Ricochet (42 page)

Ryker remained tense, waiting for the stealthy verbal punch Marx always held back for the right moment.

Marx leaned his hip against the railing and pressed a hand to the metal. “I don’t really expect you to answer honestly, but…how are you handling it?”

Ryker tilted his head. “You shouldn’t expect me to answer at all.”

Marx nodded again. “Yeah.” He hesitated, his gaze turning to the darkness below. “I’ve been pretty hard on you. Rachel…well…” He huffed a laugh. “She set me straight tonight. And she’s right. I haven’t been fair because, well, I’ve had a thing for her for a while, and I have to admit, I’ve never been a good loser.”

Ryker didn’t comment. He wouldn’t fall for the obvious trap Marx was setting to get Ryker to admit to what was going on between him and Rachel.

He turned and placed both hands on the railing with a quiet laugh. One edged with the cunning Ryker had seen too often in Marx. Ink on his back caught Ryker’s eye, surprising him. And he grew curious about what kind of tat an insurance guy would wear.

“Then I realized that in two weeks, you’ll be gone. Halfway around the world. Putting yourself at risk.” He turned to look at Ryker again. “But I’ll still be here. Every day. Every night. And when the memory of your affair fades from Rachel’s mind…” His voice lowered with a steely determination that felt eerily familiar. “I’ll be ready to step in. Give her everything you didn’t. Everything you couldn’t. Everything she deserves.”

Ryker’s hands curled into fists. His teeth clenched. And every insecurity, every shortcoming, bubbled to the surface.

“You’re right. She deserves a lot more than I could ever give her.” Ryker forced the words out, his throat raw with the effort, and started past Marx.

The moonlight caught on the ink design covering the upper left side of Marx’s back and shoulder, and his feet froze. The image bore a dark black frog skeleton squatting on a lighter image of a waving American flag, the word FROGMAN woven into the design.

“What the…?” Ryker didn’t know he’d verbalized the thought until the words were floating in the dark. “Smart to keep that covered up, dumbshit. If a real SEAL sees that, you’ll be in a shitload of trouble, ’cause it’s obvious you’re no fucking Navy SEAL.”

He glanced over his shoulder. The move shifted the glow over the tattoo, and a new line bisected the image. A light line. A wicked scar.

“Not anymore, no.” Marx’s dark voice drew Ryker’s gaze up, and he found himself staring into eyes with the deep kind of pain Ryker had seen in the mirror way too often. “Nothing lasts forever, Ryker.”

His gut hardened. Memories and thoughts collided in his mind—Marx’s supreme confidence, his intricate knowledge of explosives, the crispness in his dress, his drive for perfection.

A SEAL. Marx was a fucking ex-Navy SEAL, not an above-average insurance guy. He was a fucking warrior, by all counts Ryker’s equal, with his sights set on Rachel.

“A real SEAL would say, once a SEAL, always a SEAL. Is that why you washed out? Because you didn’t have what it takes to stick?” Ryker demanded. “Is that why you hate the idea of Rachel choosing me? Because I could?”

Marx turned toward him, still gripping the railing as if it kept the other man from hurling himself into Ryker. “I didn’t
wash out
.” There was venom in his tone. “I was
blown out
by an IED in our path on a mission that should have been cleared by EOD, but wasn’t. So, yeah, I recognize the signs of PTSD,
brother
. And I know firsthand how it can eat away at you until you have no soul left. And without a soul, you’re just a dead man walking.

“So if you really love your team, you’ll get your head on straight before you go back so no more of them end up six feet under. And if you really care about Rachel, you’ll let her go now so she never knows the pain and loneliness of being left behind.”

Ryker’s throat thickened. Marx was speaking Ryker’s mantra, only confirming the rightness of his split with Rachel. But his heart was a rock at his feet now, and Ryker could already feel all the life she infused into him when they were together draining from his soul.

