On the Way Home, Page 3

  “You okay?” he murmured.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Because you seem a little… agitated.”

  I glanced down and realize I’d been gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles were white. Yeah, I was agitated. I’d done a lot of crazy shit for Dmitri, but this one definitely took the mafia cake. What would happen if I just started driving toward Dmitri’s safe house right now? Obviously the guy would notice a detour into the seedy part of town. I needed Clint immobilized, unconscious, and that was impossible with him alert and powerful and studying me from across the truck.

  He seemed to lean away from me, almost trying to make himself small. Which was ridiculous. That would never work, as big as he was. He filled the whole cab, right up to my face, where I breathed in his musky scent. My skin tingled whenever he looked at me—all the time. Whenever I was in sight of him, I felt his gaze on me, hot and surprisingly sweet.

  “I thought maybe you’d changed your mind about driving me.” He shrugged. “You don’t know me, but I’d never hurt you.”

  I blinked, incredulous. He thought I was scared of him. God. God. I couldn’t do this. My throat closed up. “I know,” I managed to say. And the strangest part was that I did know he wouldn’t hurt me. How many men could I say that about? Only him.

  “But if you wanted to pull over somewhere, I could call a cab. No problem. I don’t mind.”

  I just shook my head. Stupidly, tears were forming. Why couldn’t he stop being nice to me? I wanted him to hit me, to fight me. I wanted him to tear me down or submit to me. This good-guy angle was too much for me, like a dream I didn’t know I’d had.

  Your sister needs you.

  With pure will I forced myself to calm. Why was he affecting me like this? That was a problem I hadn’t expected when I’d reluctantly agreed to do this. But I sucked in a deep breath and blew it out shakily.

  I glanced at the screen of my phone. It had gone dark. “I was just looking up a map. But you can tell me where to go.”

  He directed me off the freeway and through a network of streets without any other kind words, to my relief. We finally pulled up to an aging apartment complex. Despite the obvious wear on the buildings, tall trees provided shade over the cobblestone walkway. A cat sat licking his paw on one of the flower beds. It was a quaint place, both rustic and comfortable—kind of like the man himself.

  He handed me a couple of bills. I split them with a slide of my fingers. Two twenties. “This is too much,” I protested.

  “Nah. It should be more, considering the gas and the food. And your time. That’s all I have on me.”

  “Clint, I can’t take all your money.”

  Something flickered in his eyes. Was that pain? “How did you know my name?”

  Shit. I’d given myself away. But instead of feeling broken up about it, I was glad. Glad he’d caught me. Glad he’d stay safe. “The flight roster,” I whispered.

  “You always memorize it?” he asked jokingly.

  “Because of the incident,” I forced out. “I had to make an incident report for the woman on the plane. So I looked up your name.”

  He seemed to accept that explanation. He reached for his neck and pulled out a set of silver tags. “Army Sergeant Clint Adams, at your service.”

  My gaze lingered on those two flat pieces of metal. As if I’d voiced the request, he pulled the chain over his head and handed it over. It was heavier than I’d expected, and warm from his body. I ran my thumb over the lettering. Adams, Clint F.

  “F?” I asked.

  “Fitzgerald.” His cheeks turned a faint pink. “An old family name.”

  He volunteered so much. Not just his name, rank and serial number. He gave me his history, his kindness. He gave and gave and gave until I felt sick with how much more I would take from him. I ran the chain over my hand, tangling my fingers through the beaded metal as if it was his hair. Then drawing up tight, capturing us both.

  He started to speak, then stopped. Then started again, seeming hesitant. “You were amazing, you know. Smooth under pressure. Not everyone could have reacted that quickly.”

  I had a lot of experience administering needles to convulsing people. Though mostly that was my sister going through violent withdrawals. What did that make me? Not amazing, that was for sure. An enabler, probably. But I couldn’t stand to see her suffer. I did anything to get that needle from Dmitri, and then I used it to give her a few hours of peace.

  That was my old life. My new life, as a flight attendant, was supposed to be about making an honest wage. But nothing was ever that simple.

