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Warwick didn’t move, holding Marley’s stunned gaze across the room for a long, tense moment while his heart hammered at his ribs. Coming face-to-face with her after all this time was like a sledgehammer blow to the chest.
The look on her face was gut-wrenching. Shock. Grief.
Damn, he hadn’t planned for this to happen. Hadn’t meant for her to see him at all when he’d secretly driven over here just to assuage the guilt he’d been carrying for months and reassure himself that she was okay. That she’d been able to move on and be happy without him.
He’d battled back the rush of emotion when he’d seen her pull up ahead of him and walk to her door. But when those shots had been fired in her direction, a switch had flipped inside him. He’d reacted without thinking, automatically abandoning his intent of staying out of sight and going straight into protective mode. Her safety took precedence over everything, including his own, and the need to stay away from her.
Now she stood frozen in place across the room, her face bleached of color except for the smattering of freckles that stood out in sharp relief against her ivory skin. “Wh-what are you—”
“Are you alright?” he demanded, looking her over for any sign of injury. He didn’t see any blood, but those bullets had hit way too close to where she’d been standing.
His frantic heartbeat only slowed down when she managed a nod. Glancing to her left, he spotted the two flattened slugs lying on the floor near the living room wall.
Before he could move, her phone started ringing on the floor, shattering the tension between them.
She snatched it up, still staring at him, and answered. “Hello. Yes, I want to report a shooting.” She gave her address, explained what had happened, her voice slightly uneven. No doubt from the dual shock of the shots and then him appearing out of nowhere.
“Dark gray Honda sedan,” he told her when she paused. “Oregon plates. Starts with seven-six-two.” Was it the same car he thought might have been following him earlier?
She frowned at him but repeated it to the operator, still staring at him like she was seeing a ghost.
Warwick tore his gaze from her as she talked and stepped to the damaged window to pull aside the corner of the curtain and look out front. The shooter and vehicle hadn’t returned. But that didn’t mean they weren’t planning on coming back.
The buzz of warning at the base of his spine grew stronger. All night he’d felt like something was off. And the timing of the shooting given everything that had happened was way too suspicious. But he needed more information before he could figure out what was really going on here.
“Was that directed at you?” he asked when she finished the call, still looking across the street. A few people were beginning to trickle out of the small apartment building on the opposite side to see what had happened.
Marley didn’t answer.
He turned to face her, still on edge and wishing he had a weapon with him. Gun laws here were so relaxed compared to back home. He wasn’t used to carrying anything unless he was on an op. “The shooter. Was he aiming at you?” he said urgently.
She blinked, frowned. “What? No, it—no.” Her phone rang again. She ignored it, wrapped her arms around herself and shook her head. “How—”
“You sure?” he insisted, unable to shake that internal warning buzz. The shooter’s car looked too similar to the one that might have been following him earlier. He’d taken evasive action to find out, and when it had driven past him without incident, he’d relaxed and dismissed it as being due to the nagging sense of danger he couldn’t seem to shake lately.
Until the car had suddenly reappeared behind him again and roared up the street for the passenger to open fire. He’d somehow missed it until then.
Marley still hadn’t answered him. He couldn’t let this go. “Because he fired in your direction when your back was turned.” It made his blood run cold to think of it.
This neighborhood was quiet, the end of the street meeting the edge of the park. It had to be targeted. And those bullets had come chillingly close to hitting Marley.
She stiffened, her gaze sharpening, erasing the glazed, shocked look in her eyes. “You were waiting outside my place?”
“Yes,” he said, still coiled up inside. Sitting outside like a damn stalker watching her house because he’d needed to see her just one last time before leaving town. He’d crossed the ocean for that chance. But that wasn’t important now. He needed to know exactly why someone had just opened fire in her direction.
“Warwick, what the hell is going on,” she asked, her voice catching. “You’ve been alive this entire time and didn’t bother telling me?” Mingled fury and pain etched her features.
It was a long story. One he’d never intended for her to know about. “I—”
“They told me you were dead. Dead! And now you just show up out of the blue over a year later and burst in here as if nothing ever happened?”
There was no time for this right now. “That’s not—”
“You...asshole!” she choked out, tears glimmering in her eyes. She grabbed something from the kitchen counter behind her and flung it at him.
