them—engine running. The exhaust turned to vapor in the icy air.

A man slid out of the driver’s side of the vehicle, and didn’t make it a step before both Bear and he fired. The bullets slammed into the assailant and he went backwards. Katie screamed, but she didn’t let up on the gas. They raced passed the SUV and then down a dip in the road. Flashing lights greeted them—sheriff’s vehicles. Two deputies were bundled into cold weather gear and they had rifles in hand.

The sheriff waved to them and Bear slowed his machine as he came along side, with Katie parking next to them. “The sheriff is getting y’all to the airport, hop in.” Another man came to take the snow mobile from Katie. Even through their gloves, Angel could feel her shaking. Pulling her to his side, he got her into the back of the vehicle and then told her to lie down.

He’d be riding shotgun—literally.

Bear and his companion were already gone, tearing it up through the snow as they went at an angle likely to meet back up with Hank and Swede. The sheriff sent his deputies up the road to deal with the downed man and the SUV, meanwhile, Angel kept watch as the Sheriff’s SUV and its heavy-duty snow tires carried them to the private landing strip.

The occasional sob reached him, but each time he glanced back at her, Katie had her head turned away. The need to comfort her warred with the desire to protect. They’d have time on the plane, he promised them both silently.

It was the longest, most agonizing hour of his life, as the sheriff transported them. Angel couldn’t shake the sensation of being exposed, or how close that shot had come when they’d been on the snowmobiles. If the guy had been even a millisecond faster, Katie would have taken the full brunt of the shot.

Relief came at the sight of Mickey waiting next to a plane behind the secured gates of the landing strip. The sheriff waved them off, then told Katie to be careful. She smiled at the man, but the expression never reached her eyes. As much as Angel wanted to let her take solace in the people she knew, he didn’t want her out in the open any longer than necessary.

“Hey man,” Mickey said, as he grasped Angel’s hand in a fast shake, then he nodded to Katie. “Ma’am. We’ve got food and drink on board, go on.” The plane was nicer than Angel expected.

They stripped out of the heavier gear and Katie dropped into a seat and buckled in. With Mickey heading up front to sit with the pilot, Angel took the seat right next to Katie, then took her icy hand in his as the plane hurtled along the runway. Her trembling turned to genuine shaking, and Angel waited only for the plane to level before he unbuckled them both and pulled her into his lap.

“You did great, sweetheart,” he murmured against her ear as she clung to him. “You were a rock star.”

Every little hiccupping tear ravaged him. When Mickey poked his head out of the cockpit, eyebrows raised, Angel shook his head. The last thing Katie needed was a witness to her meltdown. As hard as she continued to cry, he had to wonder if she’d not let herself react to any of it in all these weeks.

“You’re safe,” Angel continued after Mickey vanished back to take control of the flight. “I promise, we’ve got you.”

After several long, grueling moments of her weeping, she finally lifted her head to look at him. Face red and blotchy and her eyes swollen, she looked like she’d gone through the ringer. “I thought the square was the worst thing that ever happened to me.” Another hiccup punctuated the statement.

Giving her a gentle smile, he brushed away one of her tears with his thumb. “Remember, the only easy day was yesterday.”

Then she released a damp chuckle, but a laugh nonetheless.

Better. “You were a badass. You didn’t slow down, you didn’t give in to the fear. You did exactly what we asked you to do, and you followed the plan. We’re both still here and the bad guys got theirs. Like I said, you’re a rock star.”

The guys who came after her to collect on some bounty were definitely on the bad list. “I didn’t even realize they’d shot at us on that hill until I saw the hole in the snow mobile when we stopped.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you did it.” He adjusted her to a more comfortable position. Her ass on his lap was giving his dick way too many ideas. Though he was halfway considering shifting her back to her own seat, she changed his mind when she snuggled up to him and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “You didn’t even flinch when we fired back.”

“So if the only easy day was yesterday, how awful will it be when we land?” She spoke so softly, he had to strain to hear her.

“You’ve got me, and Mickey and Jammer will be there when we land.” Fuck, she didn’t know those guys. “You trusted Hank, right?”