  “I appreciated your help,” I said.

  “Listen, what I said before about having a…” He glanced behind him, toward the faded door to his apartment building. His expression was torn as he cleared his throat. “I really appreciate the ride.”

  What had he been about to say? It was probably better that I didn’t know. I don’t actually have a girlfriend. And oh, by the way, do you want to come have sex? I didn’t want to see him lie to me just so he could bang me later when his girlfriend wasn’t looking. I didn’t want him to invite me up to an empty apartment while I ignored the signs that he didn’t live alone. That was the sort of dick move I’d expect from any other guy—but not him. Even if it would help me hurt him, I didn’t want to hate him.

  “Take care, Della,” he said finally.

  “Take care,” I repeated softly.

  He hefted his bag and shut the door. My muscles tensed, straining to go after him. Not because of the way he affected me, but because I needed him. My sister’s safety depended on him. For years I had done everything in the name of her safety. But I watched him walk away, with no plans for how to get back in his life.

  Chapter Four

  Clint

  It physically hurt to walk away from her. Crazy but true. I wanted her to drive me away from here and the confrontation no doubt waiting for me inside my apartment. But at least Della could be comfortable now. She had been downright squirming by the last five minutes. She probably had a million things to do, and none of them were to babysit my tired ass.

  I stalked up the sidewalk and stepped inside. The door to the building led to a dim hallway. I kept my head down, gaze trained on the thinly carpeted stairs… and almost tripped over the box blocking the hallway at the top. Sure enough, the entire landing was full of stuff.

  My stuff. Fuck.

  There were about seven large cardboard boxes. My bicycle. She’d put my TV out? Jesus. Annoyed now, I slung my duffel bag on top of everything and picked my way across the wreckage. That was just my luck. James got to go home and snuggle up with his girl. I was climbing over all my worldly possessions as if it were rocky terrain on enemy territory.

  I raised my hand to knock, and the door opened.

  She looked… seriously pissed.

  “Hey, Chels.”

  “Don’t ‘Hey, Chels’ me. It took you long enough to get home.”

  Seriously? “Well, I hadn’t arranged a ride. I thought you’d be picking me up.”

  “Did you not get my text?”

  Jesus.

  Suddenly I felt like the dumbest of dumb-asses. I should’ve taken the Dear John texts more seriously, but I hadn’t wanted to. It was easier to pretend everything was okay, even when she wouldn’t answer my calls, even when she hadn’t shown up at the airport. Easier to pretend she hadn’t just poured salt on the very real wounds currently aching all over my body.

  But those black-on-white words had felt unreal somehow, as if the world had gone sideways while I was tucked away in the darkest corner of the world. I kept waiting to wake up and find everything how I left it. My gut tightened. But clearly she was serious about breaking up. Her expression was more derisive than anything else.

  “Yeah, I got your text,” I said tiredly. “But if you’re so keen on breaking up, why are you still in my apartment? More to the point, why is all my stuff in the hallway?”

  “Oh, your apartment.
Is that how you’re gonna play this?”

  And I definitely wasn’t going to say, I thought we could work it out. Because regardless of what delusions I’d been harboring on the flight over, I didn’t want to work it out anymore. Maybe it was meeting Della. Maybe it was the shock of seeing all my shit piled up like trash. Whatever the reason, I was finally on the same page.

  It was over.

  “Well… yeah. I mean, I’ve been paying the rent, so…”

  She laughed. “Great. So this is about money now.”

  “What? No. I mean, I told you I didn’t mind you staying here, and I never asked you to chip in.”

  “But you’re asking now, right? You’re going to hold it over me?”

  Frustration rose up like acid. “No. Shit. I’m not trying to hold anything over you. I’m just trying to catch up here. And maybe get a few hours of sleep somewhere in this forty-eight-hour period.”

  “You can take your stuff and go somewhere else. I’m the one who’s been living here for the past six months. Not you.”

  “But…” I shook my head. My stomach churned with nausea, threatening to eject the three burgers I’d had on the way over. “My name’s on the lease.”

