A Soldier's Redemption (13 page)

He wondered if she had any idea that pacing up and down every street as she did was a good recon. Probably not. Such things were undoubtedly far from her mind.

And as they walked, he noticed an increasing number of patrol cars. Nothing truly obvious, but probably more of a show of force than this neighborhood routinely saw.

He honestly didn't know if that was good. Scaring these guys off temporarily would only delay the problem. But one thing he was sure of by the time they marched back up onto Cory's porch was that he'd caught no sight of the man, or either of his cars, that had set off his internal alarms.

What did that mean? He could think of answers both good and bad.

Inside the house, once he reset the alarm, he watched Cory march down the hallway to her bedroom, then he heard her shower come on.

Damn, this house was stuffy. It held the day's warmth close, and the smells of their meal still filled the air. Imagine having lived like this for the past year, afraid to even open a window.

On impulse, he switched off the alarm, and opened a window in the living room, and another in her kitchen, allowing the freshening evening breeze to blow through. He could keep an eye on both while she showered, and the breeze would clear out the downstairs in only a few minutes.

Then it occurred to him that by shutting down the alarm system, he had left every window in the house unprotected against intrusion.

Well, hell. Sighing impatiently, he went back to the keypad and looked through all the warnings it gave him and finally got to the question about bypassing zones. He hesitated only a moment, taking time to scan the list of zones on the plastic card behind the keypad. Okay. He could switch off the living room and kitchen, and leave the rest of the house online.

He hit the bypass for each zone, then re-enabled the
alarm. Now all he had to do was keep an eye out and wait to see what emerged from the shower. A woman who had collected herself, or one who remained withdrawn.

She did emerge finally, wearing a scanty tank top and shorts. He spared a moment to notice those lovely legs and graceful arms. She seemed not to notice he had opened the windows, nor to care, although she probably would shortly. The dry air held heat poorly, and as the sun sank the breeze had just begun to take on a chill.

Cory seemed oblivious, however, going to the living room and sitting on the couch, staring at nothing in particular.

He decided he needed to try to engage her again. Try to draw her out of that netherworld where the brain and emotions went when they felt overwhelmed.

“Cory?”

She barely glanced at him.

“What happened?”

“What
do
you mean?”

At least she was answering him. “I mean what made you…” He hesitated, not wanting to use the word
snap.
A person in this state could switch from withdrawal to rage in an instant. “What pushed you over the edge?” he said finally, realizing there was no delicate way to phrase this.

“All of it.”

“Well, yes.” This was like walking through a minefield. “But something particular happened to put that look in your eye.”

The slightest movement of her shoulder suggested a shrug. “You and Gage were talking on the phone. That's when I realized that I don't want to live this way anymore. I refuse to live this way any longer. I'm done with it.”

Good. She was talking. “That's understandable.”

“There's no point in living if I have to live this way. So I just won't do it anymore.”

And that was where the danger lay. That came awfully close to suicidal thoughts. He sought a way to get through the cloak of detachment that shrouded her. “Making up your mind that you've had enough shouldn't lead you to act rashly.”

“Why not?” Her hollow eyes regarded him unblinkingly. “Why should I put up with this one day, one hour, longer than necessary?”

“Because once we deal with this, it would be nice for you to be around to try building a new life.”

“What am I supposed to build a new life with? That bastard took everything that mattered to me, directly or indirectly. Survival is not enough.”

“Then what is?”

Finally he saw a spark of life in her gaze. Just a spark. “I don't know. I don't care anymore.”

“Yes, you do.”

She looked away, saying nothing.

“Admit it, Cory. In the past couple of days you've started to feel a little hope again. A little pleasure. You've tasted the idea that life could be good again.”

“No.” She turned to face him, and now she was angry. Good and angry. Part of the reaction, but in its own way as difficult to deal with as the distancing.

“Do you really think,” she said, “that sex with you is enough to make life good again? Do you really think a hasty tumble in the hay is all I need to make things better? God, even a man should know better than that.”

He didn't argue. She was right. Even if it stung.

“For the love of heaven,” she said, jumping to her feet. “I'm living in a prison! I got a couple of hours of parole but that's all I got. And then I asked myself why I should start
hoping again. What makes me think this mess is going to get any better? That there'll be anything left for me except ashes even if we do catch this guy.”

She rounded on him. “The Marshals haven't caught him in all these months. Fifteen months the Marshals and FBI have been hunting this man and they can't find him. In fact, I bet if I checked with them, I'd find out he's moved down their priority list to a level below some escaped felon or some bank robber. Just another ice-cold case.”

He remained silent, letting her rant however she needed to. “If they ever find this guy, it's going to be because he comes after me. And now you and Gage even suspect that somebody must have revealed my location. Some protection. All they did was take away the little I had left. They should have just let me go home to my blood-soaked condo. At least I wouldn't have had to endure a year of this!”

