Most people referred to rage as fire, hot and burning, like a storm lashing the system. He’d heard it enough from the shrink the Navy used to interview him during the medical review. The woman mentioned how lighting the match on his temper might threaten to consume him. Two problems with that theory; first, the Navy trained him to focus his emotions and to use them as a tool for fueling his work. Disassociation served its purpose in the field, BUD/S having worn the jagged edges of personality to one finely honed blade.

Second, Angel had never experienced anger as a hot emotion. Instead, it settled into his bones like a deep freeze, which then began to ice through his system. The frozen state would slow his blood, cool his knee jerk reactions and give him the singular focus to achieve his goals. Every word Katie spoke incensed him, like compressing a nerve root until dispassion held him in a callous grip.

Nash Guiness. It didn’t even sound like a real name. Yet it gave him a target. Sliding his hand into his pocket, he pulled out his cell. He could make a few calls and begin tracking the bastard. Already in planning mode, he checked the windows and the curtain of white falling outside muddied the ‘daylight’ as if a true shadow lay over the ranch house.

No service appeared in the upper left corner of his phone. No trace of Wi-Fi was being picked up. Did she not have access in the house? Scanning the room, he spotted the phone on the wall, then zeroed back in on Katie. All at once the air solidifying around him released, the pressure a visceral pop against his system.

Her deep brown eyes had gone wide, glassy, and her flushed face pale. She blinked back a tremble of tears, swiping at the few which escaped with the backs of her hands. As angry as he was with the people who’d planted the bombs, he…he couldn’t quite get a fix on the conflict where it concerned her.

“Does the phone work?” Tactical information first.

“Yes,” she said, as though the single syllable took real effort to release. “I—I’m sorry.”

“So you said.” Then he wanted to kick himself for being an asshole. “Don’t—don’t move. Let me make a call.”

“To who?” The question pulled him around before he’d taken even a step. The earlier fear reappeared, and just as suddenly, an image of her fighting as flaming debris and ash filled the air with choking smoke. Pain and terror twisted together in her expression, and even in the fight against a man with easily a hundred pounds on her, she hadn’t given up the struggle.

“To a friend,” he said, softening his tone deliberately. She might not have reacted to the threat the way a trained operative would, but then she wasn’t a trained operative. She was—how had she described herself?—an actress, a singer, and a waitress. “I’m scaring you.” It wasn’t a question.

Katie nodded slowly, then she scraped her teeth over her lower lip. Moira had done that, the act of vulnerability usually indicated his sister was a step away from blowing her top at him or whomever was the target of the act. Chances were, Katie’s lip chewing didn’t mean the same.

Fuck. “I need a minute,” he said, biting off every word. The cold kept him in check, but it didn’t make him friendly. He needed to scale back up the cliff to something resembling human. It didn’t matter if that was his mode or not, Katie needed more from him than the business end of a Navy SEAL on an op. “I have friends back in the city, they can start looking and there’s a cop there—also a friend—who is working the case.”

“No cops.” She hugged herself again, the whites of her knuckles adding another nuance to her abject terror.

“Yes, cops. The men who did this—the guy you were seeing—they’re terrorists and murderers. They killed people.” They’d killed his sister. His twin. Half of him had been sheared away, the ragged ends of his soul cauterized in the same brutal explosion, which was ending his career even as he stood in the frozen tundra of Montana.

“You want me to tell them what I saw,” she said, her assessment accurate.

“Hell yes, I want you to tell them what you saw. I want you to paint for the authorities the picture you painted for me. The people who did this deserve to be punished.” Long, slow, and with extreme prejudice. Dead worked for him, too.

“They’ll kill me.” The words broke on a hiccup. “I came here to get away from them to…”

“You came here to escape your guilt.” Holy fuck man, harsh. Back it off. Biting off the next words, Angel raised his hand, palm forward and sucked in a breath. The ice inside him cracked, acid pouring on the open wound of his loss. “Fuck. Fuck.” He exhaled both words, then refocused his attention on her. “Katie.” He liked saying her name, an incongruous thought if there ever was one. “I can be a jerk, and I’m trying to not be one to you, you don’t deserve it.”

The admission settled something within him, the disparity between how she’d reacted and how he would have. She ran because she didn’t think she had options and he’d chased because he wanted more.

