Into the Storm (29 page)

Just like the night she’d returned to the Ladybug for her allegedly missing jacket, Tracy’s body language was a curious mix of fear and hope. And bravado.

“That’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done.” Skepticism tinged her voice. “Not following me home?”

Izzy smiled. “No, but the concept’s the same. There’s something that you want really badly, but you know if you do it, you’ll be in an even worse situation. Frying pan to fire, you know? I was once in a bind that I can’t go into in too much detail. But it was recon—which means you’re there just to watch and listen. You don’t engage the enemy. Usually you’re seriously outnumbered, and that was the case this time, so…I stumbled into this really bad scene. About a dozen hostages had just been murdered in the middle of this field, their bodies left to rot—at least that’s what I thought. I should’ve stayed hidden, but I didn’t. I wanted to be able to identify them—see if they included this pair of American doctors who’d been grabbed.” They had definitely been among the dead. “I was taking pictures when the enemy returned.”

Pictures as well as DNA samples, using his pant leg as a petri dish. But she didn’t have to know that.

“There was nowhere to hide,” Izzy continued, “so I had to pull the bodies on top of me and play dead. That was absolutely the hardest thing I’ve ever done—to lie there and not move. To listen to them congratulate themselves for killing these two doctors who were completely dedicated to saving lives—who wouldn’t have hesitated to treat them if they were wounded.”

But lie there he had. With the already swelling bodies of Drs. Mary Ullright and Charlotte Weston covering him. Gagging from the smell was not an option. He was beyond lucky that none of the enemy had taken a closer look or done a head count.

“Another thing that saved me was the enemy’s shortage of ammo,” he told Tracy, who was clearly both grossed out and impressed. “If there’d been enough bullets, some hot dog prolly would have drilled all the bodies one more time—including mine. One thing I’ve learned through the years is that luck plays an important part in survival.”

“How many—” Tracy stopped herself, taking a moment to gnaw on her lush lower lip. She rephrased. “Do you keep track of things, like, how many lives you’ve saved, or…taken?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “I’ve got a kill belt. Actually, I’ve got three of ’em. I make a notch for—Look at you—you’re buying this shit. Do
you
keep track?”

“I’ve never killed anyone,” she pointed out. “And what are my chances of ever saving anyone’s life? I’m the Lieutenant Uhura of Troubleshooters Incorporated.
Hailing frequencies open, Captain!
Maybe if I try really hard, I can save someone from a paper cut.”

“Do you keep track of guys you’ve slept with?” Izzy asked. “Hearts you’ve broken?”

He’d said it to make her bristle defensively, but she took it totally in stride.

“Doesn’t everybody keep score to some degree?” she countered, pouring herself more tequila. “It’s human nature. Don’t you think? To keep rankings, too. Was it yawnable, or total screaming monkey sex?”

“So, what are you saying? You have a belt with notches? Color-coded? Gray for
yawnable.
Vermilion for—”

“If I did, it wouldn’t be a very colorful belt,” Tracy admitted. “Or a very long one. Only two notches, one of them gray.”

Was she serious? If she was shitting him, she was doing an incredible job of it. She was no longer meeting his gaze, and she tossed back that shot as if she needed it desperately.

“That’s…actually pretty admirable,” Izzy told her. “I mean, in a world where people treat sex casually, that’s…I’m impressed.”

She looked up at him. And again, if the shy thing was an act, she deserved an Oscar. God, she had the prettiest eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“You don’t think it’s pathetic? Considering Lyle would probably have a belt that he could wrap around him three times?” She rolled those eyes at the mention of her ex. “God, I’m such a loser.”

She was on the verge of sliding into full-steam pity-party mode. So he sang to her.
“Well, I lay my head on the railroad track waiting on the Double E.”

She gave him her
what the fuck?
look. “Why do you do that? Just randomly start to sing?”

“Because each of the thousands of people I’ve killed had a favorite song, and since part of them lives inside me now—”

“Sometimes I think you’re completely crazy,” Tracy told him. “I never know when you’re serious or when you’re kidding.”

“Usually I start kidding when people get serious. Too much serious gives me a rash. Can I give you some advice?”

