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MARITAL INVESTIGATION

With one accusation, army officer Cassidy Matthews’s name, reputation—and life—are on the line. A Special Forces soldier insists that Cassy’s Fort Bragg-based unit is smuggling drugs. And the accuser? It’s Cassy’s handsome, stubborn ex-husband, Major Shane Logan. Shane knows Cassy is innocent, which is why he’s sure she’s being set up to take the fall. Proving it, though, means working together...and trying to ignore the feelings they still share. The closer they get—to the truth and each other—the more the danger grows from a ruthless criminal who’ll stop at nothing to destroy them both.

Shane’s voice dropped with a level of gravity she’d never heard before. “You have to listen to me.”

Cassidy shook her head, steeling herself against the sight of her ex-husband. She couldn’t stop herself from noticing he’d filled out over the past few years. Brown hair still spiked forward over his forehead, but the green eyes she’d first fallen for had darkened and grown wiser. His army combat uniform rode his shoulders in a way that spoke of lean muscle and sheathed strength.

This older version of Shane Logan carried himself like a man.

As always, the woman in her wanted to react to the man in him. Jerking her chin to the side, she called up her soldier facade. “Today’s not the day for my ex-husband to step back into my life.”

Something flashed in his eyes. “I understand that. And this isn’t by choice.” Shane took one short step into the room, but it was enough to back Cassidy tight against the wall. “You’re not safe, Cassy.”

He had no idea.

About the Author

JODIE BAILEY has been weaving stories since she learned how to hold a pencil. It was only recently she learned that everyone doesn’t make up whole other lives for fun in their spare time. She is an army wife, a mom and a teacher who believes chocolate and a trip to the Outer Banks will cure all ills. In her spare time, she reads cookbooks, rides motorcycles and searches for the perfect cup of coffee. Jodie lives in North Carolina with her husband and her daughter.

Freefall
Jodie Bailey

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Love does not delight in evil but rejoices

with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

—1 Corinthians 13:6–7

To Paul: You really are everything I never knew

I needed. God knew it would take you to make me totally me. He’s awesome like that. I love you.

And to Cailin: I love you infinity times infinity. Plus one.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

DEAR READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

TEASER CHAPTER

ONE

The explosion blasted a tidal wave of sound through the yellow cinder block walls, rocking the building like an earthquake.

Army Chief Warrant Officer Cassidy Matthews’s hands flew to the back of her head. She dived for cover on the floor, cracking her forehead against the top of the desk. Her sinuses rattled. Stars shot through her vision. For an instant, the room evaporated, and the foul oiliness that permeated the air of Iraq overwhelmed her.

Only this wasn’t Baghdad.

“Mac!” She shook her head to clear her vision and inventoried the room. No blast holes in the wall. Roof intact. No smoke. But where was Master Sergeant McIntyre? He’d been standing right in front of her not ten seconds earlier. Planting her hands on her desk, Cassidy pushed herself to her feet just as Mac braced his hands opposite hers and rose to meet her eyes.

Mac’s eyes scanned the room. “You okay, Chief?”

With a quick nod, Cassidy ducked around the older man and headed for the windows that overlooked the enormous wooden tables on the parachute packing floor below. The few riggers who were packing their quota of static line chutes before lunch raced for the door, their muffled shouts a strong indicator that whatever went off was right outside the large concrete and cinder block Eighty-Second Airborne Rigger Shed.

She whirled to Mac. “Get down there. Stop them from exiting the building before we know what’s going on. The last thing we need is—”

“To draw fire if this is some kind of setup?”

Cassidy’s exhale almost echoed off the walls of her office. Not on Fort Bragg. Surely they were safe here. “Corral them the best you can.”

Sergeant Erin Landon appeared in the doorway, wisps of her wavy brown hair straggling from the knot beneath her red rigger’s cap. Sweat sheened her forehead, which creased her porcelain skin into deep lines over dark blue eyes. “Chief, Private Anderson’s car just went up in the parking lot.”

With a glance back, Mac disappeared out the door.

“Anderson’s car? Where is Anderson? Right now?” Please don’t say he’s in his car. Cassidy snatched the phone and dialed 9-1-1, the receiver quaking in her hand. “Find him. Make sure he’s—” The words refused to come. Anderson was a green private, new to the company as of a couple of months ago, fresh out of basic and rigger school. He couldn’t be more than nineteen.

She had to know all of her soldiers were okay. “Never mind.” As the operator answered, she thrust the phone at Landon. “Tell them what’s going on.” Without waiting to see if the sergeant followed her order, she brushed past her, racing for the stairs.

* * *

Lungs burning and heart thumping so hard he could hear it, Major Shane Logan pushed harder and tried to keep a line of sight on the man he pursued across the parking lot. It got harder by the second. The advantage tipped the wrong way. The July heat worked against him in his desert boots and Army Combat Uniform. The man ahead of him wore jeans and running shoes. Every thud of foot on pavement reinforced the difference.

The pair plunged into a maze of shipping containers on the back side of the parking lot. By the time Shane skidded around the corner of the second trailer-sized container, the man had disappeared. His eyes roamed the sea of identical tractor trailer-sized containers and stopped. The guy could be anywhere.

Sweat burned his eyes. How did he get here anyway? If this day had gone as planned, by now he’d have a soda in his hand, baseball on the TV and two weeks of vacation stretching before him. He should have minded his own business. Instead, he had to come and see for himself whether or not what his interpreter in Afghanistan had told him was true. Someone was using the parachutes returning from the war zone to smuggle Afghan opium into the country.

The smart move would have been to let the authorities handle it, but no. He’d shown up in time to spot someone bolt from a souped-up Honda near the building just before it exploded in a shower of flame.

The container door twanged a hollow rattle as he slapped his palm against it. Shane gave up the chase and dropped against white-hot metal. He propped his hands on his knees, gulping thick air that didn’t do anything to slow his heart rate.

Shouts and sirens overtook the pounding in his ears as his body settled down. Pressing his hands against the container, he pushed himself upright and trudged toward his truck.

The torched Honda lofted oily smoke into the air. Yellow fire trucks rounded the corner with sirens squealing and pulled into the parking lot, firemen at the ready.

Shane reached his truck and snatched his cell phone off the seat in disgust. No power. The battery in the thing died on a whim if it wasn’t plugged in nightly. Fat lot of help it was right now.

He let his eyes drift toward the fire as he pocketed the device. Through the smoke, soldiers gathered on the far side of the parking lot. One stood apart from the others, shoulders slumped until he almost bent double. Probably his car. Poor kid. No telling how much of his enlistment bonus he’d dropped on jazzing that thing up.

Shane leaned his hip against the side of the truck and crossed his arms, waiting for the Military Police to arrive so he could describe what he’d seen. Because all he’d gotten a good look at was a black T-shirt and jeans, he doubted anything he said would do much good. At least he could convince them this most likely wasn’t an accident.

Movement at the near end of the loading dock caught his eye. A side door opened, and two other soldiers—a middle-aged man and a tall, slim blonde—stepped out. They stopped to view the carnage, and she appeared to give orders before he walked off and she turned in Shane’s direction.

His heart, which had returned to normal after his full-tilt flight across the parking lot, thudded to his feet. He straightened and squinted against the sunlight. It couldn’t be her. It just...couldn’t be.

Before he could duck and cover, she pivoted on one heel and stalked across the loading dock in the direction of the soldiers on the other side of the lot.

Releasing the breath he hadn’t realized he held, Shane sidestepped toward the bed of his truck to keep her in view. It was her all right. In almost a decade, her stride hadn’t changed.

Scattered thoughts clicked like tumblers in a lock. It appeared she was in charge of the rigger shed. Everything his contact had told him pointed to...

