Praise for RITA® Award-winning author Catherine Mann

“Riveting action, to-die-for heroes—this must be another military romance by the fabulous Catherine Mann!”

—New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Brockmann

“Catherine Mann is one of the hottest rising stars around!”

—New York Times bestselling author Lori Foster

“As we say in the Air Force, get ready to roll in hot! From page one, Catherine Mann’s military romances launch you into a world chock-full of simmering passion and heart-pounding action. Don’t miss ’em!”

—USA TODAY bestselling author Merline Lovelace

“Hold out for a Catherine Mann hero! Her Air Force flyboys will wing their way straight to your heart.”

—Bestselling author Joanne Rock

Fully Engaged
Catherine Mann

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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CATHERINE MANN

Five-time RITA® Award finalist Catherine Mann pens contemporary military romances, a natural fit since she’s married to her very own Air Force flyboy. Since June 2002 she has won the Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA® Award and the Booksellers Best Award, as well as being a finalist for Romantic Times BOOKclub’s Reviewer’s Choice Award. A former theater-school director and university teacher, Catherine graduated from the College of Charleston with a B.A. in fine arts: theater and received her master’s degree in theater from UNC Greensboro. Now, following her aviator husband around the world with four children, a beagle and two tabbies in tow offers endless inspiration for new stories. For more information, visit her Web site at www.catherinemann.com or write her at P.O. Box 6065, Navarre, FL 32566.

In memory of Jeri Houghton and Susan Jeglinski.

You are remembered.

And to Harlequin/Silhouette author Bonnie Gardner. I appreciate more than I can express your sharing details of your breast cancer recovery journey. Your strength and courage humble me. (Any mistakes about breast cancer treatment and recovery are my own. To learn more about breast cancer detection and treatment, I hope you’ll visit the American Cancer Society’s Web site at www.cancer.org.)

Acknowledgments:

I’ve long wanted to tell this story and always imagined myself digging in and immersing myself into the writing process. Well, my world didn’t cooperate and the time to put this book to paper came at one of the most chaotic moments of my life. This story of my heart could not have happened without the critiquing, proofreading and hand-holding from five very dear people. My heartfelt thanks to my friends Joanne Rock, Stephanie Newton and Karen Tucker, to my sister Julie Morrison, and to my husband, Rob. I love you all!

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Prologue

Five Years Ago: Randolph Air Force Base, Texas

Lieutenant Nola Seabrook accepted that she could face death on Monday. But for the weekend, she intended to celebrate life to the fullest.

She gripped the door of the Officer’s Club bar, preparing herself to do something she’d never even considered before. She intended to find a man—a stranger—for a one-night stand.

Lucky for her, she was away from her home base, which gave her a wealth of unfamiliar faces to peruse. Country music and the clang of the bell over the bar swelled as she swung the door wider to reveal the Friday-night crowd.

No crying. No fear. She would forget herself with some stranger and lose herself in sensations she might never feel again.

Nola shouldered deeper into the press of bodies. The room reverberated with cheering. The place was packed, as she would expect on a Friday night, but the majority clustered in a circle to the side, was the source of the whoop, whoop, whoop. And “Go, Lurch! Go, Lurch!”

Lurch? Now there was a call sign for a guy worth investigating.

Curiosity nipped, sucking her feet sideways.

She angled toward the commotion. Sidestepping an amorous couple making tracks toward the door, she caught sight of a chalkboard mounted on an easel. A bartender stood beside with a stubby piece of chalk to scratch out numbers. Ah. Bets. But what for?

She sidled through to the inner circle. Her eyes homed in on the source of the noise. The focus of the cheering was…

A man.

Holy cow, what a man. On the floor pumping push-ups in BDU pants and a brown T-shirt, he clapped between counts—ninety-five at the moment. The number hit a hundred and still he didn’t stop or even hesitate. Must be his size that earned him the nickname “Lurch” because, holy cow, he was big.

Two men in similar uniforms split from the crowd carrying a fifty-some-odd-year-old waitress on their shoulders like Cleopatra. With ceremonial hoopla, they placed her on the man’s back. His arms strained against the T-shirt, muscles bulging, veins rippling along the stretch of tendons, but still he pushed.

Up. Down. Again and again.

Ohmigod, her own tummy did a flip of attraction. Arousal. And hadn’t she come here for just this reason?

Twenty-five years old and she didn’t have anyone else to turn to for comfort, which could really pitch her into a tailspin if she let herself think on it for too long.

Her elderly parents gone. Her marriage kaput because her ex-husband couldn’t take the stress of a wife who might not live to see thirty. Zero siblings. Her best friend deployed to Turkey. Her only other friends a bunch of rowdy Air Force crew dogs who spent as much time on the road as she did, and she really couldn’t see herself showing weakness by bawling her eyes out to any of them.

Charge ahead, girl.

She made a quick check of his left hand. No wedding band. No pale cheater mark along his tan ring finger. Sheesh, she wished she’d thought to change into something other than her flight suit.

Too late for regrets. She was here now, and if she left to change, the man in front of her might be gone by the time she returned. Besides, she didn’t want to miss a second of this display.

Sweat started to pop along his forehead and even a hint along his shoulders, but still he kept moving. The man was a poster boy for health and vitality.

Invincibility, perhaps? All things she so desperately wanted to soak up right now. She found herself clapping the count along with everyone else.

“One hundred forty-eight.”

He switched to one-handed push-ups. The crowd roared louder.

“One hundred forty-nine. One hundred-fifty.”

