Under Fire (Elite Force #3)(7)
Author: Catherine Mann

Eyes snapping open, she found him a few steps away, holding on to the counter, his back to her, broad shoulders moving with each ragged breath.

“Liam?” she said softly. Why had he pulled away? Had he felt her withdrawal? Were they already that in tune with each other? And God help her if they were.

He half glanced back at her. “I think we need to check in on your friend Brandon. We’ll take him to base and we’ll talk with some… uh, people I know there.”

People? Realization trickled ice down her spine.

“You want to take Brandon to a shrink, don’t you?” She didn’t expect an answer and didn’t get one. “You still think he’s imagining everything? Or that he’s the one harassing me, even if he was there when one of the calls came?”

He turned around, his shoulders braced, his jaw determined. He might as well have put on a suit of armor, he was so visibly prepped for battle. For her. “We’ll bring in officials along with a health-care professional. My presence will lend credence to your concerns. My number-one priority is making sure you’re safe.”

Just as she’d known he would, Liam was committed to helping her. She could only hope that help led to answers and not a straitjacket. “You’re doing more than I could have asked for. I appreciate it.”

“We’ll go back to base first thing in the morning.”

In the morning? “Why not leave now?”

“You’re tired and wet. And while I know you’re a kick-ass woman capable of taking care of herself, you’re a drowned mess.” He held up a hand; his half grin returned but didn’t reach his eyes. “Sexy and gorgeous, of course. But a mess. Get a shower, something to eat, a good night’s sleep, and you’ll appear more rational.”

What he said made sense. Except she wanted his arms back, even though that was selfish when she knew it couldn’t lead anywhere. She was lucky he even spoke to her after the way she’d ignored his calls. “Where do I go to make the transformation into a regular-looking citizen?”

“Bathroom is first door on the right. I’ll dig through my stuff and find some shorts with a drawstring and a T-shirt that’s shrunk.”

To keep from reaching for him again, she scooped up her backpack, yanking the zipper open with shaky hands. “No need to share your clothes. Aside from the fact they would be too big, I brought a spare outfit and some toiletries.” She fished inside, pitched her wallet and a candy bar on the table before she held up a thin, folded stack of clothes. “I wanted to be prepared for anything.”

She backed down the hall, her mind full of how panicked she’d been when she tossed things into her backpack willy-nilly. How scared she’d been. How much calmer she felt with Liam’s arms around her.

“Then get to it.” He pushed to his feet in a tall lanky glide. “I’ll scrounge up something for us to eat.”

She hesitated half in, half out of the bathroom doorway. “Liam?”

He looked up, his glance slamming into hers. “Yeah, Rachel?”

There were so many things she wanted to say to him.

About how she’d missed him.

About why she’d never called in six months.

About how that silence actually said more about how much he’d affected her than if she’d called him up to shoot the breeze. But she wouldn’t.

She settled for “Thanks for believing me.”

***

Liam wanted Rachel to be right.

And damn, but that made him bat-shit crazy. He shouldn’t be standing here in front of the stove, throwing together stir-fry for supper, actually hoping she was being chased by a military traitor. The possibility that anyone he served with could actually be involved in something as unthinkable as betraying their country churned acid in his gut.

Olive oil popped in the pan and splattered the front of his uniform. Draping a black apron over his neck, he wrapped the ties around and yanked the strings into a knot in front. He chopped the last of the red pepper and pitched it into the wok with onions, carrots, and broccoli. The routine of cooking helped him channel his thoughts. Here, he could do something. He could take care of Rachel, even if it was just by making sure she ate. The way he’d cooked a kazillion meals for his mother during her cancer treatments. If she ate right, maybe she would heal faster. And if there was food on the table, his father would actually show up, which made Mom happy, even though the whole “happy family” picture was a joke.

Shit.

Just cook and quit ruminating… except he knew damn well why he was thinking of his mom right now. Because having Rachel here made him start thinking about having someone at his table, in his house, in his life. Holding her for thirty-five f**king seconds had just about killed him. He’d pulled away to keep from taking advantage. She was vulnerable, for Christ’s sake. He was supposed to be helping her.

Leaning into the fridge, he pulled out a leftover grilled steak from last night to cut up. After less than an hour with Rachel again, he felt himself tumbling head over ass in love with this woman who’d ignored him for six months. Now wouldn’t his team have a field day laughing at that? While they played marry one, kill one, screw one, he played marry one, marry one, marry one. Liam whack, whack, whacked the steak on the cutting board, raised the knife again, and—

He felt eyes on him. Felt? Hell, was he becoming paranoid?

No. He trusted his sixth sense when it came to personal safety. He looked behind him and found…

Disco sat at the head of the hall, between him and the bathroom, staring him down. Making it very clear he was protecting Rachel.

“Good boy.” Liam flicked a strip of sizzling steak into the air toward the dog. Disco caught it before it hit the ground. “Yeah, she probably has some rules about not feeding you table food. But technically it hasn’t hit the table yet.”

He settled back into preparing the meal, a ritual to make him feel more a part of family life and routine. Yeah, he missed having a woman around. He hadn’t entered any of his marriages lightly. There’d been no shotgun weddings. He’d planned to spend his life with each one. So while he trusted his instincts in the professional field, his team had a point. His relationship radar was unreliable. He was out of the marriage market, and Rachel was too special to risk having a quickie affair with.

The sound of the shower spray hitting tiles drifted down the hallway to torment him, only to be made worse by the interruption as a body slid underneath. Rachel’s body.