Cold sweat broke out along his back. It all indicated his ex-wife was the target.

* * *

“Nitrous? Over the fuel line?” Genius. Cassidy wanted to pound her palm against her forehead. The amount of money some of these guys poured into their cars—either to look cool or to boost the engines for street races—could buy her an early retirement and a house on the coast. She stopped herself before she rolled her eyes heavenward.

Private Anderson’s chin dipped, and his shoulders tipped forward before he caught himself and straightened. He was wound so tight even his close-cropped red hair seemed to shiver.

“Is that even legal, because I’m pretty sure it’s not street legal?” Cassidy looked over the private’s shoulder at Master Sergeant McIntyre, who shrugged and shook his head. She turned her attention to the younger man. “You hooked nitrous to your car last night. In the barracks parking lot, under the supervision of your buddies who have zero experience in the process. Am I tracking? Have I got it straight?”

“We didn’t actually leave it hooked up, ma’am. I think that’s the illegal part.” Anderson stared at a spot just over her shoulder. “Ma’am.”

Oh, how she wanted to confine this kid to quarters for walking the line just this side of stupid. But it wasn’t her place to dish out that kind of discipline and, try as she might, she couldn’t find one single thing he’d actually done wrong. “I really, really hope you had your car insured.”

At the hint of his charred vehicle, the private’s expression slipped even further. “I did,” he muttered.

“Doubt they’ll cover after-market parts like nitrous, though.”

“I don’t think the nitrous...” He shook his head. “I’ll check, ma’am.”

Cassidy bit the inside of her lip. It was already well past the end of the duty day, a day in which the investigation ate up their time and put them behind on the number of parachutes packed for the Eighty-Second Airborne Division’s soldiers. The chute riggers would have been finished and gone already if the fireworks in the parking lot hadn’t locked them all down until the investigators found the source of ignition. “Go ahead. You’re dismissed. And you’re lucky this little stunt didn’t get your buddies all stuck here for the whole weekend. It’s a post-9/11 world. Nobody likes it when things go boom on a military base.” She waved a hand toward the door. “Keep me posted on what happens, and I have a pretty strong hunch the commander will want to meet with you sooner rather than later when he gets back.”

Snapping a salute, Anderson was out the door, through the outer office, and already on the stairs before Cassidy could blink.

She looked from the door to McIntyre as she sank against the front of her desk. “Think he’s scared?”

“More like grief-stricken. His baby just went bye-bye. A guy like Anderson would sooner break up with a hot girlfriend than get a scratch on his car. Imagine what this kind of carnage is doing to his soul.” He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms over the rank on his chest. “He’ll get over it eventually. Think about it. The kid just bought himself legend status in the Division. He’ll forever be the guy whose car went up like the Fourth of July in the parking lot of the rigger shed. They’ll still talk about him when they’re in their seventies and swappin’ stories at the VFW hall.”

Straightening, Cassidy took the three steps across the room to the windows that looked down at the cavernous parachute packing area below, where Anderson huddled with several of his buddies by one of the long wooden pack tables. “You really think he’ll be okay?” Try as she might, she couldn’t always stop the mothering instinct as it surged in her.

“Yeah. I imagine as long as he didn’t have the bottle hooked up, insurance will cover most of it. He’ll get something new and shiny, and he’ll have a reputation to boot. He’s one bad dude now.”

She snickered and glanced over her shoulder at him. “Know what? I think it’s time we both got out of here. The fire’s out, Criminal Investigation Division is done and has released us to go. There’s no reason to stick around. Sergeant Jamison and Private Reynolds are locking up tonight. If you herd the rest of the crew out, you can get home to your wife.”

Mac straightened. “Works for me. See you Monday?”

“Yeah. Hopefully nothing will go up in smoke between now and then.” She waved as Mac rounded the corner into the main office, then turned her attention to the floor below. Normally, the warehouselike room was filled with riggers carefully inspecting and meticulously packing the parachutes that kept the “airborne” in the Eighty-Second Airborne Division. Now, after the excitement of this day, only a small knot stood between the tables and the door. From the looks of the small group, they’d ended the consolation portion of their day and had moved on to ribbing Anderson about his car. Circle of life or something like that.

Cassidy rested her forehead against the glass and studied them. In some ways, it felt like only a few weeks since she’d been a red-hatted rigger herself. Today, she felt every one of the days between then and now, days when she’d fought through quartermaster school, battled her private demons and emerged as one of the few females to ever sit in her position as Division Parachute Officer. Most days, it was an accomplishment that squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Right now, the weight of her responsibility anchored her to the spot, too heavy to let her move.

“You and I both know nitrous isn’t flammable.” The voice over her shoulder yanked a gasp from her throat as her spine whipped straight.

Familiarity froze her feet to the floor before she could whip around. Not that voice. Not today. She’d spent years trying to let it go, to stop dreaming about it when she slept. The warm chills that washed over her in a haze of long-forgotten memories was almost as unwelcome as the blast that had corkscrewed this day sideways hours before.

Those were memories Cassidy should have released long ago and which should certainly not be drawing her in now. She gripped the ledge of the window so hard that her fingers burned against the painted cinder block. “When I turn around in three seconds, you’d better be a figment of my imagination.”

“I’d make that happen for you if I could, but today’s not the day. Cassy,” the voice dropped with a level of gravity she’d never heard before, “you have to listen to me.”

She shook her head, steeled herself against the sight of him and let go of the wall, her only anchor in a world rocking sickeningly out of control. The minute she turned, Cassidy wished she’d kept her grip. She couldn’t stop herself from noticing he’d filled out over the past few years. Brown hair still spiked forward over his forehead, but the green eyes she’d first fallen for had darkened and grown wiser. His Army Combat Uniform rode his shoulders in a way that spoke of lean muscle and sheathed strength. His jaw was squarer, his demeanor more confident. This older version of Shane Logan carried himself like a man, not an immature little boy playing dress up in a soldier’s body.

As always, the woman in her wanted to react to the man in him. It would take effort, but she’d choke that desire out in short order. Jerking her chin to the side, she called up her soldier facade. “And today’s not the day for my ex-husband to step back into my life.” She drew in a deep breath and tried to still the quake in her voice. “I’m pretty sure that’s a day that’s never going to come.”

A quick flash of something in his eyes was the one indication he gave that the bullet met its mark before he pulled himself a spare inch taller. “I understand that. And this isn’t by choice.” Shane took one short step into the room, but it was enough to back Cassidy so tight against the wall that she felt the window ledge press against her bones. “You’re not safe, Cassy.”

He had no idea. It took a strength she hadn’t had to rely on since her last combat tour, but she shoved aside the emotions his sudden appearance dragged up. On a normal day it would take too much energy to do battle with him. Today, too many reminders of war zone improvised explosives had stolen every ounce of her reserves. “Not as long as I’ve got cars blowing up in my parking lot and an ex who ought to be long gone sneaking up on me. I told you, Shane. Not today. Walk out, let another decade go by, and maybe I’ll feel more like listening to what you have to say.” With no little effort, she brushed past him and strode to her desk, where she shuffled papers in an obvious effort to ignore him. “You found your way in, you can find your way out.”

The quick thud of his boots didn’t give her enough warning. His fingers clasped her biceps and pulled her back around to face him before the sound fully registered against her ears. His gaze pinned hers with a force his grip couldn’t match. “Someone is trying to kill you.”

Cassidy jerked away, fighting the urge to step around her desk in an effort to use it as a barrier between them. Instead, she went against every instinct and stood taller, her nose inches from his. “Then they torched the wrong car.” Planting her palm against his chest, she shoved him out of her personal space, space he hadn’t invaded in years. “Did you come back from your last mission with posttraumatic stress riding your back?” Then again, the way her pulse was reacting to him right now, she was likely the one with stress issues. Why was she even letting him stand here? After what he’d done...

