Chapter Nine

She couldn’t bear to look at him, afraid the moment they made eye contact he’d know her heart was broken. Her dinner lay cold on her plate mostly untouched but for a few brave forkfuls that tasted more like glue than spaghetti.

Jake wasn’t like most homeless men on the streets. Yes, he was spooky tense, but he also had manners and couth. He hadn’t eaten much, but the way he handled his fork spoke volumes. Instead of clenching it like a baseball bat, he held it between his thumb and first two fingers, as if he were holding a pen instead of a weapon. His fingers, though calloused, were elegant and long. Warmth flushed up from her chest at the thought of where those fingers had been. Lacy brushed a hand over her heated cheeks. They weren’t the only parts of him she adored.

Despite Jake’s rugged, unkempt exterior, a gentleman and a damned sexy lover lingered beneath all that overgrown hair and whiskers. Her lips and chin would know. He could’ve ground his face into hers during their very brief and unexpected encounter in her bedroom, but he’d seemed intent on pleasing her. For a moment.

Her thighs clenched at what could have happened. What should have happened.

Jamaal was finally awake and groggy, and eating like a starving man. He slurped the spaghetti, burped, itched, and didn’t lift his eyes up from his plate once she’d brought it to him. But Jake? He sat erect with his back to the wall outside her bedroom, his plate of spaghetti on his knees as untouched as hers.

At least he and Jamaal were now clothed in the clean gray sweats she’d brought home, the sweats that declared they were the property of the Good Samaritan on Good Hope Road. Jake had balked, the stubborn ass, but Jamaal was thrilled to get into clothes that covered his entire body. Once he’d changed, Jake had begrudgingly done the same. The sweats were probably a size too large for Jake and a size too small for Jamaal, but they were clean. She’d tossed Jake’s clothing into her washer after he’d emptied his pockets. His jeans and three shirts were now on the cotton cycle in her hand-me-down dryer. The minute it stopped spinning, Jake and Jamaal would be gone.

Jamaal had been strong enough to take a shower unaided while she and Jake fixed dinner. Jake moved efficiently in the kitchen and took over heating the sauce while she boiled angel hair pasta and chopped spinach, apples, and carrots for a salad.

It almost felt intimate to be working alongside this ex-Marine, doing the mundane chores of a couple. Except he didn’t want her. She wasn’t good enough, not even for a guy who lived on the streets. His rejection still stung. For the first time in forever, she’d offered her body up to a man who felt like he just might be the right one. What a fool she was.

The phone jangled on her kitchen wall. Thankful for the reprieve from the awkward silence in her small living room, she jumped up from the couch to answer. “Hello?”

“Lacy?” a deep male voice asked. “This is Fire Chief Balthazar. I’m sorry to bother you so late, kiddo. My guys told me they saw you at the clinic today when they brought Mr. Adams in. Listen, there’s been some trouble at the clinic. Can you come down?”

Fear spiraled up her spine at the shriek of sirens and heavy engines nearly drowning out his rich baritone. “Ernie? What’s going on? Who’s hurt?”

“I’m sorry, but someone set the clinic on fire. Can you get away?”

Jake was at her side, his palm cupping her elbow. “What’s going on?”

“Sorry, Lacy,” Ernie Balthazar continued. “You might as well know. The M.E. needs you to identify a body we pulled out of the fire. If this is inconvenient, you can come to the morgue in the morning.”

“A body?” She stilled. “A woman’s body?”

“Maybe,” he said grimly. “Check with me when you get here. We need to talk.”

“I’ll be right there,” she said as she hung up the phone and turned to face Jake and Jamaal. “I have to go. There’s been another fire. At the clinic.”

Jake dropped to the couch to put his boots on. “I’m going with you.”

