Authors: Joan Swan
Blaze (26 page)
Keira knew the complicated story of how Seth's previous wife and Kat's co-guardian had kidnapped Kat and attempted to take her over the Canadian border when Teague escaped prison. Of how he'd abandoned Alyssa, his lover at the time, to save her from involvement in his drama, and had gone in search of Kat on his own.
But Teague didn't answer and something else nagged at the fringes of Keira's brain. Something drifting off him in angry waves.
“What's
I'm done
?” She narrowed her eyes on him. “Is that coming from you?”
I'm done
?” She narrowed her eyes on him. “Is that coming from you?”
Teague's gaze dropped back to the sink. “Jeez, Keira.”
“That's something Luke said before he left,” Alyssa said.
“Meaning he was done fighting with Teague?”
Alyssa glanced toward Teague, then Keira, with characteristic candidness. “It sounded more like he was just done, you know, with . . .”
This couldn't be happening, not when she'd just come to the point of acceptance. “With
me
?”
me
?”
Teague's head came up, his light eyes on fire. “Do you see why I'm so pissed?”
A cold slide of panic cut through her belly. The glowing warmth she'd cultivated this morning leaked out. Had she already missed her chance? Was she too late? God, when that man made up his mind about something . . .
She looked to the window as one of the men guarding the house strolled by the kitchen. Her fear of having lost her opportunity at a second chance with Luke blended with a new unease. “Did one of your guys drive him? Is someone staying with him?”
“No,” Teague said. “Why?”
“He's alone?” she asked. “After Kai sensed danger, he left on his own?”
“Kai felt danger for the team, not to any one individual. And he's a big boy, Keira. He's also a cop. He can take care of himself. Besides, they want Mateo, not us.”
Keira's terror streak calmed with the injection of common sense. “You're right. I'm just . . . wound up. How did he get home? Did he take one of your cars?”
“No, he ran,” Teague said.
Keira's brows lifted. “Ran? What do you mean ran?”
“I mean he
ran
. You know, with feet. Legs. Ran. Borrowed a pair of my running shoes.”
ran
. You know, with feet. Legs. Ran. Borrowed a pair of my running shoes.”
“His house is, like, ten miles away.”
“Eight,” Teague said. “He usually runs five a day anyway and said he needed to think.”
He must have needed to think pretty badly to borrow a pair of shoes for an eight-mile run. He was going to have blisters for a week. The sign of a man needing to rid himself of a great deal of frustration or anger or . . . cleansing himself of an erratic, unstable, volatile ex-girlfriend.
No. She had to talk to him. Explain. Tell him all the things she'd held back before.
She swung around and started toward the front hallway. “Where are your keys, Lys?”
“You can't go out like that, it's cold.” Alyssa followed. “What's wrong?”
Keira looked down. She was still in the pajamas Alyssa had lent herâthe pale blue cami and silk pants. It didn't matter. What mattered was reaching Luke before he'd had a chance to think too much. Make too many decisions.
“Nothing. I mean, I just need to talk to him.” She reached for the SUV's keys hanging on a hook. “Where's my gun?”
She'd forgo the purse, the shoes, the phone, but she didn't go anywhere without her weapon.
Teague disappeared into the kitchen, where he kept all the weapons in a locked cabinet.
Alyssa pulled a thin, white sweater from the hall-tree and tossed it at Keira. “Wouldn't hurt to cover up a little. Shoes might be good, too.” She kicked a pair of flip-flops sitting by the door toward her.
Teague rounded the corner and held out her weapon. “I'll go with you.”
“No, no,” she said. “He and I need to talk.”
Before Keira could turn for the door, a little body pummeled into her legs, knocking her off balance. Heat sizzled through the scar lines on her back.
“Thia?”
Keira winced at Mateo's worried tone. She'd been so caught up in getting to Luke fast, she'd forgotten about Mateo for a moment. Forgotten she should have said good-bye. Forgotten he might get upset she was leaving.
Great mother material.
She dropped into a crouch and slid her hands down his arms, fighting back the fear. His straight, dark eyebrows angled down as he frowned, his little lips puckered into perfect cupid buds. He looked so familiar to her after just hours of being with him, as if she'd known him her whole life. Her chest squeezedâwith a deep affection and . . .
You have to recognize that you love him differently.
God. She really did love him differently. And Luke had seen it.
“I'll be back. I promise,” she said, her voice rough. When Mateo only searched her eyes, she added, “I'm going to see Lucas.”
His fingers released their grip on her shoulders. “Lucas?”
Keira tried for a reassuring smile. “Yes, Lucas.”
Kat slipped into the group and distracted the boy with another Barbie, and Keira took the opportunity to disappear out the door.
She tried not to dwell on the bizarre state of her life as she backed Alyssa's luxury crossover through the gate of their property, but it was hard when two men in camouflage with M14s strapped over their backs guarded the entrance to the small mountain estate.
She didn't admire the snow-tipped mountains on the ten-minute drive to Luke's house. Didn't appreciate the contrast of gold aspens against evergreen pines. Didn't turn melancholy as she sped through the single downtown strip.
All she kept thinking was . . .
five miles a day
?
five miles a day
?
Five miles wasn't a marathon or anything. She ran that just to stay ready for the heavy demands of SWAT training. But Luke hated to run. He'd play basketball. Baseball. Racquetball. Hell, he'd play volleyball. And he was good at all of them. Athletic and agile. But he hated running. Always said it bored him. Nothing to do but think. Now he was doing it on purpose? Specifically
to
think?
to
think?