  She flinched. “Are you going to kick me out?”

  How did I end up the bad guy here? I felt like some sort of asshole stalker, bothering this girl when she clearly didn’t want me here. Except… this was actually my apartment. But maybe she had a point. She’d gotten settled here, and I hadn’t. Obviously. I looked around at my stuff, coming up around my legs like quicksand. Always the drifter. Always the reject. This place was supposed to be some kind of stability for me. I’d gotten the lease and paid it in full, knowing I’d be gone. And when Chelsea had roommate troubles and asked to move in, it had seemed like another step in the right direction. Putting down roots. Making a home.

  But… hell. A heavy weight inside my chest felt all too familiar. Her expression said it all. You’re not wanted here.

  “I’m not gonna make you leave,” I said gruffly. “I’m not gonna do anything to you. Can I just leave my stuff here for a couple of days? I don’t have another place lined up.”

  She shook her head firmly. “No way.”

  Suddenly understanding clicked into place, like a vice around my lungs. “You got some guy here, don’t you?”

  “Of course not,” she said. But the furious blush on her face said otherwise.

  “He may not be here right now, but he comes around, right? Just tell me this. Was it before or after you sent that text?”

  Her mouth set in stubborn lines I was familiar with. Before. That was the answer she didn’t say. Fuck, it shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t feel like a knife in my back that she’d been cheating on me. I swayed on my feet and leaned against the doorjamb. A fucking fight when I thought I was safe. I never could get used to that.

  A softy. A sucker. A punching bag for anyone with a bone to pick until I got big enough to defend myself.

  She stepped forward, her expression softening. Her hand extended. “Clint…”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. Back the fuck off, I didn’t say.

  Yeah, so I wasn’t exactly over it. I’d get there, but at this second I felt like the world’s biggest chump. Sure, you can live with me. No, you don’t have to pay any rent. And okay, go right head and fucking cheat on me while I’m getting shot at, why don’t you.

  “Clint, do you—”

  “Just go.” I gestured roughly for the door she still held. “I’ll figure something out. Not your problem.”

  She had the gall to look wounded. But at least she did what I said, so I could slump against the rail and look weak without her seeing. We’d never had the kind of crazy love that James and Rachel had, but I always thought that wasn’t for me. I was perfectly fine with something safe and predictable…until it wasn’t anymore.

  Focus, soldier.

  And now I had to figure out where to put a bunch of stuff. In storage? How fast could I get another apartment? I’d be extending myself with rent on two places, but hell, I didn’t really have a choice. Kicking Chelsea out was something I wouldn’t do no matter how mad I was. And I wasn’t exactly relishing the thought of sleeping where she’d fucked some other guy anyway. She could keep the bed.

  I climbed back over the boxes and stopped short at the top of the stairs. Standing at the bottom was Della.

  “Hi,” she said meekly. She had her arms wrapped around her chest, hugging herself.

  From her expression she would have preferred to be anywhere but here. And God, I wanted that too. Humiliation poured through me, molten lava that left only charred earth in its wake. She had heard all of that, everything. She knew exactly what Chelsea had done while I’d been overseas.

  Being cheated on and dumped had been pretty terrible. Knowing the pretty flight attendant had witnessed the whole thing made me want to punch something. Like my fucking TV beside me, for starters.

  “What are you doing here?” My voice came out raw, as if I’d been partying last night and then spent the morning hunched around the ceramic bowl. Instead of what I’d really done, which was spend over twenty-four hours on a series of connecting flights to get back to a place that wasn’t my home anymore.

  She held up a set of dog tags. “Thought you might need these.”

  “Right.” And I’d left my identification with a virtual stranger. Excellent. I couldn’t catch a break.

  Pushing myself forward, I made it down the stairs. When I grasped the tags dangling from her hand, she tightened her grip. I raised my eyebrow in question, connected to her through the light metal.

  “What’re you gonna do?” she murmured.

  Damn her sweet Southern accent. “Haven’t figured that out yet.”

