Absolution (17 page)

Five o’clock local time. Six hours from now.

Plenty could change in that amount of time. It ate at Luke that he couldn’t pull the trigger and go now, but they had to time this right. Everyone had to be up in position and updated on the latest intel. Still no word if Tehrazzi was there, but these were definitely his men. He had strong ties with the locals in this part of Syria, through blood and the threat of shedding it. Murdering civilians tended to be a better motivator than U.S. greenbacks, and Luke’s team wouldn’t get any help from the villagers there.

“Forecast still calling for snow?”

“Yes,” she said bitterly. “Accumulation’s going to depend on the next front that’s coming through.

Wind speeds keep changing.”

“We’ll just have to dress in lots of layers, then.”

The chance alone that Tehrazzi might be holed up in one of the caves was reason enough to execute the op, but something had to be done about the 133

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stockpiled ammunition. No doubt that would come back to bite them all in the ass if they didn’t destroy the weapons. “Air Force is going to drop some JDAMs in the area, see if they can’t soften these guys up before we hit them.”

His stomach rumbled, grinding in protest because he hadn’t eaten since… He couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten.

Heading to the kitchen to search for leftovers, he hesitated when he heard Emily humming in there.

Things between them were awkward enough without him compounding it, and he didn’t want to add to her stress level. She was dealing with too much shit already.

“You might as well come in,” she called out, and he hid a smile.

“How’d you know I was there?”

“My sixth sense kicked in.”

Dressed in a cream knit sweater and snug jeans, Emily stood at the island kneading dough, her hands covered with it. The dark brown wig she wore was long, coming to her shoulders in waves, and it made her look almost as young as the day they’d met. She was still beautiful enough to tie him in knots.

“Biscuits?”

“Yeah, I was in the mood for some.” Her hands continued to work the dough, and since she was focused on that it gave him time to get a good look at her. Dark smudges lay beneath her eyes though she’d tried to cover them with makeup, and she was still pale. He didn’t like the flush that rode on her cheekbones or the hollows beneath them. His immediate instinct was to go over and put a hand on her forehead, but he held himself in check. He didn’t want to make her even more uncomfortable.

“You running a fever?” he asked instead.

She looked up, and her vivid green eyes were slightly glazed. “A little one. No big deal.”

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Dammit, why wasn’t she taking better care of herself? She’d just had a frigging chemo treatment.

She should be in bed, or at least lying down someplace with a blanket on her to stop the chills.

“Should you be making biscuits right now?” He kept his voice even, but he caught the answering spark of anger in her eyes.

“I feel much better than I did after the first treatment. Besides, I’m tired of lying around and wanted something to do. I’m used to keeping busy, and it helps pass the time.”

That’s how she’d always coped with stress, by puttering and cleaning. She always needed a project to work on. Having a physical task to complete helped keep her mind occupied. Crossing to the island, he sat on a stool at the far end to give her some space. “I know this isn’t easy on you.” And it was getting increasingly hard on him, too.

Rather than answer him, she tossed some flour on the granite surface and began rolling out the dough with practiced ease. “These will be ready for the oven in a minute,” she finally said. “You can stay and have some if you want.”

The tentative overture almost broke his heart because the offer of biscuits wasn’t merely an effort to be polite, though Em didn’t have it in her to be rude. She was trying to ignore all the unfinished business that lay between them, plus she was worried as hell about him finishing this mission. He hated leaving her to face everything on her own, but she wasn’t letting him in and he couldn’t stay behind.

He waited in silence while she cut the biscuits out with the rim of a glass and arranged them in a pan before brushing them with melted butter. It had been so long since he’d seen Em cooking that he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed watching her. She seemed much more relaxed when she popped them 135

Kaylea Cross

into the oven and set about cleaning up that he didn’t dare break the spell by speaking or offering a hand. She wouldn’t let him help anyway.