She poured herself another shot, some of which missed the glass and hit the table. “Can I stop you?”

Izzy laughed as he claimed possession of the bottle. “Not a chance. Here’s the deal. Asking for stats on personal body counts is extremely uncool. It implies a certain morbid fascination with violent death. Some guys find that to be a turnoff.”

“Oh, come on. Isn’t everyone fascinated by violent death?” she asked, finally taking just a sip from the glass. Apparently the shot part of the evening was over. Which was a good thing. As it was, he was probably going to have to carry her out of here. “I mean, why else are horror movies so popular?”

“So what are you saying?” Izzy asked. “You’d like me more if you knew for sure that I’d killed people? And if I tell you exactly how many, you’ll be unable to keep yourself from pulling me out to the car, tearing off my clothes, and joining me in a rousing chorus of ‘She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain’?”

“Of course not.” She didn’t get the joke. Or maybe she did, and she was just ignoring it. And he was wrong about the shot part of the evening being over, because she tipped her head back and drained her glass. She really did have a lovely throat and neck. Come to think of it, she had a lovely everything.

He couldn’t help but wonder if he would find her as enchanting after he cut her off, when she started screaming obscenities at him.

But this time, when she set her glass on the table, she turned it upside down, cutting herself off. How sweet was that?

“So here’s the deal,” Tracy said. She didn’t look or sound drunk, but she had to be. No one could drink that much and not feel it. “I’m going to marry Lyle.”

“Now’s probably not the time to make that kind of decision,” Izzy started, but she waved him off.

“This is not the tequila talking. This is…fact facing. Facing the facts. I’m going to marry Vile.” She cracked up. “Vile Lyle, the man-ho.”

Izzy stood to return the bottle to the bar and settle up their bill, but she caught his arm.

“Wait, please?”

He waited.

“I need to ask you a favor.” She closed her eyes. “Will you please sit back down so I don’t have to shout it?”

“Don’t tell me,” he said. “You want me to be flower girl at the wedding?”

Tracy laughed. “You’re funnier when I’m drunk.”

“That’s what all the girls tell me.”

She leaned forward, gesturing for him to do the same. So he leaned forward, too. At this proximity, her eyes were unbelievable. Tomorrow, however, they were going to be unbelievably bloodshot.

“I’m just going to say it,” she said. “Okay?”

“Best way to say anything,” he agreed, “is to just say it.”

“I’m just going to ask,” she said.

“Good plan,” Izzy said.

She was looking into his eyes, as if she were searching for something. But then she sat back, her head hitting the back of the booth with a thud. “I can’t do this.” But then she sat forward again. “Do you have paper? Maybe I could write it.”

There must’ve been a pen in the pocket of the olive drab jacket he’d loaned her, because she put it on the table now.

“There’s always paper in a bar,” he told her. “I’ll be right back.”

This time she let him leave, and he took the bottle with him, setting it on the bar with a twenty. Sure enough, there were napkins there in a little pile. He took a few back to the table. “Here.”

Tracy made a barricade with her hand so he couldn’t see what she was writing, like a middle school student taking a test. He sat back down across from her, glancing at his watch. This had been amusing when it first started, but it was quickly becoming old.

She was going to marry Lyle, which meant the odds of Izzy actually getting laid tonight had dipped into negative numbers. Not that the odds had ever been all that strong. Still…

Tracy was finally finished writing, and she folded the napkin in half and then in half again. He stopped her before she attempted to turn it into an origami swan, taking it out of her hands.

“Oh, my God,” she said, slumping back, one arm holding on to herself, the other hand covering her eyes, as if she were too embarrassed to look at him.

Izzy unfolded the napkin and…Whoa.

Will you have sex with me?

Her handwriting wasn’t helped by the tequila or the porous nature of the napkin, but those were definitely the words she’d written there. And, yup, they were still there when he read them again.

Was she serious?

“Oh, my God,” she said again, peeking out at him from under her hand. “You’re gay, right? Because I am
so
bad at this, it would be just like me to ask someone who was—”

“I’m not gay,” he said. “I’m just…like…” He laughed, because what the hell? She’d managed to surprise him completely. “You mean, you want to right
now
?”