“Yeah,” she sniffed, then gazed at him from between damp lashes. “I trust you, too.”

The latter surprised him. “Then trust we’ll get through this. We’ve got a plan.” It was still a plan on the fly, but he’d succeeded with less in the field. They needed to reach out to Jade, the former SEAL turned New York City detective was the lynchpin in the puzzle. Jacko was on it, though, so they could afford to rest.

“Okay,” she sighed and rested her head against his shoulder and he settled his cheek to her hair. The dark strands still held a hint of dampness, but she smelled like roses. Probably her shampoo, but he liked it. Stroking her spine with his thumb, he drew small circles until her breathing evened and she went to sleep.

Needing to rest his eyes, he closed them. Maybe a little nap wouldn’t hurt him either.

Katie slept all the way to New York, she was still yawning and rubbing at her eyes when Angel settled her back into her seat and buckled her seatbelt into place. Wasn’t the flight longer? She’d been white-knuckled all the way to Bozeman the last time, this trip seemed to fly by. Grimacing at her own pun, she accepted the thermos of coffee. It was still warm, if not hot. The sandwich was dry, and she ate it speedily and washed it down with the coffee. Neither were appetizing, but tasted like nirvana.

“So what next?” she asked, glancing from Angel to the man he called Mickey. Though he’d ridden in the cockpit, the man sat across from them now.

“We’ll be landing in about thirty minutes. Jammer will meet the plane, he’s got a nice bulletproof car for us.” The casual way he said the words left another chilly footprint on her soul. Before all this, she would have said the hardest part about living in New York was figuring out which subway line went where. Now they were talking spotter cars, lead vehicles and best routes.

“My fiancée will meet us at one police plaza,” Mickey continued. “She’s an attorney and she’s got a waiver to practice here as well as a secondary attorney who can file anything we need filed.”

“Why do I need an attorney?” She glanced from Mickey to Angel, then back. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He knows that,” Angel assured her, and covered her hand with his. The action steadied her. “Arizona is more to cover our asses.”

Arizona. Angel. Montana. “Is she military too?”

It was Mickey who chuckled this time. “No, her parents named her after U.S.S. Arizona, but ask her if she’s former military, I would love to see her reaction.” The genuine warmth filling his eyes urged her to trust his judgment on this one.

“Wait, cover our asses.” Was Angel in trouble? “Are they blaming you?” Incensed she switched her attention back to Mickey. “Angel didn’t do this.”

“Ease up on the pedal there darlin’, we know Angel’s clean and the cops do, too. It’s more a matter of form, he was there, and it happened. He also took out a thug.”

God, that was right, he killed JK.

“So, he’s a person of interest whether we like it or not. Arizona’s gonna be there for any questioning, and she’s going to make sure the cops take care of both of you. In the meanwhile, we’ll keep an eye on the Nash character until the police take over.”

“It sounds simple enough.” Though if the last few weeks were any indication, simple didn’t mean better or even safer.

“It is what it is. Angel will help you into the vest before we leave. We want you in body armor. We’re armed, and I’m licensed to carry in New York, Angel isn’t, but we’ll have a gun in the car if he needs it. What about you? Are you licensed?”

“No, and I only use guns for target shooting at home—” Montana. Montana would always be home no matter where life took her.

“And ceilings. She’s a damn wicked shot where the ceiling is concerned.” The teasing jibe ruffled her feathers, and Katie bumped Angel’s shoulder with hers.

“Mean.”

His chuckle pulled a smile from her and chased away the apprehension of wearing a bulletproof vest.

“I use pepper spray here.” It was legal and labeled, and damn painful. She’d never had a reason to pull it out, and wished she’d even remembered she had it after the explosion, but she wasn’t even sure where her purse ended up. Thankfully, she’d forgotten her wallet in her dance duffel or she would have lost her ID, too.

“Let Angel do the shooting then,” Mickey said, though his lips twitched. “We’ll get you there safe and sound. Trust us.” After echoing Angel’s earlier statement, he excused himself to return to the cockpit leaving them alone.

“How you doing?” Angel asked after the silence between them stretched.

