Pamela Clare - Striking Distance

“Is there a reg somewhere that says I can’t help a close friend when she’s in trouble? I’m staying with her because she needs me right now. She’s terrified, man. I don’t know about you, but I didn’t pull her out of that compound just to let these assholes kill her on our soil.”

“Ms. Nilsson has the Marshal Service and the FBI to protect her. It’s their mission. Your mission is to recover and rejoin your platoon.”

“True. But who saved her life last night? I did.”

Boss drew a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll call the commander back, explain it to him like you explained it to me. But I can tell you right now, he’s not going to like it. I just hope he doesn’t revoke your leave and haul your ass back here for a disciplinary hearing. You’ve been a huge pain in the ass lately, you know that?”

That sounded more like the O’Connell Javier knew.

“Thanks, Boss. Sorry he woke you up and chewed your ass.”

“You’d better be. And, Cobra—good work. The guys are proud. They’re kind of attached to Ms. Nilsson themselves.”

The call ended.

Javier turned to find Laura standing behind him.

“You’re in trouble for helping me, aren’t you?” She watched him through worried eyes still swollen from crying, her hair in long tangles, her feet bare.

How much had she heard? Not much. If she’d overheard him talking about rescuing her from Al-Nassar, she’d be staring at him wide-eyed and full of questions.

“Naval Special Warfare just doesn’t like its operators on prime-time news.”

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think about that.”

He drew her into his arms, held her close, caressed her hair. “Don’t apologize, bella. That wasn’t your fault.”

“Is everything going to be okay?”

“Yeah, it’s going to be fine.” He didn’t want her worrying about this. “The sun’s not even up. Let’s get some sleep.”

LAURA AWOKE, SAW bright daylight through her blinds. Beside her, the bed was empty, the sound of running water telling her Javier was in the shower. She stretched, yawned, body and mind strangely lethargic. It wasn’t until she saw the abrasions on her palms that she remembered.

She sat bolt upright, her pulse tripping.

Someone had tried to shoot her yesterday. Someone had tried to kill her, wounding Janet in the process. Javier had saved her life and . . .

Laura had told him about Klara.

Oh, God.

He hadn’t reacted the way she’d thought he would. Like her mother and grandmother, he’d refused to blame her, offering her comfort and understanding she didn’t deserve.

You forgive me?

There’s nothing to forgive.

She remembered how caring he’d been, holding her while she cried her eyes out, carrying her to her bed, staying with her through the night. Some of her lethargy lifted.

She got out of bed, grabbed her bathrobe, and walked out to the kitchen to make coffee. She’d just gotten off the phone with University Hospital when Javier stepped out of the bedroom wearing only jeans, his short hair wet.

He poured himself a cup of coffee. “Was that the hospital?”

She set down her smartphone. “Janet has been upgraded from critical to fair.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He leaned against the counter, his gaze meeting hers, his brown eyes warm. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. I’m okay, I guess. I don’t know.”

In truth, she felt awkward, exposed, nervous. Javier had seen a part of her no other man had seen. It was one thing to be sexual with a man. It was another to break into pieces in front of him. But Javier had seen the shattered core that she’d kept hidden, and he had accepted her, comforted her. He’d even seemed to understand.

Still, she couldn’t help but wonder. Did he feel some kind of obligation toward her because of Dubai? “You don’t have to stay, Javi. I don’t want you to waste—”

“Shh.” He pressed his fingers against her lips. “I’m right where I want to be, bella. Why don’t you take a hot shower while I make us some breakfast?”

A HALF HOUR later, Laura sat down to a cup of hot coffee and a plate loaded down with a breakfast burrito and freshly sliced cantaloupe. “This smells delicious. Thanks.”

They spoke of inconsequential things while they ate—their favorite things to eat for breakfast, how well they’d slept, the weather.

It was Laura who finally brought it up. “I’m sorry I fell apart like that.”

