Rival Forces (29 page)

Two hours later she was sitting behind the wheel of her Jeep headed for D.C. Georgiana had asked her, as a favor, to attend some sort of reception with her since Brad was, once more, out of town. Yardley had a feeling there was more to it than that but she wasn't in a position to pry since she'd been closed up tighter than a clam in ice water about her love life.

Or rather lack of it.

Frowning, she pushed the button on her dash display and made a call.

“Agent Jackson speaking.”

“Hello. Yardley Summers here.”

“Ms. Summers.” Jackson's voice had taken on a warm tone she had never heard before. “I've been expecting your call.”

Yardley glanced at the speaker. “Why?”

“Always to the point. I've been in touch with a former colleague. He left a message for you, in case you called.”

Her stomach jumped. She and David hadn't been in touch since the week she'd spent by his side under guard in the hospital in D.C. “What does it say?”

“Two words. Bonnie Raitt.”

Yardley smiled. “Got it.”

“Any return message?”

“No.”

“In that case, I've been advised to tell you he's taking a sea voyage. Signed up for a cruise. Medical ship. Contained environment. Very secure. Limited access. Pretty good job for a doc on a mission. I'm told fresh sea air can do wonders for the soul.”

“I've heard that, too. Thank you.”

“So this is good-bye, Ms. Summers. Try to have a less eventful life. At least until after I retire. My wife would appreciate it, too.”

After she hung up she slipped in a CD that had come in the mail weeks ago. No message. No return address. The opening notes of a piano filled the Jeep, followed by Bonnie Raitt's beautifully plaintive voice full of love and tenderness and painful acceptance in “I Can't Make You Love Me.” The plaintive cry of someone who loves but isn't loved back.

David's way of saying that he was moving on. Back to saving the world while he waited for a trial far in his future. Only she seemed to be stuck.

Yardley suddenly understood that song from another perspective. Once she'd thought that her legacy would be to never know real love. It felt strange to be on the other side. She hadn't loved David. Not enough to give up everything that defined who she was, what she was, what she had achieved. She wasn't shocked when he told her that he was going back into witness protection indefinitely, maybe for years. His mission to take down illegal pharmaceuticals hadn't altered. But it was no way to begin a life together. David's words. Even so, there'd been something in his eyes that told her he wanted her to make him a liar, and come with him.

Yardley sighed. She hadn't asked for that chance. Her feelings toward David weren't what she'd thought they were months before. Or maybe they were. They'd just been exposed for what they were: great affection, nothing more.

Kye was the reason for this revelation. He had given her something to compare her feelings for David with. Her feelings for Kye, a dozen years old and dusty with age, were the real thing. Love. Clear and bright and undiminished. Her fault if she'd figured that out too late.

Kye had left without offering her a chance to go with him.

She hadn't seen him since the morning he'd come to the hospital to tell her that he'd found Oleg, and stayed with her K-9 through his initial surgery.

Yardley sucked in a quick breath. She'd seen in his eyes a distance that hadn't been there before. He'd backed away from her touch. Wouldn't even let her hug him in thanks. He'd mumbled something about “Four days of insanity over,” and back-walked out of her life.

At the end of the song, she ejected the CD, rolled down the window, and, after a brief check to make certain no one was right behind her, sent it sailing out the window. Whatever the last year—certainly those four days—had been about, it wasn't over for her.

Maybe because Kye walking away didn't feel like closure. Even now, thoughts of him still woke her in the wee hours, demanding her attention when she was too weak to keep them at bay.

She tightened her mouth and glanced at her image in the rearview. She just didn't know what to do about it.

*   *   *

“To strong women, handsome men, and lousy timing.” Georgie held up her third tequila shot.

“
Salud.
” Yardley clinked glasses with her, and they both threw back their heads and drank.

“Oh my.” Georgie blinked and fanned herself, her skin bright red in reaction to the alcohol. “I don't think I can keep up with you, Yard. My eyes are refusing to focus.”