She’d never know how much it had meant to him when she’d asked him to stay with her during her treatment. The whole time he’d sat in the chair watching her, he’d ached to pull her into his arms and cradle her while she slept. But he hadn’t.

Em was wiping the already gleaming countertop for the second time when the timer went off. She exhaled almost in relief and pulled them out, and the buttery scent had his mouth watering. She slid a few onto a plate and set it in front of him. “Want some butter?”

“No, this is perfect.” The tentative truce between them was starting to grate on his nerves. There was so much left unsaid and too many questions filling his head. What he’d said to her out by the pool was merely the surface of what he needed to. He chewed his biscuit slowly. Maybe he should just get this over with and get it out in the open once and for all. Like lancing an infected wound. He watched her carefully controlled expression as he ate his second biscuit, the warm, fluffy layers melting on his tongue.

“These are great, Em.”

“Thanks,” she said without looking up, concentrating on her food. She barely picked at it.

Was she embarrassed about how exposed she’d been a few hours ago? Or was she feeling sick to her stomach? His fingers itched to reach out and touch her flushed cheek and see how hot it was. He suspected she felt a hell of a lot worse than she let on, but at least she was eating so maybe the nausea wasn’t bothering her as much as it had the first time. His gaze lowered to her breasts outlined by the heavy knit of her Irish wool sweater. Had she had a reconstruction done or was she wearing a prosthetic bra? He hadn’t asked her and wasn’t about to now.

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Emily swallowed the last bite of her biscuit before glancing at him, and the impact of her gaze hit him like a bullet to the heart. “So. How are things...coming?”

“Operationally speaking?”

She nodded. “Any good news?”

“Some. We’re following up on some leads right now, but we’ll know more when I’m on the ground tomorrow.”

Her shoulders tensed. “You’re going out tomorrow?”

“Maybe sooner.”

“Oh.” She lowered her lashes, picking at one of the biscuits. “For...for how long do you think?”

“Not sure. Couple days maybe.”

“By yourself?” She pushed the plate away as though she’d suddenly lost her appetite.

“No, with Rhys and another team.” When she nodded and started plucking at her cuffs, something she always did when she was agitated, he wanted to reach for her. “I’ll be fine, Em.”

She nodded again, an anxious frown creasing her pale brow.

He knew she was thinking of all the times he’d deployed on a mission without being able to tell her where he was or when he might be back. This time the mission wasn’t classified and at least she’d have an idea of where he was. Not that he could tell her everything, but he could tell her more than he used to. Damn, he didn’t want to leave her now.

Especially not after this afternoon. “It’ll be different this time. Sam and Ben will be monitoring everything, so they’ll be able to reach me if something comes up.”

“And update me if something happens to you?”

His heart squeezed painfully. She was scared for him, and he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to cause her any more worry. “Nothing’s going to 137

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happen to me. I’m too mean and stubborn to die.”

The second he said it she went white beneath her fevered flush and he cursed. “I just meant—”

“God, I can’t believe I’m doing this again,” she cried, tilting her head back to look up at the ceiling.

“It’s like I’ve been thrown back in time.” Her lashes fluttered when she blinked fast, and it hurt Luke that she battled tears.

Because she still cared that much about him.

Even now. The knowledge burned like a red-hot coal beneath his sternum.

She shook her head, the ends of the long wig swinging around her shoulders. “I swore I’d let you go.” A deep ache settled in the middle of his chest.

“Em...”

Her head righted, and the pain in her eyes stabbed him. “You wanted me to be more authentic, right? That’s what you meant earlier. You hated that I put on an ‘everything’s fine’ front when you knew it wasn’t. Well, careful what you wish for.”

She seemed to be working up a head of steam, her anger rising palpably. He could only watch and wait to see what would happen.

A moment later she nailed him with her vivid green eyes. “You want to know what’s really going on with me? Fine, here it is.” She punched a forefinger into the air at him. “I want to forget you and move on, but I can’t, not even now when I know I might only have a few months left. How pathetic is that? What’s
wrong
with me that I can’t let you go?”

