Nobody's Hero (7 page)

Adam’s mother had been able to protect him
when he was young, but as he’d grown older his father’s rages had
grown more violent. He’d used Adam as a punching bag a couple
nights a week. At least on those nights he wasn’t punching on
Adam’s mom. A new image flashed across his mind. Even though it was
there for only an instant, he knew the memory would be imprinted on
his brain forever.

Blood.

The floor was covered in blood. Adam’s
father lay face down on the carpet, his mother lying next to him,
shaking uncontrollably, dazed. Adam looked again at his father’s
lifeless body. This man once had pummeled Adam so badly his mother
had to take him to the emergency room. Now he looked weak,
inconsequential, his life’s blood draining from a gaping hole in
the back of his head—and Adam didn't care.

He looked down at his side and saw the
bloodied baseball bat gripped in his hand.

So much blood. What had he done? He let the
bat fall from his hand.

Adam’s hands began to shake. Instinctively,
he knew this wasn’t a dream or a fiction. Hell, he knew everyone in
the scene.
Jesus fucking Christ
. What had he done? Had he
killed his father? Not that the bastard didn’t need killing. But
how could he have forgotten or blocked out a scene like that?

Is that why he’d been running his whole
life?

At some point, he realized the stain on the
sheet in his hands was long gone and stopped scrubbing. Twisting
the excess water out of the sheet, he wadded it up and tossed it in
the hamper, wishing he could discard the bloody memory as easily.
He washed his hands, but the blood wouldn’t wash away. It never
had.

He’d had blood on his hands for thirty-four
years.

Too exhausted to make up the bed, he stripped
off his shirt and sweats and stretched the top sheet out, easing
himself down on the pillow and avoiding getting anywhere near
Karla’s side of the bed—
Wait.
Karla didn’t have a side of
the bed. It was
his
fucking bed.
Only
his. That was
just the way he intended to keep it.

He covered his eyes with his forearm and
tried to force himself to relax. To sleep. After a few minutes, he
groaned and wrenched his arm down, pushing himself up as he swung
his legs over the side of the bed. The pull of the muscles in his
back told him to slow down.

But he knew sleep wasn’t going to come, no
matter how exhausted he was. Just as well. The long-buried demons
had been unleashed and would consume him if he dreamt anymore
tonight. They were just too close to the surface. They’d even
brought reinforcements this time.

He put his sweats and shirt back on and
walked to the French doors, opened one, and stepped out onto the
balcony patio. The cold blast of mid-October air shocked him awake,
which was just as well. He wanted to feel again, be on full alert
for the first time since he’d been attacked on that mountain.

Adam toyed with the idea of getting into the
hot tub to release some of this tension under the extreme pressure
of the jets, but he’d be damned if he’d risk Karla seeing his old
scars, much less the fresh ones. Fortunately, she bought the
argument that Marc would be better at cleaning and dressing his
wounds, with his Navy corpsman and SAR training, so he’d kept her
from seeing them so far.

Standing at the wrought-iron railing, he
looked up at the sky but could barely make out a few stars—or maybe
they were planets—dimmed by the glow of the city’s lights. An
ambulance siren sounded in the distance, sucking him right back
into the nightmare of that night again.

Adam tried to help his mother up, but she
screamed in pain. She’d been injured. He needed to call an
ambulance.

“
Just bring me the phone. Then take the
money in the bureau and leave.”

Adam looked at his father again. No sign of
life. Dead.

He’d killed his father.

No wonder his mother wanted him gone. He
followed her instructions to a T and left.

He ran.

* * *

Watch over him. He needs you.

Sitting up in her bed a short while later,
Karla couldn’t ignore the voice that had first come to her mind
nine years ago. She knew it was a woman’s voice but didn’t
recognize her as anyone she’d ever known. No matter. Getting out of
bed, she pulled an oversized T-shirt over her nakedness and left
the room to cross the hall. She knew what she had to do.