“No,” she resisted. He needed to stay with Jamaal, and she needed time away from him to think. It wasn’t everyday she threw herself at a guy. “It’s okay. I’ll only be an hour or so, and besides, someone needs to stay with Jamaal, and—”

“Like hell,” Jamaal declared from his corner of the couch. “Jake don’t need to be babysitting me while you go traipsing around town in the middle of the night all by yourself. Git your coat, Weylin. See the lady to the clinic. You got a car, Miss Lacy?”

Jake was already sliding into his jacket at the door. “You know she’s got wheels. Come on, Lacy. I’ll drive.”

His eyes glowed with all that tenderness, but Lacy pulled her gaze from his, not wanting to see any hint that he cared. What difference did it make? She stuck her hand into the side pocket of her backpack for her car keys. “Fine then. Let’s go.”

“Where’s your coat?” Jamaal asked. “You need a coat, young lady. Don’t you even be catching no cold while you’re on the Lord’s errand.”

“It’s okay,” she argued. “I’m just going to my car. It’s got a good heater. I’ll be fine.”

Jake’s gray stare caught her short. “You don’t have a coat, do you? How about a sweater?”

“I’m okay,” she insisted, and just that fast, his jacket was around her shoulders, and she was lost in the smells and the warmth of him. It should’ve made her sick with the confused emotions roiling around in her heart, but it didn’t. Her nose automatically filled itself with the best scent ever. Him.

“It might not be as clean as you’d like, but it will keep you warm,” he apologized while he ushered her out the door. “Keep the home fires burning,” he called over his shoulder to Jamaal. “We’ll be back soon as we can.”

“Don’t you worry about me none. Just keep that pretty lady of yours safe,” Jamaal retorted with a cheesy grin and one of those winks that guys give each other when they think they know something.

Jake grunted, but Lacy didn’t hear much of a rebuttal. All she heard was, pretty lady of yours. Jamaal had picked up on that quickly, but he was dead wrong. Jake didn’t want her. He liked his memories better.

She handed over both of her keys, the one for her apartment, the other for her car. “Darn it, I forgot to bring the first-aid kit in. It’s still in my trunk. I hope nobody stole it.”

Jake escorted her through the hall to the stairwell, his hand pleasantly on the small of her back. “Don’t worry. I’m not sure why Dr. Presley wanted you to take it, but I’ll run it back up to your apartment after I get you situated and start the car. That way you’ll be out of the cold while the engine’s warming.”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Mrs. Brown. Dang. She must’ve heard the door close. Lacy closed her eyes and counted to ten.

“Just walking Miss Lacy to her car,” Jake muttered without missing a step. “Good evening, ma’am.”

“That right?” Mrs. Brown asked sharply. “Turn around and look at me, Miss Lacy. This man bothering you?”

Lacy shot her nosey neighbor a quick glance over her shoulder. Conversation with the woman was like talking with a used car salesman. As long as you listened, she kept talking and prying, asking and gossiping.

“I’m fine,” she said as brightly as she could muster, not up to Mrs. Brown’s brand of neighborly concern tonight. “I need to go back to the clinic. Jake offered to drive. That’s all. Goodnight.”

“But what’s he been doing in your apartment? You been drinking? That ain’t like you.” Mrs. Brown took a step into the hallway and along with her came Tootsie, her snorting pug.

As Jake opened the stairwell door, his palm still on her back, Lacy turned and waved. “Bye now!” She nearly giggled. Mrs. Brown was probably just doing what she thought was best, but she seriously needed to back off sometimes. Thank goodness she didn’t follow them down the stairs. Tootsie didn’t either.

Lacy’s world seemed to have changed. Despite the emergency they were running to, she felt safe. The damaged warrior walking beside her walked like a fellow Marine, wary maybe, but ever the gentleman.

