Under Fire (5 page)

Shit.

She lived on the same street as the one noted on the television screen. Right on the Miami-Dade/Broward County border. No way in hell was that a coincidence. To hell with objectivity and keeping his distance. Someone was gunning for Rachel.
His
Rachel.

He slapped down the wallet and charged toward the bathroom door.

***

Rachel tipped her face into the stinging spray, needing to melt away the hellish tension from carrying around the burden of what she knew. Finally, she had someone who was willing to listen to her, to help her. And not just anyone.

Liam.

Her skin tingled with a heat beyond anything coming out of the showerhead. The bathroom steam was so thick it almost muted the avocado green tile of the outdated bathroom. Rivulets streaked down the brown striped shower curtain. Everywhere around her, she confronted reminders of Liam, packing her brain with images of him standing in this shower.

The scent of his aftershave clung to the air. Reminders of Liam greeted her eyes no matter which way she turned—his shaving gel, razor, shampoo, and sport body wash. The space was as clean as the rest of the neatly kept house.

A crack of thunder split the air, startling her. Maybe she should have just stood out in the rain and let it wash her clean. She’d certainly done so in the past on SAR missions—rain, storms, waterfalls.

Thunder pounded again. Louder. So close it sounded nearly on top of her. She shrieked in surprise before she could finish registering it was only someone knocking.

Knocking mighty hard.

“Liam?” she called out as the door exploded open.

His broad shoulders filled the door, his dark blond hair backlit by illumination from the hall. “Are you okay? You screamed.”

She yanked the shower curtain to her body and said again, “Liam!”

Disco head-butted the back of Liam’s leg, whining. He moved deeper into the bathroom.

Her hands fisted around the brown vinyl curtain. “I screamed because you scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry. Here.” He yanked an oversized towel from the rack and tossed it to her. “You need to get dressed.”

She snagged the towel with one hand while her other still clutched tightly to the shower curtain. “I’m almost through. I’ll be out soon.”

“We don’t have any more time—” He stopped in his tracks. His eyes went wide, the sea green tint going stormy deep. His throat moved in a slow swallow before his gaze shot back up to her face.

She’d been attracted to him before, more than any man since her fiancé. But Liam had mentioned that
love
word back in the Bahamas. Such a beautiful, pain-filled word. Although he could have only been half serious about the whole love thing, she couldn’t go there again, not even partially. She’d resisted the sensual draw during the three weeks they’d worked together on the earthquake relief. Although right now, with her defenses stripped even barer than her body at the moment, she found it almost impossible to resist stepping into his arms again.

“Liam?” Clutching the towel to her breasts, she swayed.

He scrubbed a hand over his square jaw, his eyes locked on her face. “Someone blew up your town house.”

Shock, then horror, chased across Rachel’s face as she stood clutching the shower curtain and towel to her body. Droplets clung to her skin and her face. Were those tears on her cheeks? Ah shit, he was a sucker for a woman’s tears. Always had been. Seeing
this
woman cry multiplied his weakness exponentially.

“Rachel.” He stepped forward. “Are you all right?”

Her hand shot out. “Stop.”

What had he been thinking? That he would scoop her up naked in his arms and check out if her honey-toned skin was an allover thing or a tan? Yeah, there was a time he would have been all about that if she gave him a thumbs-up. But she’d cold-shouldered him for six months. She’d come to him now for protection. Not sex.

“Hurry, we need to talk.”

She blinked fast until the moisture cleared. “Believe me. I get that,” she said, her voice carefully modulated. “Please step outside while I put on some clothes.”

Her wet hair streaked down her back, the hot shower steaming a roll of mist around her legs until Liam could have sworn she was a mermaid rising from the mist.

A mermaid in a crap ton of trouble.

“Fair enough, Rachel, but talk to me while you’re doing it.”

He ducked into the hall and pulled the door closed after him. The image of her wet naked flesh stayed imprinted in his brain. The scent of her hung in the moist air. And while part of him wondered how he could be this damn hard for her in the middle of a crisis, another part of him, the primal part, pounded a deeper truth in his core being that went beyond logic.

The part that acted on instinct.

She was in danger. And the heightened awareness was all about imprinting her deeper inside himself, keeping her close. Safe.

The water shut off on the other side of the door and he heard the rustle of her dressing. His mind filled in the blanks, given the small stack of folded clothes on the corner of the sink. Navy blue panties and a matching sports bra, jeans, and a tank top. She was a no-frills woman. But that just increased her appeal, since there was nothing to distract from her natural beauty. Her curves. Her soft, full lips—no makeup, just her mentholated lip balm.

And how screwed up was it that when he’d had a cold two months ago, a whiff of Vicks VapoRub on his chest had made him go hard.

He cleared his throat and almost managed to clear his mind. Almost. Not quite. “Hey, lady, I thought we were going to talk while you put your clothes on.”

The bathroom door slammed against the wall as Rachel burst into the hall and charged past him, hips twitching as she fast-tracked away. “I’m a quick dresser. We can talk on the way.”

He jolted, then pivoted on his heels to follow her. “Slow down.” He cupped her shoulders. “Take a deep breath. Where do you think you’re going?”

She gripped his elbows, the top of her head barely reaching his chin. “I need to get to my dogs.”

“You can’t go to your house. The whole block’s on fire. And didn’t you say your other animals are at doggy day care?”

Rachel went pliant under his hands. “Right. I forgot for a moment. How do you know for certain it was my place that blew?”