“In that case, it's lucky I have a room here tonight.”

Yardley and Georgie were almost through a flight of tequila shots and shooters, ranging from a
blanco
to
reposado
and finally
anejo
. Each shot glass was rimmed with salt and came with a shooter. The first had been the traditional Mexican sangrita of orange juice, grenadine, and chili pepper. The second shooter contained a spicy green concoction of pineapple, cilantro, mint, and jalapeño. The third, sitting before them, contained tomato juice with Tabasco and Worcestershire sauce.

Sometimes the only remedy for heartache was girl time and booze. Lots and lots of booze.

Georgie signaled to the hotel bartender, who had been watching the pair in admiration.

The women, dressed casually in tailored shirts, jeans, and heels, had drawn the eye of everyone who spotted them. It seemed impossible to ignore the pair of redheads at the bar. The contrast between Georgie's curly paprika hair floating about her shoulders and Yardley's spill of Cherry Coke hair parted simply in the middle invited comment.

The bartender came over with a grin. “The men at the table beyond the end of the bar would like to buy you ladies a refill.”

Yardley reached out and cupped the back of his hand. “Tell them no thanks. Our Navy SEAL husbands are waiting for us upstairs.”

The bartender looked down at her hand. “You aren't wearing a ring.”

Yardley smiled. “That's not where I wear it.”

His brows rose but she was already looking away, reaching for her sangrita chaser.

Georgie smothered her laughter in her palm as he moved away. “I can't believe you said that.”

“Must be the tequila,” Yardley agreed. She was feeling a little reckless. But not desperate. “Want to tell me why I'm really here?”

“Only if you want to skip dinner.”

Something in her tone made Yardley suddenly very sure she wouldn't now be able to swallow that thick juicy steak she'd been contemplating. She looked up at the bartender and shook her head as he poured. “Check.”

She waited until they were on the elevator alone before she turned to Georgie, a scowl on her face. “What have you done?”

Georgie shrugged. “I refused to be in the middle, okay? But the man can be persuasive.”

Yardley's stomach dropped as the elevator swooshed upward, implications running wild. “If you set me up…”

Georgie shrugged. “Can I have the key to the room? I don't think you'll be needing it, after all.”

The doors parted on their floor and Georgie beat her out. She smiled at the man waiting to get on, then turned back to Yardley. “Neutral territory. Good luck.”

Yardley stared at the handsome man standing in the doorway with his dog by his side.

He looked good, better than she'd ever seen him. He was all healed and tan, strong and fit and very handsome.

She folded her arms, suddenly stone-cold sober. “What brings you to D.C.?”

“You, sis.”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Her half brother, Lauray Battise, stood in the elevator doorway, holding the leash of a PTSD service dog named Samantha. Sam was a cutesy rust-red mash-up of golden retriever and standard poodle with an enormous curling tail.

The contrast between man and dog couldn't have been more startling. Law was tall, hard, with black hair, sludge-gold eyes, and a chin like granite. A tinge of danger seeped into the air around him, making people move aside without even knowing why.

Yardley reached out to stop the elevator doors from closing but didn't step out or invite him in. “Why are you here, Law? Is something wrong with Jori? Did she kick you out?”

Law grinned and shook his head. “Good to see you, too, Yard.”

He stepped inside as the elevator chimed impatiently and pushed the
LOBBY
button.

“Hi, Sam.” Yardley bent down and greeted Samantha before glaring at her owner. She hated being ambushed, and every instinct told her she was going to like it even less when she learned why Law had thought it was necessary. “You didn't answer my question.”

“You haven't answered my texts.” He smiled at her in a way that said he knew she was tipsy. Okay, maybe more than tipsy.

“What do you want?”

“Where's your Jeep key?”

“Why? Are you planning to kidnap me?”

“I'm going to drive us home.” He held up a hand as she opened her mouth. “No questions. No problems. We'll talk in the morning.”

“I was going to take a cab. But seeing that you're here.” She handed him the key.