“My ass is sore,” she said, the offhand remark not even registering until he twisted to look at her. Then she laughed at herself. “The snowmobile, it’s been a while and sitting here, I think it went numb and it’s been waking up. I haven’t been dancing every day or running like I do—instead I just hid and now I’m aching.”

“I’d offer a massage,” he delivered the line with a quirk of his lips, then winked. “But we don’t have time for anything fun right now.”

Heat flushed through her at the suggestive note. “You couldn’t have thought of it earlier?” The retort took the right tone, because he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

“I’m a little slow sometimes.”

“I like slow,” she said, then licked her lips. “It’s better to take your time.”

“Yes, ma’am. It is.” Then he kept ahold of her hand as Mickey let them know they’d begun their descent. In a few minutes, they’d land and she’d put on a bulletproof vest to make their way through the city.

After she gave her statement? What happened then? How did she go back to her life?

What the hell was her life after all of this?

The two hours after their wheels touched down, they became a frenzied activity of hurry up and wait. First it was into the body armor, and from the plane they went straight into a heavy duty vehicle. The driver—Jammer—turned out to be someone as invested in the disaster as she was. He’d lost his fiancée, Angel’s sister.

No blame existed in his gaze as he and Mickey shielded them on their way into the vehicle. He and Angel didn’t talk much, though what they said always seemed to be short and to the point. They weren’t tense, but they were both watching everything as they drove. A couple of times, Angel told her sit lower in the seat and she did.

Driving into the city took on a surreal quality. A man they greeted as Jade and introduced as Detective Green met them in the parking garage. He guided them upstairs into the heart of One Police Plaza. As Mickey promised, Arizona Kensington awaited them, the attorney shook her hand and ushered her into one room while Jade took Angel to another.

The separation probably made sense, but Katie’s gut wouldn’t stop churning. She told Arizona everything she could remember and the attorney took some notes, then left her to go and speak to Angel.

The hurry up and wait seemed to extend to the tan walled interior of the conference room. When Arizona came back, she was with Detective Green and another man who turned out to be name Rubens, an assistant district attorney for New York County and third man who simply leaned against the wall and didn’t introduce himself.

The questioning took hours, and even with offers for bathroom breaks and water, she was spent by the time the detective and the ADA rose. “We’re going to take you into protective custody,” Detective Green said. “We’ve sent a couple of uniforms to check on your apartment. We can get a search warrant, but do you give us permission to enter and search for anything Mr. Guiness may have left there?”

Nash hadn’t stayed at her place often, but the request made sense. “If it’s still mine, then yes. I haven’t spoken to my landlord or checked on the rent.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Arizona assured her. “I reached out and he had changed the locks, but it’s still your place. We’ll get it all taken care of.”

Well that was a relief. “So do I stay here?”

“For the moment,” the detective said. “We’re arranging a security detail and a place for you to stay.”

After they left, Arizona excused herself to check on things. Katie laid her head on the table. Even though she’d told the whole story to Angel, it didn’t make it easier to admit the sordid mess to strangers. She couldn’t get over how stupid she’d been—to trust Nash, to investigate him, to think he was cheating, and then to follow the breadcrumbs to Storybook Square.

Life was weird, but there was no excuse for her mistakes. The longer she sat there, the wearier she became. The door opened and Arizona leaned in, “C’mon, let’s blow this joint. Mickey’s picking us up in five.”

Mickey. Not Angel.

Shoving away from the table, she pulled on the body armor before following the smartly dressed attorney down the hallway. No one had taken the vest away from her and Angel had wanted her wearing it. A part of her kept looking for Angel, hoped he was okay. She’d stressed repeatedly he had nothing to do with the bombing. He’d been there, just like she and he’d saved her life.

A lot.

Though they’d taken notes, no one responded with whether Angel faced charges or not. At the elevator, she looked at Arizona. “What about Angel? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.” The attorney gave her arm a squeeze. “Trust me, he wants you out of here and safely back in our hands. The city’s detail is going to back up our guys. Jammer’s already got a place picked out and Mickey will get you there.”

“What about you?” Was the attorney staying because Angel was still here?

