more surprises was he keeping? She’d lost her heart to a man who did not trust her and would not share his life-his past or his future-with her.
He could give her only the now, and God knew, if that was all she could get, she’d take it.
Kit stood up. The cold glare he gave Rocco chilled the room. “You’d go back knowing they’d send one of us after you? You’re too dangerous to be allowed to go rogue. Your death would be sanctioned. You’d make one of us, your brothers, kill you.”
Rocco gave a dry laugh, an empty, humorless sound as he, too, came to his feet. “A Red Team assassin would be the least of my problems.”
Blade gripped his shoulder. “Rocco, Rocco, he’s dead.”
“No. I still feel him. He lives.”
“You feel what an amputee feels-a phantom reality. The horror of his death is too terrible to accept.”
The hard planes of Rocco’s face turned rigid. He shoved free of Blade’s hand. “No. I feel him.” Rocco pounded his chest. “Here.” His voice was raw, as if it came from his spirit not his throat. “He lives. He breathes. He cries for me.”
Blade put his hand on Rocco’s chest, his fingers spread wide. “That’s because this is where he lives. It’s where he will always be, where you will always know him.”
Silence. Rocco choked on a harsh breath. His gaze darted around the room. Mandy saw the panic in his eyes, fear the likes of which she’d only seen in abused animals. He stormed out of the house, slamming through the front door. The dogs cowered and looked over at her.
Mandy didn’t move. No one did. She covered her mouth, trying to bottle her emotions. She wouldn’t cry. She looked over at her brother. He blinked the moisture from his eyes and glared at Blade.
Blade stood with his hands on his hips, his head hanging low. Mandy started to follow Rocco. “Leave him,” Blade ordered.
“I will not. I can’t leave him like that. You saw how he was.”
Blade’s face was like stone, his gray eyes emotionless. “He needs time to process things. He has to think it through, has to accept his son is dead. When he does, I honestly believe the nightmares, all this crazy shit he’s going through, will get better.”
“Leave him to it, Mandy,” Kit bit out.
Mandy picked up her oil and the towel Ty had used, then left the room. Her hands shook as she put the lotion away and the towel in the laundry. She heard Kit and Blade in quiet conversation as she took the two strays for their last potty break of the day.
She closed the back door and stood in the cool night air as the dogs saw to their needs. Folding her arms around her middle, she let her pain break free. She dropped down to the top step and wept for Rocco, for his son, his wife. He was like the wind. She could no more stop or redirect or soothe him than she could a tornado.
God, he had a son. Believing his boy was still alive, he must be going insane with worry. No wonder he was so broken. Had his boy been in the explosion with him? Had he been injured, too? Was he dead as Kit and Blade thought? She didn’t doubt they’d scoured the countryside for his son. And she didn’t doubt that Rocco still felt a connection to him. Her heart ached for all of them.
“Hey.” Mandy heard Kit behind her. “Want some company?”
Mandy shrugged. He would stay no matter what she said. She moved to make room for him, drying her eyes on the sleeve of her wrist as she did so.
“I’m sorry about that. I guess you didn’t know about his son.”
She shook her head as she tightened her arms about her waist. “What other secrets does he have, Kit? What other things don’t I know about him?”
“I don’t know, and even if I did, it wouldn’t be my place to tell you. I can tell you he’s a good guy. He’s someone who understands the arcane nuances that define a culture, a people. That makes him dangerous and effective as an undercover operative. Did you know he’s a linguistic savant?”
Mandy looked at her brother. She sniffled and nodded. “You asked him to work for Owen’s company, didn’t you?”
“I did. He’s very good at what we do. It takes a long time to train an operative. Even discounting Rocco’s linguistic skill, he isn’t easily replaceable.”
“What are you guys? Why would you be sent to kill Rocco?”
From the look Kit gave her, she could tell he was considering his words. “We’re an elite unit of soldiers. That’s all I can tell you. We’re allowed to quit or retire, but if any of our own were to go off-grid, one of us would be sent after him.”
“He’s broken, Kit. I don’t think he can do what you need him to do.”
“You ever hear of getting back in the saddle, sis?”
“There’s a time and place for that, Kit. This may not be it. He isn’t whole yet. I’ve seen him crash.” She shook her head and looked away. “I don’t know what would happen if he were to break all the way.”
A noise roused Mandy from sleep hours later. The room was dark. She felt like a kid again, waking when Grandpa rose early to run the plow. He’d give her a sip of sweet coffee from his Thermos, then send her back to bed. He’d grown crops on the lower plateaus-corn, wheat, alfalfa-to supplement their income, and spent many long days in the spring and summer working his two jobs.
She laid in bed now, remembering her Grandma in the kitchen, getting breakfast started on those early mornings. In her sleep-hazed mind, all was right in the world. As she woke, memory faded and reality settled around her like a thousand blankets-dark, heavy, and suffocating.
She reached out to the mattress beside her, searching for Rocco. He wasn’t there. Had he come to bed at all? She remembered his revelation about his son and his intent to return to Afghanistan to search for him, a thought that filled Mandy with dread.
She went to the window and spread the curtains. Someone was in the far pasture, standing in the headlights of the tractor. Rocco. He was using the fence post jack to hoist the old metal posts out of the ground. The clock read 2:00 a.m. She drew a hoodie on over her long sleeping tee, leaving it unzipped, then shoved her feet into her work boots. She knew she looked ridiculous but didn’t care.
She made a beeline for Rocco with the dogs close at her heels, crossing the first field to get to the far pasture.
“Rocco.” He didn’t respond, just kept working the jack to yank the post out of the hard ground. When the post came free, he tossed it down and set the jack over the next one a few feet away.
“Rocco!” He ignored her as he began jacking the post. “Rocco, listen to me!” she said, stepping into the tractor headlights, touching his shoulder. He shrugged her off.
“Leave me, Mandy.”
“No. Rocco, don’t do this. Stop.”
The jack freed the post. He threw it aside and moved to the next post, shoving the jack handle hard for several pumps.
“Rocco-”
“Jesus, Em. What do you want me to do? I can’t sleep-there’s no fucking way I’m gonna lie down and let the nightmares eat at me. You’d think I’d lost my mind again if I took off jogging for a few hours. You don’t want me to sit up, sit still, sit quietly, and let the night pass. I can’t go to bed and just hold you because I can’t be near you without wanting to fuck you. And that shit ain’t happening because you’re not ready for it and I’m not staying. I’m not staying, Em, and likely I won’t make it back. So I’m not doing you any favors by letting you think we have chance. Because we don’t. Not a single goddamned chance in hell.”
The headlights illuminated the angry twist of his features, the fury and anguish in his eyes. He moved to the next post. She didn’t know what to say. What was there to say? There was nothing he wanted to hear, nothing he would listen to. His hurt was so far beyond her reach, there was no aid she could render.
She felt empty inside. And very, very alone. She started back for the house, her heart ripping apart with each step. From the corner of her eye, she saw Rocco straighten. Metal clinked as he threw the latest post like a spear on top of other ones.
