“Why aren’t you asleep?”

Larkin’s gaze slid from the plastic tube sticking out of the top of her hand to the doorway of her hospital room. Beckett’s thick shoulder leaned against the frame as though he’d been there a while. She hadn’t noticed him, and she was on high alert. Well, her mind was. The rest of her could fall off the cliff of consciousness at any moment. Hence, the mind.

The corner of Beckett’s mouth kicked upward, and a hint of a smile played in his eyes.

“I have a concussion. I’m not supposed to go to sleep.”

“That’s a myth.” Beckett stepped into the room, his swagger confident. Why shouldn’t it be? He feared nothing and no one. He closed the door behind him and rounded the bed to the side without all the hoses and leaders stringing from her body. His thighs brushed the mattress. Gone was the white coat and stethoscope and in its place was well-worn jeans and a T-shirt that hugged him as tightly as she wanted to. “Did the nurses tell you to stay awake?”

“Not exactly.” She bobbed one shoulder.

“What did they say?” He leaned close. His eyes leveled hers.

“Get some rest.” She’d look away if she could, but his dark gaze filled her up.

“That’s what I thought.” His lips brushed her nose.

“You just know everything, don’t you?”

“Not hardly.” He winked and straightened.

Panic rose in her chest. She didn’t want him to leave. Not tonight. Not ever.

Beckett’s weighty muscles pressed into the bed. He lifted her gently and scooted her toward the edge to make room for his width. The heat of his arm draped over her shoulders. Larkin’s legs curled into his lap. For shame or not, she burrowed into his side and wedged her swooning head between his shoulder and chin. His beard was long enough that the hairs tickled over her forehead.

“Christ, you feel good right here.” His hold constricted but not too tight. He couldn’t hold her too close. If he wanted, he could smother her, and she wouldn’t fight. He wouldn’t. And that certainty, this comfort, felt better than any drug the doctors could offer.

If Larkin said anything about how she felt, she’d spill the whole damn pot and send him scrambling for the door. She wrapped her free hand around his and squeezed, ignoring the pain it caused in her split knuckles. “How’s Douglas?”

“As worried about you as you are about him. Maybe more.”

His throat rumbled against her forehead. Larkin was so focused on the calming sensation it took the words a second to sink in.

“He’s awake?”

“Boy is he.” His chuckle shook them. “That man was screaming down the hospital to find out about you. When Dr. Crenshaw stepped in and calmed the patient, the nurses were so relieved to have him reeled in, they didn’t ask who the hell I was or why I was there.”

“Dr. Crenshaw, huh?”

“At your service.” He relaxed back into the upright mattress and took her with him. His fingers played over her forearm and the tops of her fingers, carefully avoiding the cuts and bruises.

“Who is he?” Her gaze slid to his. She waited for the sidestep.

“No one. A tool to help me hunt. A false lead made up by the people I work for.”

“Is your name really Beckett?”

“Calder Wayne Beckett, only true born son of Zachary and Becky Beckett.”

She couldn’t fight the smile on her lips.

“She didn’t go by Becky.” Beckett’s smile matched hers. “Since I can remember, everyone has called her Bolt.”

“Bolt?”

“She earned it in basic, beating everyone in speed, be it running, repelling, shooting. Hell, she can still get the drop on me at the range.” His head shook. “It’s amazing, really.”

“The woman who raised you. Gah. She’d have to be amazing.”

“In a lot of ways, the Navy raised Luca, Sam, and me. They taught my parents structure, dedication, and the inability to fail, and they filtered that to us.” His fingers intertwined gently with hers.

She wanted to ask a thousand questions, but what he volunteered was better than an inquest.

“I wasn’t intended. Bolt was, and still is, career driven. She’s one of the highest-ranking women in the Navy.”

That sucked for him.

“After she had me, she closed up shop.”

“You are a lot to handle.” She sighed.

“You have no idea. I was an obstinate shit until they brought Sam home.” He lifted her palm to his lips and slid them over skin that hadn’t ever been so sensitive. “That kid was so puny and beat down he made me realize how good I had it. My parents were always busy and away, but they never tortured me.” His groan heated her collarbone. “They saved Sam, and he saved me.”

“Luca was the goofy glue that held us all together. His dad and mine were in DEVGRU together.”

“DEVGRU?” She hated admitting her ignorance to this man.

“It’s fine. You weren’t raised by people who bleed blue and gold.”

“No, my mom bled Glenlevit and self-pity. And my father, he’d never bled in his life.”

“She killed herself?” His voice was a firm whisper.