“I’m going to do my job.” When the doors dinged open, she guided them inside and they rode down to the parking garage in silence. As promised, Mickey waited for them right outside the doors. He braced a hand against the elevator opening and gave Arizona a kiss, before taking Katie’s arm.

“Stay here until I come back for you, okay sweetheart?” He winked at his fiancée and she laughed.

“I’ll be here for hours yet, I have a lot of paperwork to do and I’m meeting with the ADA again.”

“Are they going to file charges?” If they did against her fine, but Katie was worried about Angel

“I doubt it, but we have to make sure every t is crossed and every i is dotted, now go on.” Only after Arizona assured her did Katie let Mickey guide her out.

They took a town car this time, and while Mickey made her sit in the backseat he didn’t tell her to get low. The drive through the city took a shorter time than the drive in from the airport, but he pulled into another garage—this time for a hotel right in the middle of Times Square.

“Hide in plain sight,” Mickey told her before he stepped out of the car and circled it to open her door. It was nearly midnight outside, and the city was still hopping. The hours had all bled together. She woke up in Montana and she’d go to sleep in New York.

Life really was weird.

Jammer led her inside and to a bank of elevators, they took one all the way up to a high floor. Her feet were dragging and the exhaustion weighed on her like a lead balloon. With a keycard, Jammer opened a suite door.

“Food is waiting for you, and no one will knock that isn’t us, but you still need to check before you open it.” The litany of security precautions washed over her like a bad dream, but she nodded anyway.

“Don’t open it unless its you and you have a key so you can get in. Got it.” Then she paused at looked at him. Despite his unreadable expression, there was a haunting sadness around his eyes. “I’m really sorry about Moira.”

“Me, too, hon. Me too.” Then the door closed behind him. Venturing deeper into the suite, Katie found the food as promised, and the drapes drawn on all the windows. They wanted those to stay closed.

Though a part of her held out hope Angel would be there, a quick survey of the bedroom and bathroom answered that question.

She was alone.

Chapter 6

It was nearly four in the morning before Jade cut him loose. The U.S. Attorney had more than a few questions for him, and a JAG lawyer came in to represent him alongside Arizona. Apparently the investigation had been moving apace, but his forty-eight hour disappearance merited more than just a slap on the wrist.

While the medical review board still had his file in front of them and technically Angel was on leave, he had to answer a lot of questions regarding his choices. Angel answered them all, leaving everyone else’s names out of it. It didn’t matter what happened to him, if he went down for this—fine it was on his head. The guys were keeping Katie safe and that was important.

Still, he was a knotted muscle when he walked out of the station and down to where Mickey waited with the car. Arizona had left a couple of hours earlier, at his insistence.

“Your fiancée is a eagle,” he said, bumping his fist to the other man’s shoulder.

“Yes she is, c’mon. I’ll give you a ride and fill you in.” Mickey gave him the rundown on what the team had learned about Nash Guiness, and the fact the FBI was now involved. They were closing the jaws on Nash and his whole grass-roots group of whackjobs. The more he spoke, the more Angel shook his head.

They wanted America’s attention at home, rather than overseas. Well, they were about to have America’s boot thrust up their asses. As much as he wanted to be apart of the beat down, he had a better place to be.

At the hotel, Mickey handed him a keycard. “You sure you want to go up there? She may be ready to wash her hands of all of us when this is over.”

“Maybe, and if she wants me gone, all she has to do is say the word.” Two thoughts had driven him since the explosion—avenging his sister and finding the woman he’d saved. Meeting Katie hadn’t changed either thought, except he wanted to be where she was. He wanted to know she was safe.

“Stay alive,” was Mickey’s only advice. Leaving the car, Angel entered the lobby. At this time of morning, even Times Square was quiet. In a few hours, the city would rouse and get back to work. They did that here, the transformation so swift it could take a stranger’s breath away.

It didn’t matter how often he visited the place, he never got used to it. He tracked the guy near the elevator keeping watch and nodded to him. Jammer was on the top floor, leaning against the wall with a perfect view of her room and the elevators.

Pausing, he extended his hand to the man and said, “Thanks.” Nothing said he had to involve himself, but the Delta Force operative hadn’t hesitated when they’d called him.

