No Turning Back (37 page)

“Apologies that size only work if they're delivered in person.”

“Is that right. You an expert or something?”

“Nope. Only done it once. But I've been practicing the most important one for over twenty years. If I ever got the chance to give it... Believe me, I'd do it in person.”

Thinking about that cryptic comment after he'd hung up, Ben gazed at his brother's misshapen face. Rhys’ father-figure complex had always made him so goddamn mad, but now... Jesus, he'd give anything to get a lecture and some unsolicited advice from him.

Sighing, he squeezed Rhys’ limp hand. “You need to wake up, man, because as usual I've fucked up in a colossal way.”

Sam was Rhys’ friend. If his twin woke up with his brain intact, Ben had better prepare himself for a verbal ass kicking. Since he had lots of time to kill in the meantime, he'd give himself a mental one instead.

Virginia, two weeks later

Evening

Sam returned Nev's call as she pulled into her building's underground parking lot, but got her cousin's voicemail. She tucked the phone into the curve of her shoulder as the electronic beep came. “Hey, it's me. I'm good, so don't worry. I'm about to go up and open a can of soup and then put myself into a chocolate coma for the night. Talk to you later.”

She put her cell into its designated pouch in her purse, hating that an image of Ben smirking at her obsessive organizing fetish popped into her head. But what did she expect? He was all she'd thought about the past two weeks no matter how hard she'd tried to stop. If an antidote to him existed, she hadn't found it yet.

Sam was in full comfort mode these days. As soon as she hit her apartment, she was going straight for a hot bath, followed up with her fuzzy robe and slippers and a pint of Ben and Jer—

Oh, crap. Couldn't she even eat ice cream without being reminded of him? Damn, and that's the only kind she had. Fine. No ice cream. Chocolate bar instead. There weren't any Ben bars, were there? She gave herself a mental smack. No more thinking about him. And she was definitely not going to listen to the three messages he'd left on her answering machine, even though she'd stupidly saved them all. She was
not
going to play them just so she could hear the deep, achingly familiar timbre of his voice. She was not going to pull out her pack of Big Red that she'd bought because it smelled like him. She was not going to cry when a Tums commercial came on TV. That was just pathetic.

She
was pathetic.

If it weren't for her job keeping her mind occupied, she'd have had a mental breakdown over him by now. As it was, she'd lost weight and barely slept for more than a few hours at a time. She had nightmares about what had happened out there. Sometimes they were about the man she'd killed. His frozen stare as the life drained out of him still haunted her, even though she knew he would have killed her had she not taken the shots. But mostly they were about Rhys burning in that truck and the look in Ben's eyes when he accused her of setting them up to die. Her subconscious tortured her with it even when she was sleeping. Her CIA-assigned psychiatrist said she had a combination of post-traumatic stress disorder and survivor guilt. Exactly the same diagnosis Nev had received. The fact that she wasn't alone in her suffering didn't comfort Sam in the least.

Facing the prospect of another lonely night filled with despair and terrifying dreams made the increasingly familiar pang of grief well up despite her best effort to stop it. Dammit, she missed him. At times she thought she'd die from the pain in her heart, and part of her thought it would be kinder. Living with the loss of him every day was like dying a slow death, and she could neither stop it nor speed it along.

She grabbed her briefcase from the passenger seat and swung the door open with a sigh. At least she could talk to her cousin about it if Nev called later. Sam had no one else to listen.

Ben's heart rate doubled when Sam's red two-door compact pulled into the underground parking. He stood in the shadows as she parked and watched her climb out of the car in her black high-heeled pumps, her slim legs bare to the knee, snug black pencil skirt hugging her hips and thighs. Her hair was back to its natural shade of red, he noticed, admiring how beautiful and shiny it was in the overhead lights. She tossed the fiery cascade of it over one shoulder of her pale pink blouse and tugged out her briefcase, shut the door and locked her car, all without glancing around her.