He reached behind to steady the waitress and jumped to his feet, easing the apron-clad lady to hers, as well. With all the showmanship of his single-handed display, he wrapped an arm around the waitress’s waist, dipped her and gave her a quick kiss before setting her free. “Thank you much, Delphine.”

“No problem for you, Captain Rick. Anytime you’re in town.”

Rick. She liked that name. Solid.

However if she didn’t get her butt in gear and make a move soon, he would be gone. Nola stepped forward. And thank you, Jesus, that’s all it took.

He looked her way and his deep chocolate eyes held. Without breaking the stare, he smiled, snagged the rest of his uniform off the back of a chair and slid his arms through, slowly buttoning up over his chest.

DeMassi was stitched over the left pocket and above that she recognized the insignia for a pararescueman. He hurtled himself out of planes. Penetrated the most hostile of territories. Anything to save a downed airman, to bring someone like her home.

Honorable to the core and darn near invincible, for sure. Even his patch proclaimed That Others May Live.

He fastened the last button and started toward her. “Hello, Lieutenant Seabrook.”

“Hello to you, Captain DeMassi.”

“Do you have a first name?”

“Nola, like New Orleans.”

“Ah, classy.” He extended his broad hand toward her. “I’m—”

“Rick. I heard from your cheering section.”

“We’re all away from home, coming in from maneuvers to one of our favorite Officer’s Clubs, needing to let off some steam. They would have cheered on anybody.”

“So you say.” She folded his hand in hers, warm and strong.

More of that vitality she needed. Her imagination skipped ahead to thoughts of his hand against her skin. She didn’t need to worry about concerns of compatibility or depth. This was about the moment. She refused to let echoes of her mother’s preaching voice make her feel guilty or shallow.

Nola’s hand stayed connected to Rick’s, shaking, seesawing slower and slower, up and down like his push-ups until finally she inched away with a self-conscious laugh, wiping her hand against her flight suit leg. “This is awkward.”

“Why so?”

“I want to be all collected and say something femme fatale perfect but now I’m…” She started to turn, her nerve wobbling. “Forget it.”

His hand fell on her shoulder, heavy and warm sparking another jolt of that alive feeling she needed.

“Wait,” he said.

She looked back and what she saw in his eyes mirrored the sensations zipping through her like lightning traveling through an aircraft—not fatal, but hair crackling, unsettling, and oh so invigorating.

“Yes?” She meant the word as a statement as well as a question.

“How about this?” He held her with those deep eyes rather than his hands, as if sensing she needed space. Would he be this perceptive in bed? “Let’s not worry about saying the right things. We can say whatever we want, even if it’s a damn awful first date wrong thing to say.”

Date? She was thinking encounter, but okay. Breathe. His game had intriguing merit. The bar patrons kept their distance, even if they watched with half-veiled interest.

Hesitantly, she hitched her elbows back onto the bar. “You go first.”

He propped one arm beside her and leaned in to make his move, his shoulders blocking everything but him.

“I live with my parents.” He thumped his chest with his fist and belched. “Mom does my laundry.”

She burst out laughing. Settling a somber expression, she responded, “Speaking of laundry, I just don’t get what all the hoopla is about fancy underwear.”

“Ouch. You go right for the jugular, lady.” He grabbed his head in mock agony. “All right, time for the big guns. My doc said not to worry. It’s only a cold sore.”

“Then you should be able to enjoy our meal together.” She reached for the laminated menu wedged between the condiments. “What’s the most expensive item featured?”

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter since I maxed out all my credit cards.”

“Fair enough, since it will soon be our money because I’m husband hunting.” Nothing could be further from the truth. Her divorce left her scathed, but good.

“Ah, good one.” He tapped his forehead, then snapped his fingers. “As long as you don’t mind going a lifetime unsatisfied in bed.”

“As long as we get to go to bed together.”

“I’m counting on it.”

She froze and so did he. They weren’t playing anymore.

He held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

And she did. Silently. Talking softly about anything, mostly seductive. For hours until the crowd thinned and the bell rang for last call. They broke apart and he extended his hand again. She knew if she took it this time they would be heading for a different kind of dance, the one she had come here searching for.

Again, her hand fit perfectly in his. A short stroll later they had walked to his room in the visiting officer’s quarters. He kicked the door closed behind him.

She didn’t even bother telling him she’d never done anything like this before. Truth or not, she didn’t want to sound trite and she didn’t intend to see him again anyway. He seemed okay with that. No guilt for either of them. She was through with words and he seemed to feel the same way.

Between kisses, their clothes fell away until only their underwear remained. Skin to skin. Her hands explored the hardened expanse of his muscles more impressive than she’d even imagined.

And her imagination had been mighty darn amazing. She’d been right to do this. This was exactly the escape she needed this weekend to take her away from the ordeal that awaited her next week.

His talented hands made fast work of the front clasp on her bra and he swept the lacy scrap down her shoulders with reverent fingers. A long, slow exhale slid from his mouth, blowing an appreciative whistle over her exposed skin. “Wow, lady, you are something to behold.”

Gulping back emotion, she lifted his hand, placed the callused warmth over her bared breast and savored the sensation as if for the last time. Which it very well could be.

Because Monday, combat veteran that she was, she began her toughest battle ever—one that started not with a mission briefing, but with a mastectomy.

Chapter 1

Present Day: Wilford Hall Medical Center, Texas

Major Rick DeMassi forced his steel-pin-filled legs to move as he gripped the metal bars for balance. He narrowed his focus to a tunnel as he always did on missions, and no undertaking had been more important than getting back on his feet again.