Anger flared at herself for letting him goad her senses. “Know what? Just go.” Cassidy rounded her desk, ashamed at herself for hiding. “I’ve had more than enough—”

“You’re missing a shipping container.”

The declaration choked off the rest of her words. “Wh—” Cassidy’s knees lost their strength, threatening to drop her hard into her chair. She knuckled the top of her desk. This was information she’d only just received that morning. “How did you know that?”

“It’s not important.” Shane flattened his palms against the top of her desk and leaned toward her. “Someone on the other side is packing your parachutes with heroin and shipping it back to the States.”

Cassidy stood and held her hands up between them to put a stop to this crazy train. Shane was clearly out of his head. “I don’t know how you found out about the missing CONEX, but that last part? You’ve lost your mind. You can’t come in here on a day like today and start messing with my head.” Her fingers wrapped around the receiver of her desk phone. “You’ve got ten seconds to get out before I call the MPs back here to have them talk to you.”

For a full half minute, Shane eyed her as though he were trying to judge the veracity of her threat, then his shoulders lost some of their squareness in acceptance. “Fine. For now.”

“No. For good.” Cassidy rounded the desk, careful not to brush her sleeve against Shane’s shoulder, and marched toward the door. “Ten years hasn’t been long enough for me to be ready to listen to you again.”

Before Shane could respond, motion from the outer office jerked Cassidy’s attention sideways.

Jackson Reese straightened from where he’d been leaning against the edge of the counter on the far side of the room, his brow creased. “Everything okay, Cass?”

Cassidy glanced from her friend to Sergeant Erin Landon, who stood a few feet from Jackson, arms crossed, studying her right back. “It’s fine. Major Logan was just leaving.”

Ignoring Shane’s attempt to catch her eye, she focused her attention on Sergeant Landon as he brushed past her and disappeared at the door to the stairs. As soon as he was gone and the pressure in her chest eased, she spoke to the younger woman. “Did you need something, Sergeant?”

“I—” She took a step away from Jackson and shook her head. “You looked so upset earlier, ma’am. I wanted to come up before I left and make sure you were okay.”

“I am.” Cassidy never had been able to read Landon. Since the day the girl had arrived last winter, it had been hard to tell if her gestures were genuine or edged with sarcasm. If this wasn’t the army, she’d swear that woman was angling for her job. “You can go.”

As the younger woman’s bootfalls echoed in the stairwell, Cassidy turned to Jackson and caught him watching the door. “You know her?” She turned and headed back into her office, certain he’d follow.

“Her? Nope. Cute, though, isn’t she?”

“If you like the thick wavy hair, pale skin, supermodel type.” Cassidy shook her head and dropped into one of the chairs in front of her desk. “Still not quite sure how a girl like her survived basic. She’s so...”

“Not a soldier?” Jackson rounded her desk and dropped into her chair, leaning forward and clasping his hands together over her paperwork.

“You could say that. She definitely toes the line when it comes to overstepping her position. Landon makes me feel like she’s just letting me think I’m the one in charge.”

“And yet there’s nothing you can specifically bust her on, right?” He eyed her until she nodded. “So, who was the major you were in here with? You need me to go after him and tell him it’s not a good idea to visit with you again?” Ever since he’d taken care of a couple of contractors in Afghanistan who thought she might like to be their plaything, he viewed himself as her protector. Typically, the role didn’t bother her, but when it came to Shane...

“No. And I doubt you will see him again anyway.” Shane had waited forever to make this reappearance in her life, so why had he picked today? Weary with the day, weary with Shane’s intrusion and weary with life in general, Cassidy dug for a sense of normalcy that would take away the dull throb in her head. “So, who told you I could use a friendly face?”

Jackson relaxed and ran his hand through thick blond hair. “Word travels fast. Heard you had a little excitement over here and thought I’d come over and check on you.” His brown eyes grew dark with concern. “You okay?”

“Other than thinking I was back in Baghdad for a few minutes, I’m fine.” I’d be even better if the past hadn’t picked today to intrude.

“Yeah, I’d imagine that kind of noise would trigger a flashback or two.” He aimed a finger at her forehead. “How did you get the bruise?” Anger flashed in his eyes, and he straightened. “It wasn’t that guy, was it?”

“What? No, not at all.” Shane had never laid a finger on her, nor had she ever feared he would. If anything, he was overly protective. Cassidy pressed her fingertips to a spot above her right eyebrow and winced at the sting. “Desk diving.” She grabbed her laptop and shoved it into the case as she glanced at her desk for her ID card. “At least it wasn’t a car bomb. More like mechanical ineptitude.”

“So they know what caused it?”

Cassidy nodded, relieved to talk about anything but Shane, even if it was an exploding vehicle.

Jackson relaxed and leaned back in her chair. “A little too much power in those modifications, huh?”

“Boys and their toys.” She shrugged and glanced at her computer, wanting nothing more than to mark this day down as a distant memory. “Hey, see if you see my ID card anywhere.”

Easing the chair back, Jackson eyed the floor beneath her desk. “You lost it?”

“Actually, I’m not sure. I had just pulled it out of the card reader on my computer when the explosion happened. I must have launched it somewhere.”

Jackson laughed, but it was different from his usual, easy laugh.

Cassidy looked at him, but he was doubled over, searching under her desk. With a shake of her head, she wrote the cold tingle in her spine off to postexplosion adrenaline and Shane-induced emotions. “Not funny, my friend. You try thinking you’re under attack on home soil sometime.”

“Been there, done that, liking my cushy contractor job over at Brigade now, thank you very much. So far, nothing’s blown up outside my building.”

“You’re lucky I like you.” She scanned the baseboards behind her desk.

“Got it.”

Cassidy looked up to find Jackson holding her ID card between two fingers. “It was under your desk.”

“That’s a relief. It would be an international incident if I lost that thing.”

“Ah, it’s not that bad. It’d just raise the domestic terror threat level to red for a couple of hours.” Jackson winked as he straightened and ran his hand down his polo over his chest. “Want to grab some dinner? You can tell me all about your visions of chaos, and I can tell you all about how Lauren dumped me last night.”

This time Cassidy winced. “Ouch. She did?”

He cocked his arm and swung like he was taking a major league pitch. “Strike three. I’m out. Reese takes the walk of defeat back to the dugout.”

“Yeah, okay.” She ushered him out of the room and flipped off the light, then pulled the door shut behind her. “If I know you, there are six more in the bullpen waiting to pitch to you.”

“You one of ’em?”

Her laugh was hollow as she tested the door lock. What made him bring that up today? Of all people, Jackson knew best that she would never be involved in another relationship, not without some sort of lifetime guarantee. Something that said if it broke, she could get her wasted years back. “You know better. I’ll let you take me to dinner. Then I’m going home to start my weekend. My nice, quiet weekend.”

* * *

Shane slipped the back door closed and stopped. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the late-evening light outside faded. He stared across the kitchen, listening for sounds of movement in the house.

He’d left her office determined to make her see the danger she faced. If she refused to believe the truth and something happened to her that he could have prevented...

It hadn’t taken much effort to find out where she lived, but his intention to wait in the driveway and try to talk to her was thwarted when he drew near the house and saw the man he’d chased earlier slip into the side door of the garage. His only thought had been to protect Cassy, so he’d parked down the street and edged along the side of the travel trailer sitting on the lawn to the left of the garage, noting it still bore the bumper sticker from when Cassy and he had taken it on their first trip to the Outer Banks of North Carolina.

