Alexa pressed her ear to the door of the master bathroom but heard nothing.

“Jake? Are you okay?” He’d disappeared into his bedroom within minutes of their arrival and hadn’t come out for over half an hour.

When he didn’t answer, she touched the doorknob and turned it, hoping it wasn’t locked.

It wasn’t.

She slowly pushed open the door and her breath caught in her throat. He was sitting against the bathroom cabinets. One knee was bent, and the other stretched out in front of him on the peach, travertine floors. His eyes were closed, his neck bared to her. Small white tablets scattered over the floor from the open bottle near his right hand.

“You didn’t take a bunch of these pills, did you?”

He rolled his head to the side as his eyes opened, landing on hers. “I didn’t take a damn one of them.”

“Then what happened?” Alexa knelt next to him, not sure what to do. She wanted to touch him—to do something—but she kept her hands pressed to her thighs.

“Don’t worry about it,” he grumbled with a dark edge to his voice.

He was clearly still pissed at her, and how could she blame him? Things hadn’t ended so well last night. “Please, Jake. I’m sorry for last—”

“I remembered why I joined the Marines,” he suddenly said, cutting her off.

Oh.

He reached for the pill bottle and clutched it in his right hand. It wasn’t what she’d been expecting him to say, nor did it explain why there was oxy all over the floor. But he was talking to her, so that was a start. “And?”

He cocked his head and looked over at her. There was so much pain in his eyes that it was nearly impossible to look at him without absorbing some of it.

“My best friend joined the Marines when he was eighteen,” he said slowly with a steady voice. “He got hurt four years in, but it wasn’t bad enough to force him out. He was on leave for a bit . . .” He lowered his head until his chin almost touched his chest, and he heaved out a deep, ragged breath. “I had recently graduated college and was applying to teaching positions. I was wrapped up in all of that and didn’t notice what was happening to him.”

Oh, God. Her eyes drifted to Jake’s beat up cowboy boots, and then over to the pills again as she lifted a hand to her mouth.

“He got addicted to the pain meds, and they discharged him from the Marines. I didn’t know any of this, of course, until I found him with a suicide note clutched in his hand.” His voice fell until it was hardly a whisper. “He overdosed.”

Alexa’s hand swept to Jake’s arm in one fast movement. “You found him?”

He nodded.

“And his death made you want to join the Marines?” She might have done the opposite, to be honest—she would despise the people who stole a friend’s life.

“I hated seeing him go out like that when all he’d ever wanted was to be a Marine. I felt that I’d be honoring him if I joined. I told myself that for every man I could save in the field, that’d be one less soldier lying in a hospital bed. One less potential victim of addiction.”

Wow. “That was bloody brave of you.” She chewed on her bottom lip, and then reached for his hand and wrapped her fingers around it.

“Or maybe stupid. I probably should have taken my rage out on the military instead of on strangers in the Middle East.” He faked a laugh as his gaze swept to their hands. “Now I’m a killer . . . they were nameless people to me, but to others, they were husbands, brothers, fathers . . .” He lifted his free palm to cover his face.

“They weren’t innocent people.”

Jake dropped his hand and gaped at her. “Really? You so sure about that?” He pulled his other hand free from hers and stood, but then clutched his leg, fighting back a grimace as he put weight on the injured leg. “What about this Bekas guy? Were his twin daughters and wife dangerous? And, hell, all the people he’s killed as a consequence of that drone strike are on the military’s hands, too.” He turned and braced the bathroom counter, staring at his reflection until Alexa was on her feet next to him. His eyes flickered to meet hers, and he lifted his hands, staring down at his palms. “How much innocent blood do you think is on these hands?”

She touched the middle of his back. “Jake, you can’t do this to yourself. It will tear you apart. Please.”

“Have you ever killed someone?” His dark brown eyes lifted to hold her gaze once again.

“Yes, but maybe we can save that story for another day,” she said softly and took a step back, kneeling down to the floor to pluck up the pills, one by one. “We should—” She stopped herself when she stood, finding herself alone in the bathroom.

She sighed and went to the toilet and flushed the tablets, staring as the swoosh of water circled the drain. She cupped a hand to her mouth, her shoulders trembling slightly as she focused on the toilet basin. She recalled the memories of her past—of her ex—in a daze. Memories of the one time she had pulled the trigger.

And then the very real sound of gunfire close by turned Alexa toward the door in a panic. She reached behind her back for her weapon as she started for the noise, but realized she wasn’t carrying. She cursed under her breath as she skidded to a halt at the entryway between the hall and living room.

“Get down!” Xander screamed, crawling with his head tucked down. Another bullet tore through the fractured windowpane with a tiny sonic boom.

Trent was crouched on one knee with his pistol extended alongside the sofa. He shifted up for a moment to take a shot out the window, but as he did, there was another loud crack . . . and the dull wet thud of a bullet against flesh.

Trent’s arm lurched back, his Glock smacking the ground as he fell onto the sofa behind him. Blood started to seep from the wound. “Fucking bastard!” Trent shouted.

“Get him out of the line of fire,” Randall shouted to Xander.

Where the hell is Jake?

“Stay here,” Xander commanded to Alexa, and she squatted down and watched with shallow breaths as Randall and Xander grabbed Trent by the shoulders and stooped low as they tugged him over to her.

A whizzing sound—ffsh!—hissed toward the kitchen entryway, and Jake was standing there. He barely flinched as the bullet went right over his shoulder.

“Get down, Jake!” Alexa hollered.

“We need to get this son of a bitch,” Randall said, turning to Xander. “You carrying?”

Xander nodded before reaching for the piece he had strapped to his ankle. “See if you can patch up Trent,” Randall told Alexa, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Jake.

What was he doing, just standing there? Xander’s eyes followed her own.

“Get cover!” Xander shouted, but Jake did the opposite. He rushed to the center of the room and lunged to the ground, snatching Trent’s Glock in stride. As he came back upright, a bullet tore into the hardwood floor where he had been.

“Bloody hell!” Alexa screamed. Xander’s arm was extended in front of her, blocking her as she pushed against her friend, wanting to run to Jake.

“I’ve got him,” Xander said when Jake barreled out the front door.

Did Jake have a death wish? Did he even remember how to fire a gun?

Xander and Randall raced through the kitchen, heading for the back door.

Alexa sank to her knees and pressed both her hands to the wound at Trent’s shoulder, now wishing she had the oxy back. “You’ll be okay.” She kept her hands over the bloody hole as she stared at the open door through which Jake had fled.

A gust of wind suddenly slammed it shut, and she found herself alone with Trent.