She wrapped her arms around herself and began pacing the small living room. “What they did was put me in solitary confinement. You say you can't make connections? I haven't been able to because getting too close to someone increased the possibility that I'd say something I shouldn't. Look at how fast you picked up on it from things I didn't say. They told me I'd be safe once they moved me, but I never believed it. How could I believe it when they couldn't catch the gunman and I was the only one who could identify him? How could I believe it when that monster who killed my husband put a contract on me?”

“I don't know,” he said quietly, mostly to show that he was listening.

“You know what I think?” she demanded.

“No.”

“I think they put me into Witness Protection because I
was an ongoing embarrassment. They couldn't catch the bad guy, they couldn't send me back to my life for fear I'd become a front-page scandal if I turned up dead. So they sent me away. Far away. And once they got me settled in this rundown house with a minimum-wage job, they handed me a couple of business cards and never looked back. Problem solved.”

“You believe that?”

“What else am I supposed to believe? Here I am, a year after they dumped me, and that killer may be after me because of them. He may have found me because of them.”

“We don't know that.”

“How else would he have found me here? Look around you, Wade. Does this look like the kind of place you try to hide a witness? Newcomers here stick out. So why the hell did they pick this place? Why not some major city where I'd be just one of millions?”

It was a good question and had already occurred to him. “Maybe they thought no one would ever look in a place like this.”

“Clearly they may have been wrong. Regardless, here I am, all alone, facing the thing they said they were protecting me from.”

He lowered his voice even more. “You're not alone.”

“Not now. Because you just happened to land here looking for peace. Bet they didn't count on that.”

Uneasiness began to creep through him. “Do you know what you're saying?”

“Yes!”

“There's just one problem with that. A phone call.”

She threw up a hand. “So? Like you said, the guy needed to figure out which of a number of women who moved here in the last year was the right one. But if you're at all right
about that call, and that guy we ran into, someone put him on my tail. And the only people aside from Gage who are supposed to know where I am are the Marshals.”

He didn't speak, just turned her paranoia around in his mind, testing it for validity.

“I mean, how am I supposed to know that Seth Hardin sent you here? Because Gage said so? Because Gage said you've got a wall full of medals and you check out? That doesn't mean you didn't come here for some other purpose. I can't even trust you. You're a trained killer yourself and you figured out my situation pretty darn fast.”

At that, everything inside him went still, cold and silent. Everything she said was true, insofar as it went. But it was twisted through the lens of fear and paranoia and trauma. Regardless, he never again was going to let anyone kick him this way. Bad enough he had to live with what he was, without someone using it against him to claim he was untrustworthy.

He stood. “I'll leave.”

She didn't answer, just continued to stand there hugging herself and glaring.

“But let me make one thing clear to you, lady. I don't lie, and good men in far worse situations than this have trusted me. I never betray a trust.”

He turned, then remembered the windows. Without a word, he slammed the living room window shut and locked it. Then he went to do the same in the kitchen and came back to reset the alarm. Cory suddenly appeared beside him.

“I'll be gone in less than thirty minutes,” he said tautly.

“Wade…”

“No, Cory. Not another word. Nobody talks to me that way.”

He was halfway up the stairs when he heard her start sobbing.

O
h, God, what had she done? The numbness that had sheltered her most of the afternoon and evening had vanished, first leaving her furious, then filling her with despair as she heard her own words about Wade play back in her mind.

As she started sobbing, he just kept climbing the stairs, never looking back. And she couldn't blame him, she could only blame herself. Where had that ugliness come from, all that suspicion? How could such words have passed her lips? How could such thoughts have entered her mind, especially when she knew something of Wade's background.

It was as if an evil genie had taken over her tongue, spewing vile words as if they had some basis in truth.

But they had none. Only moments after having said those things, she had realized she didn't believe them. Not about Wade. And now she couldn't call those words back.

She returned to the living room and curled up in a ball on the couch, letting the tears flow. Facing the fact that she had become some kind of emotional cripple. Nothing worked right anymore. Nothing. Her whole psyche was so messed up that the normalcy she'd been pining for over the past few days would probably escape her forever.

If she survived this. And the really scary thing was that she didn't even care anymore if she did. She just wanted to be done with it.

So what had she done? She'd struck out at the one person who had managed to make her want to live again. That was the real threat he posed: that he had made her want to move past this nightmare into a future of some kind. That he had made her want to start looking forward again, rather than back.

And she had struck at him in the way she had guessed would hurt him the most: attacking his honor.

What kind of person had she become? She didn't like herself at all anymore, not one little bit. Turning over, she buried her face in a throw pillow and wondered if she'd ever again be able to justify the space she took up on this planet. Because right now she had to face the fact she was a waste of life. A mean waste of life.