A rustling above his head stilled his movements. For an instant, he thought about charging up the stairs to play hero, but he had no idea of the layout of the house. If the intruder heard him coming and hid, he wouldn’t have a prayer of getting out of this without a confrontation he’d have to explain to the police. Shane couldn’t see that one ending well. They’d forget all about the arsonist he’d followed and want to know what he was doing uninvited inside his ex-wife’s house. Know what the penalty is in North Carolina for stalking, son?

There had to be a way to draw the guy out, get eyes on him. Shane let his gaze travel the room again as a soft thud drifted through the ceiling. And there was his answer, lying on the counter in front of the toaster oven. A garage door opener.

Shane crept along the granite counter, snagged the opener and slid into the short hallway between the kitchen and what appeared to be a dining room. Pressing his back against the wall, he pushed the button and shifted into a defensive position as the garage door’s movements rumbled through the walls.

A curse and a flurry of noise echoed from above, then silence engulfed the house.

Trying to discern slight sounds, Shane held his breath. No footsteps thudded toward him. Surely he wasn’t headed for the front door. Maybe...

Adrenaline jerked at his muscles. Was the guy lying in wait for Cassy? Shane narrowed his eyes and hit the button again, listening as the door ground into place, ready to defend if necessary. If it was Cassy they wanted, it was Cassy they’d think they were getting.

Easing around the corner, Shane opened what he judged to be the garage door and slammed it, then slipped back to his hiding place.

A man stood in front of him, silhouetted by the dining-room windows. Muted light glinted off the blade of a knife.

Shane judged the other man’s bulk in an instant. His adversary had two inches and twenty pounds on him. That, and there was the blade of the knife that made height and weight irrelevant.

Well, nobody had ever said going against a drug smuggler would be easy. Ducking his head, Shane lowered his shoulder and charged.

TWO

“You have got to be kidding me.” Cassidy dropped her head against the back of her SUV’s seat and stared through the Trailblazer’s windshield into thick, gooey darkness. It was like Murphy and his laws followed her around, blowing up cars in the parking lot, inviting her ex-husband into her office, knocking her power out in a storm just as her garage door closed.

There wasn’t a tornado warning she didn’t know about, was there? Because it sure wouldn’t surprise her if she blinked and found herself in a storm-tossed Kansas cornfield.

Maybe she’d forget the idea of her bed and sleep right here. The way things were going, her cell would ring and the soldier on twenty-four-hour staff duty would call her back into work anyway.

Thunder cracked a shudder through her. It was doubtful she’d ever get over the adrenaline rush that came with booming thunderstorms, especially if cars insisted on blowing up outside her office.

The army had been easier when she was younger. Multiple trips to the “Sandbox” of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan had sapped her of any form of resilience. That and, apparently, thirty-four was the age when bounce-back time doubled. Her own bed and a sound sleep couldn’t come soon enough. Maybe when she woke up, it would be easier to pretend this entire day had been a nightmare.

Even her metal flashlight felt heavier than usual as she grabbed it from under the seat and opened the car door. It wouldn’t do to survive a war zone only to break her neck tripping over a rake in her own garage.

Reaching across the console, she snatched the paper bag that held her supper. Halfway to their cars, Jackson had received a phone call that forced him to cancel, so Cassidy stopped and picked up a thick, juicy burger at the corner grill near the house. Her stomach urged her to drop to the concrete and inhale the thing right there, but eating in the dark made her nervous, especially after the time she’d spent with all sorts of creepy-crawly critters on the other side of the world. Scorpions and camel spiders would probably always haunt her nightmares. The way they skittered... She shuddered again and gingerly set one foot on the ground, half expecting something to wriggle up her shin.

She inched her way to the kitchen door. Once she made it safely inside with her neck intact, Cassidy killed the flashlight and flipped the mudroom light switch.

Of course. Nothing. A quick glance across the kitchen through the back windows told her she wasn’t the only one who’d be suffering part of this summer night without air-conditioning. She groaned. And it was raining. There wouldn’t be any open windows to relieve the heat. Wonderful.

Cassidy tipped her neck to the side and stretched tight muscles. She still reveled in the spicy smells and warm comfort of her own house after her deployments overseas. Central air and hot showers and overhead lighting were things she’d never take for granted again. Well, she wouldn’t once the power came back on anyway.

A strange sixth sense sent little spider footsteps down her spine and raised cold chills in their wake. Something wasn’t quite right. Must be the darkness. More light. She needed more light. There were candles on the coat closet shelf. She flipped on her flashlight and yanked open the closet door.

Eyes gleamed back at her.

As she stepped back, the paper bag holding her hamburger slipped through her fingers and thudded to the floor. A scream refused to work its way from her lungs to her throat. It stuck somewhere in the middle and blocked her ability to breathe. Before her body could react, a shadowed figure pushed her against the door, body heavy against hers as a hand pressed against her mouth. The flashlight clattered against the linoleum and rolled away.

“Don’t scream.” The hiss grated against her ears.

She struggled and fought the weight that pressed against her. No way was she going out like this, not after all she’d been through. If it was her time to die, she’d make sure her attacker bore marks he wore to his grave. Her body went limp, then she raised her knee, grateful for heavy combat boots and praying to connect with a foot when she forced her heel toward the floor. Her boot made contact with a satisfying thud, and her attacker’s grip loosened and fell away. Cassidy crouched and prepared to launch.

“Cassy, don’t charge. I’m not going to hurt you.” The words came from the menacing shadow directly in front of her.

Cassidy stumbled, and the coiled spring inside of her unwound with a snap as words penetrated her adrenaline-driven thoughts. For the second time in one day, that never-forgotten voice invaded her conscious. Her fists clinched tight. Shane didn’t deserve any less of a beating than a random, violent invader. A flash of lightning burned the shape of him into her eyes as she renewed her attack position. “You’ve got three seconds to get out of my house, Shane. I have no idea what makes you think this is okay.”

“I wasn’t sure it was you coming in, so I hid the first place I could find.” His measured voice moved to the right. “Listen to me. Somebody’s been in—”

“You have got to be kidding me. Isn’t it enough you showed up spouting crazy stories at my job on the most chaotic day ever? Get out.” There was no way she’d listen to anything he had to say. She spotted the beam of her flashlight shining at a crazy angle onto the refrigerator. Every good soldier knew a Maglite had enough heft to be an effective weapon, and it might feel good to swing it if she had to. She snatched it and held it high, prepared to strike. “I will use this on you, and I will call the cops and I will tell them it was self-defense.”

“This is important.”

“I’ve got no reason to listen to you. Know why? Because the years haven’t been long enough to make me forgive you. You’re not my husband. You’re not part of my life. You don’t even exist, as far as I’m concerned. We’re not rehashing this.” The beam of the flashlight arced higher as Cassidy cocked her swinging arm. “Now go.” Her heart beat so hard it pulsed in her eyeballs. It could be fear, anger or...

She shook her head. No. It was fear or anger. Nothing more.

“I know who I used to be. I did a lot of things wrong, but you’ve got to—”

Cassidy’s head tilted back, her jaw jutting between them as if it could block the emotions that struggled to surface. “Don’t try to explain yourself.”

“Fine.” Shane sounded like each breath was an effort, and she could just make out the hulk of his dark shape between her and the kitchen. “I heard a rumor on my last mission, and when I went to check it out—”

“Spare me. Special Forces changed you, and I don’t care about your last mission or any of your other missions. It was bad enough to never know when you were leaving or where you were, but not knowing who you were after you got back? Watching you stumble home after drinking all night with your buddies?” She jerked the flashlight. “Hearing you—”

Rapid pounding blasted against the front door.

Cassidy’s heart leaped out of her chest and she fought to inhale against the memories and the present, then a familiar voice called her name. It sliced through her fear and robbed her muscles of their readiness.