When Adam didn’t answer her knock, she eased
the door open and her gaze swept the master suite. No Adam. Maybe
he’d gone downstairs for something to eat or drink. She should have
gotten it for him; some nursemaid she was turning out to be. An
image flashed across her mind of Angelina in the sexy nurse’s
outfit Adam had bought for her two weeks ago, following Marc’s
explicit instructions in the man’s efforts to win back the woman he
loved. What would Adam think if she showed up in his bedroom
wearing something like that? She giggled as she imagined the
strangled look he’d give her. And then he’d order her back to
Chicago.

Seeing the bed had been stripped of its
bottom sheet, her face grew warm as she realized she must have left
a stain with her virgin's blood. She should have been the one to
strip the bed and clean it up. Wanting to provide him with clean
sheets to sleep on when he came back to bed, she went to the
hallway cabinet and pulled a set out, then returned to the bedroom.
Knowing Adam, he hadn’t wanted Marc to see the telltale bloodstains
when he came in to check on his friend in the morning tomorrow.
Good thinking. At least one of them was still thinking clearly.

Standing up after completing her task, she
glanced toward the patio doors and saw the shadow of a tall figure.
Her heart jumped into her throat for a moment, until she realized
who it was. Adam. Where was his coat? Didn’t he know it was
freezing out there?

She picked up a fleece throw from the back of
the glider chair she loved to sit in, usually when Adam was gone,
and carried it toward the balcony door. The door hadn’t been closed
completely, so she pushed it open on silent hinges, slipped
outside, and closed the door quietly before crossing the expanse of
the balcony patio. Adam hadn’t acknowledged her presence, but he
had to know she was there. He was always on full alert and his pain
pills had to have worn off by now. He clearly just wished she’d go
away.

No such luck, love.

Lord, it was frigid out here. Felt like snow
in the air.

Karla placed her hand on his shoulder. In a
blindingly fast and fluid movement, he turned and swung his elbow
at her temple. Her self-defense training kicked in automatically.
Before she realized she’d even moved, she had executed an up block,
grabbing his arm in a firm grip, then pushed him against the
wrought-iron railing. He winced, causing her to remember too laet
his wounds. But knew if she let him go, he might still strike out
at her blindly.

“Adam, it’s me. Karla.”

The glazed look in his eyes scared her, and
he continued trying to escape her hold.

Fear. Anger. Disgust.

Her breathing came in short, rapid bursts.
“Adam, look at me.” When he quit struggling, she relaxed her hold.
Both of them struggled to fill their lungs. She reached up to
smooth the lines from his forehead.

Slowly, his focus cleared and he reached up
to stroke her cheek. “God, woman, don’t you know you should never
sneak up on a Marine? What are you doing out here?”

He’d called her woman. She smiled.

“I didn’t sneak; you were just a million
miles away. I didn’t want to disturb you, but you need to stay
warm. It’s freezing out here, and I don’t want you to get another
infection.”

“I’m always too warm. Besides, I don’t need a
mother hen.”

No kidding. What you need is a wife. You
need me.

She wanted to wrap the throw across his
shoulders, but he was too tall. “Bend over.”

“Come again?” He grew rigid and stood even
taller, placing his fists on his hips, elbows jutting out, to
further intimidate her, as if his six-two frame and broad shoulders
didn’t already dwarf her five-ten skinny one.

She grinned. “Oh, relax, Adam. I just want to
put this around your shoulders to keep you warm.”

“I said I’m not cold.”

Karla felt a shiver go through her own body,
and Adam took the throw from her hands and cocooned her in it
instead. Always taking care of her. She decided to take advantage
of his nearness and wrapped her arms around him, forcing him to
reciprocate to keep the blanket from falling off. She felt the
scarred back under his thin shirt.

“Oh, God, Adam. I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“I’d like to see the day when a little thing
like you can hurt me, kitten.”

She smiled, but was extra careful to hold
onto his lower back, avoiding the bandages. She rested her head
against his shoulder. God, it felt so good to be in his arms.

However, he remained tense. She slipped her
hand under the loose tail of his shirt and rubbed the hot skin on
his lower back. His skin always felt like an oven, but there was a
hot spot just above the base of his spine that felt like a heating
pad.

After the longest moment, his arms tightened
around her and he held on tight, as if she were his lifeline.