“Brother, you need me you only ever have to call.” Jammer answered as he answered Angel’s grip with a firm one of his own.

“Right back at you.” Then he nodded toward the room. “I’m here for the night, so catch some rest.”

Leaving him, Angel headed toward her suite. At the door, he considered knocking them used the keycard instead. If she was asleep, he didn’t want to wake her and if she was awake, he didn’t want to scare her worrying who was at the door.

They’d all had enough of that.

Inside, only one light burned in the sitting area. He threw the security latch she’d left off, and walked quietly toward the open double doors to the bedroom. The sound of voices on the television suggested she might be awake. She glanced up from where she sprawled in the middle of the bed and relief transformed her weary expression.

She rolled off the bed and raced to him. He wasn’t sure what reception he’d get, but her launching into his arms was about the best damn possibility ever. Holding her tight, he carried her back to the bed and sat on the edge.

“I was worried about you,” she said, then leaned back to stare at him. “They didn’t try to arrest you, did they? Cause if I have to go back down there and yell at someone, I will.”

“I believe it.” He marveled at the attitude change, she’d been so scared on the airplane and pretending hard she wasn’t. Her nerves hadn’t abated once on the drive to the police station, and he’d read the worry in her eyes when they’d parted ways. Now, she sat on his lap, hair tumbling loose and in waves, with a fierce gleam in her eyes. Maybe she was still a little too pale for his taste and he hated the shadows beneath her eyes, the woman facing him had ditched flight for fight. “You don’t have to kick anyone’s ass,” he assured her. “We’re good. They just needed to go over every choice I’ve ever made.”

Relief made her sag, and she wrapped her arms around him again. The press of her breasts to his chest gave him other ideas, but he kept his grip loose. No assumptions on his part. He was here to protect her, and that was it.

“I didn’t know if I’d see you again,” she said, then pressed a kiss to his jaw. Dammit, he should have shaved. Hell, he hadn’t even showered in days.

“Wouldn’t let that happen,” he promised her, then eased her away. “I need a to wash up sweetheart, not that I mind holding you or hugging you, but I stink.”

“Okay,” she said, and her smile seemed almost incandescent. “I was exhausted when I got here, but I couldn’t sleep until I knew what was happening. Do you want me to order some food? There’s hotel room coffee, but it’s nasty.”

“No, I’m not hungry.” Too much adrenaline killed his appetite and he didn’t want her opening the door for anyone. “I’ll shower, then we can talk or sleep…”

“…or something else?” Holy hell, had the woman just propositioned him?

Canting his head to the side, he studied her. “You’ve been through a lot, I don’t expect anything.”

“Expectations aren’t about desire,” she said, sounding terrifically wise. “I’m not expecting anything either, but if you feel the desire to kiss me after your shower, I wanted to be perfectly clear, I’m on board with the idea.” As if to prove a point, she leaned in to him and his lips parted, whether in anticipation or shock, Angel wasn’t sure. Then Katie paused, mouth twisting. “Maybe after you brush your teeth.”

The twinkle in her eyes softened the criticism and he tossed her onto the bed with a laugh. “I’ll be right back.”

It was the fastest shower of his life, he barely let the water heat up. The hotel provided a razor, so he gave himself a quick shave while he was at it and per the lady’s request—brushed his teeth.

When he emerged fifteen minutes later, wearing only a towel, he found her sound asleep on the bed, still clad only in the oversized t-shirt and panties. Disappointment weighed against the satisfaction of knowing she was safe and sound—and finally able to sleep.

Turning off the lights, he walked over to the bed and eased the covers over her before settling in next to her. The security bar was on and he wouldn’t sleep deeply, but he’d be right here, in case she needed him.

The next time he opened his eyes, the sun shone behind the curtains and Katie leaned on an elbow looking down at him. The sleep tousled length of her hair fell over one shoulder and tickled his chest.

“Hi,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

“Hey.” He lifted a hand to run his finger down her cheek. She looked a lot better, and the dark circles beneath her eyes had faded. “Sleep well?”

“Too well, I’m sorry I wasn’t awake when you came out of the shower.”

So was he, but he didn’t need to tell her that. “I was happy you were able to sleep.” Especially after the day she’d had.

