Under Fire (Elite Force #3)(4)
Author: Catherine Mann

Her husky voice trembled. Whatever the cause, there was no denying the woman was frightened to death, the way his mom had been scared when the doctors told her she wasn’t going to beat the cancer. The fight was over. His dad may have been around, but he hadn’t been much on comfort. So she’d been pretty much alone, with just an eleven-year-old son trying to figure out how to make her stop crying.

“Why didn’t you just call me? Rachel, you’ve got to know I would have been there for you in a heartbeat.” Because yeah, he could kick ass in the field, play the whole master-of-his-universe role, but when it came to women, this woman? He had zip in the way of defenses. “Breaking into my car wasn’t exactly safe.”

“I’m desperate.”

Or unstable? Possible. But it seemed unlikely. While they’d worked the earthquake rescue, he could have sworn she had nerves of steel. Which only lent all the more credence to her fear now. He nailed the gas until his Jeep ate up the miles.

His house came into view, a one-story green stucco with a couple of squat sago palms and a small yard he paid the neighbor kid to mow, since he was on the road most of the time. Who would Rachel have reached out to if he’d moved?

A week from now, he would have been past the multinational summit, and his team would have completed their high-profile security assignment. After that, he would be shuffled aside to finish out his remaining months of active duty in a job where they vowed his experience was more valuable than brawn—which meant his body was shit.

But he was here, and she needed him. He could do the comfort gig, the way he’d done for his mom. He turned into his driveway, thumbing the garage-door remote on his visor. Once inside, he shut off the Jeep, the door rolling closed behind him. Sealing them together in his house. Alone.

For the first time in six months, he had Rachel with him in the flesh, and when he looked at her, the last thing he thought about was his mother.

Chapter 2

Finally, she was safe. For now. Alone with Liam at his house.

Thank God, he wasn’t going to kick her out. Relief rocked through her so hard, she wasn’t sure her legs would hold her.

Rachel scooped up her backpack from the floor and wished her thoughts were as easy to gather. Liam lifted the seat and extended his hand for her. It would have been silly to refuse. She closed her fingers around his. The warm clasp, the strength, seeped up her arm with a comfort she felt greedy in accepting. She’d been right to come here. Selfish. But right.

As she hopped from the car, he watched her with a hint of suspicion and something else, something that drew her to him now just as it had before. She landed toe-to-toe with him. So close she could easily lean into his chest as he towered over her, a full twelve inches taller and ripped with whipcord strength.

His sandy blond hair was damp. The water darkened his thick short hair to more of a light brown. His tanned skin smelled of sun and soap. His rawboned features were angular and good looking in a rugged way, more than mere poster-boy handsome. Lines fanned from the corners of sea green eyes, lines that spoke of wisdom, experience, and a sense of humor. His camouflage uniform promised training to back up all that seasoned strength.

He was a man who’d lived a hard life and survived. While he was lean, his body wasn’t some gangly twenty-five-year-old’s that couldn’t be trusted not to bust out an impulsive move. His muscled power was honed, thoughtful, even immovable.

Liam McCabe was a rare kind of man. He was a man to count on. And exactly the man she needed right now.

“Thank you.” And she didn’t just mean for helping her out of the car.

“I’m here to serve.”

He half grinned, stroking back her hair in a way that was far more comforting than if he’d hugged her, patted her back, and mumbled soothing nonsense that wouldn’t fix a thing. She could see the restraint in his eyes, the unanswered questions, but he was giving her what she needed most now. The space to hold herself together.

God, he was so appealing in a way that went beyond just the camo uniform.

How strange was it to be so attracted to him at a time she was scared to death. Must be adrenaline, like when they’d been in the Bahamas and she’d been so very, very tempted to jump into bed with him, even though they’d only kissed—a wowsa, knock-your-socks-off lip-lock that stayed with her even when they weren’t touching at all.

At times like this, it was tough to remember he was a guy who effortlessly charmed women. He even married them just as easily.

He stroked her hair behind her ear a final time, calluses snagging her skin as he cupped the back of her neck. “Are you ready to go inside and talk?”

“Yes, please.” She looked over her shoulder at her dog. The black Lab tipped his head to the side, confusion stamped in his big chocolate eyes.

She understood the feeling well.

“Come, Disco.” She snapped her fingers. Her Lab bounded effortlessly out to join her in the most organized garage she’d ever seen.

Tools dangled on a Peg-Board in perfect lines over a workbench, only a light hint of oil clinging to the air. Double-timing to keep up with Liam’s long-legged stride, she charged toward the door leading into the house, walking under a mountain bike and a beach cruiser hanging upside down from hooks in the ceiling. She waited by a pristine riding lawn mower as Liam disarmed a security system and unlocked the dead bolt.

“Your garage is tidier than my living room.” She hitched her knapsack over one shoulder, thinking of her rustic home full of well-worn leather furniture and dog toys.

“It’s a temporary rental, since this is a short-term assignment. I’m rarely home anyway,” he shot over his shoulder before pushing inside. “Not much time to mess anything up before I head off to the next base.”

With that kind of moving history, she would have expected stacks of unpacked boxes rather than the top-notch organization. For all his intensity on the job, Liam had a laid-back humor that had made her wonder about what he was like outside of the work world. Still, she needed that analytical perfection now to untangle the mess she’d somehow landed in the middle of.

She walked through the laundry room that had only one basket of clothes on the dryer—presumably already washed, given the superneat state of everything else—and entered the eat-in kitchen. Disco’s nails clicked against the terra-cotta tile floors. She took her time studying the eating area, curious about the man and soaking up clues for how best to share what she knew with him. To win him over, when so many others didn’t believe her.