They were a lot alike, but he had training she didn’t possess.

“You came here because you were scared for your life.” A legitimate fear considering the one she called JK had been trying to kill her in the aftermath of the explosion. The guy probably reacted on impulse to cover their tracks, or at least eliminate her as a witness. The latter thought validated her concern further. He might have been successful if Angel hadn’t been there.

A chilling thought.

Meeting her too wide eyes, he took a step toward her and the tension holding his shoulders rigid eased. He needed to avenge the dead, and find justice for his sister, the singular goal kept his grief at arms length. The living innocent, bad decisions or not, was not something he could sacrifice to achieve his goal.

“You ran because you were alone, it was an act of survival. You evacuated the field, and retreated to a safe location.” Though based on how he’d found her, if those guys had any kind of resources, they could track her here to a big house in the middle of a ranch where no one was watching her back. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Katie glanced toward the vegetables he’d sliced, and the burn bacon, then back to him. Her chin lifted, and her hunched shoulders relaxed. The shocky look in her eyes dissipated. “Can I trust you, Liam Knight?”

“Yes, ma’am. You have my word.” The automatic answer flowed easily, he didn’t even have to consider the alternative. As long as there was breath in his body, he’d keep her safe. “And after my phone call, we’ll have backup. I’ll protect you Katie, I didn’t chase you here to hurt you. I need your help.”

She blinked, then blew out a shaky breath. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Then let me believe enough for both us.”

Though she hesitated, and his impatience leaked through the fissure in the ice of his soul, Angel waited. He’d just promised to have her back, but he needed her to believe him. She turned to the window, and seemed to search the storm outside for an answer, and he waited. The woman might be an actress, but the emotions playing over her face seemed to give a voice to whatever thoughts she wrestled with inside.

Patience.

If he pushed her, he could do more damage. Instinct combined with training kept him in place. Even if a part of him wanted to close the distance and put his arms around her, offer her comfort. They weren’t there yet, especially considering the tension salting the smell of burnt bacon in the air.

“I have no idea why I trust you, except you saved my life in New York.” No doubt existed within the statement. “But I thought I knew Nash, I trusted him.” The sting of betrayal did far more damage than a bullet, the wound it inflicted deeper and more insidious.

Crossing the gap between them, he paused at her side and held out his hand. The next step had to be hers. “I’m Liam Knight, I lost more than a career that day. I lost my sister.” He didn’t tell her to inflict more harm. “You lost your faith in the world, and in people. You’ve been deceived, and they hurt you, too. I can’t take back what happened that day, I can’t turn back the clock no matter how much I wish I could. What I can do is give you my word—you’re not alone. I’ll protect you, but I need your help.”

Katie turned those wide eyes on him. “Do you prefer Liam or Angel?” The incongruous question gave him pause.

“Whatever you want to call me, sweetheart. I’ll answer.”

Her mouth curved, the hint of the first smile he’d seen since dread stormed her in the living room. “I think I like Angel—the angel who appeared out of the snow to save me.”

It didn’t fit, at least not the saving part. “You don’t need saving.” The sentiment fit, so he went with it. “You might have when JK was after you, but you don’t need saving now. You survived. You just need a team to go back into the fight with, a partner…me.”

“We don’t even know each other.” Was she asking him or telling him?

“No, but we survived the same battle field.” It wasn’t equivalent to military service. Even the most narrowly known of his brothers among the SEALs were still his brothers. They’d all survived BUD/S. They bonded over their missions, over their service, and over their brotherhood. “SEALs have a saying, ‘the only easy day was yesterday.’”

“As in Navy SEALs?” Suddenly, she focused on him with an intensity, which demanded an answer. The delicate woman had an iron will, not that it was a surprise to him. He’d seen her in a fight. She hadn’t given up. Running isn’t the same as surrendering. She did what she needed to survive… The thought on the heels of the rest sundered the last of the ice shelf blockading his reactions.

Katie was a civilian and an innocent. She’d made some bad calls, but she hadn’t had enough data to make the right ones. No matter what else happened, he’d protect her. It was a promise to himself as much as to Moira. His twin would have long since smacked him upside the head and told him to look at the whole thing, not just the part pissing him off.

“Yes,” he answered her question, wary of the way a smile chased away the shadows in her expression.