“Give yourself a break. You’ve been through hell. There aren’t many people who could even imagine what it was like.” He reached across the table and took one of her hands in his. “It can’t be easy keeping Klara secret. I feel honored that you trusted me. No one else here knows, do they? Not even your friends.”

She shook her head. “I feel so ashamed. What I did—”

“You survived against all odds. There is no shame in that.”

She looked up at him. “I thought you would think less of me.”

“You thought I’d leave. That’s why you told me, isn’t it? Somehow you truly think you did something unforgivable.” He narrowed his eyes. “Sorry, bella, but you can’t shake me off that easily. But I have to ask . . . Where is Klara now?”

Laura found herself telling him about her long battle to find her daughter and bring her home. How she’d decided to work through the Swedish foreign ministry rather than the U.S. State Department to better protect her privacy. How they’d found Klara living with Al-Nassar’s younger brother. How they hoped to arrange a welfare check with Klara soon. How everything was stacked against her when it came to custody.

“Even if they’re able to get DNA and the DNA proves she’s my child, the fact that I’m a non-Muslim, a woman, and a foreigner means that the courts will likely rule against me. But I’m not giving up. Klara is a victim, too. She was abducted straight from my body, and I won’t feel whole again until she’s safely home.”

Javier laced his fingers through hers. “You’ll get her home.”

Laura nodded, fighting back her doubts, refusing to acknowledge any other possible outcome, regret swamping her once more. “If only I’d told the men who rescued me that she was there . . . If only I’d remembered . . .”

“I can’t stand to see you blame yourself. I know what war is like. Even if you’d remembered she was yours, even if you’d told the squad leader, there’s no guarantee they could have made it out with her alive. You did all you could.”

She looked up from their twined fingers. “Have you ever left a man behind?”

Javier opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out. He didn’t need to say a word. The answer was plain to see on his face.

STILL REELING FROM all that Laura had told him, Javier spent the afternoon in his own special hell, wanting desperately to tell her that he’d been the man who’d rescued her. If she could only see that night from his point of view, she’d quit blaming herself. But if he told her, he’d violate OPSEC and turn himself into a liar.

He was in enough hot water already.

Then the paper called, Laura’s editor insisting she drop everything to do an interview. The asshole didn’t seem to give a damn about what Laura had been through, as far as Javier could tell. He just wanted the paper to have the most complete coverage, given that Laura worked there.

By the time McBride called to say one of his teams had seen a man with a spotting scope on the roof of the building across the street, Javier was restless, pissed off, spoiling for a fight. Thinking the worst, he left Laura, who was still on the phone, with Deputy U.S. Marshal Mike Childers, who had taken Killeen’s place, and met McBride, only to find the spotting scope was actually a telephoto lens and the sniper was a shooter of a different kind.

He fought to keep his trap shut while McBride cuffed and Mirandized the bastard. McBride’s team had apprehended the guy in the act of trying to take photos of Laura through her living room and bedroom windows. Now he lay on his fat belly on the black rubber roofing, arms behind his back.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have a right—”

“You can’t arrest me! I’m a photojournalist! I—”

“A photojournalist? You’re nothing but paparazzi. What kind of whiskey tango fuck-ass editor wants to publish the shit you call photos? You were spying on her, man. You’re no better than a peeping Tom.”

McBride shot Javier a warning glance and went on. “You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand your rights as I have explained them to you?”

“You’re gonna make headlines, buddy.” The man twisted his head around and glared at McBride. “Arresting a reporter for trying to report the news—you’ll be lucky if they don’t sue your ass! Ever hear of the First Amendment?”

Javier bent down, looked the cabrón in the eyes. “Remember that part about staying silent? You should try that shit out, dawg.”

McBride stepped back, making room for a cop who began to pat the photographer down. “The First Amendment doesn’t give you the right to trespass on private property, and trying to photograph someone inside the privacy of their home sure as hell isn’t journalism.”

The cop pulled something out of the photographer’s vest. “A lock-picking kit? Is that how you got up here? That’s a felony.”

“I keep that in case I get locked out of my car.”