Every day in rehab he resolved to end this one better than he finished his final assignment during the cleanup after Hurricane Katrina. The carnage had threatened to suck him under, but he’d kept his eyes on the teddy bear ahead, sticking halfway out of the muck. After years of search and rescue, he’d known in his gut there was a child close by.

Too bad his gut couldn’t tell him if that child was alive or dead.

Now there weren’t teddy bears to zero in on, even theoretically. His teenage daughter was long past the age of such toys. Still he wanted to greet her on his own two feet someday soon—as the hero she thought he was. So he went through the daily torture of grabbing these damn bars and shuffling one shattered leg in front of the other.

What a joke in comparison to the old days when he leaped from helicopters. Swam churning waters. Or sludged through unstable wreckage toward a stuffed toy to pull out a child.

“Careful, sir.” The voice echoed in his head. Then or now, he wasn’t sure. The stench of antiseptic burned his nose as strongly as the stench of rotting muck. “Steady is better than fast.”

One foot in front of the other.

Step.

Step.

Step.

For the kid. For his child. For the trapped child. Both merged in his head. The past and the present. Both times painful, squeezing labored breaths from his body until he thought he didn’t have anything left inside him but somehow he kept going. Running then. Shuffling now. The irony didn’t escape him, but he wasn’t a quitter.

“There isn’t much time left,” the sergeant said, an orderly watching him like a babysitter in case he fell, but the voice could have been from the past, rushing him along. Urging him to the cargo plane. But he couldn’t leave the little girl and her doll behind.

He’d been a crap father to his daughter, always on the job, barely a presence in her life. He wouldn’t let this wounded little girl down, too. Even if the best he could do was recover her dead body for burial…

Rick gritted his teeth. “Five more minutes, Sergeant, and I’ll be done.”

“Roger that, Major.”

He would reach the end of this walk without falling. Not like before.

Step.

Step.

Pain. Penance. Step. The sound of airplane engines had hummed in the background much the same as the heater now. Gusting wind over him. The antiseptic scent of the hospital as unwelcome a stench as the stench of…worse than muck…

Death.

Except the child had been alive, even if barely. He’d seen the doll flutter as if tugged.

Walk now. Run then.

He’d pulled the girl out, a child maybe four. They’d even made it to the emergency personnel where he’d passed her off…just as rotten boards gave way underneath him.

Agonizing pain razored through him. The ground sucked him in. Nails and boards cut into skin and muscle. Bones snapped. Wood tore into his legs. Ripped tendons.

Reach up. Out. Trudge. Don’t give up.

His vision tightened the tunnel until he could swear he saw the load ramp at the end of his metal bars. How damn ridiculous was that? Maybe it was just some of that visionary crap the shrink was always telling him about.

Picture what you want. Yeah. That was it. He wanted his job back.

Hell, he wanted his life back.

Okay, the load ramp gaping at the back of the airplane. Go with that image. Move toward it.

Light faded and blazed as he struggled with consciousness. A voice tugged at him from his past. He blinked, cleared his vision and his eyes agreed with his ears. What the…?

He must be delusional thinking of that woman who’d left his bed with only a terse little note five years ago.

Still he couldn’t stop himself from croaking out the name. “Nola?”

The woman moved toward him, stepping into the light streaming through the rehab area’s windows and revealing a face from the past he’d never expected to see again…

At a time when he very likely didn’t have a future.

Putting the past to rest so she could move forward with her future was easier said than done. But Nola was a determined lady.

She needed to wrap her brain around a reality she barely dared dream was real. She’d reached her five-year remission mark.

Her docs all encouraged her to celebrate. The mind and body worked in synch after all.

Easier said than done. Believing in the future was tough after so long of living for today. Milk the most from each second because today was a gift and tomorrow an unknown. Walk to the towering man inching slowly her way.

Her hand closed around her purse, which held her very organized day planner, which held her list.

The list. A list of all the people she needed to make contact with for closure. She’d already contacted every friend she could think of that she may have wronged. A flight student she’d been unnecessarily harsh to during a check ride because in her early days as an instructor perhaps she’d been a bit full of herself.

She’d even contacted a guy from junior high who she’d picked on unmercifully all because she’d liked him and had been too immature to know how to show it. He’d thought she was nuts for calling, but ah well, such was life. She wasn’t as worried about looking cool these days.

Today she’d finally tracked down Rick DeMassi, the man she’d left high and dry and gloriously naked in a VOQ room. Once she’d learned of his injuries, her relief at finding him alive had been stronger than she would have expected for someone she’d only spent thirty hours with five years ago. But they’d been a crucial thirty hours. He’d given her a great gift over that weekend, even if he hadn’t known.

His talented touch had been the last she’d felt on her breasts. More importantly, his gentleness and strength had bolstered her to walk into hell alone and she would never forget him.

She’d had a mastectomy, but beaten the cancer. Now she needed to see Rick one more time to complete her list before she could close the door on the recovery part of her cancer journey.

So she’d driven all the way from her home base in Charleston, South Carolina, and here she stood at a physical rehab center connected to the same hospital where she’d started her treatments. How ironic was that? But somehow serendipitous.

How bad must his injuries have been for him to still be recovering a year later? Her stomach knotted at even the mention of hospitals. Walking into one usually had her fighting back an anxiety attack. Striding into this one in particular threatened a flat KO.

But she refused to let anything stop her, especially once she’d heard he was the patient. No way could she turn her back until she was certain he had everything he needed. Theirs may have only been a weekend together where he unwittingly gave her comfort, but those two days stayed with her still. His face on the back of her eyelids, recalling his touch to override pain…

All of it carried her through hell as surely as his arms had carried her across a room to rest her so gently, seductively on a mattress.