“I know you wanted to call your friends, but I need to call one of mine first—not someone in New York,” she added quickly, as if reading his mind. “His name is Hank Patterson, he owns a ranch here in Eagle Rock. If he says your good then…then I’ll do whatever you ask.”

Hank Patterson? Could it be Montana? Really? He knew of the man, hadn’t met him face to face, but the man’s voice had been on comms during one mission. “Go ahead.” Hopefully he didn’t end up regretting the choice. “We need to finish making this food.” With that in mind, he let her circle him to go to the phone hung on the wall while he started the fire again beneath the bacon pan. Loading the strips into the pan, he kept his attention on her and waited.

The old fashioned phone with its spiral cord took him back to days at his grandmother’s place. At least the phone had buttons and wasn’t a rotary. The middle of nowhere was already a little bit out of a fairytale with the storm roaring outside.

“Hi Sadie,” Katie said, a hint of forced cheer in her voice. Forced, only because he found no trace of the emotion in her expression. “It’s Katie Hennessy.” A pause, then. “Yeah, they’re in Europe enjoying their second honeymoon, and having a grand time.” Another pause, before she said, “No, I wasn’t supposed to be home. It was kind of an impulse. Hard to shake the dirt off your boots even after living in the city. Anyway, I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to talk to Hank if he’s there.”

She went quiet. Instead of looking at him, she stared at her feet. After turning the bacon over, Angel followed her gaze. A pink polished toenail was visible through a hole in the top of her right sock. Incongruous as it was, he smiled and then glanced up to find her self-conscious grimace as she caught him looking. The whiteness around her lips eased as her expression gave way to humor. For a split-second, they were in total accord.

Then the smile vanished, and she said, “Yes, sir. I’m here…I’m sorry Mr. Patter—Hank.” With a laugh, she ran a hand over her face. “You were both way ahead of me in school, and I knew Sadie better than you. Still, it made more sense to say sir—and I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.”

The one-sided conversation was alternately amusing and frustrating for him.

“Okay, yes, I’m fine and congratulations to you and Sadie. Mom told me you got married and I’m thrilled for you, but that isn’t why I’m calling.” After taking an audible breath, Katie set her shoulders. “I have a man here named Liam Knight, he has a call sign of Angel. Or maybe it’s a nickname, not really sure how it works. He says he’s a SEAL…”

Good girl. Don’t believe everything you hear now. Some lessons, especially the painful ones, stuck and it pleased him to hear this was one of them.

“Yeah, he’s right here…” Katie lowered the phone from her ear but didn’t cover the receiver. “Hank wants to talk to you.”

“Trade with me so this bacon doesn’t burn.” He’d shredded the cheese, too. They did the little kitchen sidestep shuffle as she handed him the phone receiver. He waited a beat to put it to his ear as she returned to their nearly abandoned breakfast prep. When she took a swallow of the now cold coffee, he bit back another smile. Two more cups got dumped in the sink and she refilled them for the third time.

Their track record for eating and drinking while it was hot sucked.

“Lieutenant Liam Knight, Mr. Patterson.” He knew the man’s rank, if he was the same Hank Patterson, but it was better to check.

“I know the name Angel, what the hell are you doing in Eagle Rock?” The voice was real familiar.

“That’s a story, Montana.”

“I’m listening.”

Switching the phone to his left ear when his right began to ring, he nodded to Katie when she offered him fresh coffee. Leaning against the wall, he watched her get started on their omelets and brought the other SEAL up to speed.

Baring her soul to reveal the depth of her stupidity in trusting Nash and their so-called relationship left her spent. It had also bled her of the tension she’d been cradling since she fled New York. Though Angel detailed what brought him to Eagle Rock. His sister had died in the explosion.

The unimaginable loss he had to have experienced—she’d meant it when she said if Hank could validate him and his story, she’d do whatever she could. It didn’t matter if the idea of returning to New York, of offering evidence and being a witness might get her killed. She’d do it for him and for his sister. When she’d gone to find out what the address, detonate and everything had to do with the apartment and Nash—she told herself she couldn’t imagine what they were doing.

Part lie and part denial. She hadn’t wanted to think it could be possible, yet in truth what the hell else could detonate mean? The first omelet came out fluffy, as did the second. The third batch of bacon was crispy and not blackened. The food was ready, but Angel continued to speak into the phone. His voice dropped and he paced away from her.