These weren't the lessons she should take from what had happened to her. My God, she'd been a teacher. How many times had she tried to help students learn to grow from their bad experiences? How many times had she painted object lessons in how even a bad experience could be turned to something good?

Now look at her. She couldn't even take her own advice.

Finally the tears stopped, simply because there were none left. The storm had moved through, but this time it hadn't left her feeling totally numb. No, she still hurt,
and she despised herself. No convenient, comfortable numbness now.

She sat up finally to find the house dark. Even more surprising, however, was that she saw Wade sitting in the recliner across from her, a bulky shadow among shadows.

“I thought you were leaving.”

“I don't abandon my post.”

Totally neutral. As if he had put his own feelings away in a vault somewhere, as she had for hours today.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I can't tell you how sorry. I don't know where that ugliness came from.”

“Doesn't matter.” Indifferent. Unrevealing. The way he had seemed when he first arrived.

She had done that, she admitted. She had driven him back into that place where the walls were high and the battlements well guarded. And there was no way she could call back those words. “I'm sorry,” she said again, useless words once the wounds had been inflicted. “I didn't even mean it. I don't know what I was thinking.”

“You weren't thinking.”

“Obviously. I was acting like an animal, striking out at everything indiscriminately.”

“Maybe so.”

Oh, he was giving her nothing, not one little thing. Could she blame him? “I was afraid.”

“No, you were angry.”

“They come from the same thing.”

“Mmm.”

God, it was like talking to a brick wall again. And now it was not just annoying or disturbing. Now it hurt. It was almost enough to make her mad again, that he could hurt her this way.

She sat silently for a while, scrubbing the dried tears
from her face. Finally she decided the only way to get past his walls was to lower her own. Her heart accelerated a bit at the danger in exposing herself this way. But she owed it to him, especially since after what she had said he was still in this house, still ready to protect her even with his life. Didn't such a man deserve the truth?

“I was…I was striking out because you made me start to hope again. I was afraid because you made me feel that a normal life might be possible for me. And I don't believe that anymore. I can't believe that. Look at me. I'm damaged goods. I'll never be normal again.”

“It's unlikely.”

Damn! She couldn't believe she had done this to him, and it was too late to rip out her own tongue.

Then, finally, in the dark so she couldn't even attempt to read his face, he began to speak. His tone was measured, his words slow.

“Nobody,” he said, “who has seen and experienced what you and I have seen and experienced will ever be so-called normal again. It's an impossible thing to ask.”

“I guess so.” A hot, stray tear trickled down her cheek and she dashed it away.

“There will always be scars,” he continued. “Things will never look the way they used to before violence entered our lives.”

“No.” Now she sounded like him.

A few seconds ticked by. Then, “But just because we carry scars, just because we've lived through things a lot of other people don't, doesn't mean there's anything wrong with us. Far too many people in this world have experienced violence in one form or another. Maybe that makes us more normal than those who haven't.”

“What an awful thought.” One that caused her a pang, not only for all the others of whom he spoke, but because
it reminded her just how much self-pity she'd indulged, maybe was still indulging. He was right, and she knew it. One only had to turn on the news to see what millions of others suffered, many on a daily basis.

“Maybe. Still true. I've seen a lot of the world, and violence touches more lives than you can imagine. I'm not saying that's right, I'm just saying it is.”

“You're right.” Her voice broke a little. “I was protected from it all my life.”

“Some people are. Some of us are lucky enough not to live in war zones, or among thugs. But an awful lot of us, sooner or later, taste the ugliest side of human nature. Unfortunately, you didn't even have a support group of friends and family who shared your experience. Maybe that's the worst thing WITSEC did to you. It protected you physically, but left you with no help to heal emotionally.”

She caught her breath. “Maybe,” she agreed.

“Most of us are luckier than you. We have all kinds of social support.”

“You didn't, when you were a child.”

“No, but I sure as hell did after I grew up. But the scars are still there. All of them. Unlike you, I've had decades to deal with my crap. You haven't. And you can see what a stellar example of healing I am.”

“Don't knock yourself. I already did that, and unfairly, too.”

“I'm just trying to make a point. You
can
have a life again. It's just that sometimes you're going to hurt. Always.”

“I guess so.”

“With time the hurting comes less often. But it never entirely vanishes. Sorry, but I can't offer more than that.”

“It should be enough.”

“It's life. Whether it's enough is something only you can decide.”

“I'd almost decided. Then…well, you saw what happened.”

“Yeah.” He was silent a moment, then with a surprising note of humor he added, “You tried to build your walls back up with dynamite.”

She winced, because the description was so apt. And the only person who'd been hurt by her explosion was him. She'd had no idea she could turn so ugly, and the knowledge didn't comfort her at all. “My explosion didn't work very well. I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” he said finally. “I understand, believe me. I've seen it plenty of times, even done it myself a few times. That's what I meant about trip wires. You just start thinking you might reach for the brass ring, and then everything inside you starts shrieking warnings. Hell, you probably don't even believe you're entitled to live a normal life.”

