Katie Reus - Targeted

Triumph flared in her eyes. “I want to hear you say it.” Her strangled whisper sounded overpronounced in the silent room.

“Sam Kelly.” The two words dropped with the intensity of a grenade.

Without warning, she shoved at his chest. Hard. Then she slammed her fists against him again and again. “I knew it, you fucking mentiroso!” Her loud shout echoed through the room. “I thought I was going crazy!”

Jack cringed as she shouted a few other choice words he understood clearly. His Spanish might suck, but he knew enough that she’d just called him a liar. And she was right.

He grabbed her upper arms and tried to pull her close, but she struggled against him. He was desperate to keep her from pulling away. “Let me explain!”

She struggled to free herself, but he refused to let go. He couldn’t let her run out on him. Not now. Not until he’d explained things. And he could tell by the look in her eyes that she was two seconds away from sprinting out the door and never looking back. He tightened his grip. “Damn it, Sophie, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then let me go,” she said through gritted teeth as she tugged against his hold again. Her breathing was erratic and the angry fire in her eyes scorching.

His heart was pounding like a jackhammer. “Will you listen to me if I do?”

Her jaw clenched and her body tensed, so he held firm. He didn’t squeeze because he was afraid of bruising her, but he kept her in place. “I didn’t want to lie to you.”

“Was sleeping with me part of the job?” she asked, the words a razor-sharp edge. Her eyes flashed with barely concealed rage.

His answer was immediate. “No. I never should have started something with you. That was a mistake—”

“So now you think it was a mistake!” It was as if he’d lit the main fuse on her rage. She hauled back and tried to knee him in the groin. He turned, taking the brunt of her strike against his hip.

“That’s not what I meant! I just meant that had nothing to do with the job. That was my choice.” Damn it, his thoughts got so muddled around her.

As he tried to shift away and deflect another knee shot without hurting her, she yanked one of her hands free. She slammed her fist square in his chest again and it was clear she wasn’t going to stop pounding him.

“Damn it, Soph!” Jack twisted their bodies until they were flat on the bed with her underneath him. Her blow didn’t hurt as much as being the target of her rage and mistrust. Hell, he almost welcomed the physical pain. “I couldn’t tell you the truth.”

“Fucking liar! Did you know I mourned for you? I cried for months and months when I learned you’d died. I lost so much weight I had to see a doctor. You bastard. . . .” Her voice cracked as she trailed off. She closed her eyes and looked away from him as if she couldn’t stand to look at him. Tears started rolling down her cheeks and he felt like the biggest bastard in the world.

Rolling off her, he lay flat on the bed and cursed. She instantly jumped up, hovering near the foot of the bed, watching him warily. “I could strangle you right now.”

He sat up, ready to move on her if she tried to run. “Are you going to run away or are you going to stay and talk?” Jack tried to keep his voice calm when he felt anything but. Raw panic scraped over him. If she tried to leave, he’d have to stop her, and the thought of restraining her that way shredded him.

“Why did you lie to me?” Her glare sliced into him.

“I didn’t have a choice. Besides, what would you have done if I’d waltzed into your office and announced I was your childhood friend, back from the grave?” He hated the hurt look in her eyes as she angrily swiped away the remaining errant tears, but he forced himself to hold her gaze. He needed her to know that he’d only been trying to protect her. That he’d do anything for her.

“How long have you been Jack Stone?” Her voice was cold, unforgiving.

“Since Sam died in Afghanistan.”

“You talk about yourself in the third person?” That temper flared in her gaze again, white hot and ready to burn him.

The vise around his vocal cords loosened a little. “It keeps me sane. . . .” He hadn’t struggled to bury Sam, but he had struggled to bury his past with Sophie. It had been the only damn thing that had been hard about leaving his old life behind. “How’d you know who I was?” he asked once he found his voice again.

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “Little things. Your birthmark, your eyes, the way you look at me, and the way you called me Soph like it was natural was a big tip-off. Then when we made lo—had sex—it was . . . intense. The way you made me come so easily, the way you touched me, it was like we’d done it before. Damn it, you even smell the same! I kept thinking I was crazy for even thinking you might be Sam. I can’t believe you let me mourn you!”

“I swear I didn’t want to lie to you,” he rasped out.

“But you did. Just like you lied about Hannah. How do I know anything you say is the truth and not part of the job? Why did they send you on this mission? There’s no way it was a coincidence we used to know each other.”

His paused for a moment as he tried to choose the right words. “Because of our history.”

Her face tightened. “So what do you want from me?”

That was easy. “Everything.”

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.

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.”