Her gaze shifted from Shane to the kitchen, and she hissed, “You’re out the door. Now. Discussion closed. I can’t do this with you.”

“Who’s that?”

Shane’s jealousy-laden voice made Cassidy straighten her shoulders. “Jackson. Maybe you saw him at my office? He’s a contractor who worked on the forward operating base during my last deployment. He’s trustworthy.” She backed two steps across the kitchen. “And he’ll tear the door down if he thinks something’s happened to me.” She tipped the flashlight beam in Shane’s direction, not one bit guilty about omitting the fact that Jackson was a good friend and nothing more. Shane could suffer with his assumptions...if he suffered at all.

Her heart missed a step when the light hit his face. It was a reaction her emotions weren’t ready for in spite of the fact he’d stood before her earlier. The intervening years had dulled his image in her mind, and the flash of his features in the light shot long-forgotten memories across her heart.

The pounding on the door grew more insistent, and she glanced over her shoulder, torn between the man she used to love and her would-be protector.

“You and I are both in danger. Until I know more, nobody can know I’m here. Please, Cassy.” His voice pleaded as his shadowed form slipped into the closet.

Cassidy stared at the door. In danger? The only danger she could see in her house right now was him. Her fingers gripped the doorknob as Jackson called for her again. She wavered, then decided Jackson would either burst in or call for reinforcements if she didn’t respond soon. She jogged toward the living room, unable to determine if anything about this bizarre evening warranted a phone call to the police.

* * *

Shane pressed his ear to the closet door and fought the urge to grip his biceps. It throbbed after the exertion of subduing Cassidy. He’d forgotten how strong she was. Worse, he’d forgotten how she felt in his arms. It had taken only a moment of contact to drive the images through his memory like they’d just been together yesterday.

He shook his head. Now was the worst time for a long drive through their distant past. If he fell into old habits with her, there’d be no way to ensure she had a future. And considering he’d fended off a knife-wielding stranger in her house tonight, both of their futures might be shorter than either of them could imagine.

Only muffled, indistinguishable voices reached his ears, so he gave up eavesdropping and dropped his forehead against the door. His eyes narrowed. Who was this “trustworthy” Jackson who felt so protective of Cassy? And, for that matter, why did he care? They’d both barricaded that door a long time ago. He didn’t love her. Wouldn’t love her. Even though touching her just now had flooded his senses with vivid reminders of touching her in the past.

He pressed his fists into the door and shook his head. When he’d married her fourteen years ago, he’d promised to protect her. Yeah, the relationship ended in front of a judge four years later, but he wasn’t the kind of man to let a promise of that magnitude die. Whether Cassy knew it or not, she needed protecting now more than ever. He should go out there right now...

His fingers unclenched. If he blew his hiding place out of some misplaced jealousy, there might not be another shot at discovering who was out to hurt her. It was just that, for all he knew, this Jackson joker had his hands all over what was going down in Cassy’s unit.

Yeah, right. That would be a hundred-yard stretch. Jackson was probably some smarmy little horn-rimmed glasses accountant type with a bald spot and allergies that would—

Footsteps, heavy ones, thumped toward him. It took a second, but he recognized the cadence of Cassy’s stride in her boots. Surely she wasn’t mad enough to throw open the door and reveal him after he’d asked her not to. He squeezed his eyes shut, body tense, and prayed. Shane had seen the face of the man who blew up that car and broke into Cassy’s house. Now she wasn’t the only one in danger. He was in this with both feet and sinking fast.

The steps passed, and a door creaked open. There was silence, then the same door closed again.

“Got it.” Cassy’s voice floated into the closet and sent a familiar tremor down his spine. “Good thing I left it in my truck or I might have dropped it when...when I tripped coming into the house.” Her footsteps slowed as she neared the closet.

Shane pressed his forehead tighter to the door, his hands flat-palming the cool wood. She was so close he could almost feel her.

She picked up speed and passed.

He’d always known he’d see her again someday. The army was too small, their jobs too specialized, to avoid certain confrontation. But of all the ways he’d imagined a reunion, this wasn’t one of them. Sure, he’d known all along it wouldn’t be roses and kittens, but he never figured he’d be hiding in her coat closet bleeding from a stab wound in his arm.

And he’d never imagined he’d feel anything other than coldness for the woman who’d thrown their marriage to the pavement and ground it under her boot heel. Shane leaned his head against the door. God, help me. I can’t fall in love with her again.

* * *

Cassidy dropped to the sofa and bent to untie her bootlaces, doing her best to act normal while her mind searched for topics that had nothing to do with explosions or Shane. He could stay in her closet all night if he wanted, but she hoped he’d slipped out when she ran to answer the door. The more distance between them, the better.

“Are you okay?” Jackson settled in beside her. “You’re all jumpy.”

His closeness in the semidarkness was disconcerting. Something in his manner was off, like he was trying too hard to comfort her, his movements and facial expressions a too-bright caricature of his usual self. “You try thinking you’re being fire-bombed on your home turf.” And then come home to find a man you never wanted to see again hiding in your closet. That’ll light up your nerve endings. “What did you need my laptop for?”

“Mine’s fried. I left it plugged in at the office, thinking I’d go back and finish some reports after dinner, but the storm had other plans. That was why I had to ditch on dinner. Lightning hit our building. Good thing all of the other computers were hooked to surge protectors. It looks like I’m the lucky one who got zapped.”

“That’s good.” She went to work on the knot in her other boot, the pressure of the day deafening her so she heard only half of Jackson’s story. Typically, his brotherly presence was comforting. Tonight, though, every word out of his mouth sliced cuts in her raw nerves.

“That’s good? What is? That my computer got fried?” His voice wagged with amusement that didn’t match the events of the day.

“No. That the others are okay.” Cassidy jerked her shoelace. The knot grew tighter instead of working loose.

A soft scrape and a thud drifted in from the kitchen, and Jackson looked up, tensed as if to spring. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what? It was nothing.” Let it be the sound of Shane leaving her life forever. Nobody would hear her complain about that.

Jackson snatched the flashlight from the coffee table and stood. “Was the power off when you got home?”

“Yes, but—”

“And did you get a cat since I was last here?” He eased toward the door to the kitchen, voice lowered.

“No.” Cassidy rocketed off of the couch. Jackson couldn’t go in there and find Shane sneaking his way out the door. There was no telling what he’d think. “I’m sure it’s—”

“Somebody’s in your house,” he whispered as he edged toward the kitchen.

“Jackson!” Her voice held all of the authority she normally reserved for wayward privates. “There is nobody in my house.” Why was she protecting Shane? As soon as she figured out why he was camping out in her closet, she’d probably call the police just to prove her point. If she did that, though, it would bring the authorities—and her chain of command when they got wind of it—into her personal life. The sigh that escaped was a fitting punctuation mark at the end of this day. It wasn’t worth the hassle.

Jackson hesitated, bobbing the beam of the flashlight in her direction, his expression dark in the reflected beam from the light. “Are you sure?”

“I came in that way. And nobody could get from anywhere else in the house to the kitchen without walking right past us.” Cassidy perched on the edge of the couch and hoped her voice was convincing as she reached for her bootlace.

Annoyed indecision flickered on Jackson’s face in the dim light. “What are you playing at, Matthews?”

Since when did he refer to her by her last name? “The only thing I’m ‘playing at’ is too much adrenaline and not enough food in my system, okay?”

With a last glance toward the kitchen, he walked over to the couch, settled the flashlight onto the table, and sat down next to her again. His eyes stayed on her, probing. “And you’re one hundred percent sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” She jerked the laces free and yanked her boot off her foot, fighting the sudden urge to throw it at her friend. This day—and the man in her kitchen—had gone to her head.

“Uh-huh. You act like everything’s perfectly normal.”

