Eye of the Beholder (21 page)

“Then why haven’t you?”

“What do you mean? What past?”

“You’re afraid of getting close to anyone.”

He smoothed his hands down her shoulders and flicked the drooping straps of her dress. “Let me take off the rest of your clothes and I’ll show you how close we can get.”

“I’m not talking about sex, Rafe. I’m talking about love. You don’t want to love anyone, and it’s because of what happened to John.”

“Who?”

“Johnny. Your brother.”

He went completely still. The warmth slowly drained from his eyes. “Who told you about John?”

“You did

“No.”

“The day before your fever broke you were delirious. You told me about the bus accident and how you pulled all those boys from the river.”

He moved his head from side to side in denial, his gaze riveted on her face. He let go of her and held up his palms as he retreated. “No.”

She pushed her straps back on her shoulders and followed him. Once again, she laid her hand on his cheek. “You got these wounds when you went through the windshield. You could have bled to death or drowned but you wouldn’t give up. You kept saving one boy after another. You’ve always been a hero.”

He jerked his head away from her touch. “Stop it, Glenna. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I do. You tried to save John, but you couldn’t. You’ve been trying to make up for it ever since. That’s why you were so determined to save me.”

“Saving you was my job. I’m a soldier. That’s how I earn my living.”

“And it’s the excuse you use to keep people at a distance.” She took his hand, twining her fingers with his to keep him from pulling away. “It wasn’t just our situation that made me think there was a bond between us. Not everything was due to stress. When I learned about that accident—”

“Don’t pity me.”

“It wasn’t pity I felt. I was certain it was love. That’s why I made love to you that afternoon when you woke up. And that night, that’s why I said the three words to you that I had never said to anyone in my life.”

“Glenna—”

“I know you loved your brother, Rafe. Losing him that way was tragic. I can’t begin to imagine the agony you must have gone through.”

“He died. I didn’t. I have nothing to complain about.”

“But you’re letting the pain you suffered keep you from risking your heart.”

“You figure you’ve talked to a shrink and read a few psychology books and now you can psychoanalyze me?”

“Rafe, no. It’s not like that.”

“Damn right, it isn’t. Because you’re dead wrong, Glenna.” He leaned into her, his expression stark. His gaze had cooled to ice. “You think you know what happened, but you don’t.”

“Then tell me.”

“I let John die.”

“You were exhausted. You were badly injured yourself. You couldn’t have saved everyone.”

Rafe brought his face so close to hers she could feel his breath on her chin. “I had a hold of his hand but I let go.”

“You couldn’t help it.”

“I let him die,” he repeated. “Because I wanted him dead.he heard his conviction in the tremor of his voice. He was convinced he was speaking the truth. But she didn’t believe him. “No. It’s not true. You loved him.”

“Everyone loved John. Our parents, our neighbors, every girl in school. He was perfect. He was handsome. He was bigger and stronger and smarter than me. From the day I took my first steps, I walked in his shadow.”

“Rafe…”

“I envied him. At times I hated him. I used to wish I’d
been
him. But love? No. I’m not capable of that. If you want love, then you’ve got the wrong man.”

She fought back a rush of tears. She didn’t want to hear any more. Reality was shifting yet again, and she was afraid of where it would stop. “No, Rafe. You’re a good man. You’re—”

“I know what I am. I’ve known it since I left my brother and half of my face at the bottom of that river sixteen years ago.” He took her hand and dragged her fingers over his scars. “Take a good look at these, Glenna. For once, take a really good look. Do you see how deep and ugly they are? Do you feel the lumps and the pits where my flesh was ripped away?”

His grip verged on painful. She knew he wasn’t aware of it, just as he wasn’t aware of the tears that trailed down her cheeks. “Rafe—”

“It’s twisted. It’s repugnant.” He slapped her hand against his chest. “But those scars aren’t half as ugly as what’s in here.”

Chapter 12

T
hey took the Amtrak train to Fayetteville. It would have been faster to fly, but Rafe hadn’t suggested it. He hadn’t said much of anything during the entire trip. He was completely silent now as he drove toward Fort Bragg in the car he’d arranged to pick up at the station. The only sounds were the quiet strains of a jazz quartet from the radio and the swish of the tires through puddles left over from yesterday’s rain.

