Page 10

CHAPTER TEN

She could still taste him on her lips.

That perfect combination of peppermint toothpaste and something she could only describe as Granger. Citrus and earth battling for dominance and grounding. Her mouth tingled from the aftereffects, and Charlie couldn’t help but press her fingers to the sensitive skin to hold onto that feeling a little bit longer.

Stinging pain erupted instead. She memorized the bruising shapes and scrapes along the backs of her hands, knowing where every single laceration and injury had originated. Her abductor felt as close to her in this room as he had in those woods despite her isolation, and Charlie knew deep down the scar of her survival would stay with her forever.

It’d been like that after the Alamo pipeline explosion. Her guilt, the physical pain, the grief of losing Sage had stuck with her until it’d gotten hard to breathe at times. But now she had something to help her fight back, to keep her grounded in the here and now. She hadn’t even let herself cry for Erin yet. There just…hadn’t been time.

The hospital room door swung open, centering Granger beneath the frame. Where he’d charged in earlier to be with her, he seemed sunken now. In his slow approach, in the way he didn’t meet her gaze.

Tension bled into her shoulders. “Something happened. What is it?”

She wasn’t sure she could handle anymore. All she’d wanted to do was figure out exactly what’d happened to Erin, and they were nowhere closer to attaining that answer. Instead, she’d uncovered a plot on the state capitol, the involvement of a drug cartel and suffered through an abduction. Then again, if she’d learned one thing from her childhood, it would be that anything worthwhile was worth standing your ground for. And giving Erin justice was worthwhile.

“We have your father in custody,” Granger said. “Along with three cartel members.”

Air caught in her throat. Very few things could surprise her anymore, and yet Granger stood there as though the arrest of Henry Acker didn’t call for some kind of celebration. This was what they’d wanted, what they’d worked for. Understanding bled through the haze of pain and ibuprofen. Though was a private military contractor allowed to arrest terrorists? Or did they have to call in the feds to take over? Either way, Henry Acker wouldn’t talk. Not until it benefited him at least. “I take it from the fact you’re not saying that with a smile that he’s made conditions Socorro isn’t willing to meet.”

He rounded the end of the bed, keeping his distance, and collapsed into a chair on the other side of the room. Mere minutes ago, he’d brought the past back with a single kiss. Now it felt as though he wasn’t allowing himself to come close. What had changed since then? “We’re private military contractors. We have no authority to arrest him. Even if we did, we don’t have any physical evidence linking him to what happened to you, your sister’s death or any attacks he’s suspected of carrying out.”

“You have me.” Didn’t he understand that? A sliver of panic worked to get the best of her, to undermine every second she’d stood up to her father. Henry Acker wasn’t the kind of man to take an arrest lightly. Socorro would be added to his list of grievances and would be a continuous target of Acker’s Army from here on out, and now he knew of her involvement with them. What did that mean for her? Erin had been held against her will all these years, never able to leave for fear their father would make her pay. What punishment awaited for the daughter who’d managed to escape? “My account of that night. My testimony or statement or whatever you want to call it. I wrote it all down.”

“You ran, Charlie. You convinced the US government you died in that attack. Anything you say now against Henry Acker won’t be considered in court, and I don’t work for Homeland Security anymore to back you up.” An invisible hand seemed to choke his voice. “Everything that happened the night of the Alamo pipeline ten years ago can’t be used against him. No prosecutor will touch the case if you’re involved, and we have nothing to hand over to the local authorities.”

No. That wasn’t how this was supposed to work. They’d had a plan. They were going to make her father pay for what he’d done. For the death of her oldest sister and the innocent lives of those four other bystanders. But she’d run. She’d given into her fear that no matter which path she took—to return to Vaughn or return to Granger—she’d be the one to suffer. And so she’d made her own choice. She’d wasted so much time being scared, and now Henry Acker would never answer for the nightmares that haunted her each night.

Acceptance never came easy. Not for her. But she had to fix this. She had to make this right. “Socorro wants to know about the deal my father made with Sangre por Sangre and what the cartel is planning to do. My guess is he isn’t talking. What are his conditions?”

Granger leaned forward, bracing his elbows against his knees. “He’ll only talk to you.”

“Right.” She didn’t know what to say to that, what to think. Confronting her father face-to-face—without the threat of his soldiers or her sisters as a buffer, without an escape plan in mind—went against everything she believed. Henry Acker was a dangerous man to many. But more specifically to the people he claimed to care about. “Where is he being held?”