“I looked in your wallet and checked your address on your driver’s license.” He wanted to stroke away the worry from her eyes, but the scent of burning stir-fry stung his nose. He steered her into the kitchen again and turned off the stove before he burned down his own house. “Where exactly are your other dogs?”

She pulled a hair tie out of the pile of mess scattered from her backpack and scraped her hair into a ponytail. The sounds of a car insurance commercial drifted from the kitchen. “The two dogs I’m working with right now… I took them to an in-home doggy day care, since I didn’t know how long I would be gone. I should call her… Or should I?” Swaying, she gripped the back of a chair. “God, you’re right. My mind’s a jumbled mess right now.”

His arm went around her before he could think. “Um, what exactly is a doggy day care?”

For a second, she rested against his chest. Her hair left a moist spot on his uniform, the dampness cool against his overheating flesh.

“It’s called Wags and Whiskers, and it’s located in a home environment. My dogs get run of a house without being kenneled…” Her voice trailed off. “I’m babbling, which is not wise when I’m trying to prove to you I’m rational. What does it matter where they are, as long as they’re not in my house? Which according to you is burning to the ground.”

“You said you’d told her you would be gone for a week.” He stroked her head as she leaned into him. “But did you say where you would be going?”

“I didn’t tell her where. Thank God. Only that I needed some time away and could be gone as long as a week.” She looked up at him. “If they told someone, then why blow up my house?”

“I don’t think they did. I’m more concerned with someone finding out you’re not in your house.”

“Oh, right. But if someone was following me here, they already know, which doesn’t make sense.” Her hands drifted up to clasp the front of his uniform. “Maybe it wasn’t meant for my home after all.”

Her touch heated through his uniform. He wanted her now every bit as much as he had six months ago, all of her, her body and her smile. And he could swear he saw awareness in her eyes. Could she be as frustrated and distracted as he was? She might not return his deeper feelings, but there was no denying the chemistry between them.

The reality of her being right about a threat sunk in deeper. In spite of her discussion of burnout, she’d been levelheaded when he knew her in the Bahamas. If someone was actually trying to pass along secrets, the timing and possibilities couldn’t be worse, with a worldwide military confab only a week away, right here in his own professional backyard.

Was that coincidental? Or could it actually all be tangled up together?

No more time to think. Time to
move
.

“The house—hell, damn near a city block—was blown up hours ago. We need to get back to base and talk to authorities. Higher up this time.”

“But what about Brandon?”

Brandon Harris. The veteran she’d been helping. Helping, right? Nothing more… Something that felt too much like jealousy kicked around in his gut.

Rachel was reaching down inside of him and taking hold just as firmly now as she had before.

Not. Wise. “I’ll see what we can do about having someone pick him up and bring him in and I’ll have someone check on the doggy day care place.”

“Staking out a doggy day care? Oh my God, Liam.” She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “This is crazy.”

“Damn straight, it is.” He tossed the burned stir-fry down the disposal and yanked open the pantry. “You need to eat something on the way over. It could be hours before you get a chance.”

He pitched a protein bar her way, snagging another for himself along with two cans of juice. Taking charge. What he did best. What she needed most from him now. And if what she feared was actually true, a lot more people needed him to get to the root of this mess before the unthinkable happened.

“You’re a health-food nut.” She eyed her candy bar beside her wallet on the table.

“And I’m guessing that comment means you aren’t.” He’d checked out books from the library on cooking healthy for his mom. “You can critique my food choice later. Come, Disco.”

Her dog plunked onto his butt. Liam ground his teeth. Apparently no one had told the dog who was in charge. “No more steak for you.”

“He only listens to me.” She patted her leg and the dog walked up beside her. “Let’s go. We can talk in the Jeep. And I can call Brandon while you’re driving.”

***

Brandon Harris had been told he possessed nerves of steel—on the football field. But he didn’t play college football anymore and his nerves sucked, courtesy of his last deployment to the Middle East.

He threw his truck into park and turned off the headlights, past ready to pick up his dog Harley from the sitter and kick back with a beer at home. In fact, his whole life sucked these days, tough to swallow when he’d had the world by the tail for most of his life. But he wasn’t at The Citadel military college these days or even in his job as a security cop in the air force. Since his return from Afghanistan, he was… in limbo.

And he was late picking up his dog, Harley.

He jumped out of the truck, his gym shoes hitting the sandy driveway outside the doggy day care.

Doggy frickin’ day care, for Christ’s sake.

Shaking his head, he scrubbed a hand over his shaggy hair, longer than normal these days. But then, he was on extended medical leave until they decided if he was a permanent or temporary basket case. Which meant he had to keep his appointments with the base shrink if he wanted to stand any chance at getting his life back.

Brandon slammed his door, triggering a distant ripple of barks. He flinched. His pulse ramped. He tipped back his head and stared at the crescent moon, dragging in calming breaths to ease the tightness in his chest. Sharp noises still did that to him. But at least he wasn’t face down in the dirt anymore.

Thanks to his dog. And speaking of his dog…

He’d never have expected to be the kind to pay for a pooch-sitter. But since Rachel’s pooch had been poisoned, he wasn’t taking any risks leaving Harley alone, and oddly enough his mutt enjoyed the pack day.

Therapy dogs weren’t allowed into all the places a service dog could go. And as much as he hated to be away from his new pet, he’d known he would need the workout in the gym after his therapy session. So he’d dropped off his Australian shepherd–beagle mix for the day at Catriona Whittier’s business. Catriona, not what he’d expected from a doggy day care… person? Caretaker?

Not that he was sure what a canine-sitter was supposed to look like. A big burly guy who herded the pack? Or a prim, stern schoolmarm type who kept the pooches in line?