Pamela Clare - Striking Distance

And Javier realized she was talking about him.

“I didn’t think he’d heard me, and I knew Zainab would kill me, but then he turned. He shouted at me to stop and get down, and I thought he was going to shoot me, but he shot her instead. He killed a woman. He didn’t even hesitate. He tore off my burka, and the next thing I knew, he was carrying me onto the helicopter.” Laura’s hands balled into fists and pressed together tightly in her lap, the only outward sign that talking about this was hard for her. “He punched Al-Nassar in the face when Al-Nassar threatened me again. He was my hero.”

How do you like that, Corbray? You’re upstaging yourself.

Javier cleared his throat. “I bet he remembers that night, too.”

Oh, he did. Yes, he did.

“He and his men were all so kind to me. I never got to thank them.”

Javier wanted to forget he’d ever heard of OPSEC and tell Laura that he was the tall SEAL, that he had carried her out and punched that bastard in the face. He wanted to tell her that no mission had ever meant as much to him as that one, that rescuing her had been the highlight of his career as an operator. God, he wanted to tell her. He knew she wouldn’t run to the press or write an article about it, but he’d been ordered not to discuss the mission with anyone who hadn’t been a part of it.

He fought to keep his voice and his facial expression neutral, choosing his words carefully. “I was amazed to find out that you were alive—and damned grateful.”

Laura’s eyes went wide, and she stared at him.

You gave it away, cabrón! She knows. She figured it out.

“You could do it! You could thank them for me, couldn’t you?” She looked at him with such hopefulness. “Naval Special Warfare wouldn’t give me their names, but they’d pass on a message for you, wouldn’t they?”

“Uh . . . You want me to thank them for you?” Okay, this was too fucking surreal. “Yeah. Sure. I can do that.”

You bet he could. He had the surviving members of the team on speed dial.

She gave him a relieved smile. “That would mean a lot to me. Thank you.”

There was something fragile about her now that hadn’t been there in Dubai, a vulnerability that put an ache in his chest. He clamped down on the urge to walk over to her and take her into his arms.

“Hey, no problem.”

She looked toward the fire. “I pray for him, for all of them, every night. I’m not religious, but those men are out there somewhere in danger, putting their lives on the line. They risked everything to save me. Who knows? Maybe prayers help.”

She had no idea that some of the men she was praying for were already dead or recovering from severe wounds, and he couldn’t tell her.

His throat grew tight. “I’m sure they would appreciate that—if they knew.”

She looked away again. “I suppose we should get back to the party. Everyone must be wondering what’s going on.”

“I suppose so.” Javier got to his feet. “Hey, you want to grab some dinner, maybe catch a movie? I’m in town for a few weeks.”

He knew the moment the words were out that he’d said the wrong thing.

A shadow passed over her face. “I don’t know . . .”

“This isn’t me trying to trick my way into your bed. Don’t insult me, bella. I already told you—I’ve got no expectations.”

The wariness on her face eased a little. “Okay. I’d like that.”

LAURA LEFT THE Cimarron right after supper, making her way quickly and quietly to her car while everyone else was sledding down the hill behind the house. She felt bad about not thanking her hosts and saying good-bye, but she just had to get away.

It was harder than she’d thought to be around the children, especially the little ones. Sophie’s little girl Addison was about the same age as Klara. Every time Laura had looked at Addie she hadn’t been able to help but think about her own daughter, the one she’d never seen except from across a room. Then, when Tessa and Kat had nursed their babies, the sight had made something twist in Laura’s stomach, her mind overtaken by a confused memory of swollen, aching breasts, her nipples leaking milk meant for a baby she’d never held, let alone breast-fed.

And then there was Javier.

She’d never thought she’d see him again, and although a part of her had felt true joy at seeing him, he had served only to remind her of how much she had changed. The adventurous, sensual woman who’d enjoyed two days and three nights of crazy, passionate sex with a man she barely knew no longer existed.

Laura spent the rest of the evening swallowing her emotions along with a pint of Godiva white chocolate raspberry ice cream. Then, when it was late enough, she Skyped her mother, who was just getting out of bed in Stockholm. They talked about the trial, Al-Nassar’s threats, Derek Tower.

“He says he has sources in Pakistan who told him that an American tipped off the terrorists to my location that day, claiming to have gotten the information from me. Tower thinks I gave away my itinerary. I know that’s not true.”

“Of course it’s not.” Her mother let it go.

And then Laura told them about Javier.

“It was him, the postcard man? And he’s a SEAL? Oh, älskling, how wonderful!” Her mother’s smile faded. “Weren’t you happy to see him?”

Laura tried to explain. “I’m not the person he knew. He looks at me, and he remembers someone else.”

“The woman he remembers still exists inside you. You just need to set her free.”

Laura wished it were so simple. “He asked me out to dinner.”

“I hope you said yes.” Laura’s grandmother leaned in, her round face appearing in the onscreen image. “You need to get out, to be with other young people.”

“I did, but I wish I hadn’t. He said he wasn’t expecting anything. No sex or—”

“Too bad,” her grandmother interjected. “That would be good for you.”

“You know I can’t sleep with him. If I did, he’d see my stretch marks, and he’d know. I’d have to explain, and then he would think I was the worst—”

“What happened with Klara was not your fault.” Her mother’s voice turned to steel. “Unless he has no heart, he will understand that. You are the only one who holds that against you.”

“Did you say yes?” Laura’s grandmother was not letting it go.

“Yes, Gran.”

Her mother and her grandmother shared a smile.