“Not in here,” she said, as if she actually thought he was about to throw her across the table.

“Yeah, no,” Izzy said. “I meant now, like, tonight.”

She met his eyes for the briefest of moments, and there it was again. Fear. And hope. “If you don’t want to—”

“Wait,” Izzy said. “You did not hear me say that. I’m just trying to clarify. And work out the logistics. I’ve got a roommate at the motel. You do, too.”

“We’ve got the SUV,” she pointed out, almost shyly.

Indeed they did. And it didn’t take much imagination for him to picture them, parked somewhere dark and private, steaming up the windows as they removed just enough of their clothes for her to straddle him.

She held his gaze for slightly longer now. It was possible, though, that she was blushing.

Damn, he was having one weird day. “Tracy, are you sure you—”

“Yes.”
So here’s the deal. I’m going to marry Lyle.

“So what is this,” Izzy asked. “Some kind of revenge fuck?”

Tracy winced. “That sounds so awful. But…” She took a deep breath, exhaled hard. “Yes. It is. Is that okay with you?”

“Hey, I’m not judging you,” Izzy said.

But she felt compelled to explain. “I walked in on him and his research assistant. Practically in our bed. How can I just take him back without at least—”

“I’m also not trying to talk you out of it,” he added.

“I want him to wonder what I’m smiling about when he catches me daydreaming.” This time she held his gaze.

Dear
Penthouse,
Was this really happening?

Yes, it was. “Don’t get me wrong,” Izzy said. “But I just sat here and watched you consume a crapload of tequila. I remember doing something similar once, and having what seemed like a truly genius idea of how to handle a problem I was having with this asshole neighbor who never cleaned up after his dog. But believe me, approaching him in a crowded bar, surrounded by his asshole friends, and insulting his mother was
so
not the way to go. If I’d stepped back, and waited until the next morning—”

“You don’t understand,” Tracy told him. “This isn’t…I didn’t…The tequila was so I could get up the nerve to ask. You know, flat out, like…” She pointed to the napkin. “I tried asking more suttelbly…More subtly”—she took her time with the word, making sure she got it all out—“but you didn’t get it, so…And then I was so desperate I tried Mark, except
he’s
suddenly all in love with someone else. God. That was embarrassing.”

And so much for his ego. She was so desperate she’d tried asking Mark, who’d turned her down. So now she was back to Izzy. Who would she approach if he said no? Lopez, maybe. Or Gillman. Apparently she found them all interchangeable.

“You do understand, right?” Tracy told him with the earnestness of the inebriated. “That this is just sex. This is me thinking you’re attractive and wanting to hook up with you without having to be afraid of anyone getting hurt.”

“Except Lyle,” Izzy pointed out.

She laughed at that. “God, I hope so.”

This was definitely crazier than anything he’d fantasized. He had to be honest with himself. He’d imagined getting busy with Tracy in her attempt to exorcise Lyle from her life. He’d imagined her using him as an exclamation point at the end of that dead relationship. But he’d also imagined her choosing him because she was drawn to him, because she found him irresistible. Not just because he was mildly attractive and conveniently available.

But okay. What, was
he
now the crazy one? He was going to sit here and pout because she wanted to use him to punish Lyle?

A gorgeous, sexy woman wanted to have no-strings, no-guilt sex with him. Tonight. Probably as soon as they went outside and got the SUV warmed up.

Izzy reached across the table for her pen. Holding her gaze, he uncapped it. Only then did he look down, and only briefly, as he spread the napkin on the table, holding it taut so he could write on it.

Three little words.

He spun the napkin so that she could read them.

I’d love to.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

L
indsey was the first to arrive.

Blanket wrapped around her shoulder, Sophia opened the door to see her smiling face.

“How are you?” Lindsey said, slipping inside and closing the door tightly behind her. “I won’t stay long. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything.”

“I’m okay.” The burst of cold air that accompanied her into the room made Sophia sit directly on the wall heater. “But thank you.”

And this was where it would happen. If Lindsey was going to say anything, she was going to say it now, while they were alone.

Unless, of course, she didn’t realize that they were alone.