“In one of our interrogation rooms on the first floor.” Granger shoved to stand despite the injuries he’d sustained fighting for their lives. Warmth skirted up her arm as he secured his hand in hers. “I asked you to get intel on your father and his organization once, and it was a mistake. I made you believe all I cared about was bringing him down, that I was sleeping with you only because you could help me secure an arrest. I can’t ask you to go through that again.”

“You mean sleep with you? I mean, it wasn’t all that bad. There were a couple times I had to fake it, but who doesn’t when they’re focused on impressing a handsome federal agent instead of the actual experience?” Her attempt to lighten the mood pulled one corner of his mouth upward. Charlie squeezed his hand, taking in the battered skin over his knuckles and the blisters along his forearm. Blisters like the ones that’d left scars on her forearms.

Her stomach dropped at the realization she’d come close to losing the only person who’d ever given her permission to be herself. Not the soldier her father had reared. Not a fugitive on the run. Just…her. “Granger, the whole reason I agreed to be your CI was to stop my father from doing something terrible. I still believe in that cause. I just lost sight of it for a while, but these past couple days have reminded me of what’s at stake if I keep running. And I don’t want to keep being the kind of person who had a chance to save lives and chose to look the other way.”

“You’re not that person.” Granger crouched beside the bed, leveling his gaze with hers.

“I was. All those years of hiding, of pretending I was dead. I could’ve done something. Maybe then those families would’ve gotten the closure they deserve instead of being constantly reminded their loved ones aren’t there to celebrate birthdays, and Christmases and anniversaries with them.” Charlie pulled her hand from his and threw back the covers. The sight of her bruised legs gave her pause, but she’d reached the tipping point. The victims of her father’s attacks deserved better than monthly cash payments as a sorry excuse for an apology. They deserved justice, and she was going to give it to them. No matter what it cost her. Because living with this feeling of corruption and defectiveness wasn’t a way to live. And she couldn’t take the weight of surviving anymore. “They’re still wondering what happened. Because of me.”

“What are you doing?” Granger shot from his crouch by the bed and rounded to the other side. Strong hands held onto her as she tried setting her weight on her own two feet. A headache reared its ugly head while the bullet graze in her calf threatened to rip her balance from her, but she held onto him. “You’re in no shape to talk to him now.”

“We don’t have a choice.” She braced herself against him with one hand and grabbed for a pair of scrubs Dr. Piel had left for her to change into from the side table. “If Sangre por Sangre is planning something with my father’s help, we need that information now. Not after it’s too late.”

She raised her gaze to his, a ridiculous amount of height between the two of them, but while Granger was trained and honed for the single purpose of accomplishing his mission, he didn’t intimidate her. Quite the opposite. He was the anchor to keep her from getting lost in the storm. Charlie fought the bone-deep pain in her side, raising one hand to his face. The coarse hair along his jaw pricked at her skin and elicited a reaction from her nervous system. The bruising along his temple had darkened significantly, but there didn’t seem to be any permanent damage. She could do this. She could do anything with him as her partner. Hadn’t they already proven that? They were always better together. “I know how to make my father talk. I need you to trust me.”

A hint of acceptance softened the corners of his eyes. “All right. What do you need from me?”

“Can you just…hold me up while I try to get dressed?” She leaned into him—physically, mentally, emotionally—as they worked together to replace the hospital gown with a fresh set of scrubs. Charlie tried to brush her hair out of her face, suddenly conscious of the fact she hadn’t undressed in front of a man for ten years. “Was that as painful for you as it was for me?”

His laugh escaped as a short bark. “You have no idea.”

She couldn’t stop her responding smile. Only it didn’t last. “I’ve been so focused on coming home, Erin’s death and just not dying, I didn’t think to ask if…this mess is keeping you from whomever you have waiting at home.” Nervous energy charged through her. She had no right to ask about his personal life. She’d given that up ten years ago when she’d cut herself off from him, but the words were there all the same. Tainted with hope and a little bit of desperation. “Though I’m hoping the kiss earlier was a good indication. If not, I hope she kills you and hides the body so not even Zeus can find it.”

Granger stared down at her, his hands on both her hips. Whether to keep her balanced or because he felt the same overwhelming need for physical contact that she did, Charlie didn’t know. “I’m not involved with anyone.”

“Were you?” She couldn’t force herself to look at him, to expose the answer she needed to hear, but it was cycling through her, out of control. “Ten years is a long time. I would understand if moving on with your life meant moving on with someone else. Forgetting about me.”

