Rescuing Liberty: Perseverance Book 1 (15 page)

I blinked.
What the—?

“
Remember? I was trying to assist you,
and as usual you made sure to tell me how much you didn’t need my
help. Would it kill you to be a little appreciative?” He slammed
the door to the cupboard he was searching through.

“
Connor.” I dropped the rag I held
into the sink. “I meant that I was starting to like you, and I
didn’t want to.” My eyes narrowed further. “Of course I can’t
imagine why I wouldn’t want to like you. You’re so
incredibly charming
.” I marched
toward the stairs but he grabbed my arm, spinning me around to face
him.

His warm hand sent bolts of
electricity up my arm, reminding me of how good it had felt to be
nestled in his embrace.
No. Must be
strong.

We stood; our mulish expressions just inches
from each other as the seconds ticked by. Neither of us could
summon the courage or strength to apologize. Instead, I found
myself pressed against the counter with his lips covering mine.
Man, the boy could kiss. I let myself revel for just a few seconds
before my common sense returned. Breaking the kiss, I gritted my
teeth, yanked my arm away from his grasp and escaped up the
stairs.

“
That’s okay. I don’t like you
either!” he yelled.

“
Yeah, that’s real mature!” I shouted,
slamming the bedroom door behind me and taking refuge with my back
against the cool wood. I laid my fingers over my very well-kissed
lips and closed my eyes. I had no intention of admitting the affect
that kiss had on me. To him, or to myself.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CONNOR CLENCHED HIS fists and counted to ten,
as the most infuriating female he’d ever had the misfortune of
knowing stormed up the stairs. Five hours ago, the complex web of
Liberty unraveled in his arms. He’d seen a glimpse of the soft,
scared woman who hid behind the stand-offish ice queen, and for
just a moment she’d allowed him to comfort her. The kiss had
perhaps been unwise, but he was drawn to this woman, whether he
wanted to be or not, and he’d been unable to stop himself.

“
Stupid!” He berated himself aloud,
then punched the wall. The broken plaster and bloodied knuckles did
nothing to soothe his temper, so he shoved on tennis shoes and
opened the door. A run would clear his head and save helpless walls
from his wrath. Heavy rain bounced off the soaked ground. Since
real Washingtonians never let a little drizzle slow them down, he
reached for a hooded jacket and headed out the front
door.

After a good stretch, he started off
fast, determined to run until rain and exhaustion battered his
attitude into submission and drained his temper. Methodically, he
kept putting one foot in front of the other, hoping the familiar
motions would persuade his mental state to return to normal. When
that didn’t work, he shook his head, trying to rattle loose
whatever blocked his brain.
She always
pushes me away.

Listening to his footfalls splashing
through the water, he banished the sound of her voice from his
head.
Nothing I say is right.
Concentrating on the cleansing fragrance of rain, he pushed
aside the memory of her scent.
What does
she expect from me? It’s not like she’s perfect.
His
pace increased as he tried not to dwell on the way her strength and
determination encouraged his own.
Everything is a challenge with that woman!
Focusing on his breathing, he struggled to understand exactly
what he felt for her.
How can one person
complicate life so much?

Connor sprinted until his anger and feet
both lost steam and sputtered out right before the ninth hole. It
was a par-four with a tricky water hazard, Connor reminisced about
past golf games with people he’d probably never see again and
wished he had his clubs. Though he was no master of the sport, he’d
learned early on that there was power in bringing a good game. And,
to Connor, everything had become a game. He’d played his way to a
senior partner position at a prosperous law firm, a nice house, two
luxury cars, plenty of money in the bank, an investment portfolio
and comfort. He wanted for nothing; possessed everything. Anything
he required was within his grasp. He could see himself living in
one of these custom designed houses in his own selected homeowner’s
association approved color. He’d have a girl on each arm, while he
lounged on the couch, watching the Seahawks head for the Super
Bowl.

Connor had worked and sacrificed for this
life. He’d fought and clawed his way up the ladder only to have it
ripped out from under him when he was just inches from the top. He
had controlled it all, except the one thing he truly needed: time.
And Connor’s memories kept track of each precious moment he’d
missed and could never get back.

