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His hands were rough and his fingers calloused, but she was right. They were strong. If only the rest of his body and mind could live up to the potential. The tension slowly drained from his body with every gentle stroke of her hand. It was a comfortable feeling to wake up beside a woman in the middle of the night. He’d forgotten the intimacy, the feeling of knowing a lover’s touch or the sighs that said they were dreaming peacefully. The vise around his chest loosened and he was able to breathe easier. And before he could help himself, the words started pouring out of his mouth.
“I killed my wife,” Shane said, expecting Rachel to recoil. To slap him or gasp in horror. She did neither. She just listened.
* * *
Rachel felt sick inside. What kind of horrors had Shane been living with? She didn’t believe for a moment that he’d killed his wife. He was too honorable—too loyal. He was a protector of the innocent, and his basic characteristics would never let him be anything else.
So when he dropped the bombshell about his wife, she listened with an open mind while her heart broke over the tragedy. He told her of his nightmares, and how he relived those last moments night after night, shouldering the blame for something he’d had no control over. And she listened with envy as he spoke of the woman he’d loved—her beauty, her strength and her faith in him that he was making a difference in the world.
“I’ve spent my entire adult life obeying someone else’s orders—in the Marines and then again in the FBI,” Shane said. “I’ve always been a pawn in someone else’s game. What does that say about me that I never stopped to think for myself? That I just followed the orders of others so blindly without first thinking of all the consequences?”
“I’d say it made you the best person to do your job. The job does not define the man, Shane. You’re still your own person, with your own beliefs and priorities. And no one can fault you for doing what you had to do in those last seconds.”
“Well, they did fault me. And I can’t blame them.”
“Trying to relive history, to rethink the outcome of situations, will never give you peace. You can’t say for certain that he wouldn’t have detonated the bomb strapped to his chest anyway. He was a sociopath. It was he who was responsible for the loss of all those lives. Not you. There are a hundred different scenarios that could have played out that day, and they all could have ended badly. From the way you described your wife I’d think she wouldn’t be too happy with the way you’re blaming yourself. What would she say?”
She’d probably tell him to stop moping and get the job done. “I don’t know, but every day I pray that she would have forgiven me if she was still alive. She was strong. Stronger than me. Everything was black and white with Maggie. Right or wrong. There were no gray areas to get lost in. It seemed I was always skirting the gray areas in my line of work, and she’d just give me that look that said, ‘Suck it up and do what’s right.’”
“She sounds like an amazing woman,” Rachel said.
“She was. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think of her. She’s my conscience. And loving her taught me something very important. That emotions always cloud the issues. I’ll never let myself love anyone as wholeheartedly as I did her. The body’s not meant to withstand that much torture, that much loss. It’s okay to put yourself into work and relationships, but there’s no reason for them to matter too much. It can only lead to disaster.”
The first tear snaked down Rachel’s cheek before she could stop it. Her hand had stilled on his and her breath was caught in her throat. What had she been thinking, dragging Shane into a mess of her own making and then becoming attached to him? He was everything a real man should be—honorable and trustworthy and honest. And he continued to be that way despite the pain that weighed him down. She was past the point of where she could lie to herself. She was falling in love with him. But she had to remind herself it wasn’t real. These were tense times and he was her protector. A psychologist would have a field day with her attraction to him.
“Maggie would have forgiven you,” she finally said, but he didn’t hear her. His breathing had steadied under her hand and she realized he’d fallen asleep, the nightmares purged from his soul with his confessions. But Rachel was wide awake. And more alone than she’d ever been. She rolled away from Shane and curled into a ball, letting the tears fall silently. It was the first time she’d cried since she was a child. And all because she was in love—no, infatuation—with a man who would never love her in return.
She’d stay with Shane Quincy until the papers were safely in the possession of the FBI, and then tell him goodbye with a confidence and bravado that had come from years of practice and guidance from her father. And then she’d never look back.
ChapterEight
Rachel woke the moment Shane left the bed. She’d spent the night tossing and turning, a deep sleep eluding her for uncomfortable dreams and thoughts of the man beside her.
The bed dipped and rose and she opened her eyes. The room was still pitched in darkness and no glimmer of morning light peeked underneath the curtains. Shane flicked on the bedside lamp and she watched the muscles in his back flex as he reached toward the ceiling in a stretch that left her mouth watering. A pair of snug boxer-briefs hugged his hips, his hair was mussed, and a day’s worth of beard shadowed his face. He wasn’t making it easy for her to stick to her plan.
He pulled on his clothes and strapped the .22 back to his ankle, checking the cylinder even though the amount of bullets in the chamber hadn’t changed since the day before. He moved around the room silently, packing up their meager belongings. He reminded her of a big cat, the way he moved so efficiently, almost lazily, but the power was coiled just beneath the surface. Always ready.
“Rise and shine, sugar,” he said. “I want to be out of here before light hits. We’re supposed to meet Wildcat in St. Louis at noon.”
“I’m awake. And don’t call me sugar,” Rachel said, her mood dark as she shuffled into the bathroom to get dressed. She threw on her clothes, washed her face, brushed her teeth, and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. The bags under her eyes spoke of a sleepless night and her skin was pale against the harsh lighting in the bathroom. She probably wouldn’t have to worry about any more kisses from Shane.
Shane was standing by the door impatiently by the time she emerged from the bathroom, and he avoided making eye contact with her. Tension hung thick in the air between them, and words spoken in the dark of night lay heavy on both their minds.
Rachel noticed the .22 in Shane’s hand.
“Stay behind me and to my right. The dumpsters will give us good coverage until we can make it to the Explorer. You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
Shane opened the door and she followed close behind him. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, but it didn’t look like Jake’s otel had changed much over the last few hours. The thunderstorm had turned into a light mist and water filled the holes in the parking lot. If it was possible, Jake’s otel looked even more pitiful than it had the night before, soggy and neglected.
They were behind the dumpsters and Rachel’s pulse picked up as she thought of how long they’d be an open target on the way to the car. Her Uncle Angelo could have men placed anywhere—on the rooftops, under cars, or at the liquor store across the street. She didn’t like the thought of Shane putting himself in front of her. Weren’t two sets of searching eyes better than one? She tried to move around him so she could see, but he stubbornly kept his body in front of hers as they edged out from behind the dumpsters.
The fine hairs on her arms and the nape of her neck prickled a moment before the gunshot rang out. Shane pushed her to the ground and into the wet, covering her body with his own. She felt his body jerk against her and they went down hard, bodies tangling. Her elbows cracked against the concrete and the breath whooshed out of her lungs, making it impossible for her to draw in a breath. Shane dropped the gun seconds before his head bounced off the pavement and his body went limp on top of hers.
Two more shots pinged off the dumpster and another hit the brick just over her head, sending shards flying.
“Shane! Shane, wake up,” she said. He was dead weight on top of her and she pushed with all her might to roll him over.
