Chapter One
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Mac McDonough’s body ached with the need to sink into soft, wet woman.
An escape, no matter how brief, from the constant, throbbing in his shattered leg.
Like an answer to his prayer, a familiar SUV crawled up the rough gravel road. His body tightened. Tara Toomey had offered the last time she paid him a visit, for old time’s sake, but he’d turned her down because he’d still had just enough pride and just enough affection for his old friend not to want to use her like that.
Today, she wouldn’t make it past the door. The thought of her blond flyaway curls wrapped around his dick made his heart thud with anticipation.
As she slowly made her way up the winding, rutted road, Mac McDonough closed his eyes, turned his face into the gusting, humid air, and inhaled the fresh scent of the coming rain—a fierce reminder of just how far he’d come.
Over seven thousand miles and another lifetime.
The cabin nestled high on a ridge overlooking hills covered with live oak and cedar seemed as far removed from his version of reality as the face of Mars.
Sure, the ground was a bed of sand and rock, but the sand was grittier, the grains larger than the wheat flour a Hummer could kick up into the air, leaving a trail that could be tracked for miles across the desert floor.
The air was almost as hot, but filled with so much moisture it felt thick as he dragged it deep into his lungs.
Mac curled his fingers around the porch rail and leaned into it, savoring the solitude he’d needed to heal his soul that no amount of therapy or medicine could compare with.
Only thing missing from the picture was another case of whiskey to help him sink into a stupor to ease the pain-filled tension in his body and shut out the memories that haunted his dreams.
And a woman. Not that he was willing to leave the cabin to go on the prowl for one, but the longer he remained in his self-imposed isolation, the more urgent became the need. Any woman would do—so long as she didn’t want to talk or be wooed. He hadn’t the time or the heart left for either.
Mac sighed. Hell, if all Tara offered him this go-round was whiskey, he might make it through another week before he lost his mind.
The silver SUV ground to a halt. Tara slammed open her door and jumped down from the cab, her arms already opening wide as she approached.
He stiffened automatically as her embrace surrounded him, and then forced himself to relax. “Tara, let’s get it on,” he growled.
Tara flung back her head and laughed. “Soldier Boy, that’s the least appealing proposition I’ve gotten today.”
His arms clamped hard around her lean body. “I’m not kidding. Right here, right now. Let’s do it.”
Her blue eyes clung to his face, and her smile dimmed for just a moment, before stretching wide again. “You’re in a bad way, aren’t you?”
“You gotta ask?” he said, rutting his groin crudely against her soft belly.
Air whistled through her pursed lips. “Now, there’s something I don’t feel every day. Almost forgot you come packin’ some serious hardware.”
“Is that a yes?” he bit out irritably.
Tara gave him another hug then eased out of his arms. “As tempting as your offer is, I’m gonna have to say no. I’m saving myself these days.”
He lifted an eyebrow, not missing the slight blush that painted her cheeks a pretty rose. “Well, fuck.”
She laughed again and whirled, heading back to her vehicle. “Go get off that leg. I brought gifts. We’ll talk.”
Mac cussed again. The last thing he wanted to do was talk. About anything. Especially about anything to do with his returning home. He wasn’t ready.
Fact was, he didn’t know if he ever would be.
He gathered the cane he’d left leaning against the rail and limped into the cabin, heading for the lounge chair and the overstuffed ottoman that had served as his bed more times than the mattress in the cozy room at the back of the one-bedroom cabin she’d lent him.
Tara returned with two grocery bags and set them on the kitchen table. She hummed as she put away her purchases in the cupboard, and Mac closed his eyes, pretending to nap.
When something cold touched his fingers, he peeked from beneath his eyelids and gratefully accepted the tumbler with a double-shot of whiskey on ice.
He raised his glass and gave her a glare that had her chuckling as she took a seat on the small sofa opposite him.
“A toast,” she said, raising her own glass.
“What are we celebrating?” he asked, determined to make the effort to be polite even though his “condition” still screamed for attention.
“To friends,” she replied, her gaze sliding away.
Suspicion raised hackles on the back of his neck, but he remained silent, watching Tara fidget on the sofa as she sought the right words to start the conversation.
He blew out a deep breath, knowing he had to show polite interest. “Lyssa and Brand set a date?”
“They’re waiting for you.”
Mac’s lips twisted. “Tell her to plan it. I’ll walk her down the damn aisle.”
“They want you home first. To stay.”
“Thought Brand had everything under control. They have any more problems with smugglers?”
“No signs, lately. DEA and the Rangers scoured the place and set up patrols up and down this side of the river. They think the bastards moved their route.”
Mac eased back in his chair. “Then he’s got it covered.”