“Right again.” His voice came out rough. “Don’t wait for me to deploy, Frogman, go after her now, because Rachel and I are done.” The emptiness that swamped Ryker pushed one more angry, competitive comment from his mouth. “Do what we both know SEALs do best—swoop in after all the work is done to reap the glory.”

A week had passed since the night Nathan had walked out of her, refusing to face his issues or help himself. Rachel watched the dining hall from her office window, waiting for him to show. He’d been avoiding her since his nightmare and their argument—up at the bridge site by the time she woke, left at sundown when the crew returned for dinner to go visit Ray in the hospital, and returned after dark. Often after she’d fallen asleep. When he did eat meals here, he just grabbed food and took it back to the bridge or to his room. And after she’d tried to arrange time to talk with him during a phone call about supplies, he’d sent all messages about the job to her through Charlie.

She knew there was no future for them. Knew there was nothing she could do to help him deal with the tragedy he’d suffered overseas. But it all still gnawed at the nurturer in her. And she had a burning need to set things right with him before he left. To Rachel, leaving bad blood between them felt like a horrible wrinkle in the smooth life she’d been building for herself, something she just couldn’t let go.

He strode into sight and reached for the door to the dining room just as it opened and Charlie came out. They stood outside several moments, talking, and Rachel’s heart sped up as she watched Nathan, soaking in the sight of him in those familiar cargo pants, the T-shirt stretched over wide shoulders and molding to the muscles of his back. She still had the T she’d worn back from his room that last night and, in the last few days had started sleeping in it.

And didn’t that make a pathetic picture?

The ache that had developed in her chest once her anger from the fight had drained grew a little more intense every day, and she was afraid of how it might fester if she let him leave without talking. Not that she knew what she’d say if he’d ever hold still long enough for her to get the words out. And then there was the whole issue of privacy—nonexistent around this place.

His conversation with Charlie ended, and Nathan disappeared into the dining room, while Charlie headed toward her office. Rachel rolled her chair back to the desk and opened her accounting software on the computer, but she glanced at her cell sitting on the blotter and touched the screen to make it light up again. The most recent message from Nicole still filled her screen.

6612010666: I realize I’ve been pushing too hard. I just want you to know I miss my sister. I want to tell you that you were right—if I could go back and do it again, I would, because he makes me a better person. A person who can wait until you’re ready to forgive me. I love you.

Charlie walked in, and Rachel set the phone down. Between Nicole and Nathan, Rachel’s heart felt too heavy to carry.

“Good morning, good morning,” Charlie said, full of cheer, clapping his hands together. “Today’s the big day.”

“So it is,” she said forcing a grin. “How’s…um”—
Nathan
—“everything?”

“Great. We finished up the rigging last night, and Marx gave us the green light. Only thing we need is the horn from the fire department. Did they drop it off?”

“Nope,” she lied. “Not yet. But if it doesn’t hit my desk by nine a.m., I’ll go pick it up myself.”

“Good deal,” he said. “You’ll be there tonight, right? For the detonation?”

Her stomach squeezed, but she forced her smile bigger. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

He saluted and walked out, and Rachel had to bite her lip not to call after him and ask how Nathan was doing. She already knew he was doing just fine. Josh was pleased with Nathan’s progress, his work, and his crew’s work. In fact, Nathan had become the camp’s favorite son.

Yes, he was doing just fine.

Rachel had overreacted to a seemingly manageable inner turmoil and ruined… Ruined what? A fucking arrangement? Besides, he’d been a real bastard the last night they’d been together.

Maybe she was just making something of nothing again. Trying to force a square peg into a round hole. She’d spent nearly two years doing the same thing with Dante.

Screw it. She had to let go.

Rachel leaned down and pulled the blow horn the fire marshal had dropped off yesterday afternoon from beneath her desk. It was housed in a compact little box, and she took the handle and carried it outside. She’d missed meeting up with Nathan, sure he’d snatched food from the dining room by now, which was just as well, and to avoid making direct contact with him again, she’d just give the horn to another crewmember to take up to the bridge.