Well, let’s see. A toasted Honda. Her ex hiding in her house. Everyone in her life going cuckoo at once. Yeah, normal was all over her house. “Too much went down in too many places today.”

“Other than things going boom?”

“It’s like my whole life went boom.” Cassidy pressed her big toes together. It was too hard to breathe while split in two, her thoughts in one room and her body in another.

He eyed her like he had something to say, then pressed his lips together and stood. As he shouldered her bag, he said, “Thanks for digging this out of your car for me. I can bring it to you Monday morning.” Jackson pulled the door open and paused with one foot inside and one on the concrete of the front porch. “You sure you don’t want me to check out what went bump in your kitchen?”

“It was nothing. And I’ve been to war. Three times. I can take care of myself in my own house.”

He flipped a mock salute as the streetlights flickered on behind him and her AC unit hummed to life.

“See? Nothing to worry about.” Cassidy gripped the doorknob tightly and willed Jackson to leave before she told him about Shane or said anything else she’d regret in the morning.

He tossed a wave in her direction without looking back and wasn’t halfway down the sidewalk before Cassidy shut the door and bolted for the kitchen. If Shane was still in that closet, he had a lot of explaining to do, then he’d have to get out of her life forever. The last thing she needed was his messing with her head. And he was definitely messing with her head.

Slipping in her socks on the tile, she gripped the door handle to steady herself, then yanked the closet open. Only her coats stared back at her. Shane was gone.

* * *

Shane ground his teeth together as he sat at the old wooden kitchen table while his roommate Derek Mann, a retired Special Forces buddy, practiced his rusty medic skills on the slash wound across his triceps.

“Logan, you’re lucky Cassy didn’t knife you herself. Unless she did, and you invented the whole story about somebody prowling around her house just so you could save some face.” For a moment, silence held court in the small bachelor apartment. “You got bested by a girl, didn’t you?”

Standing next to her today had definitely gotten the best of him in ways he’d thought he was long past. “Yeah,” Shane exhaled in a rush. “You caught me.” He winced as Derek applied alcohol to the injury and tried to focus on the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. The late news flashed the photo of a Fort Bragg soldier killed in Afghanistan. Shane’s gaze drifted to the brown leather couch instead. He’d seen enough death to last twenty lifetimes. “I think getting gashed was probably less painful than being bludgeoned by the Maglite she was swinging.” He twisted his head around to check on Derek’s progress. “She meant business.”

Dark-skinned fingers forced his face to turn away, though Derek never shifted his attention from his work. “Dude, you know it hurts worse if you watch. Let me handle it. The stitching won’t be as pretty as if you had a real doc take care of it, but it won’t be infected and you won’t have to answer any probing questions, all right? You’re lucky the dude had bad coordination.”

“‘The dude had bad coordination?’” Shane smiled in spite of the pain. “Man, I have mad self-defense skills. I sent the ol’ boy packing.”

“So why did you end up hiding in a closet?”

“Cut a guy some slack, would you?” Shane flinched as the first poke of the needle pierced skin. He bit back a groan. “He bolted when she opened the garage door, and I had nowhere else to go.”

“Why did you go to the house anyway? You know you convinced her a long time ago you’re a bottom dweller.”

“She was convinced because I was.” Shane swallowed another dose of pain, although this one had nothing to do with his arm. “Back then.” The silence stretched out, heavy and medicine-laden, as Shane thought about how he’d treated Cassy, how the arrogance rooted in his then-new assignment to Special Forces had changed him. The drinking. The late-nights hanging out with his buddies. The weekends he hadn’t bothered to come home at all. He couldn’t decide which burned more, the alcohol that seared his arm or the guilt that blazed in his gut. He glanced at Derek’s work.

“If you’re out to make her believe you’re not the same guy anymore, then you’ve got your work cut out for you. I doubt she’s gonna buy that Jesus made you different the very first time you tell her.” Derek dug through the first aid kit until he found a roll of white gauze, which he ripped with his teeth. “But, dude, what in the world were you thinking? You don’t woo a girl by breaking and entering.”

“The last thing I want is to woo her.” Even as he said it, he started to wonder if it still held true. Shane shook his head against the thought and against the sting in his arm. It had to be true. He couldn’t tangle himself up with her again. It had hurt too badly to watch their years together implode the first time. “Maybe I was a jerk, but she didn’t give me a chance to redeem myself. She just threw everything away without looking back. I don’t need that kind of grief.”

“True. So, tell me, if Cassy didn’t cut you, who did?”

Shane tilted his chin and leveled his gaze on Derek’s. “You’re getting pushy in your old age.”

“Just don’t appreciate buddies taking hits when they aren’t in a war zone.” The matter-of-fact words didn’t gibe with the concern in the dark eyes.

Shane shifted and ran his free hand through his hair. “I don’t appreciate it either.”

Derek taped the bandage into place and repacked his supplies. “Well, you can act the fool about this if you want. Your life.”

“Yep. And I don’t need you playing father figure, old man.” Shane’s voice strained as he pulled his arm in front of him to inspect his bandaged triceps. Now that it was sewn and wrapped, the throbbing didn’t seem as insistent as it had earlier. A few ibuprofen ought to take the edge off, but pain was the least of his worries. Cassy and he were both in the crosshairs and there was no time to hide before the trigger was pulled.

* * *

After a hot shower and a change into sweats, Cassidy felt the day recede. Still, she found herself back in front of the closet. She opened the door again and stared into it. Lots of coats, but no Shane. She tapped her finger against her thigh and tried to decide if she should be worried or angry.

Definitely angry. Exactly what had he been thinking, hiding in her closet? Posttraumatic stress disorder must have kicked in for him. Maybe she should call a therapist. Then again, why should she even care? His problems weren’t hers anymore. Let whatever girl he decided to flirt with this week deal with it. Forget it. She kicked her foot out, and the closet door slammed with a satisfying bang.

The paper bag that held the squashed remains of her hamburger rested in the corner, ketchup and chili oozing in grease slicks on the paper. Yeah, that would make a wonderful meal. She made a face and leaned down to scoop up the dinner that was now destined to feed the trash can. A ketchup smudge a few feet from the bag caught her eye, and she swiped it with her finger.

The spot smeared and Cassidy froze, her stomach twisting. Blood. Two droplets splotched the vinyl between the closet and the door to the garage. Narrowing her eyes, she backtracked, eyes scanning the linoleum as she went. There. Several long smears streaked the floor in the hallway between the kitchen and the dining room.

She gulped back nausea and leaped up to yank open the door to the garage, sudden panic fueling her desire to see with her own eyes Shane wasn’t somewhere bleeding to death. “Shane!” Her shout fragmented against the garage door and shattered against her eardrums. Silence followed. Easing down the steps, she flipped on the light. Her numb fingers fumbled with the door that led to the backyard before she managed to unlock it and step out. Wet grass clung to her bare feet. The gate to the privacy fence hung open, but the yard was still. No shadows shifted. No leaves rustled in the stagnant air behind the earlier rainstorm.

Cassidy clicked the gate shut and wandered into the house, wondering where Shane had gone and just how badly he was injured. Securing the garage door behind her, she tried to shake off the image of him in this kitchen. It was clear he was gone again. She needed to forget him.

But some small corner of her soul still cared enough to worry. The image of his face, illuminated by her flashlight beam, froze on the movie screen in her mind.

Cassidy shook her head. No. He’d left. And she had no way to find him, no idea who to contact. She hadn’t even realized he was stationed at Bragg. It would only make her look foolish if she called the police and said her bleeding ex-husband had vanished from her coat closet. Maybe she’d hallucinated the whole thing. Gripping her forehead between her thumb and index finger, she stared at the floor and tried to beat back the headache that pounded behind her left eyeball.