Trust me, Adam.

“I’m here for you, Adam.”

“I didn’t hit you, did I?”

“Oh, Adam, quit worrying about me. I’m not
made of porcelain. Remember, you made sure this woman could defend
herself against anyone who might try to do her harm.” In one of his
letters after he’d returned from Iraq, he’d insisted she take
martial-arts training before she moved to New York to attend
college. She wasn’t sure if he was more worried about violent thugs
on the streets or amorous boys in the co-ed dorms.

“God, if I’d ever hurt you, I… Just make your
presence known next time, even if you have to hit me over the
head.”

“Yes, sir.”

He tensed. Did he think she was calling him
Sir as a Dom? She smiled. Maybe they should talk about that
next—but not while she was standing out here freezing. “Let’s go
inside. I’ve got your bed all made up. You need to get some
sleep.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Then we’ll talk.”

Adam stopped breathing. Ah, so he didn’t want
to talk either. Too bad, because it definitely was what he needed
to do.

“Talk about what?” His defensive tone made
her grin, knowing he couldn’t see her.

“I’ll tell you when I get you inside.” She
released her hold on him and took his hand, holding the throw
together over her breasts with the other, and led him toward the
door. The fact that he followed willingly surprised her. Whether he
knew it or not, he needed someone to talk to. He’d been alone with
his pent-up emotions for too long.

Inside the room, Adam stopped. “Maybe I could
catch some shut-eye, after all.”

Karla bit the inside of her lower lip to keep
from grinning and looked up at him. “Fine. I’m tired, too, but I
don’t want to be alone right now. I’ll join you.”

The trapped expression on Adam’s face nearly
sent her into a fit of laughter, yet she managed to keep herself
from gloating over his growing discomfort. “Look, Karla, I don’t
think—”

“You aren’t going to keep running from me,
Adam. Talk or sleep. Your call.”

His gaze went from the empty bed to the
armless glider. Yeah, the glider would be less threatening for him,
because he didn’t know where Karla intended to sit. She took his
hand and walked with him to the cushioned glider. “Come on. Sit
down. We can start here.”

He sat and looked up at her. “We?”

She gave him a moment to sweat, then sat in
his lap.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Am I hurting your back?”

“No.”

“Well, then, I do. I like sitting in your
lap. I’ve been wanting to do it again ever since you held me on the
loveseat in your office when I first came to the club…”

Thoughts of what had brought her here wiped
the smile from her face. Adam’s hand stroked her back in long
sweeping movements. This wasn’t supposed to be about her sharing
about her past hurts, but she felt such a sudden and overwhelming
ache in her heart for Ian, her dead brother.

“Does it ever get better?”

“What’s that, hon?”

“The pain you feel when you think about
someone you’ve loved and lost.”

He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her
head against his shoulder. “A little bit. The pain never goes away,
but it dulls with time. Just takes a very long time.”

Karla laid her hand over Adam’s heart to feel
it beating, giving her strength. Losing a spouse had to be an even
greater loss than losing a sibling. She’d never heard Adam say much
about Joni. From what she’d read online about the stages of grief,
while trying to cope with her own grief over Ian’s death, she knew
talking about the loved one was important to help someone get
through the process. Was Adam as stuck in the grieving process as
she was? Maybe he needed to talk about Joni. He kept so many things
bottled up inside. That wasn’t healthy. “Express, not repress.”

“What?”

She hadn’t realized she’d quoted the movie
line out loud. “In one of my favorite movies,
French Kiss
,
Kate tells Luc that he needs to express his feelings, rather than
repress them and let them fester.”

“Chick flick.”

“Yeah, but a good one. We’ll have to watch it
together sometime.”

He grunted in a noncommittal way. Somehow she
doubted Adam would be into watching it with her. No biggie. She’d
rather French kiss him than watch a movie by that title. She
suppressed a giggle, then sobered as she remembered why she was
sitting in Adam’s lap.

“Tell me about Joni.” His heartbeat sped up.
Don’t run from me, Adam
.
You can do this.
Maybe she
should start with something safe. “What did she look like?”