Elite Ops: Easy Target Part 9

Me plus one.

Bear's response was immediate. Trouble with the law?

Bryan texted back. Not what it sounds like.

You know I don't care. Where do you need to be picked up?

Kingstree. Bryan heard the shower kick on. With a response like Pavlov's dog, he immediately had a picture of Sa.s.sy undressing in his head. Even more disconcerting, his heart rate kicked up.

Bear texted back. Can't be there till almost 4:00 PM. You okay till then?

Bryan looked around the apartment. This was as safe as it got for now. Tilly and Otis were the only ones who knew they were here, and they thought Bryan and Sa.s.sy were the Albertsons.

Yes, he typed back.

Send me the address around 2:00 PM.

Bryan sighed in relief. He hadn't wanted to disclose their location until absolutely necessary. It would have been difficult to say no if Bear had asked for it up front.

Will do. Thanks.

There was no reply, but Bryan didn't expect there to be. The last time Bryan had seen him in Germany, Bear had become a man of few words. It seemed that extended to his text communications as well.

The burner for the hot water heater kicked on with a swoosh. He flipped the switch to preheat the oven, searched for a baking sheet for the sandwiches, and thought about Sa.s.sy, wondering how she was doing keeping her st.i.tches dry in the shower. Did she need any help in there?

He huffed a laugh at himself. Not likely.

But that didn't stop him from imagining the water beading up on her wet body and running down all the slopes and crevices he'd tasted last night. Places he hadn't gotten near enough of.

The baking sheet slipped from his fingers onto the counter with a clatter, and he mentally slammed the door of his imagination shut on those distracting thoughts.

What the h.e.l.l was he doing? Thinking about s.e.x with Sa.s.sy was the surest way to get them both killed. And despite what had happened on the train before the derailment, sleeping with her was still the mother of bad ideas. Even so, he wondered if she was okay in the shower, particularly when it continued to run for the next twenty minutes.

He was pulling the sandwiches out of the oven when it occurred to him that with her head injury, she might have tripped. Leaving the oven door open, he rushed into the postage-stamp-sized bathroom, calling her name.

She didn't answer. His stomach tightened when he ripped the shower curtain aside to find her asleep on the tub's porcelain floor with her head leaning back against the tile. Her position didn't look very comfortable, but as exhausted as she was, it wouldn't have taken much. Steam floated around her, and the shower spray was. .h.i.tting the wall two feet above her head.

"Sa.s.sy?" He kept his voice low, not wanting to startle her.

She never stirred, but she'd been crying earlier. That much was obvious from the red splotches around her eyes. And if the sight of her wet body in the shower hadn't brought him to his knees, her tear-splotched face did.

G.o.d, please. Let him face another man with a gun and a grenade any day. He had no idea what to do with this woman's tears.

"Sa.s.sy?" He spoke a little louder this time.

Was this just the shock of everything catching up to her?

Praying she'd just sat down for a moment and dozed off and that this wasn't some residual effect of the concussion, he reached to turn off the still warm water. Otis must have a monster hot water heater in this place.

Ignoring the torque in his back, he grabbed the threadbare towel and borrowed robe from the countertop and reached to pull her up and out of the tub.

When he leaned down over her, her blue eyes flew open. Only then did she react. But not like he would have expected. She went wild.

"No, dammit. No. Don't touch me . . . don't ever touch me. Just stop! Stop!"

"Sa.s.sy? Sa.s.sy, it's me." He dropped the robe on her shoulder and leaned back in a squat beside the tub.

Her eyes were gla.s.sy and unfocused. She jumped to her feet and covered her b.r.e.a.s.t.s with one hand protectively across her chest. He sat on his haunches, taking in the sight of a naked, wet Sa.s.sy standing over him. Momentarily stunned, he never saw it coming.

When her other fist connected with his jaw, the cracking sound reverberated around the bathroom. Still in a squat, he tipped backward. His shoulder bounced off the countertop and he landed on his a.s.s directly on the wet linoleum. He felt the jolt all the way up his back again.

Jesus. He'd forgotten she definitely didn't hit like a girl. d.a.m.n.

The slap of his b.u.t.t hitting the wet floor seemed to pull her from wherever she'd been. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in a wide O.