Jake held the door for her at ground level, his hand cupping her elbow through his coat sleeve. It had started to snow. Lazy snowflakes twirled down from a dark gray sky, itself glowing from too many city lights. He smiled down at her, his eyes aglow, his hand and the key fob pointed at her car, and just that fast, her heart filled with hope. He leaned in closer. She tilted her chin up as he hit the remote unlock. His gray eyes were fixed on her lips like he might kiss her again. Her foolish romantic heart skipped a beat, and—

BOOM!

Her car blew up.

 “Holy shit!” he cursed, his arms and legs encompassing Lacy, shielding her as shrapnel blasted sideways and whistled overhead. He didn’t remember falling on her, but here he was, on all fours over his woman and fighting mad. Instead of sassing him, she clung to him this time, her face buried in his chest and crying, “My car! Oh, my God, my car!”

“It’s not a car, it’s an MRAP!” As in a Mine-Resistant Ambush Protected military vehicle. Why couldn’t she see that? “We’re in the middle of fucking Sector 18! They mean to kill us and everyone else if they get through that gate! Move it!”

Wrapping one arm possessively around her waist, he pushed up from the sidewalk and took off running, dragging her along with him. Paralyzing fear ratcheted up every vertebra of his spine, higher and higher until it flooded his brain with the overwhelming need to fight back and hit hard. But fight with who? He hadn’t seen anyone. All he knew was that he had to get Emile to safety first. It couldn’t happen again!

“Move your ass, Marine,” he growled, his fingertips digging into her bicep. She had no choice but to comply. He wasn’t taking no for an answer. There’d be no sassy, ‘See you later, Sarge,’ this time either. Frantic for her safety, he swept her off her feet and dropped her ass into a corner where someone’s stairs met the foundation of some building he didn’t recognize. Fellow Marine or not, it was his job to save her life, and this time he would, by hell! She wasn’t dying again!

The scenery rippled and shifted. The swirling black that thought it could win, that tried every damned day to choke the life out of him, was back. He pushed her deeper into the corner behind him before he turned to face the bastards who’d just tried to kill her.

Full of fight or flight, his body throbbed. Jake scrubbed a quick hand over his eyes, sure that crater in the street was the same damned crater from years ago. But it couldn’t be, could it? No way. The smells of gasoline burning and plastic car parts melting morphed into the suffocating stench of diesel fuel, cordite, and burning flesh. He could’ve sworn someone yelled in Pashto, the dialect of death and war. That he now saw shemaghs around arrogant Afghan necks and the pajama-like trousers on the dangerous Taliban in a crowd that wasn’t actually there proved that his nightmare had come back to life.

Once more, ghostly women drifted by in darkly colored burqas and long gray veils that hid grenades and C4 within their folds. The prevalent stink of every day Afghanistan—sewage—filled his nostrils. The distinct metallic scent of sweat and blood came with it. And death.

Sirens screamed, confusing the nightmare of Afghanistan with the reality of America.

Shit. I’m not really over there, Logic told him.

But the Taliban is here! They’re everywhere! Panic interrupted with its pushy demanding need to speak too damned loud, always trying to drown out Logic. To be heard. To be believed.

Jake shook from head to toe, struggling to decide which warning was right this time and which to listen to. Pushing Emile into the corner where she’d be safe from any sniper, he shook his head, wishing he could see better through the smoke and frosty vapor billowing off the wreck. Who the hell was out there? Taliban or Poindexter? Police cruisers or MPs in Humvees? Foreign terrorist or homegrown assholes?

“Jake.” Emile’s fingers pinched the beard on his chin, drawing him out of the desert, back through time and space to the cold streets of nighttime Anacostia. Why was she doing that? He needed to stay right where he was so he could focus. He shrugged her off.

“Jake. Look at me,” she demanded. “Are you hurt?”

“Yeah, I mean no.” He turned to his right, facing away from her, needing to be one hundred percent sure they weren’t being stalked and targeted. No place was safe, and this wasn’t the time for small talk. Crammed into the corner with Emile like he was, he could see everything coming at them within this ninety-degree angle of visibility. No one was getting past him.