Food. She needed to eat something.

She glanced at the linoleum. No, first she needed to clean the tile. Then she could eat something. Why had she stored the floor cleaner under the bathroom sink? She fluttered on the edge of weariness before pivoting on one heel and heading for the stairs in the den. As her foot landed on the bottom step, she paused, head tilted to one side.

A shoe print tattooed the carpet pile of the third step.

Cassidy rested her left foot beside the imprint. Much too big to be hers.

Her hand felt for the gun holstered at her hip, and she bit back a groan. No weapon. She no longer lived in a war zone and no longer carried a pistol. Pressing her lips together, she tiptoed into the living room, snatched the flashlight from the coffee table and crept up the stairs, pseudoweapon raised. Life in Afghanistan sure hadn’t been this complicated. At least there, she’d had a gun and she’d known who the bad guys were.

Cassidy paused outside the door of the guest room at the top of the stairs. Silence filtered into the hallway. The beam of the flashlight swung across the room. No footprints marred the vacuum tracks in the carpet of the rarely used room.

At the door to her office, she changed tactics. Inhaling deeply, she flipped on the overhead light and stood ready to attack or defend. Instead, she froze. The only thing in its rightful place was the computer. Everything else—files, letters, bills, photos—was thrown around the room like the aftermath of an Iraqi dust storm.

A slow burn smoldered through her body, and it pulsed with her rising heartbeat. Shane. Clearly, he’d been looking for something, and he sure wasn’t hurt badly enough to let a little blood stop him.

All sympathy evaporated. Whatever Shane wanted, she hoped he’d found it, because it was certain he would never again set one foot in her life to look for it.

THREE

The lid to the trash can thumped into place, and Cassidy whacked it with the side of her fist for good measure. She’d spent the sleepless predawn hours sorting through papers and setting her office in order. While the cleaning bug gripped her, she boxed everything she could find to donate to charity and bagged what was left for a trip to the landfill.

She stared at the bags and shoved her bangs off her forehead. This purge should have happened years ago. Now the accumulated junk, coupled with angry energy that fueled a full summer cleaning spree, meant she’d need something bigger than her SUV to get all of the usable items to a donation site.

The low hum of an engine drew her attention to the road. As if her thoughts had solidified into physical reality, a gray late-model pickup stopped in front of the house. Adrenaline tingled her fingertips at the sight of the vehicle, but it surged on a bullet when Shane climbed out of the cab. The dark jeans and forest green T-shirt he sported today proved it wasn’t just the uniform that made the man.

Cassidy swallowed twice before her voice agreed to cooperate. “You have trouble with the words stay away?”

Shane stopped halfway between the truck and the house. His stance spoke of uncertainty. They’d known each other since high school, were together from the first day they met in English class until the day he walked out of her life, and the only other time she’d seen his confidence crack was the day he’d asked her to marry him.

She bit her lip and glared at the sky, shoving the memory of a mountain breeze and a diamond ring into the deepest well of her soul.

“Cassy, we need to talk.”

“No, we don’t. I’m confident you’ve got nothing new to say.” She yanked her hands from her hip pockets and brushed them together before planting them on her hips. “Know what? I’m too tired to talk. I spent the past few hours cleaning the mess you made upstairs.” She tilted her head toward the line of garbage bags against the wall. “You’d better hope whatever it was you were looking for isn’t in there because it’s out the door this afternoon.” Turning her back on him, she stomped into the garage. Good riddance to bad rubbish. The corner of Cassidy’s mouth twitched. Her grandmother’s favorite brush-off had never been so appropriate.

“You’re still angry?”

Without asking for permission, her feet planted and refused to take another step. Her spine went rigid, and a flush washed across her face and down the back of her neck. His question forced her to replay her reasons, to drag out old memories, to poke at her emotions and gauge their response. The hurt didn’t take her breath away like it had when she’d signed her name to papers that wiped away the promises of a lifetime, but it was still there, needling her heart. She swallowed hard. “What do you think?”

When Shane spoke again, his voice was closer. “What do you mean by the mess I made upstairs? I didn’t make it past the kitchen last night.”

The change of subject jerked her thoughts sideways as she whirled and met green eyes mere inches from her own. Her heart thudded to a stop, then pounded an extra beat. He used to be the safest place she’d ever known, the solid ground she set her feet on. The way he stood so close now made her long for that security again. Try as she might, she couldn’t force the longing aside.

“Tell me what happened, Cassy.” Shane’s voice rumbled low and played a melody on her heartstrings. She wasn’t sure if he was asking about what happened upstairs or about what happened between them. Whichever it was, this was a song she didn’t want to hear.

With more effort than she’d ever had to exert in her life, Cassidy stepped back and put a good six feet between them. “You trashed my office. Why? After all this time, what could you possibly be looking for?”

Shane ran his hand along his jaw, and his eyes flashed. “It wasn’t me.”

“Sure it wasn’t. Some mythical dragon stormed into my house, and you’re my knight in shining armor.”

He reached for her, but she backed another step away, her foot whacking the step that led to the kitchen door.

“I didn’t go upstairs last night, okay?” He pressed his lips together and exhaled through his nose. “I came here to tell you something’s going on in your unit and—”

“And you thought you’d dig through all of my stuff instead? Maybe take out some ten-year-old aggression on my file drawer?”

“No.” The word was firm enough to silence her protests and strong enough to tell her he hadn’t bothered to listen to a word she’d said. Some things never changed. “I came here to talk some sense into you and instead found the guy who torched that kid’s car in your parking lot.” When she opened her mouth to speak, he took a step closer and buried her planned protest under his words. “Short and sweet, he’s the one who was upstairs going through your stuff.”

“And I suppose you threw down a fight with him in the kitchen and that was his blood I had to scrub off my floor last night? Please.” Cassidy held up her hand to stem the flow of lies. “Surely you don’t expect me to believe that. To begin with, Anderson’s car blew up because he knows nothing about mechanical modifications. Now tell me, which movie did you steal your story from?” She rubbed her temples with her fingertips, overwhelmed by his reappearance in her orderly life. He brought up too many emotions, too many memories she didn’t need to relive. “Know what? I was thinking last night I let you off too easy. Hiding in closets, Shane? Normal people don’t do that. That’s what stalkers and murderers and guys who can’t let go do. I figured you were none of those things, but now I’m not so sure.” Well, she was sure he was neither a stalker nor a murderer, but she wasn’t so certain anymore about his ability to let her go.

Shane’s eyes stared at a spot above her head, and she knew from past experience he worked hard to keep his frustration in check. After a second, he eased the left sleeve of his T-shirt to his shoulder and tilted his upper arm toward her. A heavy white bandage peeked out at her. “It’s covering a knife wound. I got it in your kitchen, fighting off the guy who torched the car in your parking lot.”

Cassidy’s breath froze in her lungs. The blood had been real. Shane had been attacked. In her house. He could have been killed... Her hand raised to touch the bandage, but she caught herself and pulled it back. As she did, realization crept in.

Heated fear pooled at the base of her spine and softened her joints. Someone had been in her house. Someone had rifled through her things. Someone had waited for her to come home.

“There was...” Her knees refused to hold her up any longer, and she sank to the step, mind whipping through what could have happened if Shane hadn’t been there. “Somebody else was here.”

Shane knelt in front of her but didn’t try to touch her. He opened his mouth, closed it, then ran his hand through his hair. “That’s not all.”

Cassidy swallowed her fear and sat straighter. No matter what else was going on, she refused to give Shane an inroad with her emotions, refused to let him smell her fear, even if he had piqued her curiosity and possibly saved her life. “Talk.”

* * *

But he knew if he tried to touch her—especially with all of the anger simmering beneath the surface between them—he’d never get her to open her ears and listen.

