“What? Here? Are you fucking crazy?” And yes, I should really be reading between the lines, but fuck, I’m a guy. I react without thinking, jump to judge without hearing anything beyond helpless female all alone in the wild fucking West. “It’s like willingly walking into the goddamn lion’s den out there! I told you not to go out there by yourself! You promised that you wouldn’t!”

“Yeah… well, I unpromise.” And there’s something about the contrast of the tone of her voice in comparison to mine – detached versus animated, defiance instead of compassion – that shocks me into realizing it doesn’t matter what else I say because she’s going to do it anyway. I search her eyes for a reason, a connection, anything at all, but all I find is disassociation and a complete lack of caring, and that only pisses me off further.

How can she pull away when all we’ve been doing is connecting, bit by bit, word by word, minute by minute, every day over the past week and a half? It’s like she’s slapping me in the face.

“Are you purposefully trying to push buttons to get a reaction? Because it doesn’t take much to ignite my temper, and, frankly, knowing you’re out there on your own is doing it already.” I step closer to her, willing the warmth in her eyes to return. “What’s really going on, Beaux?”

“It’s how I deal, okay? End of discussion. Drop it.” She retreats a step, and luckily the wall is at her back, because that means she can’t run away now.

“Deal with what? Is shit that bad at home that you’re willing to risk your safety here so that you don’t have to go back?” I immediately feel like a jerk for my original assumption that she’s sleeping around, but now I’m worried about what she’s withholding from me. And a small part of me cringes because I sound a lot like Rafe did to me when I wanted back here. I hate not knowing what has put this look on her face and the uncertainty laced with something else I can’t quite pin down in her eyes. “What the fuck are you running from?”

“Nothing.” She remains expressionless.

“Don’t nothing me, Beaux. Or is it BJ now? Because I expect that kind of crap answer from BJ, not from you. Not from the woman who looked at me like she did last night before bailing out of the lobby like she couldn’t get away fast enough.” She holds my stare as my words punch her one by one.

“Like I said, I’m not running from anything.”

“Nice try but I’m not buying it.” I know she’s going to try and run the minute she averts her eyes. Good thing too, because I reach out to grab her shoulders and keep her in place at the same time she tries to shrug past me. “Uh-uh. You’re not going anywhere. In your words we’re going to settle this right now. What’s your story, then? We’ve sat for the last week talking about everything under the goddamn sun, and yet I know nothing about you.”

Oh I’ve definitely got her attention now: the sharp intake of air, her eyes flickering left and right, the stiffness in her posture.

“Yes, you do!” She sneers back.

“I know you went to Dartmouth, your reasons for freelance… but I don’t know the person you are at home without using that fucking camera as a shield in front of you. So tell me, BJ,” I say as I step well within her personal space so that I can feel the heat of her breath on my lips. “Who the fuck are you, and what the hell are you dealing with?”

“Back off, Tanner.” The warning sound in her voice is clear as day, but I don’t care. I’m in big-brother mode now, and all I want to do is make sure that she’s okay.

“No. You know me, right? Know how stubborn I am? It comes with my career choice, so I suggest you start talking.” We stand there in a silent standoff that I sure as hell am going to win. “Is it your family? Are you running from them?”

“No. Don’t have any.”

“Everyone has family.” I laugh in disbelief at her lie.

“Not me. They’re dead.”

I never knew you could get whiplash from words alone, but there’s always a first for everything, and she’s taught me a lot of those in the short time that I’ve known her. “Wh-what?” I stutter the word out as dread drops through my body for pushing her. I was sure she was going to look like the ass in the end, but it seems I’m taking the lead position in that race.

“My parents died my senior year of high school. Car crash. They were driving to school to bring me a project I forgot at home. Both were gone instantly. I’m an only child as were they, so there’s no one else. I sold the house to pay for my college tuition. My blood money. So when you tell me no one understands the guilt you feel over whatever happened to Stella, you are so very wrong. I wear the crown most days.”

