Naked Flame (10 page)

He barely got the words out before there were more shots in front and then the door crashed in. Paco Morales himself stood there, holding a semiautomatic rifle.

“A few less gringo lawmen out there to get in my business.” He sneered.

Charity's throat went dry. She hoped to hell those cops were just wounded and not dead.

“I wanted to do you myself, bitch.” Paco spat on the floor. “
Puta
. Time for you to get yours.” He fired into the ceiling, his signature announcement of firepower, confident they would cower and fall to his next volley of bullets.

Then everything happened in the span of mere seconds, although to Charity it felt as if it were all in slow motion. Liam moved to step around her, but his bad leg collapsed beneath him. He still managed to get off a series of shots, hitting Paco in the shoulder and the legs.

Charity threw herself flat on the floor, steadied her gun hand and emptied the clip into the man just as his finger hit the trigger. Bullets sprayed down the hall and into the kitchen as he fell backward on the floor. Yanking the other magazine from her pocket, she jacked it into the gun and lay there, frozen, waiting to see if he moved again.

She barely registered the sight of strangers rushing in through the front or the sound of the back door opening.

“He's dead, Charity.” Dillon's calm voice came from behind her. “He won't be bothering you again.”

He crouched beside her, a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Still she lay there, unable to move. Her brain seemed to be in park, along with her body.

“I'm fine, damn it.” She heard Liam growl as if from a distance. “Stupid fucking leg. Get the fuck away from me.”

“Sorry.” Stanton's voice. “I just—”

“I said get away.”

Charity heard the voices, but they sounded faint and far away. She lay there, staring at Paco's dead body, gun still pointed at him until large hands lifted her to her feet. She looked up, dazed, as Dillon gently removed her gun and placed it on the counter.

“It's all good now, Charity.”

“How the fuck did this happen?” Liam demanded, still sitting on the floor.

“That's what we have to sort out,” Dillon answered. “This was the FBI's operation, so they need to tell me how they missed him when we got the others.”

“I heard shots out front,” Charity managed. “Is anyone…are they—”

“Sheriff,” someone called from the porch. “We have a couple of wounded here.”

“Call for the paramedics,” he told them. “And check to make sure everyone else is okay. There were a lot of bullets flying out there.”

Charity heard a groan, glanced around and realized Liam was holding his leg, blood staining his jeans.

“You're hit?” She felt as if she were listening to someone else say the words. She tried to move, to get to him, but nothing seemed real to her.

Dillon knelt beside Liam, checked his leg, grabbed a kitchen towel to staunch the blood.

“Just a graze,” she heard the sheriff say. “We'll get it looked at.”

“I can take care of it myself. It's hardly anything. It just hit my bad leg.”

Charity watched as Dillon wrapped two dish towels around the wound, vaguely aware of other people in the house. Of deputies and the feds talking to Dillon. Of the body being removed. Of phone calls in the background. Someone guided her to sit at the kitchen table and placed a mug of steaming coffee in her hands. She was glad because she felt thoroughly chilled, inside and out. Empty, as if a part of her had died.

When she looked up, Liam sat across from her, agony lining his face.

“Ten years,” she said at last. “Ten years, and this is the first time I've actually killed someone.”

He closed one of his large, warm hands over her free one. “I can help you deal with that.”

She just shook her head and looked down at her mug. “I've already done enough damage to you. I just want to be left alone.”

She had no idea how long she sat there, watching while the paramedics arrived and took care of Liam's leg and treated the wounded federal agents. Or of Stanton murmuring reassuring words to her. Or of the ride to the B&B where she insisted on going. Dillon called Georgie, who came with Cade and picked her up. The last thing she remembered was crawling into bed, still half dressed and trying to shut out the nightmare.

“She won't talk to me,” Liam said to Georgie. “Won't come out of her room even to eat. But of course, you know that.”