Sure enough, Lindsey leaned forward slightly, to see if the bathroom door was closed.

It wasn’t. The bathroom was dark, the light off. “Where’s Tracy?”

Sophia wasn’t exactly sure. “She went out to get some cold medicine.”

“Is she sick?” Lindsey asked.

“I didn’t think so,” Sophia said. “She’s been gone for a while, so…”

It would have been typical of Lindsey to make a joke about Tracy’s alleged illness being nothing that a Navy SEAL injection wouldn’t cure, but instead she was silent, her smile suddenly gone.

“I’m sure she’s just inventorying everyone’s pharmaceuticals,” Sophia said quickly, realizing with a flash of clarity that Lindsey was imagining Tracy off somewhere with Mark Jenkins. “Or she’s hanging out with Danny Gillman and Jay Lopez. Or Izzy. He’s a riot, isn’t he?”

“Izzy’s out, getting gas,” Lindsey informed her.

Which meant that Jenk was alone in the motel room that the two men shared. Or maybe he wasn’t alone. Maybe that
was
where Tracy had gone.

“Shit,” Lindsey said. “
Shit.
Do you think I’m a coward?”

“Absolutely not,” Sophia said, but before she could ask why Lindsey would question that, someone knocked on the door.

And there it was. Their last few seconds of privacy. Lindsey proved Sophia right. “I saw your scars,” she said fearlessly. “I wasn’t trying to, but—”

“I know,” Sophia said. Everyone who’d gone out to the lodge in Jenk and Lindsey’s little recon party had seen them—her souvenirs from her former nightmare of a life. “They’re hard to miss.”

“If you ever want to talk…I’m here. No pressure, though. I don’t need to know. I mean, I figured you already knew that you’ve got an entire team of people here who love and respect you, people you can talk to about anything at all. So what I’m really trying to say is that you
don’t
have to talk to me. That whatever you do or don’t tell me isn’t going to change our friendship. I’m not going to feel as if you don’t trust me or—anything like that. I just didn’t want you to feel awkward around me, like I’m always going to be wondering what happened to you. Because I won’t. I’m not. Sure, those scars are part of you, but no way are they all of you. Does that make any sense?”

Sophia nodded, unable to speak. Her tentative friendship with Tess Bailey had all but faded away because Tess’s concern for Sophia had been such a palpable thing. And Sophia knew that her own failure to talk about her past had frustrated Tess. It had become easier simply to make up excuses not to socialize.

“Soph, you okay in there?” It was Dave outside the door. He knocked again, more loudly.

“Just a minute,” Lindsey called. She lowered her voice even more. “I also wanted to say…Please don’t take this the wrong way, but…I have some money saved. I know you’ve been working to pay off a loan, but…You wouldn’t have to pay
me
back for a long time, until you were done with that, and…I’m talking zero interest, it’s just, I know this really great cosmetic surgeon.”

And Lindsey actually thought she was a coward. No one, not even Dave, had ever dared to suggest such a thing to Sophia.

“I know it’s none of my business,” Lindsey said. “But—”

“No,” Sophia said. “It’s okay. I guess I was hoping they were just going to fade away. I mean, they mostly have.” Hadn’t they?

From the look on Lindsey’s face, it was clear she didn’t agree.

“I try not to notice,” Sophia admitted. “I guess I’m used to it. I didn’t realize it was that disturbing.”

“It’s not,” Lindsey said, but then opted for honesty. “It’s just…to have that kind of constant reminder…? It occurred to me that it might be a financial issue for you, and if that’s the case, I can help. That’s all.”

“Thanks,” Sophia said. She ended the conversation by opening the door. “Sorry, Dave.”

“It’s freezing out.” He came into the room, looking from her to Lindsey and back, no doubt wondering what they’d been talking about. “I can’t stay—I’m just checking in. Did you get enough to eat?”

“I’m good,” Sophia said, back on her heated perch. Was she ever going to be completely warm again? “Thanks.”

“How’s the roommate thing working out?” he asked, clearly noting that Tracy wasn’t there. “Any additional boundary issues?”