“How did you sleep?” She propped herself up one elbow and made no attempt to distance herself.

“Like a log,” he admitted and harder than he had in a long time. Angel had a sneaking suspicion if she hadn’t woken up, he’d still be asleep, too. No need to look at that too closely. A whirring noise filled the quiet, and he glanced at the table next to the bed. At some point, he’d set his cell phone there.

“It started going off a couple of minutes ago,” Katie told him.

Not wanting to invite the rest of the world into their moment, Angel reached for his phone anyway. If something was up, they needed to know.

Three messages lit up the screen. When Katie would have slipped away, he caught her wrist in a light grip. “You don’t have to go anywhere.” Then he released her, but she curled back to his side and settled her palm to his chest. The contact lit a match to a slow burning fuse coiling through his system.

The first message was from Jammer. They were rotating in a couple of other guys, and their photos were included. The second message was from Arizona and Mickey, the ADA wasn’t pressing charges. They still had to wait to hear whether the military was, but the JAG lawyer didn’t think it would be an issue.

The last message was Jacko. We’re on the move. Bounty is erased. Warrants issued for Nash and his friends. Feds are taking point. Stay low until we send the all clear.

His friends, some of the best SEALs he’d ever known, were taking the lead and as much as he wanted to be out there fighting the fight with them. He was exactly where he needed to be.

Where he wanted to be.

“Does that mean it’s over?” Katie asked, tracing her finger against his chest. The path was light enough to tickle, yet he enjoyed it too much to squirm.

“It means they are moving. Life is never over until we’re done. For Moira, it’s done. She’ll have justice. For the others in those shops, they’ll have their justice. For us? It’s about figuring out what’s next.”

The medical review board could bounce him, then it would be a medical discharge from the Navy. After? Flint and Cannon already offered him a job. So maybe he’d go to work for them…

“I don’t know what’s next,” Katie said quietly. “I always thought—I wanted to make it on Broadway, I wanted to make a splash, make people laugh and smile and tap their toes. After all this, that seems pretty flakey.”

“No, not even a little bit.” He caught her hand, then rolled her onto her back so he could lean over her and meet her gaze. The provocative pose had less to do with seduction and everything to do with holding her attention. “Making people laugh? Making them smile? Giving them something to feel is more important than ever right now. We can all cry, we can all scream, and fuck—we’re all pissed off about something. We need the good stuff, too. If you don’t want to do it anymore, if you want to go back to Montana or run away to Canada to become an accountant—do it because it’s what you want. But don’t give up your dream because you think it’s insignificant after all this. Don’t let that son of a bitch make you feel like less or destroy anything you worked for.”

Her eyes widened at his intensity, and maybe he was coming on too strong. But dammit, her life and her choices were the exact reasons he enlisted. People had a right to chase their dreams, and to find joy in a dreary world. He fucking fought to defend it and she as much as anyone deserved everything good she could find in the world.

“You really believe that,” she whispered.

“I do,” he assured her, then brushed his nose to hers. “Do I need to go brush my teeth before I think about kissing you this time?”

She answered him by lifting her head to meet him. The soft, slow massage of her lips against his sent a zing through his system. It was gentle, and sweet, and inviting. When her tongue teased along the seam of his lips, the rigid control he held over himself slipped.

He claimed her mouth, tongues tangling even as he thrust his fingers into her hair. She slid her free leg over his hip and he settled into the cradle of her thighs. The blankets kept them apart, but he feasted on the sweetness of her mouth.

After what seemed a heavenly eternity, she leaned her head into the pillow and studied him with sleepy eyes and a smile on her lips. “I don’t know…”

“About what?” His brain wasn’t making the connection between her words and their meaning.

“Whether you need to brush your teeth, maybe you should kiss me again.” She didn’t have to ask him twice. His erection strained against the blankets and there was no mistaking it. Swooping in, he kissed her. The next few minutes proved a struggle populated by laughter and groans as they wiggled her free of the blankets.

His towel went flying, and he hooked his thumbs into her panties. When her shirt came off, he took some leisurely time to explore her breasts, and curves. Every time he came across a faded bruise, he kissed it. When she found a scar on him, she did the same.