“I tried to forget about you. Several times with several different women.” Granger slipped his index finger beneath her chin, nudging her to look up at him. Her insides unraveled under his study. “But I’m only going to say this once, Charlie.”

Her brain latched onto every shift of his expression, ready to disengage at a moment’s notice. To protect herself from the rejection and the hurt.

“Nobody wanted to date me,” he said. “Because I was still in love with you.”

* * *

He held onto her as they navigated through the oversized maze of the building.

“Black tile, black walls.” Charlie managed one slow step at a time. Brain injury had the ability to drop a person without provocation, not to mention a bullet to the calf, and he wasn’t willing to push her harder than necessary to talk to the son of a bitch who’d given up his daughters for a chance to show his patriotism. “This entire building is ready for a funeral.”

“Easier to clean up the blood we track in,” he said.

Her smile told him she wasn’t convinced, but there was a hint of truth to his answer. Socorro operatives charged into situations and engaged with threats that the US government couldn’t or wouldn’t risk anyone else for. That level of freedom and training came with costs. Mostly physical. Sometimes psychological.

They approached the elevator, and he hit the call button to take them down to the first floor. The shiny doors reflected their images. Her at his side, him ready to give his last breath for her. It was easy to imagine the years rolling by, of them as partners rather than resources for one another. The only one missing was Zeus. And he’d most likely gotten into another package of cookies while Granger paced the recovery wing. “You never told me what you’ve been doing while you were on the run. I’m guessing Charlie Acker hasn’t been your name for a long time.”

The doors parted, and Granger helped her into the car.

“No. It wasn’t.” She stared at the LED lights indicating the floor. “Living off the grid isn’t as romantic as it sounds. The night of the Alamo pipeline explosion, I went back to Vaughn. I got the money I’d been saving for years between jobs around town and the cash you’d given me for intel—nearly ten thousand dollars—and I took off in one of the neighbor’s cars.”

The elevator dropped, and Granger’s stomach shot higher in his torso. “I remember. The neighbor reported it stolen. I found that car outside of Boulder City, Nevada, two days later. Wiped clean. Couldn’t prove you’d been the one to take it though.”

“What good is all this survival information in my head unless I use it?” She pressed her temple to his arm as the descending numbers on the LED screen lit up. “I spent the first few years stockpiling safe houses. Food, water, money, weapons, ammunition. I moved from place to place and switched up my car every time I stopped. Sooner than I expected, I ran out of money. I had to start working. Just here and there. Nothing permanent, and nothing that required a background check.”

“I take it you’re well-versed in breakfast foods then.” The elevator pinged with their arrival, and the doors parted. He helped her over the threshold onto the first floor, doing everything in his power not to look at the spot where he’d nearly bled out from the gunshot wound three weeks ago. His shoulder was still sore, but putting eyes on where it’d happened intensified the pain. Granger didn’t come down to this level, and if he did, he was sure to take the stairs on the other side of the building. His shoulder seemed to sense his proximity to the garage, as it had two days ago. Trauma was a given in his line of work, but ignoring the aftereffects would tear him apart from the inside if he let it.

“I might be. Maybe one of these days, you’ll find out.” Charlie’s voice faded the longer he directed his attention to holding back the memories. “Granger?”

He rolled his shoulder back to counter the ache spreading down his arm. Damn it, his fingers were tingling. Going numb. He’d managed to keep himself in check since retreating back to Socorro by focusing on Charlie’s needs, but his brain wasn’t going to let him replace one gunfight with another and have him walk away unscathed. “Is that what you dug up at your safehouse the other day? Another cache you’d hidden?”

The attempt to focus himself failed.

Charlie centered herself in his vision. Brown eyes locked on him and refused to let him go. She followed him as he tried to turn away. “Granger, look at me. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.” He shook his head, as though the simple action could erase the pressure building in his head. “The interrogation room is this way.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what just happened.” With one hand latched onto his arm, she hit the elevator call button just as the doors closed. “That asshole in Vaughn hit you pretty hard. Are you dizzy, nauseous? Dr. Piel said you guys come in here all the time with head injuries. She should take a look.”

His pulse pounded hard behind his ears. Too hard. He closed his eyes, at the mercy of his own mind. The last place he wanted to be. “Keep talking. I just…need to focus on something else.”

“Okay.” Charlie slid one hand along his shoulder as the elevator doors tried to close on them, and the pain seemed to recede with her touch. Which he knew was impossible. Physical contact didn’t change the sensitivity of pain receptors, but her touch was the distraction he needed. “Do you remember the night we met? How I almost shot you for walking onto my father’s property uninvited? I was in the backyard skinning the jackrabbits I’d shot that day. My rifle was right there, yet you walked straight up to me with your hands up. I was ready to pull the trigger, but you said the one thing that convinced me to put down the rifle.”