Right now, he could barely carry himself across the room.

Overall, he might be slimmer, but his chest bore the same rippled muscles, his eyes the same fathomless intensity. But his face had an angular cut to it, his features a hard enigmatic look. No joking this go-round as he shuffled the last two feet between them to stop. She’d seen his lips move with a muffled whisper, but couldn’t hear what he’d said.

She inhaled deeper with a bracing breath and noticed something else familiar. Even through the antiseptic hospital smell she recognized the spicy scent of him.

A cleared throat pulled her out of her reverie. The sergeant—a therapist of some sort—raised a brow, mumbled something about break time and draped a hand towel around Rick’s neck before leaving.

Okey doke. Time to quit daydreaming.

“Hello.” She forced a smile over her lips when she really just wanted to stare awhile longer, and doggone it, there went her mother’s voice again about rude manners. “I don’t know if you remember—”

Long lashes swept down over his chocolate brown eyes and up again in his first sign that he’d actually noticed her. “You’re a memorable lady, Nola.”

Thank God, thank God, thank God he remembered her name and she hadn’t just made a total idiot out of herself.

Then a smile twitched at one corner, just a hint but enough of the man she’d known to help her relax her grip on the Tupperware container she’d forgotten she held.

“Why thank you, Rick.”

“And you’re here because?” He released one bar and held on single-handed.

He looked more “okay” that way. She couldn’t gauge the extent of the injury to his legs since he wore dark blue sweatpants and a gray T-shirt with Air Force logos imprinted. Whether or not his sudden easy stance was an act for her benefit she didn’t know, but it eased some of the tension inside her. She understood about “brave front” acts.

“I have a list.” She blurted.

Sheesh. She was a mature woman. A seasoned combat veteran, trained to fly multimillion-dollar cargo jets and here she was acting like hormonal mush.

All right. Maybe not hormonal. More like knocked off balance by the whole hospital scene and seeing his pain. Remembering her own. Knowing how pride hurt more than any needles.

Rick shifted from one foot to the other and studied her through narrowed eyes. “They took me off the painkillers a long time ago, so my brain’s clear. Still, you’ll need to run that by me again, because you’re not making a bit of sense.”

She couldn’t help but notice how he continued to grip the bar, his arm not even shaking, but his complexion beginning to pale beneath his tan.

More of that pride.

She scanned quickly for one of those industrial-looking uncomfy sofas they always had everywhere in places like this, and sure enough there was one right behind her. She plunked down to sit and hoped Rick would cut himself some slack and do the same.

“I was in town, heard through the grapevine that you were here and thought I would stop in to say hi for old time’s sake.” She lifted the aqua-and-white Tupperware container full of chocolate chip M&M’s cookies, raising it at just the right level where he would have to come to the sofa if he wanted a chance at a cookie. She hadn’t met a male yet who could say no to cookies. “Hospital food usually sucks, so I figured you might like this.”

Actually, she didn’t recall much about the hospital food since she hadn’t been able to keep anything down during chemo. But every man she’d met worshipped food, so she’d figured cookies would be a decent icebreaker.

Rick shuffled with studied practice—holy guacamole, this guy had pride by the buckets—until he dropped down beside her. Sweat dotted his upper lip but somehow he managed not to sigh when he sat.

“Thanks, you’re right.” He took the cookies, brow furrowing. “This is still…uh…unexpected.”

“I imagine so.” She knotted her fingers in her lap, wishing she had that container back so her hands wouldn’t feel so empty.

“I should let you get back to work.” He nodded to her flight suit.

“I’m done for the day.” She didn’t want to reference her own swing by the hospital to gather old lingering paperwork and say farewells to some remaining staff members. “What about you?”

“Me, too, but then I’m stuck here. Don’t you need to head home?”

“Nope.”

“No boyfriend or husband to call?”

“God, no.” Her eyes fell to his ring finger. Still bare. Her stomach did that little flip again. “Do you really think I would bring cookies to a guy if I had a boyfriend or, heaven forbid, a husband?”

“Why ‘heaven forbid’?”

Her ex shouldn’t still have the power to hurt her. She didn’t love the bastard anymore. But still, his defection when she’d needed him most cut deeper than any surgeon’s knife. “Been there, done that, got the scars and divorce papers to show for it.”

“Ah—” he popped open the container of cookies “—so you’re a card-carrying member of the Marriage Sucks Club, too, huh?” He shoved a cookie in his mouth and offered her one, as well.

“You could say that.” She selected a cookie and weighed her words and finally asked the question that had been nibbling at the edges of her mind the same way she nipped around the cookie. “Want to tell me what happened with the legs?”

He swallowed his treat. “Hurricane Katrina cleanup was hazardous.”

The simple words painted a vivid picture. “I’m sorry.”

Nola could also tell from his stony face the subject was closed. She understood the reticence well and had to respect the boundaries.

She should probably pack up and go—cookies delivered. Mission accomplished. Page turned and book closed. Except… She couldn’t make herself get up off the uncomfy sofa.

“When do you get sprung from this place?”

“Soon.”

“You’re such a crummy liar.”

He shrugged. “I really am out soon. I just have to hire a babysitter and then they’ll cut me loose.”

“I take it from your tone you don’t think you need one.”

“Don’t want one.”

Awkward silence settled, kind of like that first meeting, but they’d already exhausted the wrong-first-date topics. She reached for her purse beside her. “I should go and let you get a shower or something.”

Shower? Sooo not a memory from the past she needed right now with him all sweaty and hot beside her, with her going on five years of abstinence, with his touch the last she’d felt. She clenched her fists to keep her hand from protectively covering her scarred breast. Yes, she’d had reconstruction, but she wasn’t the same by any stretch.