Half-drunk on the feel of her, he worked his way down her body. When he pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of her thigh, she let out a soft cry of pleasure then groaned.

Pausing, he glanced up along her length to find her staring back at him with half-dilated eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Do we have condoms?” The frustration edging the words made him laugh. As tempting as it was to tease her, he was in no shape for that.

“I might have one or four in my bag,” he promised her. “If I don’t,” he resumed his downward trajectory even as he spread her legs. “We have plenty we can do in the meanwhile.” And he could always text one of the guys working protection.

Nuzzling kisses along her leg, he stroked his finger along her labia until he reached her clit. Then she let out a gasp as he applied the slightest pressure. He’d never had a woman come apart in his arms so beautifully, and it was a marvel to watch.

Leaving her on the bed for a moment, he retrieved his duffel the guys had dropped off, dug out a condom, then suited up before returning to her on the bed.

The dazed look in her eyes held him riveted as he eased into her and she welcomed him with open arms and an even sweeter kiss. Finding his rhythm, he rocked into her and between kisses, he clasped her hands so he could roll over. On his back, he marveled at the woman rising above him. The lock of their bodies together was intoxicating, but more was the way she looked at him.

He’d survived a fire to save her and crossed a country to find her.

Angel had never been in love before, but he was starting to think she was the woman for him. The right woman found at what was the worst time and when her second orgasm came crashing down on her, he gathered her close and leapt off to follow her.

Once would never be enough.

Three months later…

“Let’s go!” The stage manager issued the instruction in a controlled whisper. The curtain was down and the lead actors were in front finishing a scene. It was the last one before the closing number on their sold out opening night. Katie took her place in position two. She was the first female principal behind the lead actress, as well as her understudy.

It was her biggest role to date and perhaps her most favorite. They’d worked overtime, four weeks of twelve to fifteen hour days to get the production ready for previews, and tonight they’d opened their doors to a standing room only crowd. The musical had been as hastily written, and Storybook Square was projected to be a top contender at the Tonys.

Every dancer held their position as the curtain swung open. Darkness blanketed them as the lead began to sing about loneliness and how the walls of his world turned to rubble. There were people who were there for him, and he learned about who he was—every step leading him to the woman he loved more than anything else.

When she arrived on the stage, it took everything Katie had to not respond. This song got to her every time and in a moment the audience would learn the secret they’d guarded in every rehearsal. In the darkness, she gazed toward the front row and the man sitting with the cowboy hat on his knee.

Liam “Angel” Knight’s gaze fixed on her as the lead began to move around the stage, and one by one, she and the other dancers came to life. They were all dressed in their parts, and the timing had to be perfect as they danced out who they represented.

From this moment forward, they were those who fell, and left those they loved behind. Every step matching in tempo as the lights came up and then the images began to play as she stepped and twirled to coming home.

Every victim of the Storybook Square bombing shown on the screen, laughing, dancing, and alive. On every turn, she caught Angel’s gaze and the tears in them reflected her own. When he mouthed the words I love you, her heart soared and she led the dancers into the audience. They had brought in the families of the fallen and the men and women who had been first responders.

Dancing around Liam, she winked at him as she offered her hand to his father and the man delighted her as he stood and joined her. They danced with the others, and kept singing. Then as they traded partners, Liam’s father reached for his mother and she flowed into Liam’s arms.

Her angel.

For those who would never come home again, the show would honor them and make sure they were never forgotten.

She’d found the love of her life, and holding his hand, she showed him her stomp and they hooked arms with others. The theater thrummed with life. A life she owed to him. Never again would she shy away from the performance. He fought his war and she fought hers.

Together, they found love.

As the music cut to the last note and Angel dipped her, she knew she was exactly where she belonged.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed Angel and Katie’s story! For Mickey and Arizona’s, check out Securing Arizona!

About the Author

USA Today bestselling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche bags. Her books are filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime. From paranormal historical westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters drive the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes her time to family and friends she considers family. She believes if you like your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends with women just like them, you’ll enjoy her worlds as much as she does.

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Always a Marine Series

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