CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Annandale, VA
Wednesday, 11:00 a.m.
WEDNESDAY MORNING, AFTER SHE WAS released from the hospital, Valerie stood before Scott’s apartment building, her stomach tied in knots. Scott hovered like a father watching his baby take its first steps, while she moved awkwardly on crutches down the wet sidewalk.
Duncan’s knife had damaged her muscles, nicked her femur, and made her bleed a lot, but she’d been lucky. They both had. Still, she cringed in sympathetic agony at Scott’s broken nose. She wanted to strangle Duncan with her bare hands for everything he’d put them through.
Luckily, she didn’t have to. He was in jail awaiting sentencing. He’d struck a deal in exchange for a guilty plea, so the death penalty was off the table, but no one expected him to get less than a life sentence.
And she and Scott were finally, truly free.
“At least I’m on the first floor,” Scott said, opening a glass door that led to a heated foyer and open staircase.
Yes, thank God, because he’d probably insist on carrying her up the stairs. Which would be nice, but also mortifying.
A trim blonde in her early twenties jogged down the steps in long tights and a fleece jacket, earbuds in her ears. She stopped in her tracks at the sight of them. Her eyes widened in recognition, and she nodded to Scott. “Hey.”
Hers was that careful kind of greeting you give to someone you don’t really know, but see often enough that it would be weird to ignore them. Like the guy who’s always out walking his dog when you go for a run, the cashier at the mini-mart where you shop for late-night cookie dough, the woman in another department at work who likes the same section of the office parking lot.
“Hi.”
The blonde kept her gaze down as she slid behind them and out the door. She was probably making a mental note to verify that her antivirus software was working, and to set her alarm when she got home.
“I think we’re bringing down the property values,” Scott said, pointing at a door to the left marked 1B, his voice half amused, half irritated.
The bridge of his nose was dark and swollen, with a butterfly bandage holding the split skin together, and purple bruises had spread like strokes of paint beneath both eyes. His sun-streaked hair was still shaggy, but he’d shaved this morning, revealing his sharp jaw and high cheekbones. Even his injuries couldn’t hide how handsome he was.
“Having you around should drive them up,” she said.
“Trained killers tend to make people nervous.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open, gesturing for her to enter.
“Injured people make people nervous,” she said. “They feel bad that they’re healthy and can’t help you, and also have an irrational fear that being around you might cause them the same fate.” The crutches were starting to make her armpits sore, but she swung through the doorway into Scott’s living room far enough to let him shut the door behind her.
“Wow.” The living room’s standard white walls were hung with professionally framed photos of all kinds. Arresting black-and-white shots of old bridges and buildings complemented gorgeous color images of waves breaking against a dark cliff and red rock structures from somewhere in the southwest. On the other side of a tan couch, the dining room boasted a thick, rough-hewn wooden table and chairs. “I expected something—”
“Cleaner?”
“No.” She laughed because the place was intimidatingly spotless. No dust, no stains, no clutter. “Plainer.” Gesturing to the pictures, she asked, “Did you take all these?”
“Yeah,” he said, removing his parka to reveal a Lumineers concert T-shirt, and then helping her with her own jacket. He stashed them both in a coat closet stuffed with camera equipment, an electric guitar, and three pairs of running shoes.
“They’re beautiful. They should be in a gallery somewhere.”
“It’s just a hobby.” With his injuries it was difficult to tell, but she could have sworn he was blushing.
She shook her head in disbelief and swayed a little. The pain meds made her a bit lightheaded.
Scott leaped toward her and grabbed her shoulder. “Hey, why don’t you sit down? I’ll get a pillow so you can put your foot up. I even bought Skittles.”
“In a minute,” she said with a laugh. “I want to see the rest.”
His apartment was a typical four-room layout with a bathroom tucked between the kitchen and the bedroom, high ceilings, and maybe five hundred square feet. They ended their short tour in the bedroom, which held a stocky wooden queen bed and matching highboy dresser. An emerald green duvet draped neatly over the mattress, and she imagined them wrapped up in it.
“Are you sure you’re okay with staying here?” Scott asked, studying her with his bruised sapphire eyes. “It was one thing when we were thrown together and on the run, but everything’s different now, and I don’t want you to feel trapped.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, we haven’t even been on a real date, and I’m already asking you to move in with me.” His careless laugh didn’t fool her. The answer mattered to both of them.
She chose her words carefully. “We have a lot to learn about each other. But that’s going to be part of the fun. The little idiosyncrasies and unexpected interests, the weird habits.”
“I don’t have any of those,” he deadpanned.
Valerie grinned. “Right. Me either.”
“Actually, I make origami swans.”
She laughed, not sure if he was serious or not, and balanced carefully on her left foot as she leaned her crutches against the wall. He instantly caught her around the waist for support, and just that touch sent tingles of delight down to her toes.
Running her fingers through the hair at his temples, she said, “I know the things that matter, Scott, and I love you for them. There’s nowhere else I want to be.” Her gaze locked with his. “I’m not afraid of moving this fast, are you?”
He shook his head and kissed her, searing her with his soft, searching lips before breaking away. “Outside of a war zone, no one’s ever fought for me before,” he said, his voice light with wonder. “Not my dad, not my mom, not my sister. But you did. You tried to put yourself between me and Hollowell—which I’m pissed as hell about, by the way—and I don’t even know how to accept that. No one’s ever loved me enough to make that kind of sacrifice.”
Tears threatened, tickling her nose, but she blinked them away. “I’m sorry I was the first. You deserved better.”
“I got the best,” he said, tracing her temple and cheekbone, down to her jaw with the tips of his fingers. “I love you, V. And now that you’re here, I’m not letting you go. You know that, right?”
Thank God. She nodded and gave him a sly look. “So now that we’re living together I won’t need to get on my knees to beg for sex?” Just the memory of her bold move in New Mexico made her warm all over.
Lust darkened his face, and he hugged her close, enveloping her in his intoxicating scent. Warm breath brushed across her ear as he said, “Baby, once you’ve healed, you are welcome to get on your knees anytime—and I’ll be happy to return the favor—but you will never, ever have to beg.”
Over his shoulder, a framed picture caught her eye. It was a print of the close-up he’d taken of her outside of Janus, the wind blowing her long hair back, a huge smile on her face that echoed how she felt right now in his arms. “You framed it.”
He pulled back and followed her gaze, ducking his head. “Yesterday. I promise it wasn’t there before.”
“So is that your way of telling me to grow out my hair?”
He apparently missed her sarcasm because he frowned and grabbed a strand of her short hair between his fingers. “You can do whatever you want with it. You’ll still be gorgeous.” Glancing over his shoulder at the photo, he said, “I just love the expression on your face. That pure joy and sense of triumph. I can see your inner fire in that photo.”
Her inner fire? Maybe the meds weren’t behind her sudden need to swoon.
Scott’s gaze met hers. “My goal is to make you that happy every day of your life.”
She kissed him over and over, lapping at his soft lips until he groaned and held her tighter. “I love you,” she whispered, her body in free fall.
“I love you too.”
“Goal achieved.”
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