Stop. She wasn’t going there today. Except how could she not?

Ah hell, this was gonna be a long night with more than likely a few tears. She was human and closing this book was hard.

Rick grabbed for his crutches at the end of the bars and nodded for the sergeant to pick up the cookies. “I’ll walk with you to the door.”

She started to tell him no need to bother but then thought of that prickly male ego and opted to keep her yap closed. Let him do what he pleased. She stayed silent while he worked his way to his feet, shuffling to reach for crutches in what must have been a painful maneuver, yet he never even winced.

He nodded toward the hallway and began thumping his way down the hall alongside her. The awkward silence grew heavier with each step down the hall closer to the door. The crisp November air outside along with the bright sun did nothing to lighten the moment.

“Thanks for the cookies.”

He cocked his head to the side, quizzical. Not rude enough to glance back at the rehab clinic, but she could sense his itchiness for her to leave.

What had she expected? A resurrection of the relationship? The attraction was still there, but Rick’s walls were high. More of that pride. He undoubtedly just wanted to get her in her car and return to his room without falling on his face. The longer she waited, the harder she made things for him.

She needed to quit being selfish. “I know it seems strange, my showing up like this out of the blue. I probably should have called first.”

She’d most definitely been selfish, because she’d feared if she’d called first he might have rejected the notion of her coming. God, she didn’t like what that said about her. Asserting her needs above the needs or wants of others.

Damn.

He stared at her for a whole cycle on the red light before shaking his head. “I gave up trying to understand women a long time ago. You did a nice thing coming here today for whatever reason. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

She could see the strain of standing so long etched on his face, the color seeping away. Yet somehow that took nothing away from his strength, instead only adding to it because of the sheer will it must take to keep his feet under him. She understood well the grit it took to haul yourself through that kind of pain.

Whoa. Hold on. This was getting way too deep.

She backed toward her SUV, fishing in her purse for her keys so she could thumb the remote starter and warm the car. Texas in November wasn’t as cold as some of the Northern climates where she’d been stationed, but there was a definite chill in the air. Besides, she always started her car first to get the temperature right.

The weather matched her mood. This hadn’t gone at all as she’d expected. She should be happy. Instead she felt chilled.

Hollow.

Nola smiled her farewell to a man she knew she would never forget.

“Goodbye, Rick.” Her fingers closed around the keys. She thumbed the remote starter—

And the world blasted into a fireball of heat as her car exploded.

Chapter 2

Blast still ringing in his ears, Rick dropped his crutches and flung his body on top of Nola’s. Thank heaven his professional instincts hadn’t abandoned him in the rubble of Hurricane Katrina or that flying shard of fender would have caught Nola square on the temple.

He’d lived through his fair share of explosions overseas, but he’d never expected to face one on American soil. What the hell had just happened with Nola’s car?

The crackle of flames echoed in his ears, the stench of burning fuel stinging his nose. He stayed on top of Nola while he scanned the parking lot.

No sign of anyone suspicious. Just people with concerned and shocked faces pouring from around the medical park, others running or flattened to the concrete watching. A couple of persons had cell phones in hand, dialing. Good. Cops should be on the way soon.

“Nola?” he asked against her ear, working like hell not to think about how much better her hair smelled after months in a hospital. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay. Squished, but okay,” she gasped. “What about you?”

“Fine,” he lied, his left knee already aching like a sonuvabitch.

Nola elbowed him gently in the gut. “Rick? Let me up, please.”

“Right.” He rolled to the side while still keeping an arm hooked around her waist to anchor her to the ground so she wouldn’t do something reckless like spring to her feet. She might be a trained combat vet, but he didn’t have any time in the field with her to know anything about her skills. “Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize. Good God, you saved my butt from flying debris.” She kept her position, breaths steady as she grappled for her keys a few inches away. “I’m not some prickly ingrate. I just got a little smooshed. You’re a big fella.”

Not so much as he used to be, but hey, he hated the self-pity gig. No use dwelling on that. Since there didn’t seem to be any further immediate threat, time to haul his sorry hide the rest of the way up.

He shifted. His knee hollered back at him.

Damn.

How was he going to get to his feet and keep her safely at his side until the cops arrived? He searched around him for options to brace himself… If he rolled right, he could grab a bench for leverage, pull himself up and sit. From there, he could retrieve a crutch and stand.

Easy. In theory.

Nola reached for her purse from under a park bench and jammed her keys inside. “Do you need help?”

Like hell. “No. I’ve got it.”

“Prideful guy, aren’t you?”

“When I fall on my ass you can help me.” He reached for the bench and kept his eyes open for surprise threats in spite of the seeming calm after the storm. Screw worrying about himself. Her safety had to be his first priority. “Until then, I’ve got it. How about that?”

“Fair enough, big guy.”

Deep breath. Thirteen teeth-gritting seconds later—yeah, he counted every one to keep his mind on something other than the grinding pain—he was on his feet again scanning the perimeter. And he damn well waved away the attendant coming toward him with a wheelchair. The smart young goon knew to back off and help somebody else who’d apparently twisted an ankle in the mayhem.

Meanwhile, Rick kept the lone crutch jammed under his arm, enough to hold his balance since the majority of the damage was to his left leg. In some portion of his brain, he heard the rustle behind him of Nola pushing to her feet, too. Good. That meant he truly hadn’t hurt her when he’d shoved her to the concrete.

