In the Air Tonight (7 page)

“I did.” Her voice was barely a whisper and he simply smiled and she knew he was lying … and that no matter what she did, Jeffrey would still be as sick as he was now
.

“You’ll have to remember all of this for the rest of your life, unless you want to kill yourself. You and your stupid magic hands.”

He’d laughed then, and it echoed in her ears, cut off sharply by a shot. For a second, she thought she was
dead. But she saw Jeffrey falling backward, blood spurting from his shoulder, and she realized the police had taken him down
.

God, they should’ve killed him. Why hadn’t they killed him?

Because the town would want justice. From Jeffrey. From her parents. From her
.

Her closest friends, her inner circle … they were gone. She’d only kept one secret from them, how truly sadistic Jeffrey was, and in the end that secret had taken them all in a sweeping blaze of bullets, blood and hatred, leaving behind a sleepy town unable to comprehend any of it
.

She was sobbing, still on her knees, unaware that she was repeating, “I knew he would do this …,” loud enough for everyone around her to hear
.

It was that phrase that would damn them all, in the media … the words used in headlines and sound bites
.

“His Family Admits, ‘I
Knew He Would Do This.’ ”

Even the policeman who’d picked her up and carried her away from the chaotic scene had looked at her with unsympathetic eyes in civil court
.

“Don’t you mention that curse of yours,” her mother said, in a vodka-fueled rage. “You’ve caused enough damage.”

She had, in more ways than anyone would ever be able to comprehend
.

But at least, for now, the memory was over. And she was running out of the house, down the street and away from her mother’s harsh words. Running as if she would never stop, as if her life depended on it
.

In so many ways, it did
.

——

M
ace had listened as Paige told Cael the story of her brother earlier as succintly as possible, and even though it was one he knew, the pain in her voice tore at him. And he did not want to be torn at or tugged, didn’t want to feel any more than he already did.

He prided himself on not feeling—on tamping down any and all emotions all the time so he could do his job. Had done it for so long that the first time a feeling peeked through it surprised the hell out of him how much it actually hurt.

His body had responded to her even before she’d come on to him. He wanted to lay her out on the couch or the floor or, hell, even the table. He didn’t know if it was his own willpower or the knowledge that Caleb was close or the fact that he still held too many secrets that could easily be revealed in the heat of the moment, but he’d stopped.

Christ, it had nearly killed him. His erection pressed the soft denim of his jeans uncomfortably and he thought about going outside and rolling in the snow.

Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets and watched her sleep, even as Caleb wandered in.

The man slept as little as Mace did this days, and they usually ended up on the couch watching movies until dawn.

Like a fucking old married couple. Jesus, he needed a life. And Cael needed
his
life.

“She’s dreaming,” Cael pointed out.

“She’s having a nightmare,” Mace said grimly, watching Paige shake in her sleep, her hands fisted
safely inside the old quilt. He went over to her, was about to shake her awake, when he stopped himself.

He wasn’t sure if it was the bow-shaped mouth or the dark fringe of lashes that threw small shadows on her cheeks, or the fact that those cheeks were flushed, but the response his body had was immediate—his blood heated and he forced himself not to stroke her face or her shoulder.

The feeling was nice. And he almost laughed.

It was the same reaction he’d had when he first saw her walking into the bar, before realizing who she was. What kind of trouble she could wreak here.

“Leave her, Mace. You’re not supposed to wake someone when they’re having a nightmare.”

“That’s for sleepwalking.”

“Still, leave her. She’s calming down.”

And she was. The shaking and whimpering had stopped.

“You heard us talking before,” Cael said, and yeah, his senses were definitely returning. “Why didn’t you tell me about her brother? Did I know that at some point?”

Did he? Gray didn’t talk about that part of Paige’s life much, as if it was too private to share. “Probably not.”

“She said it was on the news a few nights ago.”

Mace wondered if that’s really what propelled her here—if she’d received any threats.

He’d ask her in the morning.

