Trust No One (26 page)

Again, Ben took the silent route.

“C’mon, you’re going to convince me you blew them up?” She stared at him until his glance slipped away.

He stared at the computer on the table. “The jeep blew.”

She despaired she was going to have to drag the story out of him sentence by sentence when he spoke again, this time without stopping.

“I was trying to locate terrorist cells. I befriended a family, a good one, they just wanted to live in peace but increasing terrorist activity and military buildup made that pretty much impossible.”

MJ nodded. While news covered the subject, MJ had been in the Middle East herself, knew firsthand how devastating life could be for the people. More so than television could impart.

“The family had a very beautiful daughter.”

“And you fell in love?” MJ interrupted, although the idea of Ben in love, and Ben married even, seemed rather strange. He seemed so much more the loner type, albeit a lady killer, but definitely a loner. Took one to recognize one and all that.

“No. I focused on my job,” he said in a tone that indicated she should know better. “And families are very protective of their daughters. I wasn’t going to do anything to risk my position with them.

“I’m not saying we weren’t friends. She even had a crush on me, or at least who she thought I was.”

“I can see that.”

He shot her a look. “Now’s not a great time to say that.”

MJ hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud. “You’re not too stupid to realize you’re an attractive man,” she admitted as casually as she could, not wanting to give him the idea she personally found him attractive. “And you’re probably pretty nice when you’re not being a pest.”

One side of his mouth curled up at her statement. “Thanks for the compliment. I think.”

And then the smile vanished as he continued, “International soldiers moved in, trying to run out the insurgents. Thing is, some soldiers from other countries aren’t much better than the insurgents.” His lips twisted in a bitter frown.

“What happened?” MJ asked, suspecting she already knew but wondering how it tied into his story.

Ben turned to look at her again. “She was raped. Broad daylight, snatched off the street. When her family complained, the soldiers claimed the family was insurgents and arrested the father. I got the others out and away. I did what I could without blowing my cover, went to our military, but you know those channels are slow.”

Because Vista was a private company with independent contracts from the military, most of the troops knew nothing more than rumor and suspicion that such organizations existed. Which was a good and bad thing. A good thing because they didn’t know to watch for you, there was turf war and overall it made the job easier. But a bad thing when you needed help and had to convince them you were one of the good guys.

“Fatima, her mother, little sister and two young brothers moved in with a family member while I did what I could to get the father released.

“Then Fatima learned she was pregnant.”

“No, not good,” MJ whispered, hardly aware she spoke.

“You’re right. It’s a very bad thing to be unmarried and pregnant in a country like that, no matter the circumstances. Instead of facing exile, she tried to kill herself.”

“You stopped her?”

“She already slashed her wrists; fortunately, my field dressing is better than yours.”

MJ closed her eyes, imagining the horror the young woman must have felt. A sudden realization made her open them, and she stared hard at Ben. “So you married her.”

He shrugged, nodded his head so slightly she nearly missed the movement. Something twisted in her heart.

Here was a truly good man.

Or he could be lying, her cynical distrustful side chimed in with all the help of the red light on a car’s diagnostic computer. Making up the woman, the story, for her benefit.

But for what purpose?

No, she wouldn’t consider he was lying—except, she had already considered it. But she wouldn’t believe it. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life being distrustful of every man who crossed her path.

What sort of life would that be for her? What sort of example would she set for her daughter?

“She had the baby, a boy?” MJ asked, calling on years of training to hide her inner turmoil.

Again, he moved his head with a barely perceptible nod.

“What happened?” After rescuing her, what could have happened where he thought he’d killed them.

Ben stared at a place over her shoulder. He drew in, then released a shuddering breath. “The insurgency grew worse. The soldiers released her father when they pulled out. Word was the Allies were going to bomb the hell out of the city.

“I packed her and the baby and her younger sister into an older jeep. Her family followed behind in another one. But the insurgents had one last trick for anyone running away.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, opened them then looked straight into her eyes. It was as if what happened zapped from his brain to hers.

“Road bomb,” she said.

He took a deep breath. “IED. I expected it, was looking for it, and still . . .” Here he stopped, made a face before he continued. “Someone threw it in front of the jeep.” His lips pressed briefly into a hard thin line before he continued, “The right front tire hit it. The blast threw me and the younger sister out of the jeep. I suffered a broken collar bone and concussion. Fatima and the baby weren’t so lucky.”

“Shit.” MJ couldn’t think of anything else to say. She took his hand.

He stared at their hands. “I didn’t know you cared,” he said, a bite to his tone.

“Shut the hell up, you idiot,” she said deliberately, with no return bite to her tone. She realized he was trying to keep his distance, keep the suffering close. She understood. “Just one human reaching out to another, offering comfort.”

He slipped his hand from beneath hers. “I didn’t know you were capable. Of being human, that is.”

Ouch. That one hurt a little. The feeling took her by surprise. “I don’t know why you’d say something mean like that.”

She wasn’t sure she managed to keep the hurt from her voice though his words shouldn’t have mattered. He didn’t matter to her—except as someone injured and needing care.

Since she never signed up for a nursing job, she thought she’d done pretty well. “I’ve been
human
enough to take care of your sorry ass,” she added.

“With the efficiency of a robot,” he shot back. “Unless you’re talking about your baby, who isn’t really yours; otherwise your care is cold and precise.”