“She unpacked for me,” Sophia told Lindsey. She was pretty sure Tracy just wanted to go through her stuff. Not that Sophia had anything to hide. Not so far as her clothes went, anyway. “Other than that, it’s been okay. I was picturing the TV on twenty-four/seven, but she brought a book. She’s been reading.”

There was another knock on the door.

“Where is she?” Dave asked, opening it. Jay Lopez and Danny Gillman were standing outside, huddled against the wind.

“Where’s who?” Danny responded.

“Tracy. If you’re coming in, come in,” Dave said. “This is not weather for an open-door chat.”

They came in. Clearly, they’d come to see Sophia together, both feeling the need to make sure she was okay, but far too uncomfortable to face her solo. She wondered if they’d discussed it, discussed her. They were close friends—why wouldn’t they?

“How’s your head?” she asked Danny.

“I’m okay,” he said. “How about you? I heard Tommy’s benching you.”

“Just for a few days,” Sophia said. She’d been given a direct order from the boss to take it easy. “At the risk of being thought a wimp, I’m admitting that I’m actually okay with that.”

“No one thinks you’re a wimp.” Dave, as always, was ready to defend her—even from herself.

And there they all were. Standing there. Crowded together near the door to the room. No one sat down, probably because the room was so small there was nowhere to sit besides on the beds.

The dynamic was that of tension. Dave was carefully ignoring Danny, whom he still clearly blamed for the accident out at the lodge. Danny and Lopez obviously felt obligated to drop in, but clearly wished they were anywhere else on the planet. And Lindsey…

It was obvious to Sophia that Lindsey could no longer pretend that Tracy was off amusing herself by hanging out with these two young SEALs. With Izzy out of the picture, it was more and more likely that Tracy was, indeed, with her old friend Jenk.

Although, maybe they were just sharing high school memories. Or playing Monopoly.

“Can we get you anything?” Lopez asked.

She looked at Lindsey. “Actually, yes,” Sophia said. “Have you seen Mark Jenkins? I need to talk to him.”

Lindsey made a
what
? face at Sophia.

Sophia gave her a shrug in return.
Why not?
This was a quick and easy way to find out where Jenk was, and if Tracy was or was not with him. “Since I’m not part of the exercise tomorrow, Tom asked me to help with the scheduling,” she fabricated. “I need to get some information from him—”

Lindsey cut her off. “No, you don’t. I can help you with whatever you need.” She shook her head at Sophia.

“Are you sure?” Sophia said.

“Yes,” Lindsey said. “I am. Very sure.” She sidled toward the door. “My notes are in my room. I’ll…call you. Later.”

“Let us know if you need anything,” Danny said, and he and Lopez made their escape with Lindsey.

Dave alone remained. He scratched his ear. “You gonna tell me what
that
was about?”

Sophia shook her head no. “Do you think I should go see a cosmetic surgeon?”

She’d surprised him. He tried to hide it, but couldn’t. He actually sat down on her bed. “Wow,” he said, giving her one of his try-to-read-her-mind looks. “Do you want to go? Because if you do, I’ll—”

“No,” she said. “Actually, I don’t. I’ve already hurt enough. The thought of enduring more pain…”

“Then absolutely not.” Dave didn’t hesitate. “You shouldn’t go. There’s no reason—”

“Isn’t there?” She put her mug of tea down on the table next to the bed, took the blanket off her shoulders. She turned her back to him, lifting her sweatshirt, lowering the already low-riding elastic waistband of her yoga pants.

She heard him draw in his breath, which should have been answer enough.

But he tried to bluff. “So what? People get tattoos to cover scars, and women have tattoos in that particular spot all the time. Even if you felt compelled to hide it, which I don’t think you need to do—”

“Pretend you’re Decker,” Sophia said.

He was silent.

“Yeah,” Sophia said, covering herself back up. She picked up the blanket, wrapped it around her shoulders again. “That’s what I thought. He can’t even handle looking at my face. There’s no way…”

“He’s a fool,” Dave whispered. “Have you ever considered the possibility that he’s not good enough for you?”

Sophia sat down next to him. “I’m kind of in love with him.”

Dave sighed. “I know,” he said. “But I’m starting to be pretty certain that he’s not in love with you. He could be, but he just won’t let himself.”