She honestly hadn't looked at it that way before, but the sinking in her stomach acknowledged the truth of his words. “That's a place I haven't gone.”

“Not yet, maybe. You will. At some point, if it hasn't already, survivor guilt will give you a rough ride. If it does, and I'm around, talk to me about it. Been there, done that.”

If
he was around. That word caused her another sharp pang. “God, I'm a mess.”

“No more so than anyone else in your shoes. Try to find some comfort in that.”

“I can't believe you're trying to make me feel better after the way I treated you. You're being awfully generous.” And that made him a truly remarkable person, in anyone's book.

“Don't beat yourself up.” His tone had grown softer,
kinder than when they had begun this conversation, and that only made her feel worse.

“But the things I said!”

“I don't blame you for them. After I got upstairs and cooled off a bit, I realized you touched one of my trip wires. At least one. I overreacted.”

“I don't think you did.” She was still aching over the things she had said and implied about him. “You offered to protect me when you didn't need to do a thing. You deserve better from me.”

“You didn't say anything so god-awful, in the circumstances. Just let it go. I have.”

But had he? He might say so, but given the way he had responded, she knew full well her angry words must have cut him to the quick in the places that mattered most to him, like his sense of duty and honor. Ideals to which he'd devoted his entire adult life. Maybe he wasn't proud of everything he'd had to do. She could scarcely imagine the kinds of jobs SEALs must be sent on. Maybe some of those things even stuck in his craw. But she was fairly certain he'd never betrayed one of his buddies, and had never failed in his duty. And she'd made him sound like nothing better than a hired gun.

God, she wished she could erase the memory of her words.

“Ah, damn, lady,” he said on a sigh, “just let it go. Don't you think you already have enough baggage?”

“Maybe, but that doesn't give me the right to hand out more of it to anyone.”

“You didn't hand me any baggage. Period.”

Of course not. She didn't matter enough to him to be able to hurt him that way. In one sense she felt relieved that her shrewing hadn't hurt him in any lasting way. In another, awfully selfish way, she didn't like that she mattered so
little to him. But why should she? Two days did not a relationship make. Not even good sex could make up for lack of time.

And, as he had told her more than once, he didn't make those kinds of connections anyway. So maybe she shouldn't feel bad about what she had said, at least as far as hurting him went. He didn't allow himself that kind of vulnerability.

Judging by the way he had initially reacted to her rant, she supposed he wasn't totally impervious. At least not at that moment in time, although she would guess she had sent him back to that place where he let nothing touch him.

But there was more at issue here than whether she had hurt him. She had behaved deplorably, according to her own standards whether she had wounded him or not.

He surprised her then by rising and crossing the room to stand in front of her. It was still dark, the room illuminated only by the faintest light from outside streetlamps that managed to creep around cracks in the corner.

“I want you,” he said baldly.

Her heart leaped instantly. Something about her loved the way he was so open and honest about his needs, the way he voiced them without varnish or hesitation. Best of all, without embarrassment. That freed her from all those things, too.

She lifted a hand to take his. “Just don't carry me.”

“Why not?”

“Because just once I'd like to get into bed with you under my own steam.”

At that he laughed. “It's a deal. Sorry, I guess I've been picking you up a lot.”

“Only a few times.” She answered the gentle tug of his hand and rose to her feet. “Why do you do that?”

“I don't know.” He said nothing for a few seconds, still
holding her hand. “Maybe,” he said finally, almost breaking her heart in the process, “it's the only way I know to keep you close.”

Ah, God, that was such a revealing thing for him to say, as if he had stripped his mind and emotions bare. It was one thing to say you wanted someone sexually. It was entirely another to admit you wanted to keep them close but didn't know how. Her throat tightened so that she couldn't even speak.

All she could do was stare starkly at the fact that they were both wounded souls, each in their own broken way trying to make some kind of connection again, regardless of what either of them might claim. He sought physical connections because he didn't know how to make the other kind. She fought emotional connections because they hurt too much, and found the same solace he did in the physical.

Was that wrong? No, it wasn't. And maybe it was the first step on a much longer path they both needed to walk, whether together or separately. She squeezed his fingers to show her understanding, then cleared her throat, finding her voice again.

“I, um, guess it's okay if you carry me then.”

A little laugh escaped him. “Oddly, I think I'd prefer it a whole lot more if you came with me, Cory. Come lie with me, lady.”

He couldn't have chosen words more likely to ignite her desire, though she couldn't have said why. Heat spiraled through her to her very core, making her feel heavy with longing. Already her body ached for his touches, for his weight, for the fullness of feeling him inside her. She'd felt desire before in her life, but never this hot and this fast.