Collateral Damage (24 page)

Expelling a deep breath, she lowered the card and turned around to scan the street. If he’d written the card personally he could have delivered the flowers himself. Maybe he’d texted her when he realized she wasn’t home. If so, he could still be nearby.

But she didn’t see his truck anywhere on her street, and though he wasn’t one to avoid conflict when it came to getting something he wanted, he’d obviously realized she’d been serious about not wanting to see or talk to him. He’d probably made a tactical retreat and was biding his time before initiating the next foray in whatever campaign he’d dreamed up.

She shook her head at his stubbornness, suddenly feeling exhausted. Bending to scoop up the flowers, Honor vowed to use whatever time remained to shore up her mental and emotional defenses against him. Because she knew sooner or later Liam would run out of patience and show up on her doorstep before he left town.

She’d best be prepared.

****

In the darkened family room just off the kitchen he lay sprawled on his leather couch, staring out the window overlooking the tiny, fenced-in backyard of his house on base. The booze he’d consumed had long since worn off and now he just felt like shit warmed over. Out in the carport his recycling bin was full of beer cans and bottles of Jack Daniels and he hadn’t bothered trying to hide them this time. He didn’t give a fuck what his neighbors thought.

In fact, he’d long since stopped giving a shit what anyone thought of him.

Tipping his head back on the arm of the sofa, he thought yet again about the pile of shit his life had become. Especially lately, since they’d come back home. Not that this empty shell of a house felt like a home at this point. His slut of a wife was moved out and no doubt currently banging her rich banker boyfriend she’d found while he was overseas.

He hated her and his career in the Army. Hated his job, the people he worked with and for, but especially Ms. Girard.

That sanctimonious bitch was the reason he was at risk of being axed in the first place. She’d probably fucked her way to her current position. It was the only explanation he could come up with as to why she kept getting promoted and he got left in the dust. It infuriated him that he had to be subordinate to a female, let alone one like
her
.

Girard thought she was fair, when in reality she was anything but, and she was an exacting bitch to boot. Nothing was ever good enough; nothing was ever done to her satisfaction. She always had some sort of criticism about his work. Didn’t matter that since her promotion to warrant officer she hadn’t micromanaged him as much as she used to, he knew she still checked up on him with the NCOs all the time and it drove him nuts.

His mouth twisted as he thought about how fake she was with everyone. She pretended to be one of them, pretended to care about them, but she was only in it for herself and he was sick to death of putting up with her bullshit, holier-than-thou attitude.

From day one she’d given him the worst shifts and the shittiest jobs, always passing him by when it came to recommending guys from their unit for a spot in an overseas military work exchange program that would allow him to escape his pitiful surroundings and let him stretch his wings a little. Instead of supporting him and helping nurture his career, she’d clipped his wings and grounded him.

The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that she was to blame for his current predicament.
She’d
driven him to this point in his life.
She
was the reason he now wrestled with his conscience on a daily basis for what he’d done. For what he’d involved himself in, and what he’d already agreed to do in a week’s time.

It was too late to get out now, he was locked in. Even if he admitted what he’d done and warned everyone, the men who’d paid him for the intel and expected him to go through with his part of the attack would eventually hunt him down and kill him. Though chances were he’d be in jail within hours of opening his mouth about the plot anyway, he couldn’t risk it.

There was no way to deny his involvement once he told them about the plot, especially once they started digging. The FBI and countless other intelligence agencies would be all over him. He’d spend the rest of his miserable life rotting in some maximum-security prison like a discarded animal.

His jaw clenched. That’s all he was to his wife and people like Girard in the Army: garbage, to be cleaned out and discarded.

Agitated all over again, he sat up quickly, pushed to his feet and began pacing the length of the room as the familiar swell of anger rose inside him.

No. No going back, only forward. The money they’d paid him was already long gone to cover previous gambling debts, and if he lived through the attacks and managed to get out of the country as he’d been promised, the remainder of what they owed him would allow him to start over elsewhere. He’d have a new life, one he wouldn’t screw up.

