Prologue
Landstuhl Regional Medical Center, Germany - September 2010
“Are you okay?” Michael’s mom gently smoothed the back of her hand over his bandaged scalp. Her eyes no longer brimmed with tears, because she’d been releasing them steadily since she showed up at the hospital yesterday.
“You’ve been asking me that every hour.” He squeezed the emotion down his throat, his stomach tightening at the memory of what happened in Afghanistan.
“And she’ll keep asking you until you’re out of this place—and out of the service,” his dad said glibly from the chair where he sat. “Your sister’s flight just left New York, by the way.”
“She didn’t need to come.” But he’d be happy to see her.
He closed his eyes, falling back into the combat zone—back to where he’d lost so many of his men.
His hands fisted at his sides, and he fought like hell to crawl out of his mind and to the present, to his family.
He’d lived.
So many had died.
How the hell could he keep going?
“Michael.”
It was Jake’s voice, his teammate who’d made certain he survived to see another day.
He bore down on his teeth and forced his eyes open. “Hey, man.” The pain in his chest and ribs was nearly unbearable, even with the heavy meds he was on. “You look good.”
Jake tipped his head to Michael’s parents in greeting and approached the bed wearing civilian clothes. “Can we have a minute?”
Michael nodded to his parents and held his breath as they left, feeling guilty at the buzz of relief he felt to have them gone. He needed time to make his own decision without choosing to leave the Marines because of pressure from them.
“How’s the rest of the team?” The ones who made it out . . . Michael tried to sit up, but he groaned and found the pillow again.
“They’re hanging in there.” He gripped his temples and sighed.
“You talk to Eddie’s wife?” Michael thought back to the wedding—Jake, their buddy Aiden, and Michael, had been groomsmen not too long ago. And now he was gone in the blink of an eye. “How is she?” God, he was going to be sick.
“Not well, but I promised her we’d always have her back.”
Without a doubt.
“There’s, uh, something I wanted to let you know.” Jake paused to take a heavy breath. “I’ve decided to get out. I’m going to Quantico in three months.”
“You’re gonna be a Fed?” He allowed the news to settle for a moment. “Wow. Congratulations.”
Jake looked heavenward. “I don’t want to push, but maybe it’s time for you, too?”
Michael tucked his tongue in his cheek in thought. “My mom put you up to this?”
He didn’t respond, which meant Michael was right, at least, in part.
“There are plenty of ways you can continue serving.” Jake’s arms hung heavy at his sides. “Just something to think about.”
“Right.” Michael closed his eyes, the drugs making his body nearly heavier than his thoughts.
“Glad you’re okay. The world can’t afford to lose you.” A pinch of emotion caught in his tone.
“We lost a lot of good men.” His heart stammered as a blanket of memories blew through his mind, yet again.
Would he ever be the same? He could almost feel his heart hardening.
“The price of war,” Jake said in a low voice as if he were trying to believe his own line.
Michael looked back at Jake and his stomach tucked in. “Okay,” he bit out. “If I get out . . . I have to keep helping, somehow.”
Jake flashed him a smile, and his Southern accent deepened when he said, “I wouldn’t expect anything less of you, man.”
Chapter 1
Present Day
“You here alone?”
Kate lowered the martini glass from her lips as she looked over at the guy next to her. “Yeah.”
He smoothed a hand over his red beard. “You like this place?”
“My first time. Seems okay.” She averted her attention back to the blush liquid in her glass.
The rosy color reminded her of the failed wedding she’d planned the weekend before. The bride’s cheeks had turned beet red at the altar as she crushed the poor groom. “I can’t do this,” she’d admitted, then she’d raced down the aisle like Julia Roberts in Runaway Bride.
That had been a first for Kate. But weddings weren’t her usual gig, anyway. They took entirely too long to prepare. That was yet another reason why she hoped her meeting with Julia Maddox tomorrow went well.
“You want to dance?”
“No, but thanks.”
It’d been months since she’d gone out, and she missed the feeling dancing used to give her. Loud, thumping club music had a way of syncing with the rhythm of her heartbeat, which always caused a tingling sensation throughout her body, mimicking chills—the good kind.
Music and dancing helped shed her anxiousness. It was a way for her to let go.
And in this city, particularly, she really needed to unwind. After the long, nightmare of a day she’d had traveling from New York City to Charlotte, she at least deserved a drink.
Kate squeezed her eyes shut, wondering what she’d done to warrant a year’s dose of bad luck all rolled into one hellish day. She’d not only missed her flight but spilled coffee on herself at the airport. On the later flight, she had to sit next to someone who reeked of stale cigarettes, and—oh yeah—her hotel had been overbooked.
Maybe she should never have agreed to tomorrow’s meeting—was her dad right when he’d asked her not to go?
“I really think we should dance.”
A hand on her leg had her flinching and opening her eyes. Mr. Red Beard. Just great. She shoved the guy’s hand from her thigh and slipped off her seat in a hurry, nearly stumbling in her heels.
His gray eyes combed over her chest as his tongue peeked out of his mouth and slid across his bottom lip. “If you change your mind, I’ll be here.”