“They’re both run pretty ragged. Brand’s got his own spread to manage; Lyssa’s working yours. Of course, they’re not gettin’ much sleep.”
Mac grimaced, knowing exactly why his baby sister wasn’t getting any rest. “Danny still back at Wasp Creek with his woman?”
Tara nodded, a smile stretched her mouth. “He’s got his hands full. Maggie’s pregnant, and he’s decided to pitch in to run her place.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Pregnant? Is he marrying her?”
“They did it last weekend at the saloon.”
A pang of regret tightened his chest. In that other lifetime, he would have been there. “Good for him.”
“Mac…”
He tensed, knowing she was finally getting to the point of the visit and girding himself to refuse. Saying no to family or Tara tore him up, but he just wasn’t ready to reenter that world.
Too many shadows hovered around him. He felt too tense, too rangy. His mood swings still verged on dangerous. Habits he’d picked up in the desert, instincts he couldn’t turn off, left him feeling out of control of his reactions and emotions.
Maybe if he could get a good night’s sleep, just once without the aid of alcohol… Just one night…
“Go ahead and spit it out,” Mac ground out. “I’ll tell you no. You can nag me to death until you go. Then you can tell the folks at home you tried. But Tara, I’m not goin’ back. Not yet.”
“This is something else…”
The quiet tension in her voice caught his attention.
“…and I don’t know who else to ask…”
He stared into the glass, not willing to see the plea in her blue eyes. “What is it?”
“I have this friend who’s in trouble. Her ex boyfriend’s gonna kill her.”
*
Heavy, dark clouds cloaked the late afternoon sun. Wind whipped the lake’s surface into white, foamy peaks that lapped rhythmically against the long pier.
Mac skirted the boat dock, sparing only a glance at the ducks bobbing on choppy waves with wings tucked close their bodies. He’d parked along a dirt trail and hiked in, wanting to get the lay of the land and see just how prepared the woman was for danger.
If he didn’t get his ass peppered with birdshot, he planned to give the stubborn fool the fright of her life and send her packing somewhere safe, somewhere law enforcement could do its job.
He’d have things wrapped up here in just a few minutes and head back to the cabin to ice his aching leg, content that he’d taken care of Tara’s friend. Then, maybe, she’d leave him the hell alone.
With an eye toward natural concealment, he scanned the trail leading up to the woman’s small vacation home. Trees hid the view of the dock. Anyone in a boat could tie off and make it all the way to the small clearing surrounding the cabin before he’d be seen.
He pushed aside a branch and peered into the clearing. The small stone and wood cabin sat nestled at the center. Surrounding the weathered structure was grass gone to seed. Overgrown rosebushes sprawled against the porch, heavy red blossoms weighing down the leggy stems so the petals fell like droplets of blood across the front steps.
The front door stood wide open.
An overturned bucket lay in front of the door, and water dripped down the porch steps.
His heart pounded inside his chest, and he reached behind him for the Glock he’d tucked into his pants.
Maybe he was already too late. Just like Baghdad.
He’d told Tara he was the wrong man for the job. Hell, these days he didn’t feel like much of man at all.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, he crouched low, praying his knee wouldn’t collapse and pitch him into a sprawl on his face. He then made his way as quickly as he could to the side of the cabin.
Except for the sifting wind and the endlessly lapping waves, silence fell around him. His heartbeats slowed, his breaths evened out, and once again, he was outside The Green Zone, stalking unknown horrors through dusty, littered streets.
Mac shook his head to clear his thoughts, focusing on now, on the woman Tara had described as a “Babe in the Woods”—so unprepared for what was happening that she’d fled a safe house for the relative openness of her vacation refuge.
One her stalker knew all too well.
Mac climbed the porch at the side of the house, dragging his healing leg up each step. Then he pressed his back against the pale-yellow siding and made his way carefully toward the front door, peering around window casings into the shadowed interior for signs of an intruder.
At the doorway, he raised his weapon chest-high, sighting down the barrel as he quickly turned the corner and entered the house.
A crash toward the back had him hurrying as best he could, stopping at each doorway to make sure each room was clear before arriving at a brightly lit kitchen.
Pausing just outside, he sucked in a deep breath then rounded the corner, his weapon pointing straight ahead.
He drew down on a woman whose wide, frightened eyes stared at him over the barrel of a shotgun.
Shit! Mac turned his weapon toward the ceiling and raised his left hand. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Suki Reese’s tongue swept out to wet her lips. Her stare never wavered. “Put the gun on the floor in front of you, or I promise you’ll have a hole where your heart beats now.”
For some inexplicable reason that line amused him, tugging at the corners of his lips. “Bending that far might be a problem.”