Not really her baby? Oh, that was a low blow. Instead of the anger she should be summoning, though, pain stabbed deep. “Are you going to tell me you didn’t love. . .” she paused, swallowed the tears starting to clog her throat and mentally pulled herself under control.

With a new breath, she faced him and finished, “Are you telling me you didn’t love Fatima’s son, whether he was biologically yours or not?” She dared him to deny it.

Ben looked away. “Yes, I loved him.” He sighed. “I’m a jerk.”

She blinked hard, felt the knot grow in her throat again. She would not cry. There was no reason for hurt feelings. Ben’s opinions, or Ben himself, didn’t matter to her. “Yes, you are,” she agreed, yet couldn’t stop herself from adding, “But I understand.”

“I’m sorry.” He held out his hand to her this time, palm up.

She hesitated, then chastised herself for being a coward. When she took his hand, he stood.

“Come here,” he said, tugging gently.

She nodded her head toward the computer. “We should be looking for more senators. If Tasha doesn’t show up, we need to try to predict her next move.”

“I’ve had enough of looking at old naked dead guys for one day,” Ben said. “Come on.”

She relented and he led her to the sofa, pulled her beside him and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She sat stiff, he tugged her gently more fully into his embrace. “It’s hard letting someone close.”

“It’s the nature of the business,” she said, realizing his arm around her felt uncomfortably comforting. Unreasonably secure.

She relaxed into him, the quiet of the night, the glowing candles easing the tension and strain of the work she’d been doing for hours. Ben was right, they needed a break from looking at naked old dead men. As the tension in her muscles loosened, she became all too aware of the warmth of Ben’s arm around her, all too aware of his lean body hard next to hers. All too aware the intensity of his look had changed, until he was downright staring at her. He moved his arm, pulling her closer. She stared back, for a moment lost in his beautiful brown almond shaped eyes, the candle light flames dancing in his dark gaze. Thick lashes, why did men always have such thick lashes?

And familiar, so familiar. Why?

She forgot to question more when his deep voice startled her. “I want to kiss you,” he said, low and intense.

She saw his lips form the words, even heard the sound of his words, before they registered. “Shit,” she breathed.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback. “That’s not—”

“Not a good idea. We really need to get back to the senators.”

“They’re dead. Not going anywhere.” He lowered his head.

“But . . .” Her brain, already sluggish, slowed down more, and she didn’t turn away in time.

His lips touched hers.

Warm, smooth, firm. He moved them like he knew how to kiss. Oh, yes, he did know how, and before she could stop herself, she was kissing him back.

Tiny, soft kisses. Safe kisses. She settled more fully into his arms.

Her movement encouraged him. He adjusted his position to bring them more fully into contact with each other. His lips pressed against hers, urging them to open.

That bit of force, as persuasive as it was, snapped her mind back into awareness.

“Wait.” She pulled away, pushed against his chest. “Not a good idea.”

He rubbed his thumb across her lips, seeming much more at ease than she felt. “How about if you think of it as sympathy sex?”

“Absolutely not.” Even as she sounded adamant, she had to fight the urge to lick where his thumb rubbed her lips. She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. She pressed her lips together.

“It would be as much for you as for me.”

Damn him for putting that image in her head. She made herself give a snort of disbelief, the action belying every feeling she had. Still, she managed to say, “Kind of arrogant of you, isn’t–”

“I see your pulse. Right here.” He moved his thumb down from her uncooperative lips to rest on the soft skin at the base of her throat, where she couldn’t hide the evidence of her fast-beating heart.

“It’s banging against my thumb.” He continued the torture of soft caresses. “Feel it?”

Yes, she did. “Shock,” she explained. “You took me by surprise.”

“I did?”

“I thought the condoms were a joke.”

“Seems like it now,” he said with a wry twist to his mouth.

She struggled for one last bit of composure, grateful when her brain offered her an idea to save herself. “Did you love her?” she asked.

The mood he’d obviously been working to achieve dropped away like a stone. He moved his hand from her throat. “Clever,” he said with narrowed eyes. “Quite effective.”

Thank God. “You weren’t really horny. You were just trying to distract me from asking questions.” No, he hadn’t really wanted sex. And neither did she. She didn’t.

“Yeah, like that worked, didn’t it?”

“Not saying I wasn’t tempted. But I can be determined.

“I’ll remember that.” At her raised eyebrow, he added, “That you were tempted.”

She let a small smile pull at her lips. “And you’re like most men, you can’t face or accept emotional issues.”

“You’re not only determined, you’re cruel.”

“Just call it like I see it.”

“I’m a warrior, I’m not supposed to have emotions.”

“That’s worked for you, has it? Denying your emotions. That why you started drinking?” At his silence, she pushed harder. “Because you loved her and couldn’t face the loss?”

“I loved her, yes.” He sighed and with a somewhat distracted gesture rubbed on her arm.

Keeping silent at his familiarity, she let him continue with talking, knowing instinctively it was something he rarely did.

“It was hard not to love her. Even after what she’d been through, she was so sweet and trusting.”

His hand moved up to comb through MJ’s hair. A glance showed he had a far off look in his eyes.

“But I wasn’t ‘in love’ with her.”

In a way, it was sad that he wasn’t in love with the woman he’d married. Then again, it was much safer not to be in love. Love brought pain, after all. No one needed to remind her of that. “So you started drinking because . . .”

“I blamed myself, of course. If I loved her more . . . at first I thought I was okay. It took me months to rehab from my injuries, but I convinced Jeff to let me go right back to work.”