“Yep.” Larkin waited for the familiar stab of sorrow. Her breaths came slowly, steadily without a hiccup.

“She didn’t have your strength.”

Her head shook.

“You are the most indomitable woman I’ve ever met, Larkin. And that’s saying something.”

A tear slipped onto her cheek. She didn’t think she had any more tears to give. “Yeah, so strong.”

“Strength is only evident in the face of unimaginable fear.” His thumb dabbed the drop and slipped it inside his mouth.

Larkin rested her cheek against Beckett’s. They breathed together quietly for several moments.

“So DEVGRU?”

“SEAL Team 6?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah.” She wasn’t that out of touch with the world. “Your dad was …?”

“Yep.”

Shit, no wonder Beckett was a beast. It was engrained in his DNA.

“A mission went sideways. Three team members didn’t come home. Luca’s father was one of them. His mother gave up rights at his birth and was never in the picture. Taking him in was the least my dad could do. He felt responsible for his father’s death.”

“He may have been something,” Larkin conceded, “but no one can control the hand of fate.”

“I told him that too. I believed it until it’s one of your own you let down.”

“No,” she breathed.

Beckett pointed at his gnarled face. She didn’t see it anymore. It was a part of him, and she loved every single one harder and harder the more she knew about him.

“We were on a peace-keeping mission near a diamond mine in Botswana. Missiles. Two. They whistled in from above. Hard and fast. They incinerated half a village. Men. Women. Children.”

Larkin covered her mouth. She knew where this was going and hated the points it would take to get there.

“They took out my team. Years. I spent two recovering, remembering everything. It took no time to track down the parties responsible. Money only covers tracks so well. It’s nothing against the well-placed point of a knife. Then I mounted my offensive against them. Disavowed, if I get caught.”

“Bronson.” Larkin’s teeth clenched, shooting pain into her skull.

“His family financed the mission, whether knowingly or not. Bronson gave the okay to wipe thirty people off the map to maintain control of his family’s teetering empire.”

Words wouldn’t form in the vacuums of her lungs. Anger and sorrow created a potent mix that wailed her in the gut.

“Larkin.” He grabbed her hand and pulled it from her face. “Look at me.”

“I can’t.” She averted her gaze. “I … I’m sorry.” Her head shook back and forth. It pounded but not enough to blur the truth. Her friend was a mass murderer. He was the worst criminal she’d ever known, yet she’d been oblivious. Completely oblivious.

No wonder he hated her.

“I used you to get to him.”

“You should have.” She needed to get up. She needed air. Everything crowded in on her. The fear returned, washing over her like a torrent of water drowning her. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Larkin, it’s not your fault.” His hand braced on either side of her face and turned her gently to face him. “I never blamed you. Never.” He pulled her into his side and held her tight as her frantic breaths calmed one at a time.

She shivered and clung to him. His pain became hers. It seeped into her bones and sank its teeth deep.

Beckett stroked the length of her back. His chest moved hers, coaxing her to breathe in time with him.

“I’m sorry.”

“The only thing you should apologize for is making me love you.”

Her eyes blinked open and found his gaze warm and insistent. Some-stupid-how, those words diffused the sorrow and agony. Love. The word had always aggravated her gag reflex, but when Beckett used it, joy and an unfamiliar sense of contentment settled between her heart and sternum. It gave her an added layer of protection from life and all its trials.

“Why would I apologize for that?” she quipped.

“Because you don’t do love.”

“Nope,” she agreed. A silly smile stretched her busted lip. “Not until you.”

“Should I apologize?” He grinned.

“You most certainly should.” Larkin grabbed his hand and held it between hers. “Loving you is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done.”

He lifted her fingers to his mouth and kissed each busted one. “Shit, I’ve been through hell, and I have to agree.”

His lips brushed her forehead. They held each other and stared at the bulletin board that asked her scale of pain from smiley face to red frowning face and announced her nurse’s name as Pam.

“So what now?” Her feet twitched unrelentingly under the covers.

“Now, you sleep. Tomorrow, we get you to Douglas. The next day?” He shrugged. “We’ll deal with it when it comes.”

The spiking heart rate monitor told her sleep was a ways off. “Do you work for the Navy?”

“No.” He turned toward her. “Just to be clear, you love me?”

“Yes.” She giggled. “I love you, Beckett.”

“Okay.” His mouth lined into a smirk. “And you want to try to make this work?” He gestured back and forth between them.

“Oh, my goodness.” She shoved his chest. “Yes.”

“It’s not going to be easy.”

“Then we should give up now.” She nodded. “We only do easy.”

