“God, what’s wrong with me?”
He knelt down in front of her, caught her wrists. “You’re upset. Why don’t you go sit by the fire for a minute while I clean this up?”
Her gaze slid to his, her eyes filled with despair that had nothing to do with spilled coffee. “It’s my mess. I made it. I should clean it up.”
“I came here to help you,
She stood and backtracked out of the kitchen, careful not to step in the puddle.
Javier made quick work of it, then washed his hands and started heating milk. If he was going to make the coffee, he’d make it the
He carried the steaming mugs to the living room, where he found Laura curled up on the sofa and clutching a small pillow to her chest. He set her mug down on the coffee table and sat near her feet.
“Thank you.” She sat up, picked up the mug, and sipped, closing her eyes and making an “mmm” noise that sent Javier’s thoughts running in the wrong direction.
When she opened her eyes again, her gaze was fixed on the fire. “They have to find him. They have to find the person behind this. Not just to keep me safe, but for Karima and Yusif’s sake—and Ali’s.”
“They will.” And when they
He got to his feet, moved to stand behind her. “Lean back.”
She looked over her shoulder at him but did as he asked.
“You’ve got a headache again, don’t you?” He moved the silk of her hair aside, baring the graceful length of her neck. He couldn’t touch her in a sexual way, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t touch her.
“What are you—the Headache Whisperer?”
“Just relax.”
Laura closed her eyes as Javier began to knead the muscles of her shoulders. “Mmm. Don’t tell me this is something they teach you in BUD/S.”
“Nah.” He chuckled, the sound deep and warm. “It’s something I learned as a personal trainer. Your upper trapezius and scalene muscles are tight. It makes your headache worse.”
She sank into his touch as he searched out knots and sore spots she didn’t know she had, his fingers working their way along her nape, raising tingles on her skin. And the pain inside her skull began to lessen.
She decided to ask him. “What happened in the backyard tonight?”
His fingers stilled for a moment. “What do you mean?”
“I heard you gasp like you’d been hurt, and when I turned to look, you were staring up at that helicopter as if it were about to crash or something.” She’d never seen fear on his face before.
No, not just fear. Terror.
His fingers began to move again. “The sound of it . . . For a second, it reminded me of the day I was wounded.”
A flashback?
She turned her head to look back at him. “You told me you’d been ambushed. Did they attack by helicopter?”
“No.” He withdrew his hands.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry. If it’s too hard for you to talk about—”
“It’s not a problem.” He rounded the sofa and sat in a chair across from her, elbows resting on his knees, his hands folded together. “We ran across a shepherd and his sons on our way to infiltrate a village outside Ghazni. I had to decide whether to let them live or to kill them to prevent them from warning anyone. We gave them food, water, a little medical help. We tried to show them we weren’t the enemy. They promised not to give us away. I let them live. They warned the Taliban anyway. Taliban fighters ambushed us. We called for exfil. The medevac helo sent to retrieve the wounded was hit by an RPG and blew up before it could land.”
“Oh, God.” Laura stood and took a few steps toward the fire, the memory of the narrow escape from Al- Nassar’s compound coming back to her. She turned to Javier and asked the question, pretty sure she knew the answer. “What happened to the medics?”
A muscle clenched in his jaw. “Everyone on board was killed.”
“That’s terrible.” She found it appalling that anyone would attack medical personnel.
Then the truth of what Javier must be dealing with dawned on her. A decision he’d made had resulted in an ambush that had ended in the deaths of some of his men—and the crew of the medevac chopper, too. Did he blame himself?
“It wasn’t your fault—those men’s deaths, the medevac chopper.”
“I know that. I don’t sit around lamenting my choice.” His denial came too quickly, and Laura wasn’t sure she believed him.
She sank into a chair, an image of his scars in her mind. “All of you who were wounded—you had to wait for another chopper, didn’t you?”
He gave a single wooden nod. “Not everyone made it.”
“I’m so sorry.” Her words seemed empty, inadequate. “It must have been horrible to lie there in so much pain and to watch those men get shot out of the sky, knowing it meant some of you would probably die, too.”
He stood, walked over to the window. “We all knew the risks when we signed on, even the medics. Besides, it’s over.”
She rose, followed him, slid her arms around him, rested her cheek against his back, his body tense, rigid. “It’s not over, not if it still affects you like it did today. Are you getting therapy?”
“I passed the post-combat psych screening. I don’t need therapy.” He drew her hands away and stepped out of her embrace. “I’m not some weakling who can’t get his shit together.”
“I saw a therapist every day for almost a year, and I still can’t say I’m over what happened to me. Am I a weakling?”
“You’re a civilian.”
“Oh. Thanks for clarifying.”
He turned, faced her. “You were abducted, held prisoner for a year and a half, beaten, raped. You weren’t trained to endure that. Getting shot, killing, watching other men die—that’s part of my job description. It’s the downside of what I do for a living.”
“So that was just another bad day at the office?”
He shook his head, muttered something in Spanish, his eyes gone cold. “Just drop it, okay? What happened today wasn’t a big deal. I just . . . got confused.”
But it hadn’t been confusion Laura had seen on his face.
“You’re entitled to be human.”
Without another word, he turned and walked down the hallway toward the guest room. She sipped her coffee and paced the length of the room, debating whether to go after him, to apologize. She’d pushed him, striking some kind of nerve.
But then she heard the sound of guitar music, first just tuning chords, then music so melancholy it made her heart ache.
So this was how he dealt with it—what had happened, his emotions.
And she knew he wanted to be alone.
THEY HAD A late supper of carryout Thai delivered by the U.S. Marshal Service, neither of them bringing up what had happened earlier. Javier seemed distant, closed off, and Laura knew he was still angry. They watched the news together. Then, pleading a headache, she went to bed and lay awake in the dark, the events of the day running through her mind.
Her interview this morning with the VA flack. Karima and Yusif’s tears. Javier’s reaction to the helicopter and his anger with her.
Oh, Javi!
She hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep until the nightmare woke her. Shaking and drenched in cold sweat,