He rocked forward and looked to her left, avoiding the direct confrontation contact with her hazel eyes always brought. “On my last mission in Afghanistan, we detained a guy in opium country because we believed he had intel about a Taliban leader we were trailing. He didn’t, but he kept talking about parachutes. Every one of us figured he was just babbling scared and, after we checked him out, we let him go. Sent the intel up the food chain, washed our hands of it and moved on. Honestly, I forgot all about it. We wrapped up the mission and it never crossed my mind again.”

“Okay.” Cassy slid back on the stairs as though she tried to put as much distance between them as possible.

Shane ignored the sting of her rebuff. “One of the interpreters caught up with me a couple of weeks ago, while we were gearing up to return to the States. Said he couldn’t understand what the parachute thing was all about, so he started digging. He even managed to find the guy we’d detained and asked him a few more questions.” Shane rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his fingers. “Long story short, rumor has it among the locals somebody’s been buying all of the opium they could get their hands on and working to smuggle it out of the country. Somebody associated with our military.” He waited to see if she’d make the connection. The truth would have more impact if she put it together for herself.

It took a second, but her eyes widened and her lips parted. “Parachutes and our military? So that’s why you think...”

Shane stood and jerked his neck to the side, trying to pop out some of the tension that had built across his shoulders. “The only unit handling parachutes in that area of the country at the time we detained the guy was—”

“Attached to the Eighty-Second.”

He nodded and stared at the hot water heater in the corner of the garage. If he looked at her, he might not be able to resist pulling her off the step and sheltering her the only way he knew how. Some habits never died. “I don’t have a good read on how, but the best I can figure, they’re managing to get them in with the parachutes that come back here. It all sounded pretty out there to my thinking, so I figured I’d swing by the rigger shed, get the lay of the land and try to see if I could figure out who to trust before any more shipping containers came back.”

“There are some coming in late next week. They should have come in yesterday, but they were delayed between here and Pennsylvania. One of the GPS trackers isn’t sending a signal, and the container is missing.”

Shane’s gut twisted. Everything was falling into place when he wanted it all to fall to pieces. “I was really hoping when I said that to you yesterday that you’d tell me it wasn’t yours. They’re coming from the depot in New Cumberland?”

She nodded.

If one of those containers truly had been tampered with, everything he suspected might be true. And that meant bigger trouble than he could even imagine.

Cassidy stood and brushed past him, walking toward the front of the garage. “You’re hinting that some of my soldiers are running drugs. Under my nose.” Suspicion laced her voice and stiffened her posture. “Too many people have their fingers in the pie when we ship gear to the States. And think about it. What soldier in their right mind would do such a thing? You buy drugs from those guys, you’re funneling money straight to—”

“The very same guys who are shooting at you. I know.” Shane swallowed hard, his pulse rate climbing as he studied the rough, unfinished wood of the step where she’d sat. If he couldn’t get through to her, he had no ally. “Believe me, I know. You’re giving them money for weapons and supplies and...” He balled his fists and fought the image of bloodied death as it tried to paint itself on his mind. It bled through his nightmares enough. He didn’t need day terrors to go with it. His fists shook against his thighs. “That’s the worst part. But you know guys out there have smuggled stuff back before. It makes me want to find the punk behind this and take care of it myself. Our money funding their bullets to shoot at my...at our soldiers...”

“If somebody’s really doing what you say.” Cassidy’s low voice barely registered.

Shane dragged his focus to the immediate problem of keeping Cassy out of danger. “I don’t know what else to tell you. The interpreter said they never referred to the guy by name. None of the people my man talked to had ever even seen him. And it gets worse.” Shane looked over his shoulder, then pivoted to stare at her back. “This informant? He mentioned you. Well, the Division Parachute Officer. I’m not sure what they think it’ll buy them, but...” He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and prayed in a way he couldn’t quite put into words. He’d never wanted to be wrong so much in his entire life. “They’re planning to smoke the Division Parachute Officer if things get crazy.”

Cassy’s breath caught. He could see it in the way she froze, her spine rigid.

“It is you, isn’t it? You’re the new DPO. That’s why they hit your house.”

She didn’t move.

He’d hoped it wasn’t her, that yesterday had been a crazy, twisted coincidence. “Something must have happened. Something to force their hand. And I believe it’s that shipping container disappearing. It’s probably loaded.” Shane took a deep breath. “I know this sounds like some made-up story. And if I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t believe me either. But I’ve never lied to you, Cassy. I might have treated you horribly and left you on your own, but I never lied to you.”

She stood with her back to him, staring at the street.

A group of kids raced by on bicycles. Their laughing shouts floated up the driveway and into the garage. Outside the door, life went on as normal. Inside, where he waited, everything twisted and jumbled like malfunctioning parachute lines. And there stood Cassy, her feet half in the normal world outside and half in the dysfunction in the garage.

“If this is true, why didn’t you just call in the Criminal Investigation Division? Or call the police yesterday? Why break into my house?” She didn’t look at him, but her back was as unbending as a rifle barrel.

“See it from my point of view. You think CID is going to drop everything because some scared informant coincidentally mentioned my ex-wife’s job? They’d call me crazy and show me the door. Either that or they’d lock me up and label me a stalker. Like I said, we sent the initial information up the chain of command, but nothing ever happened. They didn’t buy it then, why would they buy it now? That’s why I had to check it out for myself. I need more.”

A warm breeze whispered through the tops of the pine trees, but the garage remained silent as Cassy continued to stare straight ahead. She drew in a deep breath. “I don’t know. This is all too incredible. It can’t be real.”

The words slammed into Shane’s chest, and he dropped his arms to his sides. “What?”

Cassy didn’t look at him. “How do I know this isn’t some crazy, PTSD-induced fantasy you’ve cooked up? It sounds like something you might have seen in some action movie or read in one of those thrillers you were always so interested in. So...I don’t know.”

“Cassy.” He took a step toward her, more desperate than he’d ever felt in his life. He wasn’t asking her to take him back—would never ask her to take him back—but he needed her to trust him and let him help her get to the bottom of this business before she got hurt. He reached for her. “Let me help you.”

She whirled on him, fury blazing from her eyes with such heat that it forced him to take a step back. “Who says I need help? You didn’t want to help me before. Why on earth would you think I’d turn to you now? The only reason I didn’t call the cops last night is because I know it would cost you your security clearance if you got arrested.”

And the psych eval they’d put him through probably wouldn’t help matters. “I appreciate the thought.” It came out laced with more sarcasm than he’d intended, so he pushed forward before she could erupt. “The car. Come on, you can’t tell me—”

She shoved her palm a bare inch from his face. “Stop. I told you. Anderson’s car went sky high because he knows nothing about where to install a nitrous bottle.”

“And I’m telling you I saw somebody light it.”

“You blow any sort of credibility you have every time you say stuff like that.”

“Stop it, Cassy.” Shane looped his thumb and index finger around her wrist and pulled her hand away from his face. “You can play the denial game all you want, and we can rehash it until World War III breaks out, but it’s never going to change the facts.”

She jerked her arm from his light grasp. “Please just stop with the—” Her voice raised, then plummeted to a whisper, her gaze dropping to his hand, still extended toward her. “You’re right. I just...wanted it to be simple.”

“Can’t fault you for that.”

With a short shake of her head, she sank against the front of her Trailblazer and stared up at his face, her gaze digging into his. “You’re telling the truth?” Her voice betrayed her. She was giving in.

Shane swallowed hard, his gut telling him he was looking at his last shot to convince her she needed his help. “A hundred percent.”

Cassy drew the corner of her lip into her mouth. It felt like the whole earth stilled when she exhaled. “Okay. What do we do now?”

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