“I understand that. And I also get that you’re in danger.” His jaw flexed. “I need to make sure he’s not being watched before I put you in his path again.”
“Oh God”—she pushed the heel of her hand against the throbbing headache starting to build—“I didn’t even consider that, and I should have. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to apologize for. You were right to come to me. I have access to training and resources that were closed off to you—to Harris too, since people weren’t listening to him.” He inched up in his seat, pulled a slip of paper out of his back pocket, and passed it to her. “Contact information to reach members of my team. If things go to hell out there, you’re not alone. You can turn to my team. I trust every one of them with my life. They’ll take care of you.”
She took the slip of paper from him, numbers scrawled in a list with the team members’ nicknames beside each one. Brick, Cuervo, Data, Bubbles, Fang, and Slow Hand, the guy who’d transferred out of the team to teach. A lot of people to count on. A lot of support. He’d made some deep connections. “Liam, do you really think—?”
“Put the numbers somewhere safe. There are two prepaid cell phones in my duffel. If you use one, toss it away. Don’t use it twice. I also have a weapon for you. Have you ever shot a gun like this before?”
“I’ve never even seen one like this. Honestly, all I know is what I learned in a basic handgun safety course I took for traveling to some sketchier places for rescues.”
“Okay, I’ll give you a shooting lesson with this one when we stop. Mostly you just need to get the feel for the kick so you don’t jerk when you shoot.”
She looked at the numbers, thought about the gun.
The possibility of having to call on any of these people—to reach for that gun—draped her with dread. “Liam, I can’t face that something might happen to you because of me.”
“Rachel, no. Don’t think that way.” He scooped up her hand and kissed her wrist. “None of this is your fault. The people who’ve threatened you and Harris, they’re the ones to blame. And we will find them. They will be stopped, that much I can promise you.”
He skimmed another kiss along her racing pulse before releasing her. She pressed her wrist to her stomach, holding on to the searing sensation of his kiss a while longer. If only she could hold on to him and keep him safe.
Safe from what? Someone who wasn’t afraid to run people off the road or blow up buildings. She thought of her lonely town house. There was no one in her life other than her dogs, but still so much lost. All the photos of her SAR success stories. The diaries she’d kept. Sure, some of the photos could be recaptured from other sources, but not everything was replaceable. Like the thank-you note from parents whose two-year-old had wandered out during the night. Or the model clay black Labrador retriever made by the tiny hands of the seven-year-old girl who’d gotten separated from her parents on a camping trip.
That and so much else had been lost forever. And why? For what? She needed answers. “This is all insane, everything that’s happened.”
“No shit.” He turned the steering wheel, veering off the rural highway into a small diner and gas station. “It’s also been a long time since we’ve eaten, and I’m starved. Let’s fuel up—Jeep and stomachs.”
Guilt sideswiped her again. He hadn’t slept last night either—dark circles under his eyes, the stubbly beard, which should have made him appear haggard.
But he just looked even more determined. Right now, he was the Liam McCabe she’d met in the Bahamas, the man who’d worked eighteen hours straight to save lives. He was pouring that determination into helping her, saving Brandon, even stopping whatever traitorous crap was going down on base.
He was all in.
For the first time in two weeks, in years actually, she was no longer alone. And there was something deeply empowering about that. Something she’d envied in Sunny Rocha. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You could go in and order food.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled five twenties from his wallet. “Be sure to pay for the gas while you’re inside. Cash for everything from now on. I’ll hang out here with Disco, give him a walk around.”
His thoughtfulness and the whole domesticity of the exchange tap-danced all over her already-exposed emotions. She hopped out of the Jeep and walked to him, stopping close enough to touch, to feel the heat of his strength, so much more tangible than even the steam coming off the asphalt.
“Thank you.” She touched his chest lightly.
His words from the day before came rolling through her mind, about how they couldn’t go back to pretending they weren’t affected by each other. And he was right. This attraction between them only increased. His hand enfolded hers.
“Stop thanking me,” he said gruffly. “What can you do? I need… food.”
She laughed. He was such a man. “Anything in particular you want?”
“Want?” His eyes flamed for an instant, before he squeezed her hand once and let go. “You choose. Just be sure to keep a low profile.”
He leaped from the Jeep by the gas pump.
Low profile. Okay. She could do that.
She plucked at her shirt, the heat of the day sticking her clothes to her back. She’d gotten a fresh change from Sunny—a tee and jean shorts. Generous and definitely welcome, although the shirt was a little snugger than the looser clothes she wore for comfort when working—not to mention, it was hot pink. Not exactly a blend-in color.
Low profile, low key, she chanted mentally with each step. Easier said than done, when she was used to charging through life rather than fading into the walls. At least the place was pretty much deserted, other than an older couple parked in a corner booth and another guy outside walking his boxer.
Stopping in front of the cashier, she peeled off enough twenties so the guy with a Miami Dolphins shirt would turn on the pump. He flipped the switch, collected the cash, and passed her a laminated menu without pulling his attention off the game on television.