“You are not going to back out of it and cancel on him.” Her grandmother’s blue eyes narrowed, as if she knew that was exactly what Laura had been thinking of doing.

“It is time for you to live again, Laura.” Her mother’s gaze was gentle, understanding. “This will be a good thing. You’ll see.”

Laura carried her mother’s words to bed with her and through the day on Sunday while she did laundry, cleaned the house, and transcribed interviews for her VA article—a mind-numbingly tedious process she’d never had to deal with as a broadcast journalist.

When her cell phone rang just before noon, she wasn’t surprised to find it was Javier. She’d known he would call sooner rather than later.

“You left without saying good-bye.” His voice was deep, warm.

“I’m sorry. I just . . . couldn’t stay any longer.”

There was a long pause.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Laura. If it’s too hard for you to be around me—”

“No!” Angry with herself for being so fearful, so timid, so transparent, she spoke more harshly than she’d intended. “No, it’s fine. I’d love to go to dinner with you. It’s just . . . I haven’t been out much since this happened, and I’m not all that comfortable around lots of people.”

As true as this was, it was an excuse. Being around him was hard for her, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit that.

They settled on tomorrow night. Javier would pick her up at her place at seven, and they would go around the corner to the Wynkoop Brewing Company, where she could have her favorite salad and he could sample some of the microbrews for which Denver was famous.

“I’ll be with you. It will be okay.”

She hoped he was right.

* * *

LAURA GOT TO work early the next morning and was grateful to find that she was no longer considered news, the throng of reporters gone, off chasing other stories. She said a quick good morning to Cormack and crossed the lobby to the elevator. She had an interview scheduled first thing with a former soldier named Ted Hollis, who had answered her ad for veterans having trouble with VA claims. He was living with untreated PTSD and claimed he’d been trying to get help from the VA for more than nine months.

“Laura, wait for me!” Sophie caught her at the elevator, entering just before the doors closed, cup of coffee in hand, handbag over her shoulder, her strawberry-blond hair done up in an artfully messy bun.

The elevator car began to move.

“How was the rest of your weekend?” Sophie asked.

Laura could tell Sophie was trying to decide whether to ask about the barbecue. “I did some work on my VA story, transcribed some interviews I did last week with a couple of former soldiers.”

“I’m glad you came to the Cimarron. I hope you had a good time.”

“I did. The food was delicious. Thanks for inviting me.” There was no way to avoid the topic. “Sorry I left so abruptly. I felt a little . . . overwhelmed.”

Sophie gave her a warm smile. “As long as you’re okay. I can see how hanging with all of us could be a bit much. We’ve all known each other for so long. But we were all really happy you were there. I hope you’ll join us again.”

“I’m glad I finally got to meet everyone.”

The elevator came to a halt, and the doors opened.

They stepped out and started down the hallway when Holly hurried up behind them, her heels clicking on the floor.

“Hey, Laura! Hey, Sophie!” She fell in beside them, a colorful Altuzarra sweater and tight black Rag & Bone pants hugging her perfect curves, suede Prada pumps with three-inch heels on her feet. “I can’t believe that hunky SEAL is a friend of yours, Laura. If you tell me the two of you have slept together, I’m going to be so jealous.”

“Holly!” Sophie glared at her.

But that didn’t seem to deter Holly one bit. She looked at Laura’s face. “Oh, my God! You have!”

Laura had overheard enough conversations between Sophie and Holly in the newsroom to know that Holly had no filter. But how was Laura supposed to respond to that? Fortunately she didn’t have to say anything, as Holly went on.

“I’ve never met a SEAL before. I think it must take so much courage to do what he does. Five months ago he was almost killed, and he still wants to go back.”

Laura’s step faltered. “Almost killed?”

“He didn’t tell you?” Sophie asked.

“No.” He hadn’t even hinted.

But Holly and Sophie knew all about it. As they made their way toward the I-Team’s corner of the newsroom, the two of them told her how Javier and his team had been caught in an ambush, how he’d been shot four times and had barely survived. Now, he was eager to return to active duty.

“I don’t even want to go back to places where someone has been rude to me, like restaurants or department stores,” Holly was saying. “I can’t imagine wanting to return to a place where men were trying to kill me.”

Neither could Laura. “It takes a special kind of man to do that job.”

She set her handbag down on her desk, sat, and booted up her computer.

“So he didn’t tell you any of this?” Holly sat on Sophie’s desk.

Laura knew what Holly was really asking. She was trying to figure out if Laura and Javier were still connected. “He was concerned about me and didn’t talk about himself. But I’ll ask him about it tonight. We’re having dinner.”

Laura spoke the words with an odd sense of satisfaction.

And then it struck her.

You’re jealous!

She was.

Javier had told Holly and the others things he hadn’t told her.

You didn’t give him a chance.

She’d been so busy talking about herself that she hadn’t asked him how he’d been these past three and a half years. Clearly, she wasn’t the only one who’d suffered.

Holly heaved an exaggerated sigh. “The good men are always taken.”

* * *

LAURA HAD HEARD stories like Ted Hollis’s before, but few had been so graphic—or so wrenching. His job through three tours of duty had included cleaning blood and human tissue from inside vehicles damaged by IEDs so that those vehicles could be repaired and put back into service. The gore he had seen was the stuff of horror films. Midway through his third deployment, he’d had a nervous breakdown and had spent three weeks in a military hospital before being shipped stateside again. Though post-traumatic stress had all but rendered him nonfunctional, he had yet to get treatment and was self-medicating with alcohol.