He ducked just in time to avoid the book hitting him square in the face. It smacked into the wall behind him with a slap and fell to the floor. “I’m sorry,” he began, not knowing where the hell to start. She didn’t seem the least bit upset about the drive-by anymore.
“No,” she cried, and chucked a throw pillow from the couch at him. He caught it before it hit him in the chest. “You selfish, lying asshole. You disappeared without a word last June, then let me believe you were dead all this time when you were actually alive. Fucking dead, Warwick. Do you have any idea what that did to me? How could you do that?” She stopped, put a hand to her mouth and choked back a sob, then bent double and put her hands on her knees as she sucked in shaky breaths.
Before he could move or say anything else, she gagged and raced out of view down the hall.
He winced when he heard the toilet seat hit the tank a moment later, followed by retching sounds. “Christ,” he muttered, closing his eyes. What a mess. The anguish on her face, in her voice just now, made it feel like someone had plunged a knife into his chest. He’d needed to make sure she was safe. But in doing so, he’d hurt her more.
He dragged a hand through his hair, started to go after her but stopped himself. He didn’t have the right to go to her now, to touch her or hold her or do any of the things he wished he could. And given the current level of unease churning in his gut, what he needed to do right now was make sure her yard was secure.
“I’m gonna go take a look outside,” he called to her, not surprised when she didn’t answer. What a sodding mess he’d made of this whole thing.
He moved quickly through the kitchen and found the back door. Slipped outside into the backyard. A six-foot privacy fence enclosed the lawn bordered by shrubs and hedges. Beyond it, the forest that marked the edge of the park formed a wall of dark shadows.
Nothing inside the yard look disturbed. He checked the windows along the back of the house. All were closed and locked, no sign of anyone having tried to break in.
He went to the corner of the wooden fence. Grabbed the top of it, swung up and over, dropping lightly onto the grass on the other side. From here he had a clear view of the street out front. Several people were on the opposite sidewalk now, curious onlookers coming out to see what had happened.
Ignoring them, he turned his attention to the house next door. The cottage was similar to Marley’s, a one-story post-war build that had been updated and appeared freshly painted. All the windows were dark but in the glow of the streetlamps, he could see beer cans and alcohol bottles strewn around the yard and garbage spilling out of torn bags piled up at the side.
Satisfied the area was secure for now but concerned about what might still be coming, he went back around the front and entered the door.
Marley was perched on the edge of her couch when he came in. Her gaze collided with his the instant he stepped through the door and his chest constricted. She was still pale, her expression now set instead of scared or devastated, arms wrapped around her middle as if to protect herself.
From him. It was like a kick to the gut. But he deserved it.
“So if you didn’t die, then what the hell really happened?” she asked in a brittle voice. She looked like another blow might shatter her. “Why didn’t you tell me, and where the hell have you been all this time?”
His heart twisted. Even pale and in shock, she was still the most beautiful fucking thing he’d ever seen. “I was tryin’ to protect you.” And now it seemed like he might have failed at even doing that.
“Protect me? From what?” she scoffed.
“From the truth.” He remembered the moment they’d met too clearly. Seeing her at that hotel in Atlanta, the smile she’d flashed him had rooted him to the spot. He’d returned from a meeting that night in late April without a clue that he’d been about to meet the woman who would shift his entire world on its axis.
They’d gone for a drink together, then dinner. Two dates later, things turned intense fast. He’d never been the same since.
But she hadn’t known the truth about him. Because he hadn’t been able to tell her.
Then he’d been called back to the UK for a mission he couldn’t tell her about. Three weeks after that he’d met her at a resort in the Bahamas and spent the best, most unforgettable time of his life with her before being called away on the mission to hunt Isaac Grey. He’d left knowing that she had altered the fabric of his universe. That she owned him heart and soul.
And then his entire life had been blown apart by the explosion that had almost killed him.
“What truth?” she snapped. “Just tell me what the hell happened.”
“I can’t.” He wanted to. Desperately. There was so much he needed to say to her, but he couldn’t say any of it now. He didn’t have much time. The cops would be here any minute and he couldn’t risk being here when they showed up. After what had just happened it was even more important that he keep a low profile.
“Why the hell not?”
“Just can’t.” But before he left, he fully intended to make sure Marley was safe. “Everything’s secure outside. Is there anyone else who you think could have been the intended target?” If they hadn’t been targeting her, then there was only one other explanation. And he hoped to God he was wrong. “Mar.”