Keeping the crutch tucked securely, he grabbed her wrist and urged her to the safety of the portico of the rehab center, into the anonymity of a cluster of nurses and orderlies in purple scrubs. That should serve as a decent safety net of anonymity for now in case someone was gunning for her and waiting around. Watching.

He continued to scan. Adrenaline surged. Damn, he’d forgotten the rush that compelled his body beyond normal endurance, but he welcomed it now.

Still, what kind of guardian did he make? Well, at least he was one more barrier between her and whoever was trying to blow her up. He had his brain and instincts.

And that brain and those instincts were telling him whatever threat there was to her had passed for the moment.

“Ohmigod, Rick!”

Her voice stalled him.

“What happened to your back?”

Hell. Now that she mentioned it… His back did sting almost as much as his knee.

Her hands skimmed over his shoulder blades. “Something hit you. It looks like you’ll need stitches.”

The glide of her touch almost made him forget the pain.

“Am I going to bleed to death until I get to the doc?”

She moved to his side, the loose blond curls of her bangs brushing along the top ridges of her furrowed brow. “I don’t think so.”

“Then it can wait.” He exhaled long and slow, his fingers itching to thread through that cap of whispery curls all around her face and pull her to his chest where nobody could hurt her. Except his chest wasn’t as invincible as he’d once thought. “Any chance your car was a rental?”

She shook her head, curls dancing. “I wish, but no. That was my car. My totally brand-new, just-off-the-lot SUV I’d bought because of my to-do list.”

To-do list? Whatever. Irrelevant really. And along the lines of irrelevant thoughts, he could have sworn her hair was straight before. But then women changed their hair. His ex-wife kept her hair permed on a regular basis. God, his mind was racing a million miles a minute.

“Damn. Sorry about the car being new.” He scratched his neck and resisted the urge to reach over to his throbbing back. “That sucks for you.”

Sirens whined in the background. The cops undoubtedly, a fire truck, too. With some luck they would have an easy answer, not to mention protection.

“Let’s just hope there’s some mobster who has a car that looks just like yours, who was supposed to be here today visiting his old infirm relative.”

Her nervous laugh didn’t reassure him in the least. She had a fatalistic look to her that said she accepted she was the target.

More of that adrenaline pumped, reminding him of missions past, the calling that had urged him to join the Air Force. Everything he’d been and done scrolled through his mind, nudging him, whispering at him to reclaim it all. He heard the cops’ siren drone closer and yet he couldn’t force himself to relinquish his post guarding her. There was no shaking the inevitable.

Uniformed or not, he was back on duty.

Apparently she had a new watchdog after all.

Rick hadn’t left her side except when the cops insisted on a solo interview. They’d acted as if they suspected him of being a stalker boyfriend or something worse.

His growl hadn’t done much to further his innocence.

She rolled her eyes. Men. She stopped by their uncomfy sofa—or at least that’s what she’d started to think of it as from their earlier chitchat in the rehab room. Given that most of the physical therapists had headed off for supper, the place was for the most part deserted except for the occasional health-care professional bustling by, past and away.

She was on her own to get her head together before she said goodbye to Rick once and for all, a more emotional event than she’d expected, what with them almost getting blown up. He could have so easily been injured worse if he’d been standing closer to her car. She could have died if she hadn’t bothered to warm up her car with the remote starter.

Her knees folded and she flopped to sit on the couch, her black leather boots thudding on the tile floor.

“Are you okay?” He joined her, the cops having stopped keeping them apart.

“I was just thinking how lucky we both are. What if I’d waited to start the car from inside and you’d been standing beside? God. We both could have died.” She swallowed hard.

“Two warriors taken down by a car bomb.” He shook his head. “Quite an ignominious end.”

“No kidding. Is your back okay?”

He shrugged his shoulders, only wincing a hint as the Air Force PT T-shirt tugged at the blood on his back. “Doc put butterfly bandages on while you were interviewed by the cops.”

“I’m so glad you weren’t hurt worse because of me.” She hated to think about causing him more pain.

“You’re certain this was meant for you?”

She might as well be up-front with him. She was surprised he hadn’t found out during the interview with the police.

Nola slid her purse from her shoulder, unzipped the leather bag and withdrew a manila envelope. She plopped the envelope onto his lap.

“What’s that?”

“Go ahead and open it.”

Without answering, he pried apart the metal prongs and poured out a dozen or so sheaves of paper, all black-and-white copies of notes comprised of words clipped from magazines.

“The originals are with the police back in Charleston, South Carolina, where I’m stationed, but I keep these with me at all times in case another comes when I’m on the road so I can show local cops.”

She watched while he thumbed through the stack of her stalker’s notes about how he was watching her. How he’d seen what she chose at the mall. When he’d noticed the specific date she’d come home from a flight.

An outfit of hers he liked most.

The low hum of life in the hall continued while he read. A cart rattled by. A television squawked and talked and blared laughter. Conversation echoed from the chow hall.

All the while Rick’s jaw grew tighter with each Xerox copy before he finally replaced the stack into the envelope. “The explosion’s not coincidental.”

“I don’t think so.” She’d kept the notes because the police instructed her to do so, but she hadn’t taken the whole thing too seriously until now. She’d been so certain her training would be enough to protect herself against anything anyone could bring her way.

She hadn’t factored in car bombs.

“Jesus, lady. How can you sit there so calmly?”

He thought she was calm? Hah.

She pulled a tight smile. “Trust me, my heart’s racing like a newbie pilot during a check ride.”

“Have you had other accidents like this?”

“This was the first, actually. Before now, I’ve only gotten letters. I lead a simple life. Work and more work.” Of course he was curious, but she’d answered these questions so many times she wanted to bang her head against a wall. “Believe me, the police and I have both been over and over this. We have no idea.”