Aw, fuck.

She didn’t give him the chance to respond, just kept on with words that tore him up inside. “You’d think my heart would finally realize it’s over, but it doesn’t care. It doesn’t care that you walked out and never came back, and it doesn’t care that you don’t love me anymore—” She covered her face with her 138

Absolution

hands.

Luke stood, pulse pounding in his ears. This was his penance. Having to watch her suffer and not be able to hold her or make it better. But the fight brewing was way overdue and she needed to get this out. Question was, how much should he tell her in return? If he spilled his guts now and something happened to him out there tomorrow, she’d be in even more agony than she already was. He owed her the truth, but could she handle that right now?

More importantly, could he afford to take the chance to
wait
?

“It would’ve been easier if you’d died,” she told him, lower lip trembling slightly. “At least then I could have grieved and learned to live with the loss better. But having you leave when I knew damn well you still loved me? How the hell was I supposed to live with that loss?” She tossed her head, cheeks alight with building anger along with the fever. “For God’s sake, Luke, we barely ever fought because you weren’t home enough for us to get on each other’s nerves. You know what? I’d have loved the chance
to
get sick of you. Life as I knew it ended when you walked out.”

Years of buried regret, love and anger rose up in a dark tide. Swallowing, he shook his head. “I gave you every chance to make a new life and find someone that would make you happy, but you wouldn’t.
Why
, damn you?” The words were torn right out of his soul.

Her eyes glittered with fury. “Same reason I never changed my last name or signed those damned divorce papers you had your lawyer send me. I wasn’t ready to give up.” The suppressed rage pulsed around her like an aura. “Too bad you weren’t man enough to stick around and fight for us,” she flung out. “But oh wait, I forgot—you only do that for your country, so I guess Rayne and I didn’t count.”

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He was around the island and facing off with her without even being conscious of moving. Of all the things she could have said, that was the worst.

“You’d rather I’d stayed after what I did? I almost slit your throat!” Their gazes clashed.

“Sometimes I wish you
had
.”

He reeled back, a cold wave sweeping over him.

“What?”

A fresh sheen of tears glistened in her beautiful eyes. “If I’d known then that you’d never come back, I would rather have died than go through the next twenty years without you.”

He couldn’t believe she’d said that. It horrified him that she’d ever thought it.

“Christ, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Is that right? Well, what about your lofty statement you left me because you wanted me to find happiness? Like some pathetic version of ‘if you love something set it free’? That’s bullshit, and you know it.” She thrust her finger at him. “You left because you were too frigging scared to face what was happening to you, and because you didn’t know how to handle it. You thought I’d just move on and find someone else? For God’s sake, Luke, it took me over nine years to date anyone, and the first time I slept with him I cried the whole time.”

Every muscle in his body was stretched taut, ready to snap. “Did he hurt you?” The words came out low and gravelly.

Emily narrowed her eyes. “No he didn’t
hurt
me.

I cried because it wasn’t
you
. Even after all that time I still felt like I was cheating on you. After that horror show, I didn’t date anyone until Alex.”

He covered a flinch at her ex’s name. “I know he treated you well.” He almost strangled on the words.

He’d been so sure she’d marry the guy and settle down again. Being a wife and mother was what Em had been born to do. “Why did you break it off?”

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“Because I didn’t love him, and it wasn’t fair to keep him hanging. So there’s my love life over the past twenty years, Luke. What about yours?”

Her question threw him. “What about mine?”

Em folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. “Yeah, how many women have you slept with, Luke? I’ll bet it’s more than two.”

He gripped the edge of the countertop until his knuckles ached, fighting the need to roar his response. Did she expect him to admit he’d screwed his way through a whole company of women? Not frigging likely. “What the hell does it matter now?”

“It matters,” she said venomously, “because it proves how easy it was for you to get over me.”

Fuck this. “You think it was
easy
for me? That I just flipped some sort of fucking switch and turned my feelings off?”