Her eyes are steadfast on mine, her voice still void of emotion, but I understand her a bit better now that I know the why behind it. Detachment is a necessity, and yet I want more from her.

“Where are you from?”

“Doesn’t matter. Podunk, USA. A black dot on a paper map. I’m giving you the answers you want, so the where is irrelevant.”

Except to me it’s all relevant when it comes to her. Every piece of information I can get will help me understand her, figure out the enigma of the female mind, and yet I don’t push her any further. I know by the look on her face she’s given me more than she ever expected to, so I’ll take it and tuck it away and decipher it all later.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to…” I release her shoulders and step away from her, raking a hand through my hair and blowing a breath out as I try to digest everything she’s told me along with the fact that she goes out at odd hours in this fucked-up place on her own. “So you go out at night to take pictures so you can deal with their passing?”

“No. I dealt with their deaths a long time ago.”

And the whiplash strikes twice as I lower my hand from my neck and look at her like she’s lost her fucking mind. She’s dropped one confession after another on me, and yet none of them explains the reason she’s being so foolish going out alone.

“Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on here? Because I thought we were past playing games and now you’ve sucked me right back there. You said you go out and take pictures to deal… What the hell has you so upset that you’re outside the walls when for safety’s sake you shouldn’t be?” I’m all worked up, agitated, and annoyed, but all it takes is her single-word answer to knock every fucking emotion from me.

“You.”

I snap my head up to meet her eyes, and the clarity in hers surprises me, engages me, confuses me. The air thickens in the small space, a blessing and a curse all at the same time because that means I’m breathing her in, and that in itself – her perfume, her shampoo – is addicting and distracting. My throat feels like it’s being constricted as the silence stretches only to be interrupted by the stutter of our breaths. I clench my jaw and fists, restraining myself, from what I’m not exactly sure: from begging her to explain? From pushing her up against the wall and kissing her with the savage desire I feel until every carnal urge within me is satisfied?

Both are damn good options.

When I step into her and her breath hitches, I swear I can feel it deep down in the pit of my stomach. The anticipation of what we know we’re about to do and can’t take back connects us and defines the moment with such poignancy that as I reach out to touch her, I swear I’m moving in slow motion. Attraction sparks between us like a current when our skin touches, my palm to the side of her cheek. I lean forward, my eyes asking for consent and my lips already tasting hers.

As my heart races, I realize everything about me is affected by her proximity, and the next thought that crosses my mind staggers me. Why does this one woman get to me so profoundly?

Our lips hover inches from each other, our eyes still locked, amethyst to emerald, and bodies already on high alert when the sound of my telephone ring shrills in the small space and makes us jump apart like teenagers getting caught making out behind the gym. I swear as she laughs, the nervous energy between us has grown so palpable that I’m part relieved, part pissed off, and one hundred percent consumed by her as we both take a breath for what feels like the first time in minutes.

When I pull my phone out of its clip on my hip to dismiss the call, I glance at the screen only to find that I’m immediately pulled from the moment, my attention effectively diverted from what was about to happen with Beaux.

“Sarge,” I say when I answer the phone, but it’s a greeting to him and an explanation to Beaux all with a single word.

“Got a request for you to ride along. Boots down at ten hundred hours. Meet me at the usual.”

Any adrenaline I didn’t have flowing from Beaux and our almost kiss surges like a tidal wave through me, my thoughts whirling about what I need to do to get there before I even tell him yes. “We’ll be there,” I say, and before I even look at my watch to see how short we are on time, the line is dead.

“We’re on?” Excitement edges her tone as she turns to follow me up the stairwell.

“We’ve got ninety minutes to get there. Let’s go.”

Chapter 13




We’re jostled closer together as the windowless Stryker we can’t see out of bumps down the road. I watch Beaux as she takes in everything about the confined space: the soldiers’ faces, the gear they’re weighted down with, their fingers resting loosely on their weapons.