She couldn’t stomach a response. She left her drink and turned away, tugging at the hem of her dress as she edged closer to the dance floor, feeling the need to hide the area where his hand had been.
She watched the attractive men and women shuffle around, dancing to the beat of a new Calvin Harris remix.
Her head tilted back, and the music washed over her like waves licking the silky sands of the beach, and she allowed her body to drift with the beat.
Her eyes shut, and the music pulsed through her, electrifying her senses. She danced like she was alone in the room, the music reverberating through her soul.
After twenty minutes of dancing, she startled when someone pressed up against her from behind. She turned to face the man who was intruding on her personal space. Although he was attractive in a dark-haired, haunted, wiry sort of way, she had no interest in rubbing against some Adam Levine lookalike.
“I’m good,” she mouthed while shaking her head.
He held his hands up and moved away from her.
As she continued dancing, she caught sight of someone at the bar.
Not the creepy, red-bearded man, but someone else. He was muscular, blond, and sitting with his hands on his lap at the edge of the bar. His eyes were focused on her, and something about him created an eerie sensation in her gut.
He stood, his eyes still on her, and her palm landed on her chest as worry climbed into her throat.
She squeezed her eyes tight for a moment, willing him away. When she looked again, she caught sight of his back as he headed toward the exit.
Thank God. She checked her watch, wondering if it was too late for another drink with a morning meeting.
With the blond man gone and Mr. Red Beard out of sight, she approached the bar. “French martini, please.” She shifted in her four-inch, nude heels, which she was beginning to regret, and checked her phone. Two missed calls from her father. He was damn persistent, but that was the story of her life.
“Kathryn?” the spiky-haired bartender said, eying the credit card she placed before him. He shook his head and slid the card back to her. “No need.”
She followed his pointed finger to find her fifty-something-year-old martini buyer, who gave her a slight nod.
Kate pressed her lips together in a polite smile but prayed he wouldn’t attempt to join her. Maybe if she just shifted away . . .
She slammed into what felt like a concrete post. What the! The contents of her glass sloshed and cascaded over her wrist and onto a dark-gray, luxuriously soft fabric.
“Shit. I’m so sorry.” She set her glass back down on the bar and reached for a napkin.
She began to dab at the stain, taking note of the sculpted abs beneath the shirt. But when she dragged her gaze back up to the hard jaw of the man in front of her, she inhaled a sharp breath, and her hand froze.
The man stared down at her with the most intense blue eyes she had ever seen.
Cerulean blue. Cobalt. Sapphire. She couldn’t decide as she rummaged through the crayon color list in her head to find a match for those unbelievably blue eyes.
I seriously had to spill my drink on Michael freaking Maddox?
He was a man who could have been carved out of granite. That’s what she had thought about him when she looked at his photo the other day as part of the research she’d done in preparation for her appointment. Before her now, he was hard as steel.
And yet, his firm lips were curving at the edges with the hint of a smile.
“Let me pay for your shirt,” Kate offered in a small voice, once she was able to look away. Michael’s hand gently wrapped around her wrist, and she realized she was still touching his chest with the napkin.
“That won’t be necessary. Let me replace your drink.” His voice was deep, but also like silk, blowing across her skin in a hot caress.
She kept her eyes on his, feeling lost for words. Then she cleared her throat and retracted her hand from his grasp.
She was free, but he’d left a mark. His touch had lit a sudden fire inside of her.
The feeling of desire was . . . unplanned. And she didn’t handle the unplanned very well. No, she needed lists and predictability, which was one reason she wanted to swear off weddings. Coming to the club tonight had already been a rather wild step for her.
“Please, I insist on paying for your shirt.” Even though he was worth millions, she had to do the right thing. “I think my martini ruined it.” As she reached for her purse, he placed his large hand over hers, his touch warming her body.
“Just tell me what you were drinking, and that’ll be payment enough.” He pushed back a brownish-black lock that had escaped the gel of his purposefully unruly hair. His gaze penetrated deep into her eyes, and his lips parted. He edged closer to her, and she breathed in his cologne. He smelled exotic, like rosewood and amber.
Her mind raced, trying to come up with something to say—hell, anything, at this point. All that dared escape were the words, “French martini.”
“Michael, sweetie, I thought that was you.” A woman with long, brown hair and perfectly honeyed skin, placed a hand on Michael’s shoulder before briefly glancing at Kate.
Michael ignored her, his gaze never swerving from Kate’s.
“I—um . . .” What is wrong with me?
“Michael?” The woman’s clipped voice rang in Kate’s ears as she touched the side of Michael’s face, attempting to guide it toward her.
“I have to go,” Kate said once she realized Michael had no desire to look anywhere but at her. Before she could give him a chance to respond, she pivoted in her heels and started for the exit.
What the hell just happened?
She’d worked with plenty of powerful and good-looking men before, but God, Michael Maddox was in a league of his own. She’d had an instant crush on him when she saw his photo online, but his picture was a pale substitute for meeting him in person.
She hoped to hell he wouldn’t be at the meeting tomorrow. Of course, if she landed the job, she’d have to work with him eventually, wouldn’t she?
Damn my bad luck.
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