He refused to feel guilty for what was coming or the collateral damage it would cause. He wanted to punish the Army. He wanted to punish Honor Girard, too, make her suffer for what she’d done to him.

The plan he’d been toying with over the past several weeks began to take shape in his mind again. Once the attack was underway everyone would be caught up in the chaos, they’d be too preoccupied with their own safety to worry about anyone else.

He would find out Girard’s schedule that day and make sure he was there waiting when the attack went down. That bitch was going to pay for everything she’d done to him—with her life.

Honor left work two days later with a killer headache and a seriously bad mood. On top of dealing with one hassle after another all day, the parts they’d been waiting on for more than a week for a high priority job had finally arrived—missing half of what she’d ordered. The repair was already ten days past the expected completion date; now it would be at least ten days more before they could finish up.

Add in that she’d been scrambling to shunt soldiers over to Smithers’s crew since Ipman was out of action with his busted hand and on a short mandatory leave while his legal situation was being looked into. Andrews had called in sick, and with all that going on, little wonder it felt like her head was in imminent danger of exploding.

On the plus side, at least she’d been saved from dealing with any more drama from either of her two troubled soldiers today. Liam had called and texted again as he had every day since arriving back, but she hadn’t answered.

As always the traffic was heavy on the I-5 as she headed north away from base. With the A/C blowing across her face she rubbed a hand over the back of her neck and rolled her head from side to side in an effort to ease the tension in her neck and shoulder muscles. She needed some aspirin, a hot bath to soak in, and her bed. In that order.

But when she arrived home and pulled around to her parking spot, the sight of Liam’s truck out front made her heart stutter in her chest. Simultaneous jolts of dread and elation shot through her, increasing the relentless pounding at the base of her skull and pushing the headache to the razor-thin edge between severe pain and migraine.

Shit. Why tonight of all nights,
she thought with a mental groan.

On some level she’d known this was coming, but while she wasn’t exactly surprised to see him here, she wasn’t fully prepared, either. For the past five days he’d sent random texts throughout the day and tried calling several times, though she’d never called him back.

In the messages he told her he missed her, apologized again and stirred up old memories when he mentioned things they’d done back when they were together. Happy or funny things that pulled a grudging smile or even a chuckle out of her.

Liam wasn’t the most romantic guy in the world, not even when they’d been together, but he’d sure been trying hard this week. Since leaving the flowers on her doorstep he’d also sent treats like a chocolate-covered fruit bouquet, a certificate to her favorite nail place for a pedicure and an online gift card to feed her reading addiction. She recognized the effort he was putting into wooing her into talking to him, and dammit, yeah, a small part of her was hopeful that he realized what an ass he’d been and that he really did want to get back together.

Her logical side wanted to bitch slap that romantic part of her into unconsciousness.

The nail thing made her suspicious too. They hadn’t been together for a long time so there was no way he could know where her favorite place was. He had to be getting help. Her money was on Devon.

The wooing period hadn’t lasted long. As she’d suspected, he’d finally run out of patience and was here to talk in person, putting action to words about wanting to talk. She still wasn’t ready to let him past her defensive shields though.

She parked her car beside his truck and spotted him standing on the front step of her townhouse. Wearing dark jeans with his arms folded across the front of his light blue button-down, he met her gaze and gave a little smile of greeting that made her stomach flip.

God, she just wasn’t up to this right now.

Honor sighed. Much as she didn’t feel like doing this tonight, she had no choice. He wasn’t going to give up until she made him, and avoiding this would only put it off until later. They might as well talk tonight and get it over with. Didn’t matter if he wanted to get back together; she couldn’t risk it.

So resigned, she headed up the front walkway. The cement radiated heat up at her from the sunshine it had absorbed, but she was more aware of those intense green eyes on her every step of the way.

