Striking Distance (15 page)

Laura swallowed hard, tears sliding down her cheeks, her heart feeling as if it might burst. She looked from Karima to Yusif to Javier, who stood in one corner, arms crossed over his chest, a grave expression on his face. “I . . . I don’t know. But I’ll do my best to find out.”

CHAPTER

13

“I DON’T UNDERSTAND
it. How could the kid cry when he heard I’d been killed and then a few years later try to kill me himself? How could he be on the dean’s list in December and a terrorist by February? It doesn’t make sense.”

“When does terrorism ever make sense?” Javier watched Laura battle with her emotions while she attempted to make coffee, her mind distracted, her movements wooden. Truth be told, he felt more than a little shaken up, too.

First, whatever had happened when he’d seen that helo, and then . . .

He’d been to more funerals than he cared to count, lost men who were like brothers to him, and yet something about today had hit him hard. The kid had died for nothing, the life he’d been given wasted, his parents’ lives destroyed by his actions.

Now Javier understood why this had been so important to Laura. Somehow she’d realized how terrible his parents must feel about what their son had tried to do. She’d let them see that she held no grudge against them or their religion or culture, bringing them a sense of redemption. She’d enabled them to grieve without guilt.

“You did a good thing tonight. You were right. It
was
important.”

“I didn’t do anything. Their son is gone. They’ll never see him again, hug him again, hear his voice again. It’s not even their fault.” She pushed the brew button on her coffeemaker and turned to face him, fingers pressed to one temple. “They have to live with what he did and what was done to him, but they didn’t teach him to hate.”

“What about the kid’s uncle? I didn’t like the way he looked at you. What did he say to you? He seemed so angry.”

“He was upset because Ali’s body hadn’t yet been returned. He—”

It was then Javier noticed her mistake. He pointed, but it was too late.

“You forgot . . .”

The coffeepot.

Coffee hissed as it poured straight onto the burner, steaming liquid spilling onto the granite countertop and the floor.

“Helvete!”
Laura seemed to freeze for a moment before flying in all directions at once, unplugging the machine and grabbing an entire roll of paper towels.

Javier rounded the counter, picked up the glass coffeepot, and slid it into place on the burner, where it could catch the rest of the coffee.

Laura stared at the mess on the counter and the floor, then dropped to her knees and began to wipe it up. “God, what’s wrong with me?”

He knelt down in front of her, caught her wrists. “You’re upset. Why don’t you go sit by the fire for a minute while I clean this up?”

Her gaze slid to his, her eyes filled with despair that had nothing to do with spilled coffee. “It’s my mess. I made it. I should clean it up.”

“I came here to help you,
bella
. Now let me help. That’s an order.”

She stood and backtracked out of the kitchen, careful not to step in the puddle.

Javier made quick work of it, then washed his hands and started heating milk. If he was going to make the coffee, he’d make it the
Boricua
way.

He carried the steaming mugs to the living room, where he found Laura curled up on the sofa and clutching a small pillow to her chest. He set her mug down on the coffee table and sat near her feet.

“Thank you.” She sat up, picked up the mug, and sipped, closing her eyes and making an “mmm” noise that sent Javier’s thoughts running in the wrong direction.

Get your mind out of your pants, Corbray.

When she opened her eyes again, her gaze was fixed on the fire. “They have to find him. They have to find the person behind this. Not just to keep me safe, but for Karima and Yusif’s sake—and Ali’s.”

“They will.” And when they
did
get him, Javier hoped it was with a high-caliber weapon. “Tearing yourself apart over this isn’t going to help anyone.”

He got to his feet, moved to stand behind her. “Lean back.”

She looked over her shoulder at him but did as he asked.

“You’ve got a headache again, don’t you?” He moved the silk of her hair aside, baring the graceful length of her neck. He couldn’t touch her in a sexual way, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t touch her.

“What are you—the Headache Whisperer?”

“Just relax.”

Laura closed her eyes as Javier began to knead the muscles of her shoulders. “Mmm. Don’t tell me this is something they teach you in BUD/S.”