Cradling her coffee mug, she leaned against the counter and waited for him to finish the call. If she’d wanted, she could have followed him to the edge of the dining room, which was as far as the cord stretched. Still, if he wanted the quiet to speak to Hank, she’d give it to him.

No matter which way she looked at it, he’d had plenty of opportunities to hurt her. He hadn’t. When she’d admitted her part in the explosion, the anger and the pain in his eyes had been all too real. He lost his sister, by all rights, he should hate her.

“She’s still here,” Angel said as he walked back into the kitchen. “Hang on.” As she had earlier, he lowered the phone but didn’t cover the receiver. “Hank wants to talk to you again.”

After setting the mug on the counter, she motioned to the food. “You should probably eat then or it will get cold on us.” At the rate they were going, they’d cook all the food she had and fail to eat any of it. If the headlines read PAIR STARVES TO DEATH AFTER RUINING ALL THEIR MEALS it would be humiliating.

Biting her lip to hold back the inappropriate laughter, she accepted the phone. His fingers brushed hers, and the warmth sent a tingle over her. “Hi Hank,” she said into the phone, tucking her free hand under her arm.

“You okay, kid?” The ‘kid’ appellation got her. The last time he’d called her that had been during a game, when she’d been hanging out with the pep squad because she was going to try out for them the following year. Only then, he’d asked if she wanted a drink.

“No, not really.” Hank was good people, a local boy who’d gone on to be a hero. Her parents thought he hung the moon. Katie just trusted him the way she did Sadie—they were familiar. “I’m scared.” The word made her feel small, too small and vulnerable. Not feelings she wanted to associate with being home. Standing at her kitchen counter and eating his way steadily through the omelet she’d made, Angel caught her gaze and all she found in those enigmatic gray eyes was sympathy.

“That’s smart.” The compliment from Hank didn’t offer much in the way of comfort. “Sounds like you were involved with the wrong kind of people.”

“Yeah, but they’re back in New York, so I’m safe here, right?” Only after she asked the question did she realize she wanted to hear a response from Angel, too.

“Maybe,” Hank said even as the man in her kitchen shrugged. “The thing is, if Knight could track you down and he didn’t know you, the boyfriend who knows you better will likely be able to find you.”

“I don’t think I ever told Nash Eagle Rock’s name.” That would help, right?

Angel winced, and Hank cleared his throat. “Only one family named Hennessy in Eagle Rock, maybe four in Bozeman? And your dad has people up close to the Canadian border, right?”

Okay, so not smart. “It’s snowing like hell, I’m surprised Angel made it here.”

“I’m not. That said, you listen to him—I had one of my guys run him while we talked. He’s solid, and you can trust him.” Hearing Hank say so, thus confirming her own assessment, took a leaden weight off her shoulders. “Swede and I will be by tomorrow. We’re going to dig deeper into this ex-boyfriend of yours.”

A sour taste coated the back of her throat. “What do you need from me?”

“Everything you can remember about him, birthdate, addresses, employment—even if you think it’s something small, don’t hold back.”

Pushing away from the wall she returned to her coffee cup. Before she could reclaim it, Angel filled it again. “I’ll try to tell you everything I remember.” A part of her didn’t want to confess how many blanks she came up with when Hank first detailed his questions.

An hour later and wrung out from the questioning, she sat on the sofa in the living room and stared at the fire. Angel had gone out to move his truck into the garage at her suggestion. The skies darkened beyond the windows, and it felt like sundown rather than lunchtime.

Storms like these reminded her of long hours spent playing board games with her mom or working on a project with her dad in the tool room attached to the garage. When the weather turned bad, they found ways to do things together. Tears escaped the corners of her eyes, and she swiped at them.

The bump of the sofa next to her sent a skitter of surprise up her spine and she jerked. Twisting, she blew out a shaky breath at Angel sitting there. He’d found a cowboy hat in the garage and it sat on his head sideways, as if he were Napoleon. “What do you think?”

In spite of everything, she laughed. The sound came out little jagged and wet. “That is not how you wear it.” This close, she couldn’t really cover the tears, so she swiped at them again with the back of her hands.

“I know,” he said, adjusting the hat to the proper position before settling his arm on the back of the sofa. “You looked like you needed some absurdity.”