He gritted through the crushing loss of control determined to get the best of him. “I asked if you wanted some strawberry ice cream.”

“It sounded so ridiculous.” She smoothed circles into the back of his shoulder. Right where he needed her. “You told me you’d stopped into a diner on the way to Vaughn and ordered a strawberry shake, but they’d accidentally given you two. And you offered me one. Handed it to me and everything, and all I could think to myself was it was a good thing you’d come to me, because anyone else would’ve shot a stranger dead on the spot so late at night. Little did I know you’d been watching me for weeks by then.”

The pressure in his head was draining with every word from her sweet mouth. Keeping him in the here and now, tethering him to reality. He wasn’t back in the garage. He wasn’t the only one standing between his fellow operatives and the Sangre por Sangre cartel. Charlie was there too. “I knew you liked strawberry milkshakes.”

“They’re still my favorite. Though I wasn’t able to find anything that compared to the one you gave me that night. Then again, maybe it wasn’t the shake I remember the most.” Charlie’s fingers dipped under the collar of his shirt, smoothing her fingers directly against the rise of scar tissue on the back of his left shoulder. Right where the bullet had been surgically removed. “Dr. Piel said that Socorro operatives have a dangerous job. I asked if you’d been to see for her anything other than a head injury in the past. She refused to tell me, but I’m guessing this isn’t a scar from when you had the chicken pox as a kid.”

Her other hand fanned the front of his collarbone, and Granger couldn’t help but straighten. He grabbed for her hand, afraid of what she’d find beneath his shirt. “Charlie.”

She slipped her hand out of his, using only her fingertips to study the healing wound, and suddenly it felt like she was the one holding him up. Her inhale hissed in his ear. “Smaller in the front, bigger in the back. Long distance. Fresh. No more than a few weeks old from the pliability of the surrounding tissue. But the exit wound feels…surgical. Not like a normal gunshot wound. Dr. Piel was able to remove the bullet?”

“Most of it,” he said.

Charlie pressed herself into his arms, searching the floor. What she saw or what she expected to see, he didn’t know. “You were shot. Here?”

He could breathe now. Odd. Memories from the past took longer for him to recover from, but there was something about Charlie—the way she seemed to center him and unbalance him all at the same time—that cut through the fear following him everywhere he went. “In the garage. I bled out here. We were under attack. I was the only one keeping them from penetrating the upper floors.”

“Sangre por Sangre.” Setting her forehead against his jaw, she held onto him. “Why don’t you want me to see it?”

“Because then you’ll finally see what kind of man I am.” His mouth dried. “That I wasn’t strong enough to protect you ten years ago, and that I might not be strong enough to shield you from what’s coming now.”

Charlie pulled back. The overhead lights were much brighter here, accentuating the bruise patterns, cuts and blood across her beautiful skin. Her broken nose. She pressed her finger over his heart. “I know exactly what kind of man you are, Granger Morais. You’re the kind of man who runs into a fight that isn’t yours to begin with. You have a hard time trusting people, but once you do, that trust lasts a lifetime, even when the person on the receiving end doesn’t deserve it. You’re committed and reliable and the only person who has ever considered what’s best for me instead of exerting your power over me like everyone else. And nothing—not a bullet wound or any other injuries—is going to convince me you aren’t the man I want at my side for what comes next. Your dog can come too. I’m sure we can bring snacks or—”

Granger crushed his mouth to hers. The last of his uncertainty fled, and he fed off the strength she’d lent him. He had survived the past three weeks on a mixture of adrenaline and duty, and for the first time since he’d come out of Dr. Piel’s operating suite, he was beginning to feel whole. Duty wouldn’t keep him moving forward. He had to have a hand in his own future. One of his own design. It was up to him. “Have you been practicing that speech?”

“Maybe a little.” She smiled, kissing him again. Charlie intertwined her fingers with his, and it was as though they hadn’t missed a step in the past ten years. “I have a few speeches on hand. Most of them are rewritten arguments I’ve had with my sisters, so I’m the one who wins.”

Granger caught sight of Ivy at the end of the corridor. Waiting. “You got one of those for your father?”

She angled away from him, and her smile fell. This was it. What the past decade of her living on the run and faking her death had built to: giving those she’d hurt the justice they deserved. And Granger couldn’t help but admire her strength. “No, but I’m sure I’ll think of something along the way.”