“Nah.” He chuckled, the sound deep and warm. “It’s something I learned as a personal trainer. Your upper trapezius and scalene muscles are tight. It makes your headache worse.”

She sank into his touch as he searched out knots and sore spots she didn’t know she had, his fingers working their way along her nape, raising tingles on her skin. And the pain inside her skull began to lessen.

She decided to ask him. “What happened in the backyard tonight?”

His fingers stilled for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“I heard you gasp like you’d been hurt, and when I turned to look, you were staring up at that helicopter as if it were about to crash or something.” She’d never seen fear on his face before.

No, not just fear. Terror.

His fingers began to move again. “The sound of it . . . For a second, it reminded me of the day I was wounded.”

A flashback?

She turned her head to look back at him. “You told me you’d been ambushed. Did they attack by helicopter?”

“No.” He withdrew his hands.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry. If it’s too hard for you to talk about—”

“It’s not a problem.” He rounded the sofa and sat in a chair across from her, elbows resting on his knees, his hands folded together. “We ran across a shepherd and his sons on our way to infiltrate a village outside Ghazni. I had to decide whether to let them live or to kill them to prevent them from warning anyone. We gave them food, water, a little medical help. We tried to show them we weren’t the enemy. They promised not to give us away. I let them live. They warned the Taliban anyway. Taliban fighters ambushed us. We called for exfil. The medevac helo sent to retrieve the wounded was hit by an RPG and blew up before it could land.”

“Oh, God.” Laura stood and took a few steps toward the fire, the memory of the narrow escape from Al-Nassar’s compound coming back to her. She turned to Javier and asked the question, pretty sure she knew the answer. “What happened to the medics?”

A muscle clenched in his jaw. “Everyone on board was killed.”

“That’s terrible.” She found it appalling that anyone would attack medical personnel.

Then the truth of what Javier must be dealing with dawned on her. A decision he’d made had resulted in an ambush that had ended in the deaths of some of his men—and the crew of the medevac chopper, too. Did he blame himself?

“It wasn’t your fault—those men’s deaths, the medevac chopper.”

“I know that. I don’t sit around lamenting my choice.” His denial came too quickly, and Laura wasn’t sure she believed him.

She sank into a chair, an image of his scars in her mind. “All of you who were wounded—you had to wait for another chopper, didn’t you?”

He gave a single wooden nod. “Not everyone made it.”

“I’m so sorry.” Her words seemed empty, inadequate. “It must have been horrible to lie there in so much pain and to watch those men get shot out of the sky, knowing it meant some of you would probably die, too.”

He stood, walked over to the window. “We all knew the risks when we signed on, even the medics. Besides, it’s over.”

She rose, followed him, slid her arms around him, rested her cheek against his back, his body tense, rigid. “It’s not over, not if it still affects you like it did today. Are you getting therapy?”

“I passed the post-combat psych screening. I don’t need therapy.” He drew her hands away and stepped out of her embrace. “I’m not some weakling who can’t get his shit together.”

“I saw a therapist every day for almost a year, and I still can’t say I’m over what happened to me. Am I a weakling?”

“You’re a civilian.”

“Oh. Thanks for clarifying.”

He turned, faced her. “You were abducted, held prisoner for a year and a half, beaten, raped. You weren’t trained to endure that. Getting shot, killing, watching other men die—that’s part of my job description. It’s the downside of what I do for a living.”

“So that was just another bad day at the office?”

He shook his head, muttered something in Spanish, his eyes gone cold. “Just drop it, okay? What happened today wasn’t a big deal. I just . . . got confused.”

But it hadn’t been confusion Laura had seen on his face.

“You’re entitled to be human.”

Without another word, he turned and walked down the hallway toward the guest room. She sipped her coffee and paced the length of the room, debating whether to go after him, to apologize. She’d pushed him, striking some kind of nerve.

But then she heard the sound of guitar music, first just tuning chords, then music so melancholy it made her heart ache.

So this was how he dealt with it—what had happened, his emotions.

And she knew he wanted to be alone.

* * *

THEY HAD A
late supper of carryout Thai delivered by the U.S. Marshal Service, neither of them bringing up what had happened earlier. Javier seemed distant, closed off, and Laura knew he was still angry. They watched the news together. Then, pleading a headache, she went to bed and lay awake in the dark, the events of the day running through her mind.

