Targeted

She pressed a shaky hand to her abdomen and exhaled. When her dark gaze met his, he saw confusion and something a lot like resolution there. She took a step back. “Jack—Sam, whatever, I can’t even look at you. I need to leave. . . .” Her voice broke and the fresh, unshed tears he saw glistening in her eyes cut right through his chest.

He tried to reach out for her, but she shook her head and stepped back before retreating to the bathroom. She slammed the door behind her with incredible force, and though she turned on the shower he could hear her crying. Sobbing, actually.

Fuck.

Though he wanted to go in there, demand that she listen and forgive him, he knew he couldn’t. It would just make things worse. She needed time to adjust, to digest everything he’d told her. He couldn’t leave her completely alone, so he headed for the attached room with the extra television and couch. Walking away from her tonight was killing him, but if it was what she wanted, he’d do it. But only for the night. He’d give her time to digest everything he’d told her. That was it. Then he was making his claim and his intentions clear. She was his, had been since she was seventeen.

He wasn’t walking away from her again.

His job, everything else could be damned. Sophie was the one thing he couldn’t walk away from. Ever again.

•   •   •

Sam checked the address for the tenth time and knocked on the door. A woman with graying hair he didn’t know answered. He assumed it was Sophie’s new foster mother. At least this woman looked nice. Soph hadn’t been answering any of his attempts to contact her, and once he’d found out what happened . . . fuck, he wanted to kill that bastard. Technically Soph was too old to still be in foster care, but the state was letting her stay a couple of extra months until she got on her feet. Probably because they were afraid she’d sue them.

He cleared his throat. “Is Sophie here?”

The woman eyed him skeptically, no doubt taking in his desert cammies. He’d be shipping off soon, but his staff sergeant had given him a few days’ leave.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Sam. We used to live together, with Ms. Bigsby.” In eighteen years, Ms. Bigsby was one of the only decent foster parents he’d ever lived with. Unfortunately she’d been in a bad car accident on the way back from her bingo night and wouldn’t be able to keep any kids for a while.

The woman frowned but opened the door wider to let him in. “Why don’t you wait here and I’ll go get her?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He clasped his hands in front of him and waited in the foyer. The two-story house looked nice enough. From what he’d learned, Sophie was the only kid living here.

He stared at his watch until he heard Sophie descending the stairs. Her long, dark hair was pulled into a ponytail and she wore a baggy sweater and loose faded jeans. When she reached the bottom she crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him with a blank expression. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was flat, lifeless, so unlike the girl he loved.

“I’m leaving in a few days and you haven’t been returning my calls. I’m so sorry about . . .” At his words she averted her eyes to the floor, and his throat seized. He’d never been good at expressing himself. His words always got jumbled. Especially around her. He didn’t know what to say to make this right. Deep down, he knew nothing ever would. But he still wanted to be there for her.

“There’s nothing you can do, Sam. I don’t know why you’re even here,” she mumbled.

He took a step forward and she immediately took a step back toward the stairs, so he kept his distance. “I still want you to come with me. I’m being sent to Afghanistan, but when I get back we can get a place together. Even if you don’t want that anymore, I thought . . . maybe you could write me.”

In an instant her head whipped up and her gaze sharpened on his face. “I’m not going to write you. I hate you, Sam. You promised you’d always be there for me. You promised.” Her voice broke on the last syllable.

“I didn’t know the home would be like that.” If he had, he’d have run away with her. “I didn’t even want to go to boot camp right away, but you told me to and—”

“So it’s my fault?” she snapped, anger flaring in her eyes.

“No! I just . . . fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left. I—”

“Do you know what that monster did to me? He held a knife to my throat and raped me for hours. His wife was in the next room, but she didn’t do anything! You should have been there. You promised you’d always be there for me! I can’t stand to even look at you, Sam! I hate you and I never want to see you again. Don’t call and don’t write.”

At that, she turned on her heel and raced up the stairs. He knew she was saying the words out of anger, but that didn’t stop the jagged edge from piercing his gut. If he’d just waited thirteen weeks, he might have been able to stop what happened. It wasn’t as if he would have been living under the same roof as Sophie, but maybe . . . hell, maybe he could have protected her, made sure no one hurt her.

But he hadn’t, and someone had.

Jack’s eyes opened with a start. It was just a dream. One he hadn’t had in years. His heart beat erratically in his chest as he tried to catch his breath. He felt as if he’d run a marathon.

Looking at his watch, he realized it was three in the morning. Sophie hadn’t come out of her room once since he’d left her. She’d eventually come out of the bathroom, but she’d shut the door to the bedroom and had been quiet. When he’d asked her if she’d wanted room service, she ignored him.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, hating the helpless sensation that had overtaken him. Against his better judgment, he quietly moved to the bedroom door and peered inside. Curled on her side with her eyes closed, Sophie was breathing and completely fine. Maybe not fine, but alive and safe.

It would have to be good enough for now. He’d fucked up so bad he wasn’t sure anything would ever be right again. Now that he’d gotten a taste of her after keeping all his feelings locked up for years, he wasn’t sure how he was going to go back to life without Sophie in it.

Chapter 20

Detonator: a device or a small, sensitive charge used to detonate an explosive.

Ronald shut down his computer with shaking hands. This was it. After six months, he was finally going to see his daughter again. He hadn’t wanted to come to work today, but both the NSA and Vargas didn’t want him to draw any undue attention to himself. Ronald shook his head at the irony.

His cell phone buzzing across his desk made him jump. The number wasn’t one he recognized. “Hello?”

“Are you ready?” Wesley Burkhart didn’t have to introduce himself. His gravelly voice was distinctive enough.

“I think so.” He wiped a clammy palm on his slacks.

“The equipment is working. Remember, we’re listening and watching the whole time. As soon as you get what we need, we’re taking him down.”

“I know.” Even to his own ears, he didn’t sound convinced. If he was going in by himself, he didn’t think he’d be as scared. His daughter was going to be there, though. That made the chance for a screwup unimaginable. Part of him wished he’d gone to law enforcement sooner, but he still didn’t know who he would have turned to if the NSA hadn’t approached him. If he’d turned to the wrong people and gotten his daughter killed, he’d have never forgiven himself. Hell, he still wasn’t sure that wouldn’t happen today.

“We’re trained for this sort of thing, Mr. Weller.”

Easy for him to say. It wasn’t his daughter’s life on the line. “I need to get out of here.”

“Take it easy driving. We all know how stressful this is, but you need to show up in one piece.”

“I will. . . . I guess I’ll be seeing you soon.”