“Sweetheart, sweetheart.” Beckett licked his lips and stared at her mouth. “Once I get you healthy, you’re not going to get away with smart mouth comments like that without consequences.

“I’m healthy.”

“You’re stubborn.”

“No more than you, with your super-secret secrets.”

“True.” His smile faltered. “There will be a lot I can’t tell you, but I’ll share what I can.”

“All right.”

Beckett pressed his lips to her earlobe. Desire crested and overflowed the edges of her restraint with the simple touch.

“I’m an operative for the Base Branch.”

Larkin pressed her lips to his earlobe and sucked the edge of it into her mouth. He tasted as good as she remembered. “I know this will shock you,” she breathed, “but I’ve never heard of it.”

“Not many have.” He lifted her hair back from her ear and moved close once more. “We’re a covert operations branch of the UN with bases and special operations all over the world.”

Calder Beckett was the real deal James Bond minus the accent and adding several feet of muscles and a heap of attitude. She swallowed. “I couldn’t have fallen for a nice Wall Street banker?”

“I don’t guess so.” He winked. “You know a lot of them, huh?”

“Too many.” She snuggled into his side, pulled his arm around her front, and fastened it across her chest.

More than anything, she wanted to stay awake and talk to him all night, but her eyelids scheduled other plans for the evening. They dragged down. Once. Twice. She fought hard. “Where do you live now?”

“I have an apartment in DC and a house in the mountains.”

She envisioned an off-the-grid, hand-built cabin in the middle of dense forest.

“Where are your parents?”

“Why are you dodging sleep?”

She opened her mouth to respond.

“The truth,” he demanded.

Larkin pressed his palm to her cheek. “Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. The anger. His intent to kill me.”

Beckett eased the bed back to lay flat and levered over her. “Look in my eyes, Larkin. Can you see my intent?” His strong, indomitable body shielded her from the world and her demons.

She nodded.

“Sleep. I’ll be here right by your side when you wake.”

“Promise?” Why did she need reassurance when his words and his eyes were enough?

He pressed his lips to hers, too sweetly. “With my whole heart. It’s yours anyway, so I might as well stay with you.”

They snuggled into a tight ball on the small bed. Before the clock’s hand had passed the next quarter of an hour, she slept.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll find it.”

Larkin jerked awake. Agony masterfully beat a rhythm, using her frontal lobe as the instrument. It should hurt in the back. That’s where Lucas had hit her … repeatedly. She thought past the pain to the thing that woke her.

The voice. It was loud. It was close. It was familiar. The voice terrified her.

Was it a dream?

Her vision swam in a murky mix of red, orange, and white. She blinked frantically. A heavy, warm weight settled the frantic pace of her heart. Beckett’s scent filled her nose. His body molded around the back of hers.

The open hospital room door focused in her view. Orange and red clung to the walls as though they’d been painted the rich colors. Last night, they’d been stark and white.

“Thank you. I’m sure.”

The voice ricocheted into the open hospital room door, proving it to be a nightmare.

Larkin turned in Beckett’s arms to see his stunning, sleep-slacked expression and the morning’s sunrise pouring into the room. She placed her palm over his mouth and whispered.

“Bronson is here.”

Beckett’s muscles tensed at the name alone. It skyrocketed her pulse, pinging the machine attached to her finger. Shit. His eyes opened, revealing the devastating gaze she’d come to love. The need to protect him reared its head like a wild stallion in a cowboy’s rope. It wasn’t the first time she’d reacted that way, but it might be the most important. If Beckett got caught, he’d be pegged as a common criminal. If Bronson shot Beckett, she’d go to jail as a common criminal for murdering her former friend.

“Get in the chair.” Larkin shoved him from the bed. She tried. He didn’t budge. The look on his face said hell, heaven, nor earth could make him move. “Trust me.”

He huffed and moved, lightning without the thunder and just as deadly.

“If he hurts you—”

“He won’t.” Larkin pressed the up button on the bed. “Now smile.” She drew a deep breath, held it for three seconds, and then let it out slowly. Necessity forced her mind to Beckett and the most comforting night of sleep she’d had, maybe ever. His arms made all the difference. They bunched, ready to attack, but last night, they’d been tender and adoring.

“You really should take that story to the police.” Her voice filled the room. She flashed Beckett an extreme smile. He schooled his features, must have completely forgotten about her edict, and missed the hint she offered.

A knock sounded on the hospital door.

“I’m sure they need to know.” Larkin winked at Beckett, then turned. She moved slowly to keep her heart rate and headache in check. Bronson’s primly suited frame stood just inside the doorway, giving himself entry before her invitation. A hefty bunch of flowers hung loosely in his hand. “Bronson, come in.”

