Striking Distance

and a half days to plan. They didn’t know it yet, but Javier was determined to be a part of that effort. Not that he didn’t trust the Marshal Service. He did, especially with McBride in the lead. But none of them cared about Laura the way he did. Javier was willing to lose everything for her—including his life.

* * *

JAVIER FINISHED HIS call with McBride, then walked back to the guest room to fold his newly washed and dried clothes, listening to Laura as she interviewed a disabled Marine in her office. From what Javier had been able to piece together, the veteran, a woman who’d served two tours in Iraq, had lost both legs and been badly burned when a suicide bomber had blown up a car at a checkpoint near the Green Zone.

It was a helluva thing to live through.

“What did they say when you told them you were having thoughts of suicide?” Laura asked, periodically injecting “I see,” or “How upsetting,” or “Mmm-hmm,” as she listened to the woman’s answer.

It was interesting to hear her work after watching so many of her broadcasts. She was cool and collected on the air, but in person she was warm, sympathetic, always letting the person she was interviewing know that what they told her mattered to her. Even when the interview was what Javier might consider hostile, like her interview with the VA flack this morning, she was warm and caring—at least until she had them by the jugular.

“I know it’s difficult to talk about this, but it would really help my readers understand the issue better if you could describe for me what you’re experiencing—the nightmares, the flashbacks, the anger you feel.”

Nightmares.

Flashbacks.

Anger.

The words hit Javier, sent ripples through him.

Knock it off, cabron.

He did not have PTSD. A few post-combat nightmares, a bar fight, and a handful of strange adrenaline surges did not constitute PTSD. If he was on edge all the time, it was only because everyone kept hassling him, as if they expected him to fall the fuck apart. But he was stronger than that. If they would back the hell off and let him get on with an active-duty workup, he’d be fine.

“You jumped out of bed? You mean without your prosthetics? Oh, I’m so sorry. I can only imagine how frightening that was.”

?Si, claro!

After what she’d been through, Laura knew damned good and well how bad it could get. Javier knew she’d had another nightmare last night. He’d heard her in the kitchen mixing that milk-and-honey brew of her grandmother’s. He’d almost gone to her, offered to sleep with her again. But after what had happened in the sauna, he’d thought the better of it. She’d been coping without him all of this time. It was better not to fan the flames.

That was probably another reason he was on edge. His mind knew he and Laura were not going to enjoy a repeat of their weekend in Dubai, but his body wasn’t getting the message. He’d tried to blame it on the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid since before his most recent deployment—four months in Afghanistan followed by five months that included a stay in ICU, rehab, and medical leave. He might even have believed that excuse if it hadn’t been for the inconvenient fact that the only woman he wanted was Laura.

But no way in hell did he want to see that same panicked look in her eyes that he’d seen after he’d kissed her in the sauna. He’d be damned before he’d upset her like that again or make her regret spending time with him.

He focused on folding his clothes and squaring his gear away. He’d finished and was in the kitchen making a sandwich as an afternoon snack when she emerged from her office. She walked past him to the fridge, opened the door, and bent down, reaching for something in the back, the sweet curves of her ass outlined in butter-soft denim. He managed to lift his gaze just as she turned to face him, her long-sleeved pink V-neck doing nothing to hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

He willed himself to quit gawking.

Mind over balls, bro.

“That sounded like a tough interview.”

“I feel so bad for her. She’s grappling with uncontrolled neuropathy and PTSD at the same time, and no one seems to be helping her.”

He put the lid back on the mayo. “You are. You’re helping her.”

“I just hope the article lights a fire under someone’s butt at the VA.” Laura walked to the fridge, took out a container of yogurt, and grabbed a spoon out of the silverware drawer. “You must be bored out of your mind. It can’t be fun to be stuck inside with me here all day long.”

He grinned, shook his head. “Bored? No way.”

There was still doubt in her eyes.

He carried his plate and a glass of water to the table. “You think life as an operator is all combat and thrashin’ through jungles and shit?”

She sat across from him and popped a spoonful of yogurt in her mouth, her lips curving in a sweet smile. “You mean it’s not?”

“A lot of it is training—predeployment workups. Uphill runs in full combat gear. Jumps, jumps, and more jumps. Night surf landings. That’s all good.” He took a bite of his sandwich, chewed. “But between that and actual combat ops, there’s a lot of waiting. We jock up, then get told the op is off. We jock up again. They call it off again. In the meantime, we hang around the TOC with no running water, sweating or freezing our balls off in our BDUs, living off MREs, checking our gear—and staring at each other’s ugly faces.”

She smiled again, pointed her spoon toward him, a hint of playfulness in her eyes that made his blood heat. “And you love every moment of it.”

Okay, so she had him there. It wasn’t always comfortable, but he loved hanging with Team guys, waiting for the next tasking, letting the adrenaline build.

“Here, I’ve got a real bed, a bathroom with a door that closes, great food, and a hundred channels on the TV. But you know the best thing, bella?”

She took another bite of yogurt, shook her head.

He met her gaze straight on, let his lips curve in a slow grin. “The scenery here is so much better.”

Her pupils dilated—and damned if she didn’t blush.

CHAPTER 12

JAVIER SAT IN the passenger seat, keeping an eye out for trouble while Laura drove, his SIG Sauer P226 in a shoulder holster hidden beneath his jacket, the Walther in an ankle holster. There was only one reason why he’d gone along with this.

It was important to Laura.

He glanced over at her, could see she was afraid despite her attempts to hide it. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, her skin almost translucent, her face pale. “I respect what you’re trying to do, but I wish you’d let McBride arrange a meeting with them at a neutral site.”

Laura kept her eyes on the road. “I’m tired of sitting around and waiting. Besides, the marshal office is hardly neutral. These people have lost their son. They’ve been raked over the coals by the FBI and the media. Every corner of their lives has been probed. The last thing they need is to be dragged from their home again.”

“You have such a soft heart, but your compassion might be wasted on these people.” Javier knew only too well how an act of compassion could blow up in a person’s face. He’d spared that shepherd’s life and those of his sons, and eighteen men had died as a result. “They raised a son who tried to kill you.”