It occurred to him it was the first time he'd ever seen her wearing anything other than robes or cargo pants and an olive drab t-shirt. This new look suited her. A mix of polished professional and feminine sensuality. Ben shook himself. She might be beautiful, but he still wanted to turn her over his knee for not being more cautious when she was alone in an underground garage. Just because she was back in civilization didn't mean bad things couldn't happen to her.

He hadn't heard a word from her in over two weeks, not since that hellish day Rhys had been wounded and gone in for surgery. Ben had stayed with his brother when they transferred him to Germany, then to Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington D.C. When Rhys had finally come out of the drug-induced coma nine days after the accident, it had taken Ben a few days to come to grips with the fact that his twin wasn't going to wind up a vegetable, and then a few more before he could dig his head out of his ass and realize Sam wasn't going to return his calls.

And why should she have, after how he'd treated her?

The final kick in the ass came when Rhys, who couldn't speak until his vocal chords healed from the trauma caused by the emergency intubation, had scribbled something down on a piece of paper.
Spill it
, he'd finally managed to write.

Cringing inside, he'd told Rhys what had happened with Sam and then watched with a breaking heart as his twin struggled to hold the pen and form the letters of the words he couldn't say. The clumsily written response was now burning a hole in Ben's back right jeans pocket, looking like a pre-schooler had printed it.

Stupid punk. You're lucky I can't get out of bed. Go grovel. Now.

Since he at least owed Sam an apology, Ben had decided to take Luke's advice and had driven down to see her so he could deliver it in person. Because he'd been a total prick to her back in Kabul, he wasn't sure what kind of reception he'd get. He wouldn't blame her if she threw something at him or slapped him across the face. He deserved that and more, but he was counting on the fact that she still cared enough to hear him out. Big goddamn gamble, under the circumstances.

Ben watched her stroll away from her car. She still didn't know he was there, and he wished the hell she would pay more attention to her surroundings. He'd have to talk to her about that later. If he got the chance.

Bracing himself, he followed her to the stairs. Sam glanced over her shoulder as she heard him approach, did a double take and stopped dead. The keys in her hand jangled softly. Her dumbfounded expression confirmed that he was the last person she'd expected to see standing there.

His stomach was a giant burning knot below his ribcage. “Hi,” he ventured, stuffing his hands into his front pockets while keeping a careful distance between them. He had no idea what to expect from her.

She swallowed and recovered from her surprise. “H-Hi.” Her fingers tightened around the handle of her briefcase, betraying her nervousness. She must be unsure of why he was there.

“Just come from work?”

She nodded, still staring at him like she was looking at a ghost.

“I assume you got my messages.”

“Yes.”

The clipped word did nothing to buoy his spirits. Ben fought the urge to fidget. He had no clue what was going on in her head, and her expression didn't give anything away other than she was wary of him. But that all changed in an instant when he opened his mouth again.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

Ouch. Now her eyes were shooting sparks. “To see you.”

“Why the hell would you want to see me? I almost killed your brother, remember?”

“Sam, don't— ”

“I have nothing to say to you.” She pivoted on her high heels and took a step away from him.

Ben floundered, staring at her back. Had no idea how to fix the mess he'd made, but he couldn't let her go until he'd done everything humanly possible to undo the damage. “Rhys came out of the coma a couple days ago.”

She stopped. Faced him.

“Looks like he's going to be okay.”

“Yes, I know. I get daily updates from Nev.”

“Oh.” How did Nev know? He hadn't seen her since the day after Rhys’ surgery. Ben rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen, I wondered if we could talk.”

She raised one auburn brow in a haughty gesture.

He shifted his feet. “I feel bad about the way we left things— ”

Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?
We
?”

Damn. This whole operation was like walking through a minefield. Every step could blow his legs off. “Okay, I feel bad about the way
I
left things. I was upset about my brother, but I shouldn't have said those awful things to you.” He wished the hell they weren't having this conversation in the middle of the damned garage.

The anger in her gaze was so hot it scorched him. “You thought I'd sent him over that mine on
purpose
.”

He winced. “I know. I'm sorry.”

The accusation in her brown eyes stabbed at him.

“I was an asshole. I'm sorry.”