They were sitting in the kitchen of the B&B. He had insisted on going to the B&B and being with Charity, leaving his house to all the various law enforcement officials and his father. He and Charity were staying there since the house was in such a mess. Besides, he didn't want her to have to keep looking at the spot where she'd killed Morales.

The feds and Stanton were gone now, along with the bodies of Morales and his cartel lieutenants. None of them had survived the firefight, for which he was glad.

“We'll keep her name out of it as much as possible,” Milo Stanton assured him before taking off.

That was all well and good, but now he had another problem to deal with. He might as well have been in another state for as much as she acknowledged his presence. Even at night in bed, she lay not touching him, rigid as a stick.

“I wish I had words of wisdom for you.” Georgie reached over and closed her fingers over one of his hands. “I think she might have to get some professional help.”

“It shocked me that in ten years, as many times as she told me she'd had to pull the trigger, this is the first time she's actually killed.” He shook his head. “I recognize PTSD when I see it. God knows, Afghanistan and Iraq produced enough cases of it.” He rubbed the stubble on his cheeks. “I can search for someone she can see, but first she has to talk to me.”

“At least she's sharing the room with you.”

When Charity hadn't insisted on her own room, he'd held out hope they could break through the wall she'd erected around herself. But he might as well have been with a stranger. She ate in the room, slept in the room, never set foot outside its four walls. She moved little more than a robot. She showered and dressed each day and then sat in the big chair by the window, staring outside. But he knew she wasn't seeing anything. Her eyes were too filled with agony. At night, she lay in bed like a stone, as far away from him as she could get. Sometimes, he'd wake up and see her lying on her back, just staring at the ceiling.

He, more than a lot of people, knew how devastating the taking of a life could be, no matter how justified the act. If only she'd talk to him, let out some of her pain and stress.

“I have a suggestion, if I might be so bold,” Cade put in.

“Yeah? I'll take anything.”

“Why not call Lieutenant Stanton. Or ask Dillon to call him. She worked for him for a number of years. He knows her maybe better than she knows herself. If anyone can get through to Charity, it might be him.”

“I just wish it could be me,” Liam told him stubbornly.

“The two of you have your own issues to work through,” Georgie reminded him, “on top of everything else. This man has known her and worked with her for ten years. What can it hurt to give him a call?”

He sighed. “Yeah, I guess you're right. I'll take a run over to the sheriff's office and talk to Dillon. Get him to contact Stanton while I'm there.” He looked at the couple sitting across the table from him, sympathy for the situation plain on their faces. “You guys have been great. I really appreciate it. And I know Charity does, even if she's not acknowledging it yet.”

“We're all family of a sort.” Cade grinned. “A rather oddly assorted one, but still family. We watch out for each other.”

Liam rose, being careful of his leg. The damn leg that had collapsed on him when he'd needed it most. Never mind the fact a bullet had grazed him. He'd been hit worse than that in a firefight and still functioned as he should. He was angry with himself, angry with the situation and frustrated by his inability to break through the barrier Charity had erected. He had to find the key to unlock that door. Did she blame him for not being the one to take the shot?

“I'll be back after a while.”

Dillon agreed with the suggestion, and two days later, Milo Stanton walked into the B&B, everything he was feeling showing on his lined face.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“I'll take you to her.” Liam motioned him toward the stairs.

“That injury happen the other night?” Stanton asked, obviously noticing the limp.

He shook his head. “No, it's a souvenir of the sandbox. But one of the bullets flying around grazed it that night and didn't do it any good.” He held up his hand when the other man opened his mouth to comment. “I'll be fine. Getting better every day. It's Charity I'm worried about.”

“That's why I'm here. I hope I can do her some good.”

“Me too. No one else can get through to her.” He paused at the bedroom door. “She's in here.” He knocked before he opened the door. “Good luck.”

Through the opening, he saw Charity look up, saw surprise on her face, then Stanton closed the door, shutting him out. Swallowing a sigh, he limped downstairs. Cade was in the kitchen, getting a cold drink.