“What about an ex?”

Was he asking about a boyfriend? “There’s none in the picture, and certainly none of the psycho type.”

“What about your ex-husband?”

More questions about her love life? She certainly didn’t have any romance going on now or anytime recently, and she didn’t dare wrap her brain around the notion Rick might be interested in jump-starting their short-lived affair. “Peter Grant and I haven’t been together in over five years. I even went back to my maiden name the minute we separated.”

Which brought to mind the fact that she and Rick had been together just after her marriage breakup, a timing he apparently noticed, as well. The remembered weekend tingled through her mind, as real as if it had happened yesterday as she stared into his eyes, seeing herself and want reflected.

He blinked slowly, without looking away. “Who else could it be then? Stats show a stalker is usually someone you know.”

She shook her head to break the contact more than to negate his statement. “This has to be some bizarre coincidence, a threat meant for somebody else, like your mobster theory. I’m not even home, for heaven’s sake. And the letters… I can’t even hazard a guess. It has to be some freak, one of those strange people you walk past who decides there’s some cosmic connection and reads signs where there are none.”

“Whatever his reason, there’s a huge leap from letter writing to blowing up your car.”

His face went hard, protective, a visage she recognized well from working with these guys on a daily basis. He was in defender mode, and all she could think was that Rick had been injured because of her.

She reached to touch his shoulder gingerly. “I’m sorry about your back.”

He went stock-still. “It’s barely a ding. I’m fine.”

“Still, is it okay if I say you’ve got enough on your plate medically?”

“Not really.” He growled. Then gave her a begrudging smile. “But then I guess because of that full plate I barely notice this. Now can we drop the subject of the scratches on my back?”

Her mind winged back to other scratches on his back, ones left by her fingernails, the intensity of their sex wringing responses from her she’d never felt before or after.

Actually, she had no encounters after her surgery at all to go by. Showing her scarred body to a man had been a more difficult hurdle to overcome than she’d expected. She’d found it easier simply to focus on work. There was plenty of work to go around these days with conflicts all over the world.

One day blended into the next until suddenly here she was, five years later after her encounter at the bar with Rick and her mastectomy. Ready to face the rest of her life but suddenly having her foundation blown to bits again—literally.

Rick rubbed along his jaw. “You mentioned telling the police about the letters…” he continued like a dog with a bone.

“Of course. I told the cops at home about the third letter. These are copies.”

He stared at her and she stared back, sinking into the moment the way she’d done five years ago during their “say all the wrong things” fun moment and before she knew it her mouth was moving. “I want you to feel free to say no because this could really be dangerous. But I was thinking it might be in my best interest to have a man living under my roof right now.”

The minute the words fell out of her mouth she almost looked over her shoulder to see who’d said them. But yep. She’d been the one to voice the outrageous offer. She had most definitely said the wrong first date thing.

She desperately wanted to call the words back. Some maniac was trying to blow her up and now she’d done more to lure a watchdog of a man into her life? Rick had already been one foot on his way toward following her home. Now she would never shake him loose. She didn’t need or want this. She’d meant to say goodbye.

Right?

God. How convenient that there were four pretty walls nearby for her to bang her hard head against. The stalker must have been scaring her more than she’d been willing to admit.

“So, Rick? What do you think about my idea?” Maybe he would say no.

And maybe pigs would fly out of her ears.

He scratched along the back of his neck. “How about run it by me again, because I think my hearing’s gone bad.”

“Never mind. Forget about it.”

“Let me see if I follow. It goes something like this. After over a year in a hospital, I need a babysitter who won’t drive me crazy. You’re an independent soul, and I know you can kick any stalker’s butt. But having a man around can give off a first line of defense.”

Might as well go with it. “Kind of like having a dog with a loud bark.”

He picked at the rubber on the top of his crutch. “I’m not sure whether you’re complimenting or insulting me.”

“I’m not calling you a Chihuahua if that helps.” She grinned for the first time since she’d blurted the impulsive offer. “My garage has been converted into a studio apartment so you would have plenty of privacy. It’s a first floor, no stairs to worry about.”

Ooops. She could see his back getting up about her mentioning his injuries. Men could so miss the big picture. But then who was she to talk? She couldn’t bring herself to be with a man because she was wrapped up in her own self-image.

Time to help the man out. He’d obviously been through hell and she understood the bite of those flames well.

“People profile, and you’re a really big guy.” Ego stroke time. “A police dog?”

“You’re good at the suck-up game.” He surprised her with a half smile.

A really surprisingly cute half smile on that rugged big mug of his. She had trouble remembering what she planned to say and that was so not good.

So she grinned right back. She could do this. She was good at putting distance between herself and men, after all, she worked in an almost exclusively male environment. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not insinuating that we pick up where we left off five years ago.”

His smile went wider than hers. “You mean the point where I woke up in a bed by myself with a letter that said, ‘Thanks for a great weekend. Have a nice life.’”

Her smile faded, contrition biting. “The letter wasn’t that…uh…”

“Callous?”

“Curt.”

“However you want to remember it.” He passed the envelope of stalker notes back to her.

“I’m very sorry if I was rude. That was an amazing weekend during a difficult time for me.” She gathered up the envelope to her chest and made a stab at backing out of this setup after all. “It was a silly idea that we should move in together. I shouldn’t have asked you to put yourself in danger. Forget I said anything. I’m just…I don’t know. Shaken up, I guess.”

He watched her silently which made her all fidgety when she prided herself on her poise under fire.