‘
Sorry, Jake, I don’t have
time to come to dinner tonight, give my best to the wife and kid.’
‘Sorry, Jake, big client coming into town, can’t make that tee
time.’ ‘Sorry, Jake, have to work on Thanksgiving—big
case.’

Painful memories of the numerous times he’d
disappointed his brother played on some sick loop, tormenting his
mind.

‘
Sorry, Jake, I’d love to
shoot hoops, but I just can’t get away today.’ ‘Sorry, Jake
…’

Jacob had always been so understanding,
making it easy for Connor to take him for granted. His brother had
been the one constant in Connor’s life. He’d never changed, never
wavered, always forgave. When Connor was sixteen, he and Jacob had
lost their parents in a car crash. Jacob was only nineteen at the
time. He’d been in college for less than a year, but didn’t
hesitate to take Connor in. He always came through.

You were my best friend. And I killed
you.

Jacob was the perpetual good Samaritan. He
played the role of Connor’s conscience—like Connor’s own, personal,
Jiminy Cricket—determined to keep him on the straight and narrow.
No matter how many times Connor slipped from the path, Jacob was
always there with his hand out, ready to pull Connor back up.
Without him, Connor felt incomplete; like yin without yang. The
void his brother’s absence created was beyond comprehension. The
thought of never seeing Jacob again was unfathomable.

After Afghanistan, Connor had turned Jacob
into another casualty of war; effectively blocking his brother from
his life. But Jacob never gave up. One time he rang Connor’s
doorbell for a straight half hour until, finally, Connor let him
in. Then he started in about Afghanistan and Connor needing to
forgive himself. Connor stared into the rain, remembering the
conversation.

“
No, Jake, I don’t want to
talk about Afghanistan,” Connor insisted for the umpteenth
time.

“
You need to talk about it.
Please don’t shut me out. Nothing that happened there was your
fault. You did everything you could for those men.” Jacob paced the
floor of Connor’s living room.

Connor had spent months avoiding Jacob,
pouring into his law studies. His bar exam was rapidly approaching,
and he’d hidden behind that very compelling excuse. Even now he had
a thick textbook open on his coffee table that he was trying to
study. He looked up from the book and said, “You don’t know what
you’re talking about. Those men were my responsibility. They
trusted me to be a proficient commander.”

Jacob paused, crossing his arms. “What could
you have done differently?”

“
I should have known that
kid wasn’t carrying a bomb. Shouldn’t have shot him.” Connor got up
and walked around the coffee table to stand toe-to-toe with his
brother. “I should have been intelligent enough to see the
trap!”

“
You did the best you
could.” Jacob grabbed his shoulder. “You’re a good man,
Connor.”

The image of the boy Connor had shot over a
watch flooded his mind. “Am I?” He shook his head, dissipating the
vision. “If I hadn’t shot that kid, LeFord wouldn’t have exposed
himself. I murdered a child, and LeFord paid the price.”

“
You made a mistake. You
can’t shut out the world because of it.”

But Connor had accepted that challenge and
proven he could, in fact, shut out the world. He passed the bar and
work became his new life. Any relationships Connor engaged in were
shallow and only for self-gratification. He used people to satisfy
his needs, and then tossed them aside before they could become
liabilities.

Jacob’s words rang through Connor’s
mind;
‘You’re a good man, Con.’
They conflicted with the image his life had produced. “You
were the good one,” Connor whispered into the rain. “I miss you,
bro.” He wondered if his brother could hear him, wherever he was.
“I wish you were here. I’m ready to talk now.” His throat
constricted and he couldn’t say anymore. The damn rain kept pelting
his eyes; blurring his vision.

Connor slowed to a walk and his
thoughts turned back to the immediate problem: Liberty. Eight years
in the army and six years as an attorney, left him inadequately
equipped to deal with the frustration Liberty Collins brought into
his life. He never had to work at romance before. Take a woman to
dinner, buy her some flowers or maybe a nice piece of jewelry, show
her some attention, bathe her in compliments, and
voila
—
romance.

