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Chapter Four
He was tired. Exhausted, really. The events from earlier stressing his physical and mental well-being. Straining him to the point he should have passed out as soon as he’d climbed into bed.
So why he was staring at the ceiling a few hours later was a mystery.
Foster groaned, glancing at the clock for the hundredth time. Three o’clock. Exactly twenty minutes later than the last time he’d checked. And an hour since the time before that.
He rolled onto his side, staring at the far wall. The one that separated his room from Mackenzie’s. Sure, there were bathrooms and closets between them, but she was essentially on the other side of that partition. Sleeping.
At least, he assumed she was sleeping and not wandering aimlessly around the house. He hadn’t heard so much as a cough or a scuff from that side of the house since he’d said goodnight three hours ago. And he hated that he’d been actively listening.
He pushed onto his elbows then swung his feet over the edge of the bed. He didn’t like feeling this disjointed. As if he’d walked into a movie halfway through and was left trying to figure out the plot. But that’s essentially what she’d done.
After her comments in the helicopter, he’d expected any future meetings to be civil but tense. Like two adversaries dancing around a shaky ceasefire. But then she’d stood on his porch, looking so damn beautiful with her long chestnut-colored hair tousled about her head, the ends curling from the rain, and her deep blue eyes staring warily at him, that all his previous tensions had vanished. He still wasn’t sure why he’d invited her in, the words slipping free of their own accord. But he had to admit, he’d thoroughly enjoyed her company.
She was smart and witty, with a voice that prickled his skin, sending shivers along his nerves. And when she laughed… It was almost hypnotic in nature.
None of which was generally something he noticed. Not that he hadn’t had relationships before. But he didn’t do serious ones. Had never met anyone who’d had such an instant and intense effect on him. As if she’d woken a part of him he hadn’t realized had been dormant.
Foster carded his fingers through his hair. The stress of being in the chopper had obviously messed with his head because this was so out of character, he was sure one of his buddies must have drugged him. Or used some kind of hypnosis on him while he’d been unconscious at the hospital. Something to explain why he’d rather sit there, staring at the wall, imagining her sleeping than close his eyes and actually sleep.
Chase. He was the reason Foster was tied in knots. Ever since his buddy had claimed Foster had feelings for Mac, he’d been stumbling. That hint of an idea bouncing around inside his brain until it had found a way to manifest itself.
Not that he was going to act on his feelings. Especially when he was convinced she still saw him as the guy who’d let her father down. Who was obviously fighting against demons and losing. Who was so close to the edge, it was a crap shoot which way he’d fall.
Foster stood, rolling his right shoulder in an effort to ease his muscles — stem the near-constant ache of all those plates and screws from the rescue. He took a step when his phone pinged, a message showing on the front. He grabbed it, sighing when he realized it was from her.
Hey, Beckett. Just letting you know I’m heading out. Thanks for letting me crash, so I didn’t crash. Mac
Was that disappointment souring his gut? Making the room feel as if it was tilting? Or was the lack of sleep finally getting to him? Messing with his head the way the chopper ride had.
He glanced at the door when hers creaked, her hushed footfalls moving down the hall. They paused, as if she’d stopped to glance back — what he hoped was her having second thoughts — before continuing down the stairs. Each step echoing in his head until he thought he’d lose his mind.
Who was he kidding? He’d already lost his mind that fateful night. Buried the sane part of him with Sean’s remains, leaving the ugly parts behind.
Foster lowered his butt onto the edge of the mattress as he closed his eyes and focused on breathing. On stilling his mind and reminding himself of all the reasons he was better off alone. How he’d never have to bare his soul — make peace with that night — if he stayed his course. Indulged in the odd one-night stand when the voices got a bit too loud.
And he was halfway to fooling himself into believing it when she screamed, her voice springing him into action. He was on his feet with his Sig in his hand and his cell shoved under the waistband of his pajama pants before the sound had faded — was clearing the hallway then racing down the stairs two seconds after that. Muscles primed. His head on a swivel.
Mackenzie had her back to the wall in the sitting room, staring at the window as her chest heaved, each frantic breath echoing through the room.
He hit the landing moving a bit faster than he should, clearing each direction before heading her way. The door was open, wind and rain blowing inside as more lightning flashed in the distance. She gasped when he shuffled in beside her, looking as if she was about to dump him on his ass before her head fell back against the wall, her fists dropping to her sides.
She swallowed, coughed, then drew herself up, pointing toward the window. “There was a silhouette standing in the doorway. I thought it was you, but then the guy turned and…” A shiver raced through her. “I realize now he was wearing night vision goggles but damn, seeing his head like that before it registered.”
Mac wet her lips, pointing to the entrance. “He ran down the driveway but not before I saw someone else standing outside your window.”
Foster nodded, shifting so he was between her and the door. Not that he thought they were still at risk, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He palmed his phone, sending off a nine-one-one to his buddies. The word tangos highlighted in all caps.
Then he had her snugged at his back as he motioned to the kitchen. Mac fell in behind him, shadowing his every move as he cleared the sitting room, then continued on. He stayed in the main areas, heading for the kitchen when Chase barreled in the side door, his Sig leading the way. Zain swooped in like a wraith from the front a moment later, searching every shadow for a possible target.
He side-stepped over to them, signaling for them to head for the counter as Chase joined Zain in the hallway. A few more hand signals, and they were gone, slinking down the hall then into the dark. Vanishing like shadows, an eerie silence taking their place.
Foster held his ground, wanting to help clear the house but aware he was better positioned there. Where anyone gunning for him or Mackenzie would have to show themselves, first. Though, why anyone would be hunting them, he wasn’t sure. Only that whoever Mac had interrupted had scared her to the bone. And she didn’t strike him as someone who frightened easily. Not if she’d completed six tours with the Coast Guard’s Tactical Law Enforcement Teams, likely chasing drug dealers and weapons traffickers. The kind of assholes who shot first and worried if they’d killed the wrong people later.
A clock ticked in the background, the house falling into silence when Kash appeared out of the shadows, Nyx leashed to his waist. She was completely focused on Kash, practically twitching as she mirrored his every move, stopping when he stepped in beside Foster.
He scanned the room, his rifle notched at his shoulder. “Chase and Zain?”