C
ael woke in a cold sweat, his hand reaching out for something … or someone.

But who? The question haunted him. Fuck, everything did, no matter how hard he tried not to show it. Getting laid would no doubt take the edge off, but he somehow knew it wouldn’t satisfy the empty, gnawing feeling in his gut.

He shoved the covers off, padded naked to the window and stared out into the blinding white blanket that coated the back lot and the familiar, not back in-his-own-skin feeling began again.

Shit
.

Maybe Mace was right about Paige. Maybe her showing up here was the worst thing ever.

He tried to remember if he’d had any dreams last night, but as usual, since the memory loss, there was
simply a dark, gaping void where dreams should’ve been.

It was then he noticed that the heat was still out. He remembered Mace mentioning a generator that wasn’t working and he decided to pull on clothes and see if he knew anything about fixing generators. These days, he had a better than fifty-fifty shot.

As he yanked on a pair of jeans, he noted the legal pad that had fallen to the floor. Before bed last night, he’d been writing down memories of the days of the capture again, trying to put an order to them. But the page wasn’t filled with his lists. No, it was a picture—a woman’s face. The same woman he’d been drawing for the last month. Sometimes just her face … sometimes her body. Naked.

He grabbed the newest sketch of her and stared, remembered now drawing it feverishly last night before he’d fallen into a restless sleep. These days, whenever he drew, it was in a kind of fugue state, like he was watching someone else’s hand unearth things he had no memories of.

Sometimes, it was his brothers’ faces he drew—pictures of times he couldn’t have known about otherwise, like when Zane was twelve or thirteen. When he’d gotten his hands on a couple of family albums, Cael had been shocked to realize that he’d actually been re-creating a lot of the family pictures.

He looked at the picture from last night again, tried to focus on a name, but nothing came.

Who the hell was she?

Her hair was chin length, with bangs that didn’t hide her eyes. She looked a little worried, her brows drawn together as if she was concentrating hard on
something. She was really pretty; he’d made the bottom pieces of her hair darker, as though they were dyed.

He had no sisters. Not his mother—he’d seen pictures of his parents. An old girlfriend, maybe?

He ran his fingers around the perimeter of the picture and knew it wouldn’t be the last time he drew her. No, all his sketches brought out new memories, each one opening the door a little farther, inching it maddeningly slowly, when he’d much rather just kick the damn thing in and reclaim his past.

But it wasn’t working like that, and he had to at least be grateful he was getting things back.

He contemplated showing the drawing to Mace to see if he’d get a reaction and decided against it for now. Mace’s problems were racking up rapidly and he hated being one of them.

Paige took precedence now—for Gray.

Cael wondered how long it would take before she and Mace ended up in bed.

He didn’t want Paige—not in the obvious way Mace did—but he was jealous that they could both feel, when he was still mainly numb. Parts were defrosting a little, but far too slowly for his tastes, and he didn’t want to take his frustrations out on these two.

D
ylan Scott flew commercial into JFK and immediately made the rest of the trip to the Adirondacks by car rather than waiting out the night at some hotel. He had been too worried about his brother Caleb for too long—and finally, Caleb was remembering
his family, remembering him and Zane enough that Dylan felt a visit wouldn’t do him more harm than good.

But first, he had another stop to make. It was close to four in the morning, but he didn’t feel bad at all about slamming on the door to wake up his best friend, Cameron Moore.

The men had saved each other’s lives. More than once.

Cam felt a little bad about it, had come at Dylan with a shotgun at his chest until he realized who was at his door. “Should’ve known. Asshole,” he mumbled, stumbled back through the living room into the kitchen and flipped on the switch for the coffeemaker.

Skylar, Cam’s girlfriend and soon-to-be wife, padded out of the bedroom briefly for a quick hug and to ask about Riley before heading back to bed.

Dylan’s girlfriend was finishing a job in Florida, but she would be here to see Skylar tomorrow night. The two women had become extremely close, despite a rocky start. And even though Skylar wasn’t on DMH’s radar any longer, Cam refused to take chances.