Her interview this morning with the VA flack. Karima and Yusif’s tears. Javier’s reaction to the helicopter and his anger with her.

I’m not some weakling who can’t get his shit together.

Oh, Javi!

She hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep until the nightmare woke her. Shaking and drenched in cold sweat, she crawled out of bed, slipped into her robe, and walked to the kitchen for a glass of warm milk, only to find Javier still awake, the television on, the volume down low.

He took one look at her face, turned off the TV, and stood. “Bad dream?”

She nodded, the sound of her own screams still echoing in her mind.

He left her then, walked back to the guest room without so much as saying good night, the distance between them leaving an ache behind Laura’s breastbone.

But by the time she put her empty mug in the sink, he was back, wearing only his jeans, gun in one hand. “Come.”

She met his gaze and felt a rush of relief to see warmth in his eyes again.

They walked to her bedroom together. Laura crawled into bed, making room for Javier, who shucked his jeans on her floor before stretching out beside her.

Strong arms closed around her, drawing her close. “I’m sorry,
bella
. I shouldn’t have gotten angry with you.”

“It was my fault. I pushed you. I’m sorry.”

He kissed her hair. “Sleep.”

She curled up against his bare chest and within minutes fell fast asleep.

* * *

JAVIER WOKE WITH
a start the next morning, the whir of helo rotors and reek of burning oil and smoke fading as he came fully awake. Laura lay beside him, still sound asleep, her hair spilling over both of them, her sweet scent surrounding him. He brushed a strand from her cheek, his gaze traveling over her sweet face with its dark lashes and high cheekbones, the satiny curve of her bare shoulder, the soft curves of her breasts, their tips like little pebbles beneath the silky cloth.

Every instinct in him wanted to kiss her awake and pick up where they’d left off in the sauna. But he couldn’t go there.

Instead, he slid out of the bed, drew the covers up to her chin, and left her to sleep. He took a leak, brushed his teeth, and put on his workout clothes and a jacket. He left Laura a quick note to tell her where he was going, checked in with her security detail, then slipped out of the loft, her key in his pocket. With a quick search on his smartphone, he headed up 20th Avenue toward City of Cuernavaca Park and the South Platte River Trail. And then he ran.

He barely noticed the half-frozen river, the early morning cyclists who sped by him, or the sun, which hovered above the eastern horizon, spilling its rays over the drowsy city. He ignored the pain in his thigh, the ache in his ribs, his mind focused on respiration, the beating of his heart, the rhythm of his feet on the concrete.

What do you want to do with them, senior chief? If we let them live, they might warn someone and bring the whole op down around our ears.

No, he wouldn’t go there.

He ran faster, pushed himself harder.

There are more than a hundred fighters up there, senior chief. Somehow they knew we were coming. We need to start our exfil now!

His lungs burned. The muscles in his thigh screamed in protest. He ignored the pain, drove himself harder.

Hear that? Medevac is almost here, buddy. We’re going to be pumped full of morphine and flirting with nurses before you know it.

And still Javier ran.

* * *

LAURA HAD JUST
finished with the I-Team meeting when Janet arrived. One of the advantages to working from home was that she could take a break whenever she wanted. She made Janet a cup of coffee, then sat across from her in the living room and told her what she needed her to do—and why.

“I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but I have to do all I can. It makes even less sense today than it did yesterday.”

Janet met Laura’s gaze. “I don’t know what you think you’re going to discover that FBI investigators won’t.”

“I’m a trained investigator, and a good one. Maybe I won’t find anything. But maybe I will.”

“You give me your word you won’t leak the contents of the file in a news story or reveal where you got the documents?”

“I promise—and I’ve never broken a promise to a source.”

Janet drew a deep breath, clearly considering it. “All right. I can probably get the file to you by this afternoon before we head to the television station. I’m trusting you with my career.”

Laura felt a rush of relief. “Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t. I know where you live.” Janet smiled, then looked toward the door. “Corbray is on his way up. I didn’t know they made men like him. He is . . .”