“Larkin, I …” His gaze slid past her, the injured friend, to Beckett sitting in the closest chair to the head of the bed. “I’m interrupting, clearly.”

“Nonsense.” She waved Bronson in and pointed at Beckett. “Billy was just telling me about what he saw.”

Bronson’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His wingtip scuffed the floor, creating a high-pitched squeak. The light blue gaze she’d known since she was a child narrowed and hopped back and forth from her to Beckett.

“I can hardly believe it, and I lived it.” Larkin lifted a hand to her head and tested the amount of swelling above her eye. Not nearly as bad as it was last night, but the bruising probably matched the deep purple and blue on her fingers.

She let her gaze slide to Beckett. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows against his powerful thighs. His shoulders were set a little off center, giving him an air of relaxation, but his gaze didn’t lie. It studied every nuance. Ones she surely missed.

“I just can’t believe it.” Her gaze shifted back to Bronson. “Do you remember the day we saw you in Central Park?”

“I just wanted to bring these by and make sure you were okay.” Bronson stepped toward her and held out the flowers.

“That day, when he dropped me off at The Ashford, he saw Lucas and Tarin arguing behind the building.” She let her eyes bulge wide; playing the part of shocked victim wasn’t difficult. It still didn’t seem real, and she was forced into another drama before the blood had dried from the first.

“I’m sorry.” Bronson’s head shook. He pointed at Beckett with the flowers she still hadn’t taken. “Who is he?”

“Billy Crete.” Beckett’s calm, nearing voice threw her off balance. Not difficult with a splitting skull. His thick hand extended to Bronson. The point of his beard jutted at the man who used to be her friend, the man who was an enemy to her as much as Lucas.

Over the foot of her hospital bed, the two men exchanged a handshake that could crack nuts.

“And how do you know Larkin?” Bronson wiped the palm of his hand on his pant leg.

“Bronson,” she snapped.

“Intimately,” Beckett offered.

Despite the situation and her physical state, her core heated.

Having delivered his blow, Beckett sat. He reclined, draped his arms across the back of the large chair, and propped a foot on his knee. “Yeah, I didn’t know it was important until I saw the late news last night. Their faces were on the screen big as day in connection with Larkin’s attack.”

“Is it true?” Bronson looked at her, and she didn’t have a clue to which part he referred. “Lucas tried to kill you?”

She nodded and embraced the pain it caused. “And now he’s dead.”

“Dead?” Bronson choked.

“The rat fuck deserved to die.” Beckett slid his foot off his knee and let it hit the floor with a stomp.

The guy she’d known for years and years stared at Beckett as though he’d pulled a gun on him. Bronson, the delicate and refined man who’d traveled the globe and destroyed parts of it with a word and several hundreds, thousands of dollars, had never gotten his hands dirty. And Beckett was the mud. He was the blood. He was the hunter who always got his man.

“Well, I need to get to the office.” Bronson turned to her. “I’ll drop by The Ashford after you’ve had some time to recover.” He headed for the door.

“Beauregard?” Beckett’s voice boomed across the room.

Bronson stopped in the doorway and turned slowly. His eyes brimmed with apprehension. “How do you know my name?”

“It’s New York. Everyone knows your name.” Beckett’s expression didn’t budge.

“What do you want?” A hint of desperation laced Bronson’s tone.

“The flowers?” Beckett’s full beard jutted toward the bouquet still in Bronson’s hand.

Bronson shuffled forward and set them on the meal tray near her bed. “Here.” He bolted as though Beckett was hot on his heels.

Larkin sank back against the bed. Her limbs shook from the adrenaline dump.

Beckett stood and walked to the doorway. He stood there, filling the space for a long minute, and then he turned. A smile unlike any she’d witnessed on his features filled his face and danced in his eyes. “You are amazing.”

“Puh.” She lifted her hand and let the quivering thing do the talking for her.

He stalked forward, grabbed her face, and stared deep into her soul. “I fucking love you, sweetheart.”

A giggle tickled the back of her throat. “Calder Beckett, I fucking love you.”

Beckett sat on the edge of the bed, held her hand, and stroked it. His gaze turned speculative.

“What?”

“Could you get to his phone?”

“I know just the way.”

“How? I don’t want you alone with him.”

“Knowing what I know, he doesn’t want me to be alone with him.” She smiled. “No one loves a party more than the Beauregard’s. And I know just the girl who’ll need an I’m-Not-Dead party. How’s next Saturday?”

His lips sealed over her mouth, giving her all the answer she needed.