Yardley fell into step beside her brother as they crossed the lobby so in sync that their movements looked choreographed. Dressed alike in jeans and tailored shirts, his matched with military boots and hers with hand-tooled western stiletto booties, the Battises made a statement without opening their mouths.

She handed the valet her ticket before turning to her brother and saying in a loud voice, “You promised me a steak dinner. If you plan on having your way with me, you need to feed me first.”

Law ignored the heads snapping in their direction. “Cute. Burger on the way out?”

She glared at him. “Double meat, bacon, and extra cheese.”

“Geez, Yard. Anyone ever tell you that you eat like a man?”

*   *   *

Breakfast consisted of coffee. Black. Toast. Burnt. Attitude. Don't give a damn.

Law leaned an elbow on the mantel and gazed around the living room shaking his head. Usually immaculate, it looked like a tornado had blown through and parked six months' worth of dog hair on every surface.

Yard followed his gaze before her expression became defensive. “I've been busy.”

“I can see that.” His gaze shifted to the very dusty artificial Christmas tree still standing in the corner. “You remember how you found me about this time last year?”

“Falling-on-your-ass drunk, sunk in poor-me piss, and about a few drinks from swallowing your pistol?”

He winced. “Yeah, something like that. Is this the female version? Because damn, Yard.”

They'd always played hard off each other. Mostly because they'd never known each other well enough to be tender. And because their father didn't want them to. The last year had brought them closer, but the close was still new and tender in its own way.

She shook her head. “It's been a rough few months. But I'm over it.”

“Over what?”

“All of it. Stokes. David. Everything.” She ducked her head. She'd almost added Kye to that list. But that would only open a can of worms that most definitely didn't need exposure. “Like I said. I've been busy.”

“You've been something. And it isn't good. You've given up.”

“Mind your own business, maybe?”

She leaned forward in her chair to love on Sam. “Hey, Sam. Maybe you know why you're here, since Law obviously isn't going to say.”

“Where's your dog?” He picked up and sifted through his fingers a tuft of Czech wolfdog hair that had settled on the mantel. “I was going to ask if you've got a new dog. But there must be whole pack living here with you.”

“Just Oleg. He's at the vet's getting a check-up.”

“He heal up okay?”

“Better than that.” She'd told him about all that had gone on over the New Year weekend immediately afterward. That didn't explain why he was here four months after the fact.

Law moved to hitch a hip on the edge of the sofa because it was the closest seat to hers. “I've quit the state police.”

Before she could stop herself, her gaze dipped to his left pant leg. A casual observer might not have noticed the way it sagged. That's because behind it lay a state-of-the-art prosthesis. The best available. But it wasn't the same as the leg Law had left with when he went to Afghanistan a little more than four years ago.

She tried to read something in his expression but his sludge-gold gaze gave nothing away. He'd lost more than a leg in the war. He'd lost himself. He had come pretty close to the status of off-the-grid crazed loner holed up in the backwoods of northwest Arkansas when she had barged in on him a year earlier, demanding that he seek help for his PTSD issues.

Getting back on the payroll with the Arkansas State Police had been the only thing that had kept him sane. He'd even passed the Arkansas State Police physical in order to go back on full duty in February. What had changed in two months?

“Does Jori know?”

“Haven't discussed it with her yet. Figured I needed to get my act together first.”

“I see.” The bottom fell out of Yardley's stomach. Jori was the main reason Law had been doing so well. She and his dog.

Yardley's gaze flickered to the rusty-red goldendoodle standing watch by Law's side. Sam held a world of knowledge in her gentle gaze. Too bad she couldn't share it.

Law stood up, running a hand impatiently through his unruly black hair. “The truth is I need to think about my future. That's not something I've often done. But if I want Jori in my life, I need something to show for it beside a willingness to get shot at.”

He's talking about the future.
His and Jori's. Yardley almost smiled but she knew better than to be obvious. “Law enforcement is an honorable profession.”