Liam pushed away from the wall as she approached, his sheer physical presence making the front stoop seem way smaller than it actually was. As always, he looked good enough to eat, and that wasn’t something she wanted to be thinking right now.

“Hey,” he said, his gaze running over her and coming to rest on her face.

“Hi.” She stopped five feet from him, steeled herself. “Guess you didn’t like taking no for an answer, huh?”

The barest hint of a smile curved his lips. “Night Stalkers never quit,” he murmured, reciting their regiment’s motto.

You quit on us
, she thought bitterly, but held the words back because she knew they were hypocritical. She’d quit on them first, after all.

Stepping past him, trying and failing not to notice his clean, spicy scent, she put the key in the lock, her whole body buzzing at his nearness. “Come on in.” She couldn’t muster any enthusiasm in her response though.

Wordlessly he followed her inside and stood by the door while she disarmed the security system. She didn’t bother trying to conceal the code when she punched it in because she hadn’t changed it since they’d been together.

After setting her bag down on the tiled entry floor she headed to the kitchen with him right behind her. He sat at a barstool at her small kitchen island while she went for the cupboard where she kept her medical supplies.

“Bad headache?” Liam asked.

“Killer,” she answered, pushing up on tiptoe to reach the bottle she needed. “So how long are you in town for?”

“Few weeks if all goes well. Maybe longer. It was a last minute decision to send us back for a joint training exercise, that’s why I didn’t tell you sooner.”

So he’d likely be back overseas within a month. “Ah.” Taking two extra strength tablets out, she filled a glass with water from the tap and used the time it took to swallow them and drain the glass to clear her head and brace for what was coming.

Turning back to face him, she barely smothered a gasp and reared back to find him just steps away from her rather than over at the island. No, no, no, she couldn’t stand for him to touch her. God, she hadn’t even heard him move.

At the way she recoiled Liam stopped dead, hurt flickering in his eyes for a moment before he masked it. Studying her with that piercing gaze of his, he finally slid his hands into his front jeans pockets and nodded toward the stairs. “Go on up and take a bath.”

Her heart beat an erratic rhythm. “I’ll be fine when the meds kick in.”

“Which could take up to half an hour, and I can tell how bad this one is because your eyes are all glassy. Go. This can wait. But I’m staying until you feel better.”

Part of her wanted to argue that she could take care of herself, but she was in too much pain to bother wasting her breath. She knew he’d stay no matter what she said, to make sure she was okay. “’Kay,” she relented, glad for the reprieve. “I’ll be down in a while.”

He held her gaze. “Take your time.”

Temporary stay of execution granted.
Head pounding, she walked past him and fled up the stairs without a backward glance.

****

Sprawled out on Honor’s living room couch, Liam tried to focus on the show he’d flipped to on the TV and couldn’t. He was too aware that she was upstairs naked in her master suite tub right now. So close but thousands of miles away from him emotionally. He could feel her detachment and it scared him.

From the outset he’d known this wouldn’t be easy. He’d hurt her again and again and now the tables had turned once more: him wanting to reconcile and her wanting to keep her distance. Full fucking circle in the giant mess he’d made. There was a certain bitter irony to it that even he couldn’t miss.

The e-mails he’d sent her hadn’t been the greatest way to open up communications, and yeah, the apology he’d written probably didn’t hold much weight, but he’d needed to start somewhere. She hadn’t responded—not exactly a surprise—and he’d been sent on mission after mission so he’d waited until they touched down on U.S. soil before sending her the text that he was back. Her chilly reception to that news had gone pretty much as he’d expected, so he’d commenced phase two in his plan to win her back.

After a week of going the traditional courting route and still getting nowhere, he’d enacted the next phase: coming over to talk to her face to face. While he hadn’t expected her to be overjoyed to see him standing on her doorstep, her almost resigned expression when she’d noticed him had dimmed the hope he’d been nursing over the past few weeks.