Atonement (36 page)

Pressing her hand to her mouth, she let the wrenching sobs control her, even though they hurt her wounded body. Her crying jag was so all-consuming, she didn't hear him enter until he knelt next to the bed and soothed her.

“Nic, it's going to be okay.”

She sniffed and took control of her emotions.

Con took a tissue and dried her tears. “What he said couldn't have been that awful.”

“You dork. He almost apologized.”

He chuckled, placing a kiss on her forehead. “I know. He was having a hard time keeping a straight face.”

“Why'd you shoot my sister?”

“Like I had another option. Patrick was making it damn difficult to get a bead on him, and the moment I had a chance I took it.” Con shivered. “I'm just glad she moved when she did or I would've killed her.”

“Last time I let you use my gun.”

“We'll see.” He tossed the tissue aside and dragged a chair over, then leaned down to her eye level. “Explain one thing to me. How did you know she wasn't going to kill you?”

Nic closed her eyes, took as deep a breath as her hurting chest would allow, and then looked at him. The sparkle in his eyes, that deep-seated Irish charm that had wormed its way into her heart and soul, warded off the lingering effects from The General's slight change in behavior. Con was what she had needed to understand how to be loved. It might take her the rest of her life to wipe out the old thoughts and distrust, but she was ready to do it with Con.

“I could see Cassy fighting Patrick's control. I trusted her to pick a point that wouldn't kill me and you to neutralize the threat.”

“Hmm.” Con's smile widened. “You trusted me?”

“I trusted you.”

“Does that extend to the rest of your life?”

Frowning, she shifted on the bed, trying to find a comfortable spot. He really had an uncanny knack for reading her mind. “I don't get one thing. I know you love me, but why?”

“You're selfless. As much as you tried to push people away and grumbled about how the folks in Eider treated you, not once did you ever stop doing what you knew was right. Believe me, I've racked my brain trying to figure out what drew me to you. I fell in love with your strength and weaknesses. Yes, you're an attractive woman, but inside, beneath all of those walls you built, is the real beauty. You're not the prickly person you show the world; you just want someone to stop and acknowledge you.”

Nic squirmed. It was difficult hearing his praise. Hell, it was hard listening to him talk about love when no one had ever expressed it to her like this.

“Well, since I'm being honest with you, why do you love me?”

She locked gazes with him. The expectation on his face made her chest constrict. It was this. Him.

“You never gave up on me. You believed the best in me. I'm not selfless, not even close. Con, you are. I balked at first because you were so pushy, but that's what finally opened my eyes. You never had, as far as I know, any self-serving purpose when it came to me.”

He reached out and took a strand of her hair to coil around his finger. “You're not a steppingstone for anyone. And I'll beat the bloody hell out of anyone who thinks it.”

Nic bowed her head and chuckled, groaning when pain shot through her ribs. She lifted her gaze to him. “Con O'Hanlon, is this you proposing to me?”

“That morning I woke up and found you missing from my bed, I panicked. Never had that kind of reaction before. I think I knew it then, but it didn't really hit me until later.” He cupped her jaw, rubbing the pad of his thumb along her cheekbone, staring into her eyes. “I love you, and I want you with me for the rest of our lives. With all your scars and your daddy issues, your battle wounds and complexities. PTSD be damned. So, yes, this is me proposing to you. I want you, Nic.”

“Even if I never get better?”

“We'll figure it out as we go. I'm in it for the long haul. Are you?”

Sometimes it was just best not to deny the heart.

“I don't quit. Why start now?”

The beauty of writing fiction is that an author can take any situation she wants and spin a wonderful story out of it. When I began this book, it was early 2012—women in combat units and sniper positions didn't become possible until 2014. At the time of completing
Atonement
, the first females had successfully completed their training for Marine combat units, but not for sniper positions. Women snipers are not unheard of in the law enforcement world, and because of story aspects and the plot, I chose to speed up the timetable for my book and make Nicolette Rivers the first female Marine Scout sniper.