"Bryan. OhmiG.o.d. I'm so sorry. I . . . sat down to shave my legs and . . . I must have dozed off."

The shock on her face no doubt mirrored his own as he rubbed his jaw. "Just glad you weren't holding the razor," he mumbled.

She started to reach for him, then stopped. He saw the moment she remembered she was stark naked.

And instead of reaching for him, she pulled her arms into the oversized robe that he'd tried to drape around her earlier. Exiting the tub, she was struggling to get herself covered and put her foot directly into a puddle of water. Off balance and still trying to drag the robe on, she fell and landed in a heap on top of him.

When she bounced into his bare chest, he went flat, and one of her knees b.u.mped his belly. The other would have had him singing soprano if he hadn't caught her knee with one hand and her naked hip with the other. As it was, she covered him like a blanket in the ridiculously crowded s.p.a.ce.

Umph. Bryan felt the impact of her body against him. It should have hurt, and part of it probably did, but at the same time his body was also registering just how good it felt to have all that soft skin against his again.

He lay there for a minute, trying to catch his breath and figure out what the f.u.c.k had just happened. But his hands were still splayed across her. She immediately started scrambling, which brought its own set of issues. His body reacted as it normally would with a wet, naked woman lying on top of him. He clamped an arm around her waist as his body tightened further.

"Stop that." His tone was harsher than he'd intended, but he was desperate.

She quit scrambling, which didn't really help the situation at all. The silent drip, drip of the faucet was the only sound as he fought the natural response of his body, a losing battle. Sa.s.sy, for the first time he could recall in his entire acquaintance with her, kept her mouth shut.

He felt her body start to shake.

Jesus, she was crying again. And that made him want to howl. Her tears were his kryptonite. He was forming the words of an apology when he heard her gasp for air and a distinct giggle.

She wasn't crying. The woman was laughing? Not exactly the response a man longed for when he had a raging erection. But under the circ.u.mstances, it was better than her tears.

He moved a hand to her face, which was presently buried in his chest, and lifted her chin. The mirth in her eyes was still tinged with tears, but both dimples were out in full force. She was definitely laughing.

Right now, he'd take it.

"Sa.s.sy? What the h.e.l.l are you doing?" He'd completely thrown in the towel on the language issue. At this point, he couldn't control either that or his response to her.

She giggled again and tried to catch her breath but ended up belly-laughing instead. He felt the vibration all the way to his toes.

"G.o.d, I am such a mess and this is such a mess. I . . ." She stopped when she saw the expression on his face. She stared into his eyes, and he felt something between them shift. All the s.e.xual sparring, all the verbal clashes of the past six months, seemed to slip away.

"Everyone's a mess, Sa.s.sy. Some folks just hide it better than others. That's all."

Her dimples disappeared. "What happened to you, Bryan?"

"More than you want to know." He shook his head slightly and felt the moisture beneath his scalp.

"What makes you think that?" She tried to sit up.

"Hey," he grabbed for her knee again so she didn't cripple him, gently placing it beside his hip versus in his crotch. And this time he did let himself look at her body. He let her see the longing in his eyes, then let her see him shut it down.

The expression on her face changed as she pulled the robe around herself and stood up. "I haven't been fair to you. Will you tell me about what happened in Afghanistan?"

He watched her standing over him. His back was soaked. She was soaked.

"Please. I know something bad happened. You were going to be a Marine for life. Then suddenly you weren't."

"Will you tell me what happened to you?" he asked.

A guarded look came into her eyes.

He nodded. "Yeah, well. I kinda feel the same way."

He didn't want to talk about his past. It hurt too much, and he'd closed the door on what had happened over there. He didn't wake up in a cold sweat anymore from dreams that felt so real, he could taste the grit in his mouth and hear screams in his head. At least not as often as he used to. He retrieved the towel from the floor as he sat up, then stood beside her in the impossibly cramped s.p.a.ce and turned to leave.

"Wait," said Sa.s.sy. "I'll talk, but let me get dressed first."

He hung the towel over the shower curtain rod. Good. Clothes would be a very good start. Maybe between her being dressed and talking about the past, he could keep his hands to himself. But he wasn't going to count on it.