Glenna knew why he had chosen not to travel by plane. It was because he remembered she had gone home by train. She’d overcome her temporary anxiety about flying after the hijacking—besides the flight from the Caribbean in the army transport plane, she’d already taken two business trips since then. But Rafe had wanted to spare her any uneasiness. So he had sacrificed speed and efficiency for the sake of her emotional comfort.

She leaned back against the headrest, moving her gaze from the trees that flashed by at the edge of the street to Rafe’s profile. His expression was carved granite. His jaw was clenched, his mouth set. In the sparkle of morning sunlight that slanted through the windshield, his scars looked grimmer, deeper and more formidable than she remembered.

It wasn’t the scars that had changed, it was her perception of them that had. Now she understood why he’d never sought surgery to repair them. He believed he deserved them. He wore them as penance. They served as a constant reminder to himself and as a warning to others. Keep away. Beware of the beast.

She wanted to shake him. She wanted to grab his head between her hands and shout into his face until he listened to her. How could he think he was a monster? Whatever he thought had happened that day John had died, Rafe had proved a thousand times since then the kind of man he was inside. He’d proved it again today by the simple act of taking the train.

She believed in him. That hadn’t changed. It had begun the moment he had held out his hand amid the bullets and the blood and had promised to help her.

Yet since the night before, the blind belief she’d experienced back on the island had been tempered with understanding. She had already realized he wasn’t a fairy-tale hero. Now she saw him clearly as a man. He had weaknesses and faults and more than his share of personal demons.

And somehow, that made the things he had done all the more heroic.

“I’ve arranged accommodation for you through the Airborne Inn on the base,” Rafe said. “You have a room at Moon Hall. It won’t be as fancy as the Winston, but it should be comfortable.”

“Thank you. I’m sure it will be fine.”

He slowed down as they approached the entrance to the base. “There won’t be time to check in until after the briefing.”

“What briefing?”

“Major Redinger scheduled a meeting this morning to introduce you to the team. We’ll start working on the model of the Juarez compound directly afterward.”

“I just hope I’ll be able to contribute something worthwhile.”

“You will.”

Glenna didn’t share Rafe’s confidence. How was she supposed to remember the details of something she’d only glimpsed for a few moments?

Then again, she remembered every second of her brief time with Rafe. And every word that had been spoken last night.

At least he hadn’t gone back to treating her like a stranger. The intensity in his eyes whenever he met her gaze brought a flush to her cheeks. The mere brush of his sleeve against hers made her pulse race. Yet he hadn’t pursued his suggestion about having an affair—their conversations had been strictly business. Advance and retreat. Hot and cold. Did he know what he wanted? Did she?

Glenna sighed. As far as her body was concerned, there was an easy answer. She wanted him. Even with this awkward silence, she was excruciatingly aware of the physical attraction between them. She looked at his hands on the steering wheel, and she thought of how they’d felt on her breasts. She watched his legs flex as he changed gears, and she remembered how firmly he’d moved between her thighs.

Why couldn’t she have taken what he’d offered and left it at that? What made her think she should hold out for being in love? Maybe this was as real as it got.

The room wouldn’t have been out of place in any high school in America. Two dozen chairs arranged in front of a raised wooden platform that held a long rectangular table. An American flag draped from a short pole beside the window. A large whited shared space on the front wall with a cork bulletin board. But the soldiers who were assembled here could never be mistaken for schoolboys.

Glenna had worked with men on a professional basis for a decade. She was familiar with the constant awareness she felt whenever Rafe was nearby. But she had never experienced anything like the atmosphere in this room. If ambient testosterone levels could be measured, the readings here would be off the scale.

The Fort Bragg military installation was enormous, one of the largest in the country. When she’d been here last month, she’d seen only one of the airfields and the hospital. This time Rafe had brought her to a remote corner of the base sheltered by pine trees and dunes of Carolina sand. They were now in the Delta Force compound, an area set aside for the exclusive use of the army’s elite hostage rescue specialists. Hundreds of men worked and trained here daily. Ten of the best were gathered in front of her.