When I started writing
Atonement
, my husband had been home from his deployment to Iraq for just over four years. We had been fortunate in the fact that he didn't experience much of what most returning veterans had, but there were things we had to overcome that everyone who serves can attest to. One thing had been crystal clear to me from the moment we learned he was deploying: I would one day write a book that delved into the dark side of what war does to our service men and women.

Writing about post-traumatic stress disorder in veterans has become something of mission of mine, something I pour my heart and soul into. In many and varying degrees, it affects those who have served. There are countless organizations and services trying to reach out and help those afflicted with this, but the first step has to come from the sufferer.

The grim reality is more than half of returning vets who are not seeking help or have been turned away are taking their lives. The suicide rate of veterans is rising. Unfortunately, many are very good at hiding their demons from those who care about them. In some cases, when a veteran takes his or her life, it comes as a horrible shock to their family and friends, who are left with no answers.

Atonement's
plot is one that took some time to carefully construct and weave together, as Nic's story and her PTSD threaded through every aspect of this book. My hope is that upon finishing this novel, you, the reader, will find a greater understanding of the sacrifices our service men and women endured and the battles they still face.

Winter Austin perpetually answers the question, “Were you born in the winter?” with a flat “nope.” Having recently changed her address back near her hometown, Winter has stepped into the chaotic world of a full-time wife, mom, author, coach, and employee.

Using her ability to verbally spin a vivid and detailed story, Winter writes deadly romantic thrillers. Combining her love of all things rural, agricultural, and military, she's turned her small-town life upside down.

(From
Relentless
by Winter Austin)

Of all the witnesses, in all the homicides, in all of Dallas, she would have to be one.

Detective Remy LeBeau stared at the cowgirl sitting in a chair in the far corner of the Stanton Enterprise Stadium meeting room. Cody Lewis hugged her body, gnawing on her lip. A coiled red lock slipped from her right ear and fell against her cheek. Lifting a trembling hand, she tucked the strand behind her ear and let her hand fall limp in her lap.

This wasn't the same confident woman who strode into the homicide offices three days ago to hand him a pair of tickets to the Dallas Roundup. A rodeo that had now become a crime scene. Remy hated off-duty calls. The lieutenant better have a good reason for dragging him away from a hot bowl of gumbo and out of his dry condo.

Cody bowed her head and seemed to curl up on herself. Remy knew the disjointed sensations she was experiencing, the need to withdraw from the real world in order to maintain some kind of control.

He tugged the detective cloak about him and inhaled a long breath. No need to return to that place and time. Exhaling, he approached the unfortunate redhead.

His partner, Detective Heath Anderson, glanced up, fatigue circling his blue eyes. Another late night on the job. He combed his fingers through his sandy-blond hair, making a mess of it. “LeBeau.”

Cody's head snapped back like she'd taken an uppercut to the chin. Pink stained her cheeks. “Detective?”

“Hello, Ms. Lewis.” He looked at Anderson. “Grab a coffee, I'll take it from here.” When they were alone, Remy crouched in front of her. Close up, he compared her features to those of the victim's. Why hadn't he noticed the freckles on her nose and cheeks when they first met? Her scent, a mixture of spice and sweet — vanilla maybe — combated with the sharp odor of wet men and manure.

Her green eyes locked with his. “Guess you didn't need those tickets.”

He gave her a reassuring smile. “Don't worry 'bout it.” He withdrew his notepad. “Why don't you tell me what happened.”

Breaking eye contact, she slumped against the backrest. “Again?” The dusting of makeup couldn't hide the fatigue.

“You're a witness, Ms. Lewis. We need to make sure you remember what you can.”

She lifted her head. A wet sheen coated her eyes. “Witnesses see the crime as it happens. I didn't. I found her like that.”

His armor cracked and compassion wiggled inside, wrapping around his heart like a warm embrace. He cleared his throat, desperate to hold the jagged pieces together. Stick to business. “Did you know her?”

She shook her head and drew in a hasty breath. “How could someone do this?”