"I'll check on the food."

Chapter Eleven.

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Sa.s.sy emerged from the bathroom. She'd had to fight to keep herself from stalling in the bathroom, but she'd been grateful when she'd found a hair dryer. She was still in the damp oversized robe, but with dry hair, she didn't feel quite so vulnerable.

Having lost her handbag and meager toiletries in the train crash, she'd had to make do with what was in the medicine cabinet. She'd rebandaged her st.i.tches and even found some cosmetics that Tilly's granddaughter must have left behind, including blush and a tube of lipstick, which Sa.s.sy had disinfected with alcohol before using. She desperately needed armor for the coming conversation, and makeup was the closest she'd ever come to a shield and sword. She couldn't stand the thought of looking like the young girl who'd been so nave twelve years ago.

Bryan had set the table with paper plates. There was coffee and sugar and some powdered creamer he must have found after she'd gone to shower. He'd also located a can of corn and heated it to go along with their eclectic lunch.

She sat down at the scarred oak dining table as he put two of the croissant sandwiches on each plate, served some of the corn, and handed it over. "This isn't much, but hopefully it'll stave off starvation."

Sa.s.sy nodded. "I'm so hungry, I could eat anything."

He grinned. "That's what I'm counting on."

They sat across from each other, eating in silence for a few moments. As odd as it was, Sa.s.sy felt almost guilty for wishing they could stay like this in suspended animation-where there was no ticking clock on Trey's court date, where no one was after them, where there were no strange men in her hotel room, no train wreck, no dead pa.s.sengers, and where she didn't have to tell Bryan anything about that summer he left Springwater.

"What happened to you, Sa.s.sy? What happened after I left home?"

She took a sip of the strong coffee that she'd oversweetened and swallowed. "I grew up."

He smiled again. "I can see that. You grew up good. You're beautiful."

The words hung there, and she didn't know what to say. As a young girl she'd been infatuated with Bryan. That he would say such a thing now should have thrilled her. But the words only served as a reminder of everything he didn't know about her.

"Something is wrong besides the situation with Trey." He nodded toward the bathroom. "What just went down in there? Did someone hurt you on that truck in Africa? Please tell me."

"No, it's not that. Nothing bad happened there." What she really meant was that nothing bad had happened to her. Other women on the truck hadn't been so lucky.

Sa.s.sy looked down. Bryan was gripping his fork so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. G.o.d, she didn't want to do this. Didn't want to share this. It was ugly, and so long ago. She'd been stupid, and part of her felt that she should have been over it by now.

But she wasn't. That she'd never allowed herself to be vulnerable to a man proved she wasn't. The incident in the bathroom just now confirmed it. She hadn't freaked out like that since college. It had to be from everything else that had happened this week.

A culmination of circ.u.mstances had kept her firmly stuck for so long. But Bryan was turning himself inside out thinking the worst, and she wanted him to know the truth, or as much of it as she could tell.

She took a deep breath. "I wasn't raped."

He exhaled, but the intensity of his gaze didn't let up. "But something happened," he insisted.

"A long time ago. Yes, something happened."

"What?" His voice was strained, even in that one word.

"I had a 'scare.' "

"What do you mean 'a scare'?" he asked.

"Exactly what it sounds like. A group of boys-"

"A group?" he interrupted.

"Will you let me finish?" she snapped.

He nodded tightly and sat back.

"The summer after you left, right before school started, a group of boys from Trey's cla.s.s asked me to a party at the levee."

She ignored Bryan's groan. Parties at the levee weren't exactly white-tie affairs. "I was going into tenth grade, and I was fairly inexperienced, but Bobby Hughes asked me. You remember Bobby, right?"

Bryan nodded.

She knew he remembered, and that's what made this story so hard to tell. Bryan was two years older than Bobby and Trey, but the boys had all hung out a lot, playing video games at the Hugheses' house and partying together with all the local kids. While Sa.s.sy had liked Bobby well enough in ninth grade, by the middle of her soph.o.m.ore year, she'd understood why the rich kid had "lowered himself" to hang with Bryan and Trey. Bryan was the cool older boy and Trey was the high school football star.