They were all dressed alike in standard olive-and-tan camouflage-patterned army fatigues. They were large, well-muscled men, yet the kind of self-confidence they radiated stemmed from more than mere physical strength. There was leashed power in their relaxed posture and a calm assurance in the direct way they met her gaze. They possessed the deceptive, deadly ease of a pack of lounging predators.

As Glenna moved further into the room, she felt her pulse shift to a hard, steady throb. It wasn’t nervousness. Quite the opposite. It was an involuntary, primitive female response to the proximity of so many virile males.

She recognized a few of the men as being part of the small group who had been aboard the rescue helicopter in Rocama. The lanky medic who had wrapped her ankle was talking quietly with a man who resembled a pit bull. The soldier who had ridden up on the harness with her was leaning casually against the back wall. He caught her gaze, flashing her a smile that put twin dimples beside his mouth. Thick black hair curled roguishly over his ears. Without the helmet or the camouflage paint on his face, he was startlingly handsome. She searched her memory for his name as he approached. Something Irish. O’Connor? O’Toole? Yes, that was it.

“Hello, Miss Hastings,” he said. “You’re looking well. No ill effects from your ordeal, I gather?”

“Thank you, Sergeant O’Toole. I’m fine.” She offered her hand. “I hope I can help your team the way you helped me.”

He enclosed her fingers in his large, callused palm. “Your presence alone is an inspiration, ma’am.”

She felt Rafe move behind her even before his hand settled on her shoulder. She knew without looking around that it was him. He didn’t say anything, he simply stood there, a large, silent presence at her back oozing yet more testosterone.

O’Toole lifted one eyebrow, his gaze moving to a point above her head. “Did you have a nice trip, Rafe?”

“Where’s the major?” he asked.

“He’s on his way.”

“Why don’t you go and check, Flynn?”

O’Toole still hadn’t released her hand. He brushed his thumb lightly over the back of her knuckles and continued to look at Rafe. “Why don’t you go, Rafe? I’ll take good care of Miss Hastings while you’re gone.”

“Did that rash ever clear up, O’Toole?”

“What rash?”

“Those hives you told me about last month.”

O’Toole chuckled. He winked at Glenna and finally let go of her hand just as three more people in fatigues entered the room.

Glenna didn’t know how to distinguish the rank insignia on the uniforms, but she knew instinctively the man in the lead had to be the officer in charge. He was a few inches shorter than Rafe, not half as handsome as O’Toole, yet in his own way he was just as distinctive. His features were honed to sharp planes and angles, and wisps of silver gleamed in the raven black hair at his temples. There was something in his clear, amber gaze that spoke of hard-earned authority. The other soldiers straightened respectfully as he made his way directly to where she stood.

“Miss Hastings, I’m Mitchell Redinger,” he said, giving her hand a firm, no-nonsense shake. “I’m pleased you agreed to assist us.”

“I’m happy to help, Major Redinger,” she responded. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

“Excellent. I like your attitude, Miss Hastings. This is Chief Warrant Officer Esposito, my second in command,” he said, nodding to the bald man on his left who was holding a manila folder and several rolled-up charts. Esposito had a voice like crushed gravel and a smile that sported a gold tooth.

“And I think you’ve already met Captain Fox,” Redinger said.

With a start, Glenna realized the third person who had entered with the major wasn’t a short man as she had assumed at first glance but a woman. She smiled a greeting as she recognized the blond captain she had met last month at the hospital.

As before, Captain Fox’s answering smile didn’t reach her eyes. She made no attempt to free her right hand by shifting the briefcase she carried. She gave Glenna an assessing look, then moved her gaze to Rafe.

Glenna didn’t have the opportunity to wonder about Fox’s reaction. Major Redinger was wasting no time introducing her to the rest of the team. Rafe stepped aside to enable her to say a few words to each of the other soldiers, but he didn’t go far. As soon as the major moved toward the front of the room to start the briefing, Rafe put his hand under her elbow to guide her to a chair, then pulled up a seat beside her. His knee pressed the side of her thigh. Glenna was certain it was deliberate.