“You always know just what to say to cheer me up,” Sophia said.

He laughed, but his smile faded as he met and held her gaze. “No more pain,” he told her. “Promise me, Sophia.”

“I promise,” she said, “that I’ll talk to you about it first.”

Dave nodded. “Fair enough.”

“As long as we’re in the no-pain department,” Sophia told him, “I had another call from my aunt. My father’s been moved into a nursing home. He’s doing much better and…I’ve decided not to visit him. Not on this trip. I just can’t. I know you disapprove, but…” She shook her head.

“I don’t,” Dave said. “I’ll support any decision you make, a hundred percent. I just don’t want you to regret a missed opportunity.” He stood up. “You look exhausted.” Kissed her on the top of the head. “Call me if you need anything.” Opened the door. “Try to get some sleep. Whoa.”

“Hey.” It was Decker, standing there, about to knock. He’d actually come to see her.

“Come on in,” Dave said.

“No,” she heard Deck say. “If she’s going to bed…”

“She hasn’t yet,” Dave said.

“I just wanted to make sure she was okay,” Decker said. He leaned in. Waved at her. “Hey. Just checking in.”

“I’m okay,” Sophia said, wrapping the blanket more tightly around her as a wave of cold air swept into the room.

“Come in,” Dave said. “Please. Just because I was leaving, doesn’t mean—”

“It’s good if she sleeps,” Decker said. “I’ll check in later. Don’t leave the door open.”

Dave looked at her in exasperation as Deck pulled him outside and closed the door behind them both.

Frustration mingled with relief. It was odd, actually, how relieved she was that Deck hadn’t come in. If he had, it would have been the perfect opportunity to lay a little honesty out in front of him.
I’m still a little chilled and I think I might’ve pulled a muscle when I tried to push Danny out of the water and despite the months of separation, I think of you constantly and I’m pretty convinced that I’m in love with you.

In her fantasies, he would look at her the same way he’d looked at her this afternoon in the smokehouse, and he’d tell her he loved her, too. She’d fall into his arms and…

After kissing Danny, she was no longer quite as concerned that physical intimacy would make her run, sweating and shaking, to hide in the bathroom.

No, now it was Decker she pictured on his knees in front of the toilet, sickened by the sight of her scars.

Sophia climbed into bed and pulled the covers around her, switching off the light. But as soon as the room was dark, her phone rang.

She reached for it, picked it up. “Hello?”

“Jesus.”
It was Dave. “That’s all,” he said. “Just…
Jesus.
”

She laughed.

“I am
so
sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay. Really.”

“I thought you might appreciate knowing that I managed not to kick him down the stairs, despite desperately wanting to.”

Sophia laughed again. “I really love you, you know.”

“Yeah,” Dave said. “I know.”

“So what’s your biggest fantasy?” Izzy asked.

That was easy. “Well, I just told you that when I was little my favorite movie was
The Little Mermaid,
” Tracy told him. “So…”

“So…being abducted by a giant sea witch and having your voice stolen makes you hot?”

She laughed. “Being swept off my feet by a handsome prince, thank you very much.”

Tracy had been on edge as they’d left the bar, Izzy’s hand warm against her back as he’d helped her navigate the potholes and broken tarmac of the parking lot. She’d definitely begun feeling the alcohol.

But as he’d helped her into the SUV, even as he handed her the packs of condoms he’d gotten from the machine in the men’s room, he’d suggested that they gas up first.

At first she’d gotten even more nervous at the delay, her stomach churning with anxiety and too much tequila.

But as they drove through the darkness, Izzy had kept up a constant stream of conversation: favorite books, favorite movies, favorite parts of Manhattan. Eventually she’d started to relax. They had so much in common, not the least being that they were dog people. They’d actually both had golden labs, growing up. His was named Dyno-mite, hers Nathaniel.

Lyle was allergic.

“Ah,” Izzy said now. “Someday my prince will come, love at first sight—am I right? You’re a traditionalist, heavy on the romance—and maybe the high drama, too?”

She didn’t understand.

“Casablanca,”
he said. “Thumbs-up or thumbs-down?”

“I’ve never seen it,” she admitted. “Not the whole thing.”