She didn't disagree with the method, only that he'd chosen today to do it. Today, right now, she didn't want him thinking. Not alone and angry and hurt.
As she turned onto Luke's street, Keira tilted the rearview mirror toward her. One glance and she couldn't help grimacing. Teague's touches had helped, but she still had healing cuts and bruises over nearly every surface of her face. There was nothing she could do about that, and Luke had seen her in far worse conditionâcovered in soot at fires, covered in blood at accident scenes, covered in gasoline at chemical spills, covered in fire at the warehouse.
The remembered tranquility of the area where Luke lived held trueâdeluxe, custom cabin-style homes nestled among pines and along ridges, looking out over Tahoe National Forest. Luke's, a small, one-bedroom, craftsman-style, brought heavy emotion rushing Keira's throat as she approached and pulled into the driveway. Through the square windows along the top of the garage door, she could see his black Explorer parked inside.
She slammed the car into park and let it idle as uncertainty and anxiety grew to an explosive boil in her chest. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel and twisted as if she were wringing out a wet towel. Would he reject her? Tell her, after thinking about it, he'd changed his mind? That their differences were too major? That it was too late?
Sound drifted through the glass and into her thoughts. Her attention shifted from the garage to the wraparound front porch. Music. The familiar classic rock Luke favored. Only, far louder than she'd ever heard him play it, which for some intangible reason, made her uneasy.
She shut down the engine, picked up her weapon, and exited the SUV. She paused to tune in to her senses. She looked up, searched the quiet neighborhood. Nothing appeared out of place. But then nothing ever did, yet she knew damn well that somewhere out there two pairs of eyes watched. One pair belonged to whoever was assigned to watch her that day; one pair to whoever was assigned to watch Luke. She'd tried on countless occasions over the years to tap into the thoughts of her shadows, but had always failed. And she didn't have time to mess with them now. More important matters waited inside.
Keira held her gun tight and crossed her arms against the cold. As she climbed the steps toward the front door, memories pummeled her from every angle. The fuchsia and grape pansies she'd planted at the base of the porch and along the stairs were long gone. The white wicker rockers she and Luke had bought from a secondhand store, refurbished, and spent so many hours sitting in out here on this very porch had been put away for the winter.
Creedence Clearwater Revival wailed about hearing it through the grapevine and drew her attention toward the front door.
Knock or go in? Neither felt right.
She lifted her hand and pounded on the door to be heard over the music. “Luke!”
She braced herself for his less than enthusiastic response to her visit. But she would face it. And she would face him. If he'd answer the damn door.
She pounded again with the side of her fist. “Luke, it's cold out here. Open the door.”
She crossed the porch and peered through the window. Unlike the front of the house, where the reminders of her life with Luke had vanished, everything in the living room was immediately familiar. Same camel sofa, same pine coffee table, same colorful abstract area rugâeverything she and Luke had picked out together on a snowy Sunday shopping spree in Reno. That had been so long ago, but being there, seeing it, brought her right back to their life together. Yes, there had been pain, anger, frustration, but the love between them and the happiness they'd once shared in this house far outweighed any lingering negativity.
She scanned the dining area, the kitchâ
Her gaze halted on something lying on the floor between the kitchen and the dining room. Something barely in view. Shoes. The soles of athletic shoes.
A burning spike of fear tore through Keira's chest. She pushed to her toes, craned her neck, but couldn't maneuver a better view.
She took hold of her weapon with both hands. Returned to the door, her back against the wood siding.
Don't freak. Yet.
Her gaze scoured the neighborhood again. Nothing new. Eyes fell to the doorknob. Hand reached out. Settled. Twisted.
Don't turn. Don't turn.
The metal turned.
No.
Her stomach burned cold like dry ice.
Don't overreact.
Bizarre possibilities filled her head. What if they'd come to question Luke and he'd resisted, like the bullheaded ass he could be, and they'd hurt him? What if they'd finally just had enough of the team's interferenceâtheir questions, their quest to know what or who had started that warehouse fire, what they'd been exposed to and who had been responsible, and planned on killing them all, one by one?
Don't. Overreact.
Focus
.
.
With two quick, deep breaths, she pushed the door open and swept the living room, dining room with her weapon. Empty.
Steeled herself. Swung into the kitchen.
Shoes.
Just shoes. Not attached to an unconscious Luke, but kicked off haphazardly and left strewn in the middle of the floor.
The breath whooshed out of her lungs.
“Fuck!”
“Fuck!”
She pressed a hand to her stomach, quelling the rush of adrenaline-induced nausea. When her legs felt steady, she walked to the front door and slammed it.
An instant later, the song ended. A moment of booming silence filled the house before the edges of her amped senses softened and another familiar noise drifted in.
The shower.
Between the water and the music, it was no wonder he hadn't heard her at the door. Some of her fear released from her tense shoulders and stiff arms. But she wouldn't lower her guard until she saw his perfect, healthy, handsome face.
She eased toward the bedroom and checked the space before going in. She could have been stepping back in time. Everything was exactly the same as when she'd left. Same furniture arrangement. Same unmade bed with the same rich, solid blue comforter and same white and blue pinstriped sheets they'd had twisted around sweaty, sated bodies. Same simple cobalt area rug covering the home's old hardwood floor that she and Luke had refinished by hand. Same prints on the walls they'd picked at a local art fair one summer. It all made a melancholy joy seep in and eradicate the momentary fear.
Yet something was different. Something was missing. She couldn't pinpoint what exactly, but it left her with a hollow ache.
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