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She turned, then paused. Not because she didn’t trust Booker, but because she’d spent nearly a year having to cover her own six. Never venturing into a room first. Always making sure no one could jump her from behind. That she always had an out. And just thinking about heading inside with him lagging behind had her breath stalling in her chest. The hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.
Booker sighed, his breath caressing her cheek as he leaned in close. “How long were you under?”
She pushed at the memories flickering in her head. The smell of accelerant. The echoed pops of gunfire mixing with the thunder. The disjointed voices as she’d slipped into unconsciousness. She knew it wasn’t real. That, for the moment, she was safe.
She swallowed. Hard. “Eleven months.”
Another sigh as he gave her arms a light squeeze. “Shit. I’ll go in. Follow when you can.”
He moved out from behind her, giving her a wide smile before unlocking his door then heading inside. Leaving it open. No other questions. No odd looks, just that smile, then him disappearing. As if her having a mini panic attack at the thought of him walking through a door behind her was normal. Something that happened to everyone, just like her waylaying him on the walkway — tripping him onto his back.
That he didn’t see her as a freak.
Callie took a deep breath, then headed for the doorway, pausing long enough to gather her composure before stepping into his apartment. It was neat. Clean, but void of any personal items. As if he’d unpacked just enough to get by without fully committing. And she couldn’t help but wonder if he was searching for something that felt like home, too? Something more than endless nights lying awake, praying to make it to the next day still intact. Still sane.
Glasses clinked in the distance, then he was strolling into the room, placing one on the counter as he slid onto the bar stool off to the right, leaving the left for her. She closed the door, glancing at the deadbolt — unsure if she should lock it or not — before shaking her head then picking her way across the room. She checked her six one more time — still undecided if she should have locked the damn door — then eased onto the stool.
She arched a brow and took a cautious sip of the drink. “You just happened to have white rum, lime juice, and mint leaves in your fridge?”
“And you wouldn’t?”
“Of course, I would. I love Mojitos, but I thought you were more of a whiskey guy.”
He simply shrugged. “Not tonight.”
Christ, had he kept the mixers for her favorite cocktail handy? In case she ever dropped by? Was she crazy to even consider that as an option? She stared at him, wondering if he’d relived their one night together as many times as she had, or if he’d merely brushed it off. Moved on after a few days had passed and she hadn’t called him back.
She’d wanted to. More times than she could count, but it hadn’t been possible, and she’d been left living in limbo. Unable to move forward but unwilling to forget.
Booker sighed, gently nudging her arm. “You’re not the only one haunted by ghosts, so try to relax. Breathe. And, when you’re ready, you can tell me the reason behind the surprise visit, because as much as my ego wants to think you’re still as crazy about me as I am about you, I have a feeling it’s something deeper. Darker.”
He was crazy about her?Iscrazy about her? Had he really just said that, or had she drifted off? Imagined the entire conversation because she was so damn tired of pushing through life. Pretending she was okay when she hadn’t been able to move past the raid. That horrible night when everything had changed.
When she’d changed.
And not for the better.
“Callie? Sweetheart, you really need to take a few deep breaths before you pass out.”
She blinked, realizing she’d been staring at him without speaking, with what she could only imagine was some spooky expression on her face. The kind that confirmed whatever thoughts were whirling inside his head. Those ghosts he’d mentioned.
It was too much. The way he furrowed his brow, looking as if he was ready to slay whatever demons she threw at him. She’d been right. He’d ride to the rescue, just like he always had. And she’d be the reason he got killed. She wasalwaysthe reason people got killed.
She pushed to her feet, nearly tripping as she took a hurried step back. “Shit. I shouldn’t have come. I can’t ask… It’s too risky…”
She turned, making a beeline for the door when he hooked her elbow, spinning her against the wall. He moved in close, pinning her without actually touching her, one hand by her head, the other beside her waist. He didn’t speak, just leaned in, his mouth dangerously close, again.
She could kiss him. All it would take was a small shift forward, and her lips would be touching his. His soft skin pressed against her mouth. A slide of her tongue across his flesh, and she knew he’d take control. Deepen the kiss until everything else vanished.
Booker cocked his head to the side as if he was following her train of thought. Knew how badly she wanted him to hold her. Tell her everything was going to be okay, even if it was a lie.
Instead, he inched closer, his body now skimming hers. “I let you go once when neither of us had any options. I pride myself on not making the same mistakes twice. So, take a breath, then tell me what the hell has you so spooked, because sweetheart, I know when someone’s running scared, and you’ve got it in spades.”
She huffed, hating that he saw through her so easily. That the walls she erected for everyone else crumbled around him with nothing more than his smile. “Believe me. Allowing me to walk out of here wouldnotbe a mistake.”
“Like I said — you’re not walking, you’re running. And it’d be a colossal mistake if you’re in half as much trouble as I think you are.”
And there it was. His armor shining in the overhead lights. All that honor radiating off him in waves. She relaxed against the wall, wondering if he would change his mind once he knew the extent of what she was asking.