Liberty was different. Full of piss
and vinegar, that’s what his father would say. Like a thistle,
strong and beautiful, but with sharp, protective prickles. What
would any sane man want with a woman like that?
What do
I
want with
her?

He stopped and leaned over, stretching
thigh and back muscles. His left eye started twitching, so he
knuckled it, trying to force it to stop. The twitching continued.
He widened then narrowed his eyes, then pulled and pushed on the
eyelid. Nothing helped.

Taking deep breaths, he
mentally practiced the encouragement he’d repeated before many
trials.
I am a consummate professional,
hiding my emotions behind a wall of coldness, projecting the
calculated indifference of my position.

His eye continued to
twitch.
I. Don’t. Twitch.
Connor laughed aloud, suddenly amused
at the anger, confusion, frustration, and desire
Liberty brought to his life. So much, that he’d apparently
developed an eye twitch from thinking about her. His thoughts
drifted back to the moment he’d pulled her onto his lap and
breathed her in. She’d been so weak and vulnerable
; a
fragile ice sculpture melting in his arms. Her soft, full lips had
tempted him to find out if she tasted as good as she smelled and
her jade eyes drew him in like a forest of evergreens. When he’d
brushed the auburn curls from her face, ideas he’d long ago
extinguished suddenly rekindled.

No.
Connor
tried to convince himself.
Not for
her.

Liberty was inaccessible, guarded,
cold.
Don’t get close. She’s not what you
want. And she doesn’t want you.

Yet he’d
watched
helplessly as she cracked, terrified that she’d break and leave
him.

The rain mellowed to a drizzle, and Connor
sat on a bench near the side of the trail. Rain soaked his clothes,
cooling him as he remembered the day he found Liberty.

* * *

It started with a scream. Connor hid behind
the curtain of the house he was ransacking, and peered out the
window. A person jogged by, her feminine curves were almost hidden
under a black, hooded sweatshirt and baggy blue jeans. From his
elevated viewpoint Connor noticed two others following her. They
were gaining on their prey and he knew that unless she sped up,
they’d overcome her. He ran downstairs and slipped out the back
door, his feet chasing the woman before he’d consciously made the
decision to do so.

He crossed one yard, then the next, hoping
to cut her off at the intersection. Once he reached her, there was
no time for words. He grabbed the woman and carried her into the
bushes. She tried to fight him off, but weighing maybe a buck
twenty-five, her five-foot-ten frame was nothing he couldn’t
handle. Bones dug into his side as he wrestled her to the ground
and laid on top of her. She continued to squirm, creating friction
against body parts long neglected. Despite the fact that they were
in danger, things were about to get awkward when she bit down on
his hand.

Within minutes of meeting Liberty,
Connor wanted to strike a woman for the first time in his life.
After the danger had passed, he had every intention of leaving her
ungrateful walking corpse behind. But then Jacob’s voice broke into
his mind, interrupting his anger.
‘You
can’t abandon her,’
his brother said.

Liberty glared up at him with a death grip
on her dagger.

She’s not exactly helpless.

‘
Help her, Con. This is
your chance. Prove that I was right about you.’

Connor pushed away his brother’s voice to
stood to stretch again, wondering if Jacob was watching him from
Heaven, enjoying Connor’s misery with a large, buttery popcorn in
one hand and a root-beer in the other.

Yeah, Bro. Laugh now, but someday I’ll get
you back for this one.

Thoroughly soaked, he headed back toward the
house. Within a few yards, the hair on the back of his neck stood
up, accompanying the suspicion that he was being watched. He
stopped and pretended to lace his shoes, watching for any sort of
movement. Nothing. Chalking up the paranoia to misplaced dread of
another confrontation with Miss. Congeniality, he took the long way
back. Weaving through yards, he stopped periodically and stretched,
listening. Confident that he’d imagined the whole thing, he slid
into the borrowed house and climbed the stairs.