How indeed? If Remy knew the answer to that, he wouldn't be doing this job. “I plan to find that out. Just tell me how your night went before you found the body.”

“Body?” Red streaks spread from her flared nostrils to her hairline. “She's not a body. She was a person.”

Cut right to the matter. Merci! This woman was a firecracker. “Ms. Lewis, I'm well aware of that fact. Until we know her identity … ” Why was he explaining himself to her? “We'll continue this tomorrow. After you get some sleep.”

She straightened, stiff as a pirogue pole, and glared at him. Whatever rapport he might've had with her fled. She must be holding her emotions together with a thread. If he pushed any harder, he wouldn't like the outcome.

Cody tilted her chin a notch. “As if I could sleep.”

Her hard line crushed his compassion. Clenching his teeth, Remy stood. “Thank you for your time.” He pulled a business card from the inside pocket of his jacket and scribbled on the back. “If you need anything, or remember something, don't hesitate to call. Or show up. You know where I work.” He thrust the slip of paper in her direction.

Swallowing, she took it, careful to avoid contact with him. Her hand trembled a fraction, and she clenched her fist around the paper, pressing it to her chest. “When can I go? I need to take my horse home.”

“You're free to leave, but you won't be able to take your truck or the trailer.”

Her face blanched. “How am I supposed to get home?”

Remy stashed the notepad in his jacket and stood. “I'd suggest asking a friend.”

• • •

As Cody gaped at the detective's retreating backside, the Lewis temper reared its ugly head. Her breath came in short bursts. The man was a cold-blooded prick. A woman died tonight. She wasn't just a body. She had a family, people who loved her and would grieve for her. Good God, the woman had a name.

Bolting from the chair, Cody chased after him. “Detective LeBeau!”

He whipped around, his hand flashing to his right hip. Cody reined up short, choking down the prickly pear that catapulted into her throat. Her eyes locked on his hand. Gradually he inched away from the black gun butt, hooking his thumb behind his badge, fingers splayed to obscure the faceplate.

“What, Ms. Lewis?”

The irritated tone in his voice broke her trance. Cody's gaze clashed with his dark glare. Ribbons of steel laced her spine. Handsome or not, the man needed a priority adjustment. “What's wrong with you?”

A scowl marred his face, then his features smoothed out and his hand fell away from his coat. “Wrong with me?”

Her neck prickled and she glanced about the room. Her outburst had attracted the attention of LeBeau's partner and the other cops. The fight drained from her body and pooled under her boots.

Looking around at his fellow cops, LeBeau took hold of her elbow and escorted her to the corner.

Cody tensed. The warmth of his hand seeped through her shirtsleeve, branding her with his touch. When he released her, she clamped her arm to her side and cupped her elbow to ward off the feel of him.

“Do you have something you wish to say to me?”

The soothing timbre eased her knotted muscles. How did he do that? Go from being a Grade A jerk to a civil human being in a flash? Detective LeBeau's short dark-brown hair and black leather coat shone in the conference room lights. The scent of cedar and peppermint tickled her nose. Her first encounter with this man in his department kept replaying in her mind on a nightly basis. And tonight wouldn't be an exception.

Avoiding eye contact, Cody buried her hands into her Wrangler's pockets. “No.”

A cocky smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Really? It seemed you had a lot on your mind a second ago.”

Yeah, well, she'd been chastised enough. No way was she going to let him bait her. “She doesn't deserve to be treated like that.” Open wide, insert foot. So much for keeping her trap shut. Cody refrained from slapping her palm to her forehead. She was such a bullhead.

LeBeau frowned. “She?”

“The woman I found slashed to death in my trailer. She has a name. A family. Don't treat her like another number.”

The lines in his forehead disappeared. “Believe me, Ms. Lewis, when we learn her name and find her family, we won't treat her like a statistic.”

His dark penetrating gaze seemed to peer into her soul. Cody shivered, stepping back. “Just checking.”

“Right.” He turned, then looked at her over his shoulder. “Be assured. I am one of the best.” With a tip of his head, he strode away.