So did Dylan. So he would bring Riley here to stay with Sky while he convinced Cam to take the trip with him to see Caleb and Mace. One that was a long time coming.

And so he sat across from Cam, whose back was to the picture windows that highlighted the privacy of his Adirondack home, a hideaway he had built years earlier to help him ease out of the life of Delta Force and black ops.

Correction: out of a life he had no control over. He
still ran black ops missions, but now he and Dylan called the shots. Things had really worked out for Cam, and the man deserved his happiness.

“They’re all fucked-up, not just Cael,” Dylan said after he’d mainlined two cups of coffee. His younger brother had been on his mind for months now; he blamed himself for not helping more, which Riley continued to point out to him was ridiculous.

At the time, he hadn’t known about the capture of the team—he hadn’t learned about it until they were rescued. Typically, the circles he ran in would let him catch wind of such a kidnapping, especially of American military, but DMH had kept it under wraps.

Caleb and the other Delta operatives by rights should be dead now. They should all be, hundreds of times over, and it was only by the grace of something bigger than themselves that most of them had survived.

Gray had not.

“Reid’s running around the Amazon jungle on the tip of another merc, looking for the last of the DMH guys,” Dylan told him.

“Reid’s not going to be happy you found him,” Cam commented after a long gulp of his coffee.

“Reid got found because he was sloppy. That’s not like him at all.” Dylan’s temper rose hot.

“So what are you saying?” Cam asked.

“They need out.”

“And you’re going to go gather them up under your wing and, what, comfort them with a great big hug?” Cam raised a brow.

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“It’s just fun watching you get all soft and cuddly.”

“Use the word
soft
around me one more time, buddy, and see what that gets you.”

Cam grinned, and then he grew serious. “Noah’s never going to let you take his whole team. Not without skinning you first and then doing the same to me for fun.”

“He might not have a choice.”

“Caleb’s not remembering?”

“He is, but slowly,” Dylan said somberly. “These guys need something more than orders. You and I both know that. So does Mace.”

“You told him?”

“Not yet.”

“And you haven’t found Kell, I’m assuming,” Cam said dryly. The man went more rogue than Dylan, if that was possible.

“I called, but he’s not answering.”

Cam snorted because that wasn’t unusual at all. If Kell had answered, they’d probably have something far greater to worry about.

“We’ll head to the bar in a few days and see what’s what,” Cam agreed finally.

“That’s all I’m asking.” But that wasn’t true; Dylan was asking for a whole hell of a lot more. And he would be giving the men a lot more too. More risk, for sure, but also stability the military wouldn’t necessarily be interested in doling out.

Old soldiers never die … they simply fade away
.

His soldiers wouldn’t be allowed to fade unless that was their choice. Working together, they would be secret. Silent. Not for hire per se, but they would choose their own jobs.

They would be deadly.

No one would ever know the number of men and women involved, or their names. All locations would be kept separate. No paper trails, no bank accounts to be traced. Dylan would see to all of that.

They would be unstoppable without the bullshit red tape. And if the men he wanted weren’t ready now, that was all right. The door would always be open for them, no matter what.

J
esus, Dylan, your timing sucks.” Everyone’s timing did these days, but the thought of having to explain to Caleb that the team would all be leaving the Army and working with Dylan and Cam on their crazy spy-for-hire shit made his head hurt.

“I’m not asking you to do it now, just mull it over.” Dylan paused and Mace held the phone tightly, the tension building inside him. “Cam and I will come up this week and talk to you guys about it.”

Come work with me, with me and Cam and Riley. There’s plenty of work, not a lot of structure. We take on what we want, we leave behind what we don’t
.

He wondered if it was too soon to talk to Caleb about Dylan’s offer and decided yes.

It was intruiging, would give them all more freedom than they’d ever had in the military, but it would also leave them flying without a net … except for one another.