A frown formed a crease between her brows. “Why’s that?”
“My leg’s got pins holding the bones together. I don’t bend very well.”
Her brown gaze glanced quickly down his body. “You made it this far.”
Mac gave a slight shake of his head. “Pure adrenaline got me here. Saw the bucket overturned on the porch. Thought I might be too late.”
“I dropped it when I heard you coming.”
He snorted. “Did I make that much noise? Must be losing it.”
“I’m a little jumpy. Any sound at all…”
Something Mac could definitely relate to.
Her eyes narrowed further, and her fingers tightened around her gun. “Who are you?”
He eyed her rigid tension, hoping she really did know her way around a gun. “Mac McDonough. Tara Toomey sent me to fetch you.”
Her dark brows shot high. “Fetch me?”
He nodded slowly.
Her expression tightened. “I’m doing just fine on my own. So, you can head out the way you came.”
“How about we talk?” Mac couldn’t believe he’d just said that. To a woman drawing down on him. “Do you even know how to use that pea-shooter?”
“I chambered two shells while you shuffled down my hallway. And you’re so close, it won’t matter if I don’t hit exactly where I aim.”
Mac nodded. “Guess you do know how.” Keeping his expression as unthreatening as he could, given the scar streaking down one cheek, he said, “Look my leg feels like it’s on fire. Can I take a seat?”
Her expression underwent a subtle shift. Worry drew her brows together, while her eyes narrowed further. She took two cautious steps toward him. “Hold the stock by your thumb and forefinger and hand the gun to me.”
Despite the ache in his leg, Mac was starting to enjoy the situation, even saw the humor in the fact a woman had gotten the drop on a soldier who’d survived months living by his wits in a war zone.
It also didn’t hurt that she was easy on the eyes.
Of mixed Anglo-Asian descent, her glossy black hair fell to just below her chin. Large, almond-shaped eyes glittered with deadly intent. Her lips pressed together, but still managed to pout because her upper lip was full and bowed. Her skin seemed unnaturally white—as though the blood had drained from her face from fright.
Damn Tara, anyway. She’d known exactly what she was doing when she’d turned him down. The ache in his leg paled now in comparison to the uncomfortable fullness in his groin.
Mac shrugged, turned his weapon slowly and held it out for her to snatch away. Unarmed, he turned his back on her, trusting she wouldn’t change her mind and put a “hole where his heart beat” while he walked unsteadily to a kitchen chair.
He’d left his cane in his rented car. Thought he’d be back in minutes and could gut out the discomfort. Looked like he was here for at least as long as it took to talk some sense into the stubborn woman.
Lowering himself slowly, he waited while she edged toward the phone on the counter, hit the speaker button, and then another speed-dial number.
Tara’s cheerful voice answered moments later, music playing in the background. “Honky-tonk, how can I help you?”
“Tara?” Suki began, an irritated edge in her tone.
“Suki! Did Mac make it over there before dark?”
Suki’s frown deepened into a dark scowl. “You knew he was coming?”
“Describe him just to be safe.”
Suki rolled her eyes, and then swept him slowly with her pointed gaze. “Over six-feet tall—”
“Six-three,” he said silkily, warming to the exchange.
“Dark brown hair with glints of red, cut short like a marine.”
“I’m not a damn jarhead,” he growled.
She grunted. “Sour disposition. Bossy as hell. Needs to shave. Oh, and walks with a limp.”
“That’s him, all right. Didn’t I call to tell you he was on his way?”
Suki’s eyes narrowed further. “No.”
Tara’s snort was pure theater. “I thought I had. Must have gotten busy. You didn’t shoot him or anything did you?”
“No. Gotta go.” Suki ended the call and, at last, lowered her gun. “Guess you’re who you say you are,” she muttered. “Now, get the hell out of here.”
Mac stared steadily at the woman who seemed just as determined as he was, or had been, to go it alone. Taking a closer look, he noted the deep shadows under her eyes and the slight tremor of her hand as she set the weapon on the counter and flipped on the safety.
She was too thin, her movements just a little jerky. She was at the end of her strength and badly in need of rest and relief from constant fear.
Again, something he understood only too well. But he sat square in the middle of Texas, not Tikrit or Fallujah. It was a goddamn crime a woman should be scared out of her mind by some asshole who didn’t have the cojones to face her in the open or the right mind to just let her go.
Mac drew a deep breath, arguing good and loud with himself about the merits of getting involved with someone else’s little war when he hadn’t managed to throw off the shadows that haunted him from the one he’d been ripped out of three months earlier. One more glance at her shadowed eyes and tight lips, and he knew he was sunk.
“Suki, have a seat. I’m not goin’ anywhere. We need to talk.”