“I'll keep my fingers crossed,” he said. “I hope things work out.”

“Thanks. If we can get through this, we can work the other stuff out. Listen, you got anything I can do around here in the meantime? I'll go crazy just sitting here clock watching.”

Cade laughed. “Well, I finally got the bench swings up in the backyard, and the Adirondack chairs were delivered. Feel like joining me with a can of paint?”

“Sure. I wield a pretty good paintbrush. Lead me to it.”

As much as he tried not to, Liam kept sneaking glances at his watch, wondering when the minute hand had begun to move so slowly. When he heard the back door open and close and footsteps on the stairs down from the back porch, he stopped and looked up.

Stanton nodded and gave him a tired smile.

“I saw that woman handle critical and difficult and dangerous situations and never even blink. She shot people in the line of duty and handled it.” He rubbed his hand over his head. “But I know what it's like the first time you take someone's life. Most cops fortunately never have to deal with it. When they do, it's a bitch to handle. Accepting that you had no choice is the first step, and I finally got her there.”

“So she's okay? She'll talk to me?” Liam held his breath, waiting for the answer.

“Yes, to both questions.” He gave Liam a tired smile. “She wants to see you, but let me give you a word of caution. If you want a relationship with her, you've got to treat her like an equal, in all situations. Don't try to cage her in. I know you have a natural instinct to protect her and care for her, and that's okay. Just respect her boundaries. If you can't do that, walk away now.”

Could he do that? His first instinct would always be to protect her, like he hadn't been able to protect Darren. Well, he wouldn't know until he tried.

“She's also a little upset that you got yourself shot on her account.”

“I didn't get myself shot,” he protested. “A stray bullet grazed me because I wasn't paying attention when I should have. And okay, because I didn't listen to her.”

“See there?” Stanton grinned. “You're already figuring out what to do.”

“Thanks for coming here and doing this.” He shook hands with the man. “We'll both always be grateful to you.”

“Good. You can invite me back when you've both got your shit together. Meanwhile, I thought I'd check out Mike's where Charity seems to have started a new career.”

Liam cleaned his paintbrush and set it carefully on the lid of a can. “Wish me luck.”

“And then some.” Cade gave his shoulder a fist bump. “Have at it.”

Liam climbed the stairs slowly, unsure of exactly what he'd find when he reached their room. When he walked into the room, Charity was still in the chair where she'd been sitting, hands in her lap and her face wet with tears. But then she smiled, and the lump in his heart began to loosen.

“Are we okay?” He hated how unsure he felt.

“We will be.” She held out her arms to him and her lips curved in a weak smile. “Yes, we will be.”

Hours later, they lay in bed, Charity's head nestled on Liam's shoulder, his arm cradling her body. She'd never felt so safe, so protected, so—right—in her life. They had talked for two hours, a painful stretch of time that had brought all their secrets out into the open. He finally got it that she wasn't a woman who leaned on a man for protection. A hard thing for him to swallow, but he understood it. And she realized why he felt that way, which was even more important. Knew that it had more to do with what had happened in Afghanistan than a weakness he perceived in her. He'd make it work, respect her abilities so their relationship could move forward.

“If I'd known how much guilt you had about Darren,” she told him, “I wouldn't have been so angry about you wanting to protect me.”

“Would it have changed how you felt?”

She looked up into his eyes, warmed by the emotion she saw there. “No, but I'd have handled it differently. I've had a lot of years to build up this need for independence. And to prove I can take care of myself.”

“And I don't want to take that away from you. Like I said much earlier, just let me be there for you. I promise to respect your abilities if you promise to do the same for how I feel.”

She placed her hand on his warm, hard chest, loving the soft feel of the fine chest hair beneath her touch.

“I hear what you're saying.”

“I spent a lot of years as part of Delta Force, learning to be a protector. And I may never come to terms with Darren's death and accept the fact I couldn't have done things differently. But I'm working on it. And on how to be part of a relationship, something I've never been very good at.”