The seconds were ticking by too fast. He wished he could stop time. Wished he could go back and—
Well, he wished a lot of things. But it was too damn late to change any of it now.
“It couldn’t have been me.” The stark accusation in her stare ate at him. “There’s no way anyone would want to shoot me. Either they meant to hit next door or it was totally random, some idiots just wanting to scare someone for kicks.”
“What’s goin’ on next door?”
She huffed in annoyance, raw anger burning in her gaze. “New renters moved in next door a few weeks back. Something’s going on over there. People coming and going at all hours. Teenagers and young guys mostly. It might have something to do with what just happened.”
“Drugs?” He’d read about a recent uptick in drug activity in the region over the past few months. Traffickers were using small towns along the coast to move their product instead of risking their shipments being seized by security protocols at the large ports in Portland and Seattle.
“Maybe.”
The drive-by could be drug-related. But there was still the other possibility. One that made his heart pound and his stomach clamp tight, confirming his worst fear.
He went over the sequence of events leading up to this. The angle of the shots in comparison to where he’d been parked at the curb. And the driver had swerved suddenly—at the exact same moment the shots were fired.
So the shooter definitely could have been aiming at him, not Marley. Didn’t matter if the attempt had been amateurish. And if he was right, then it meant he’d brought the unknown threat hanging over him to her door.
The warning prickle at the base of his spine shot up his backbone, making the back of his neck crawl. His gut instinct screamed that the gaps in his memory around the time of the explosion and the nagging sense that someone was tracking him recently were connected.
A wave of sick fury washed over him that he’d been selfish enough to come here at all tonight. He’d known it was wrong, known it was a bad idea. If he was right about this, he’d not only brought danger to Marley’s doorstep—he’d nearly gotten her killed a few minutes ago.
In the taut silence, Marley’s gaze tracked over him, lingering on the scars running down the right side of his face and neck. She shook her head, the sadness in her expression eating at his insides like acid. “What the hell happened, Warwick? Just tell me.”
His whole body tensed with the need to haul her into his arms and lock her to him. Bury his face in the silky mass of her auburn hair and just breathe her in the way he’d imagined doing a million times since waking up in the CCU in London. To explain. Beg her forgiveness. Beg her for another chance.
He’d never known he could feel the things he’d felt when he was with her. The things he’d felt for her. Had never experienced the kind of warmth and caring and connection he’d found with her. Not from anyone in his whole life.
Now he was finally standing in the same room as her with only fifteen feet between them, and every cell in his body craved her like a drug. Craved her so much he could hardly breathe.
But he couldn’t stay. She didn’t know about his past. Didn’t know anything about his job, what he’d done and been involved in, or that his mere presence might have put her at risk tonight.
The drive-by just proved that she was better off without him in her life. Safer. And now that he’d endangered her by coming here tonight, he would never forgive himself.
The faint wail of a distant siren reached his ears, signaling his time was up.
He stood there for just one moment longer, drinking her in while the invisible blade lodged in his heart twisted. “I’m sorry, I can’t,” he said hoarsely. “And I have to go.” He’d try to come back later if it was safe.
Her head snapped up, bewildered brown eyes flaring in disbelief. “What?”
He felt like he was being torn in two, but he had no choice. He rushed past her for the back door.
She shot off the couch. “Warwick!” Her tone was equal measures incredulity and anger.
He deserved her anger. Every bit of her hatred for the pain he’d caused her. For the additional pain he was about to cause.
Fuck.
“Stay inside and away from the windows until the cops secure the area,” he commanded without looking back, and slipped out the back door. After checking the backyard he went through the wooden gate in the fence and ran for the vehicle he’d left parked out front.
The sirens were close as he pulled away from the curb. He scanned the sidewalks on the way by. The people standing around trying to find out what was going on.
Two police cruisers turned the corner just as he reached the stop sign, lights flashing. He kept going, needing to make it look like he was leaving the area.
In case the prickling along his neck was right. And he feared it was.
Flashing red and blue filled the rearview mirror as he left Marley’s street behind. But with everything that had happened, their presence wasn’t good enough for him.
He would stand guard personally in the shadows. Only once he was certain she was safe and that he hadn’t brought danger to her doorstep could he give her the explanation he owed her.
It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. But sadly, it was all he could give her now.