The man had to be grieving, and he was trying to make her feel better? Playing along, she clasped her hands together and said, “You also shouldn’t be wearing one in the house.”

Without further ado, he plucked the hat off and set it on his knee. “Killjoy.”

The insult sparked a fresh wash of humor, then she shook her head. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” He cocked an eyebrow, then glanced at the fire. “Here, hold this.” He dropped the hat on her lap before rising to add some wood and stoke the flames back up. The heat washed toward her like a warm hug rushing out to embrace her. “I fixed the door, sort of. We’ll probably need to wait until the weather passes and put in a new frame, but I found weather stripping in the garage. A fresh layer on the inside will keep most of the chill out.”

Then he turned and looked at her again, backlit by the fire. The image of him, head bleeding and face cut swam up at her from the past. All she’d been able to do in those frantic moments, ears ringing, was scrabble against the grip JK had on her throat. She’d clawed at him, desperately wishing she’d had acrylic tips or something, because at least then she could have scratched the hell out of him. Nothing she had done worked until the man in front of her had risen like hell’s own angel amidst the fire and smoke.

“How do you offer me comfort or try to make me laugh after everything you’ve been through? Why don’t you blame me?”

After dusting off his hands, Angel studied her. The guarded expression he wore fit her expectation more than his goofier earlier action. “I think you blame yourself enough.”

Wait… “Earlier, when I told you that I went to the apartment then down to the square, you demanded to know why I didn’t call the authorities? Not that you were wrong to ask me that, and maybe if I had…” She couldn’t complete the thought, not when her stomach hurt as she remembered the result. No matter where she ran, she’d never be able to escape the image.

“Because going alone into the fire without backup is stupid.” Well at least he didn’t sugar coat it. “You could have been killed. In fact, you nearly were.”

Also true.

“You were also a victim.”

Without intending to, she flinched at the description.

“You were caught in that blast, you suffered for it…you’re still suffering.”

“So are you.” She didn’t deserve anyone’s sympathy. “Far more than I—you lost…you lost your sister.”

Folding his arms, he sighed. “I suddenly understand why Moira would throw her hands up and roll her eyes at me.”

Moira. “Was that her name?” It was a beautiful one.

“Yes,” he answered, then he smiled. “She was four minutes younger than me, but you would have thought she was the older of us. It never stopped her from telling me what to do or why I should feel a certain way. If I was mad at her for something, well then I was obviously wrong and I should have already forgiven her. But if she was feeling guilty about something, and I’d already gotten over it—then she thought I should still be blaming her. You want me to blame you, you want me to hold you accountable.”

All true. Her stomach hurt so bad, she pressed her fist against it and tried to shove it back where it belonged. The hammer of her pulse seemed to echo in her gut. “Someone should.”

“Only for the part where you ran away and didn’t report what you knew. There’s an investigation and you had information. Instead of going to the authorities, you ran away.” Raising his hand, he seemed to be asking for her to wait. It was only then she realized she’d opened her mouth to respond. “It was dangerous to run, you don’t know if anyone else saw you or if your boyfriend is planning to come looking for you.”

“Ex.” He wasn’t done, but it didn’t matter. Nash wasn’t her anything anymore.

“Fine, your ex-boyfriend. So first you ran, second you ran to a place where you’re all alone. What if I’d been Nash out there instead of me?”

“I had my shotgun.” Not really a defense.

“Yes and that ceiling is never going to hurt you again.”

The laugh that escaped her was sharp, and the pain in her stomach eased. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she hoped her face didn’t look as red as it felt. “I’ve been shooting since I was eight years old.”

“Well, you definitely plugged the ceiling.” His expression didn’t twitch, but the corners of his eyes crinkled.

“Now you’re being mean to me.” It was definitely the right thing to say, he released a big, booming laugh and it eased the knots in her belly more efficiently than anything else she’d tried.

“Women,” he said, still chuckling.

Biting the inside of her lip couldn’t stop her own giggle. “Men.” It was weak retaliation, but he left the fireplace and returned to the sofa and dropped down to sit next to her.

As the laughter subsided, they were left alone with only the crackle of the fire. Twice she opened her mouth to say something and both times, she closed her mouth. What could she say that they hadn’t already covered?

Really?