Still nothing. Just that angry gaze, a little of the hurt he'd caused showing through.

Okay, he was running out of ways to apologize. That familiar burning started in his gut and spread up into his chest, but he wasn't going to show weakness by grabbing the roll of Tums he clenched in his pocket. “Look, you have every right to be pissed, but at least hear me out. Can we go for a walk? Maybe grab a bite to eat?”

He caught the sheen of tears in her eyes before she looked away and shook her head with a hollow laugh. “Is that it? That's what you drove here to tell me— that you're sorry you were an asshole?”

He had nothing else at the moment.

Sam flipped her hair over her shoulder again, a few of the glossy waves clinging to the curve of her breast. Somehow he dragged his eyes up to her face.

“So,” she said, “why the change of heart? Luke call you up and say I was telling you the truth?” When he didn't answer, she shook her head. “Well, lucky for me he was there to redeem my reputation.” Her tone dripped with disgust.

Damn, what should he do? Ben felt almost as helpless as when Rhys had hit that mine. “Come for a walk, Sam. Please.”

She studied him for several agonizing moments, then relented. “You want me to take a walk so you can try and explain yourself? Fine. But let me take my stuff upstairs first.” Without waiting for him, she went into the stairwell. He followed a few steps behind her.

He couldn't help but admire the muscles in her bare calves and the shape of her ass in that snug skirt as they climbed the five flights of stairs. The whole time he berated himself for ogling her he thought about how those sexy legs had felt wrapped around him in that Kabul hotel room. He was here to apologize, beg for mercy if necessary, and shouldn't even be
thinking
about getting her naked. Duly chastened for his wayward thoughts, he trailed behind while she went to her apartment and unlocked it, opened the door just long enough to toss her briefcase inside and grab a sweater hanging on a hook in the entryway before shutting it.

As she faced him and wrapped her arms around her waist in that inherently feminine gesture of self-comfort, Ben wanted to touch her so badly he could hardly breathe. He wanted to hug her, chase her sadness away and cover her face with beseeching kisses until she forgave him.

“Let's go,” she said, in a “let's get this over with” tone.

Well, what had he expected? “Sam.”

She raised her eyes and arched a brow, an invisible wall between them. A wall he'd slammed up in that Kabul hospital waiting room. He regretted that. He hated the cold front coming from her more than anything. He'd rather she yelled and threw punches. Shutting him out like this put him in knots.

At least she was willing to let him talk. He had that one advantage, so he might as well get down to it. Ben took a steadying breath and maintained eye contact. “I'm sorry I hurt you.” He took the shock in her expression as a sign it was what she'd hoped to hear but never expected him to say. “I'd go back and fix it if I could.” He thought her lips trembled.
Please don't cry.
His stomach seized with guilt.

Sam's eyes were wet, but she composed herself fast. Her jaw tightened. “You know what? I don't want to do this in public.” She unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Go in.”

He did, waiting for her to escort him into her cozily furnished, earth-toned family room. On the white traditional mantel were pictures of her and Nev, and the antiqued pine coffee table held a book about Iraq. The room was soothing and cozy, devoid of clutter and neat as a pin. Just like its owner. Ben glanced at her and stood awaiting further instructions. He wasn't going to risk doing something else wrong.

“Sit wherever you want.”

She said it as if she couldn't have cared less what he did, including take a leap off the balcony railing out the sliding glass doors behind her.

Ben sank onto an antiqued chocolate brown leather couch. It creaked as he settled his weight into it, and the sound was loud in the hollow silence between them. The roll of Tums in his pocket dug into his thigh. They weren't going to be able to ease his discomfort, because they did dick all for the ulcer he'd been diagnosed with. Hell, at this point even a fire extinguisher wasn't going to be able to douse the flames in his stomach. Rhys’ recovery and Sam's forgiveness were the only cure, and he desperately needed them both.

Sam wandered around a bit, her gaze flitting all over as though she had no idea what to look at. Then she nailed him with the liquid brown eyes he hadn't been able to get out of his head. “You know what? I loved you.”