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Not letting him get another word in, I stormed through the door, down the hall, past a wide-eyed Sarah and Christina Brown’s husband, and flung open the front doors.

One step out into the freezing cold, I collided into a hot, hard chest.

10

Alta

The familiar masculinescent of cedar and spice infiltrated my senses, sending a flurry of excited butterflies to overtake the growing rage John had conjured. Two large hands wrapped around my biceps, preventing me from yanking away.

“Easy there, Lady,” Cas said in a soothing tone.

The soft fabric of his cotton T-shirt brushed along my forehead as I nodded and took a deep breath in, hoping it would halt the building angry tears.

“I’ll go ahead and start the interview. Mathews, let me know when the other husband arrives. He should be here any minute,” Chandler said at my back, his husky tone radiating restrained anger.

Sealing my eyes shut, I inhaled deeply, savoring his scent, then pulled away from Cas’s warm body. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him first. Instead, I glanced to Chandler, whose red cheeks and blazing eyes told of the fury boiling just below the surface. The man was all jokes and easy conversation, but his look and posture now were a startling reminder of the marine beneath the suit.

“What, Chandler?” I crossed both arms over my chest in an attempt to ward off the cold wind.Should have grabbed my jacket off the back of the chair before storming off.

“I wouldn’t go as far as giving him the title of savior,” Chandler said with a nod to Cas, who grunted and retreated toward their SUV. “But hero is one word they used when awarding him the Silver Star for valor in battle.”

Eyes wide, I slowly turned my eyes to Cas, who was storming toward me with a black coat clenched in his fist. When I turned back, mouth open to ask one of a million questions clogging my thoughts, Chandler was nowhere to be seen.

Heated fingers grazed across the tops of my shoulder, startling me out of the trance I’d slipped into.

“How did he…?” I thought out loud as a heavy coat engulfed my thin frame, smothering me in delicious heat instantly. I peered up at Cas, whose own gaze wasn’t on me for once. I turned, following his line of sight to the building. Understanding settled when I locked on John’s open office window. “Oh. So you two heard it all?”

“Enough.”

The scratch of flint drew my attention back to Cas. Gaze on me, he lit the end of the cigarette, the cherry burning bright with his first deep inhale, then blew out the harmful smoke in the opposite direction of where I stood.

“I don’t know how I feel about you two eavesdropping.” It was the truth. On the one hand, it was good that they knew I would stand up for them, but I also didn’t want them to think I was an ignorant girl for ignoring John’s clear warning.

“First.” He paused to take a deep inhale of smoke. I watched in fascination as his lips curled around the end. The tip of his tongue flicked against the center of his bottom lip after each drag. “It isn’t eavesdropping if two people are yelling so loud that you can’t help but hear it. Second, why does it matter if we heard if you meant it?”

“Meant what?”

A muscle twitched along his scruffy jawline. “Don’t play dumb, Lady. You’re not.”

I arched a brow and stepped back to lean against the building’s cold brick. “Yes, of course I meant it. Wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”

“Are you scared of me now that you know the truth?”

“The truth that you’re a hero?”

He flinched. Physically cringed, as if my words were poison-laced arrows shot into his skin. At his side, a scarred hand clenched into a tight fist. “I’m no one’s hero. I’m the man people call in to wreak havoc, not the hero who saves you from it.” He nodded toward the open window. “You defended me. Defended us in there with that dipshit. Why?”

He said it in surprise, as if he’d never had someone stand up for him. Maybe he hadn’t.

I focused on the pebble rolling back and forth beneath my boot with each push of my foot. “My dad is a game warden in Texas. A veteran too. As a kid, I remember hearing late-night conversations between my mom and dad, her counseling him through the actions he had to take at work to survive, or even sometimes talking about things he did while serving. It imprinted on me. The bits of a person that get chipped away with each life they took, even though it could’ve been their own if they hadn’t. I’m not defending people who use their power as a way to take lives just because they can. But that’s not who you are, or Chandler, or my dad, or most people who put on an officer or military uniform. That’s who I defend. The good guys who have to make a tough decision that will haunt them for the rest of their lives.”

Mustering a sliver of courage, I peered up into his narrowed, searching eyes.

“What?” I asked.

“There’s something else. You’re leaving something out. Tell me.”

“No I’m not.” How in the heck could he tell I left another key person out of my explanation? Was I really that easy to read?