She forced her mind to the day ahead, really just tying up loose paperwork trails. All the important stuff would be going on hundreds of feet above her today. Again, just as well.

The dining room door opened as she reached for the handle, and she stepped aside as she met the person’s gaze. Nathan’s gaze. Nathan’s sexy, gray-green gaze. Her stomach flipped, then floated into her chest.

He carried a Styrofoam container of food in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, but all Rachel could smell was the spice of his body wash. Instead of remembering the sexual images the scent conjured, she thought of the way he’d looked that last night after he’d fallen asleep and all the stress had vanished from his face. Young. Vibrant. Strong. Filled with potential.

“Oh, hi,” she said with a sudden sense of awkwardness.

“Hey.” He stepped out and held the door so she could pass.

“I’m, um, not going in.” She focused on the jitters inside and forcibly quieted them as he let the door fall closed.

“That the horn?” he asked.

“Yep. I was going to have one of the crew bring it up for you.” She glanced at his hands. “And…I guess, since your hands are full, I’ll go ahead and give it to Brad.”

“Yeah, okay.”

He shifted on his feet, glanced over his shoulder, licked his lips before turning back to her. There was a professional distance to his manner now, one that made her feel like they were ten miles apart. And,
damn
, that really hurt.

“You, um…” he said, glancing over her, “look great.”

Her stomach fell. This discomfort only verified what she already knew, what she’d known going in—this was for the best.

So why did her eyes sting? Why did she have to fight herself not to drop the damned box in her hands and throw herself into his arms?

She cleared her throat and nodded. “You too.”

Let it go. Walk away.

But she found herself saying, “I hear Ray’s doing well.”

His gaze lowered to the box, but she’d spotted the flash of guilt in his eyes before he’d hidden it. “Much better.” He cleared his own throat. “Even getting some movement back in his fingers. Docs say he should fully recover with PT. A real miracle…or so everyone keeps telling me.”

She smiled, happy for Ray, relieved for Nathan, but her heart hurt too bad to hold on to the expression. “Thank God for small miracles, I guess.”

His lips quivered into a lopsided smile, and for an instant, just an instant, those pretty eyes warmed. The door opened, and three members of the construction team spilled out. Still, Nathan held her gaze as the men apologized and passed between them.

Rachel’s heart fluttered. She waited until the guys were out of earshot, and when Nathan didn’t rush off as she’d expected, she found herself searching for a way to break the ice between them.

But she couldn’t, and the apology—one she’d realized she owed him after getting Nicole’s message—just rolled out of her mouth. “Nathan, I’m…I didn’t mean to push you so hard. I just…I…”

The door opened again, and Josh stepped out, biting into a piece of toast. Rachel’s eyes fell closed for one long moment while her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. When she forced her eyes open again, she kept them away from Nathan’s.

Josh glanced at Nathan, then smiled at Rachel. “Just the beauty I was coming to see.” He wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and looked down at the box. “Is that the horn?”

“Yeah.” When she glanced back at Nathan, he was gone—at least emotionally. Physically, he still stood a few feet away, but emotionally, there couldn’t have been a thicker wall around him. Uncomfortable gooseflesh rose on her arms. “I was going to, um…” She forced her gaze from his and back down at the box. “Give it to Brad to take up to the bridge.”

“No need.” He tossed his uneaten toast into a trashcan nearby and took the handle from Rachel. “I’ll take it up.” Then he looked at Nathan. “See you up there?” he asked, clearly dismissing him.

Nathan turned away without responding. And without looking at Rachel. Just like that, the fragile connection between them, one that had been so strong just days ago, snapped.

She blinked fast to keep the sting in her eyes from turning into tears and turned out of Josh’s embrace. “Thanks. I’ve got a lot to do before the blast.”

And walking away from Josh after seeing Nathan again made one thing blatantly clear to her—she hadn’t been denying Josh dates because she was afraid of commitment or even because they worked together. She’d been denying him because there was no chemistry. No connection. No intimacy. No challenge. No excitement.