  She peered around me. “Got a lot of stuff?”

  “Enough.” Maybe if I was short with her, she’d leave me the hell alone.

  “I was thinking…” Her lashes lowered before her lush brown gaze met mine again. “I was thinking you could stay with me.”

  Or maybe not.

  I grabbed the back of my neck and squeezed, hoping it would dislodge the hundred-pound weight pressed there. Didn’t help. “Stay with you,” I repeated hollowly.

  She shrugged. “You’ll have somewhere to put your stuff while you find another place.”

  I made a noncommittal sound. “And what’ll you get?”

  Her gaze dipped down, sliding along my chest and lower, lower, to where I’d suddenly begun to harden. Fuck, that was hot. Incredibly, impossibly hot to see her look at me like I was a slab of meat and she was a goddamned lioness. And I wanted to get eaten—oh, I surely did. Had wanted that since I’d first caught a glimpse of her walking toward me down the airplane aisle.

  But I was a fucking mess, my heart ripped out and hung up to drain. And physically too. I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in months. Though the bruises on my torso were mostly healed, the graze of a bullet kept me hopped up on painkillers even now.

  If she was looking for a good time… she should look somewhere else.

  “Della… I appreciate the offer. Seriously appreciate it. To be blunt with you, my situation is fucked up right now, and I don’t want to pull you into this.”

  She stepped forward, bringing our faces mere inches apart. If I leaned a little ways, we would be kissing.

  “Hey,” she murmured, “the offer wasn’t made lightly. I know all about fucked-up situations, and if I could make yours a little easier, I’d consider it worth it.”

  I should say no. I knew that. I should lug all this stuff to some monthly rental storage place and then bunker down in a cheap motel that smelled like smoke and worse things. But here was a beautiful girl offering to solve all my problems, and damned if I could resist.

  * * *

  Della lived in a small white house with a wood porch swing. Honeysuckle climbed up the pillars and filled the air with a sweet scent. Her neighborhood featured lush green grass and not a fence
in sight. A palm tree sagged in the front yard, clearly in need of trimming. But otherwise the house looked no worse for her absence. The porch light lit the steps in the waning evening.

  “Nice place,” I said.

  She glanced back at me, her smile almost sad. “Thanks.”

  I rocked on my heels, disconcerted by the sense of unwelcome. As if she wanted me to leave. I got that from her sometimes. One minute she’d be checking me out and inviting me over. The next she’d withdraw, leaving only the shell of the pretty girl behind. I couldn’t figure her out. But then again, my brain had stopped functioning sometime this morning. Right now I was running on fumes. Oh, and lust. My attraction for her had only grown with the realization that I might actually get to act on it. I just hoped I didn’t pass out in the middle. Boy, I sure knew how to impress a girl.

  She flicked on the light, revealing a comfortable dining room connected to the living room. Pointing to an open space between them, she said, “Not much privacy, but you can put your stuff there. There should be enough room.”

  “If you’re sure…”

  The corners of her mouth lifted into a grin, a real one. “Backing out already, soldier? Where’s your follow-through?”

  Damn, I liked it when she teased me. When she emerged from that shell and bared herself in that way, hints of humor and light.

  “I’ll go get my stuff from the truck. But just to be clear, I’m paying to stay here.” When she pursed her lips, clearly prepared to argue, I shook my head. “Let’s plan on a week, and we’ll figure out the fair rate for that.”

  Her eyes grew clouded, darkened by some secret she hadn’t yet revealed. “A week ought to be just long enough, soldier.”

  If only I knew why it sounded ominous, more like a threat than a promise.

  I put the boxes and my bicycle in her garage, ignoring the unease in my gut. I flashed back to when she’d pulled up in front of me, offering me a ride. If the situation were reversed, if I were a woman and she were a man, maybe I’d better be careful. But considering the circumstances, that kind of wariness felt silly. Even exhausted and mildly injured, I was a trained soldier. While she was… a beautiful woman. One who could find a date in any bar in town. The fact that she’d dragged my sorry ass home was pure charity.