She got off the fake leather sofa ASAP before she did something reckless like move close enough to share leg-to-leg body heat with him. “It was good to see you again. Enjoy the cookies.”

“Nola.”

She backed away, hoping the rental car company would show up with a temporary vehicle for her soon. She definitely needed to get out of here.

“Nola.” His voice swelled to a growl.

Her spine stiffened but her feet kept inching her toward the door.

“Nola, damn it.”

She stopped.

“I never said no.”

“Oh.”

He’d let her babble on just to see what she would say?

Rick nodded toward the window showcasing the burned-out shell of her SUV. “The minute that car blew, you had yourself a new roommate.”

Chapter 3

Rick dropped onto the edge of the bed in his empty room, resting his crutches against the nightstand. He’d used up his reserves today walking around with Nola. He’d been on his feet more this afternoon than any day since the accident—and he wasn’t a slacker around this place by any standards.

He carried his weight on the rehab circuit. He wanted the hell out. Not just out, but on his own two feet. Whole, back to some kind of productive work. He knew he couldn’t return to his pararescue life at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base in Tucson, Arizona. That part of his life was packed up tighter than his furniture in storage.

All of which he would think about later. Right now he had a more immediate goal—finding out what was going on in Nola Seabrook’s life.

She was with the cops again while they finished up a few more last-minute details about her vehicle. He didn’t like being shuffled away for the second time. Who did they think he was? An overbearing boyfriend in a wife-beater T-shirt? He told them he hadn’t seen the woman in five years, but cops didn’t have reason to trust what people said.

Might as well make the best of this time alone. He figured he had about a half hour to catch his breath before he would see her. Then they would start to make plans to move in together—strangers who knew what the other looked like naked. Except he didn’t look the same anymore.

Regardless, he would be out of this place by morning.

He would be living with a woman for the first time in ten years. Holy hell, he really did need a shrink after all because this was the craziest thing he’d ever done and in his line of work, he’d taken more than a few insane risks. Rick shook his head and focused on practical concerns, rather than perfumed and naked notions of sharing a place with a female.

Practical. Focus. Living at her house would serve a dual purpose. He could provide some extra protection, and he could push himself harder on the rehabilitation path than they allowed him here.

A win-win situation.

His cell phone rang from the table beside him, jerking him back to the present. Scooping it up, he checked the screen…and cursed. Truth was he lived to see that number. Now he didn’t know what to say to her.

His kid. His daughter. Not a baby anymore.

At fifteen years old, Lauren had expectations and rightly so. Even at full speed, he hadn’t been the best of dads, but at least he’d been someone she could brag about. She deserved that hero father who could do more than hobble in and out of her life. He’d never been much when it came to the emotional quotient—just ask his ex. Still, in the minimal time he’d spent in the States he’d tried his best to do something with his daughter. Camping and hiking. Amusement parks and air shows. Beach surfing marathons.

Now he couldn’t do more than write checks.

Hell.

His thumb hovered over the On button…then he pitched the phone on the bed. He would have to speak to Lauren eventually. Now just wasn’t the best time, right after he almost had his butt blown up by a car bomb…

Then agreed to move in with a woman he’d slept with five years ago. Talk about another sort of bomb in his life.

The phone jangled again.

He stared as if he could will it to silence, prepared to wait it out again…but his hand stretched out with a mind of its own and clasped the receiver. Hell, he couldn’t ignore her call anymore than he could ignore her baby cry at 2:00 a.m. no matter how many times his ex vowed their kid would never learn to sleep through the night that way.

He thumbed the On button. “Hello, Lauren.”

“Hey, Dad.” Her familiar voice greeted him through the airwaves along with the sounds of some fast-food joint. She always enjoyed hanging out with friends over a burger after school. “How come you didn’t answer before?”

“Sorry, kiddo, I didn’t have my phone with me.” His head thumped back against the wall as he lied to his child. Guilt sucked.

“You always have your phone with you. I mean, God, like whenever I see you your cell phone is like an extension of your arm.”

“Like father, like daughter.” He swung his legs up on the bed. Might as well get comfortable. She was chatty like her mother, but damn, he’d missed Lauren’s voice so much he wanted to take in every second of this conversation.

“Dad, I’m not that bad.”

“Kiddo, I pay your cell phone bill. I’ve seen the number of text messages.”

She giggled over the airwaves at their ritual pseudo-bickering. “I’ll try to cut back on the LOL responses.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m just ragging you.” He held the phone and wished he could give her more than a few flipping extra text messages. “It’s good to hear your voice. But why aren’t you using the home phone?”

“I’m at a friend’s house for the Thanksgiving week. I wish I could see you, though.”

Damn. More of that guilt.

He stared out the window at Nola breaking away from the cops in the parking lot near the greasy spoon across the street. She would be back inside before he knew it. His time with Lauren was short.

“Soon, kiddo.

“Sure. It’s just…”

He hated hearing the disappointment in her voice. He loved his kid, but better to make sure she had lower expectations than to let her down. “The job makes it tough for me to get away sometimes, you know that.”

“Yeah, yeah, you have important things to do.” Her laugh thinned. “You would tell me about them, but then you would have to kill me.”

How could he know her laugh thinned? Maybe it was just some weird sentimentality on his part because the cell phone connection was so clear she could have been right here in the room with him as they made more small talk. He asked her about school. Thanksgiving break. Things that didn’t mean anything, but he should have already known about.

“Was there anything else you needed, kiddo? Because if not, can we talk later? I have to cut this short.” Nola would be back any second now.

“Sure, Dad. Whatever.”

He couldn’t miss the forced cheer in her voice and wanted to kick himself—not that he could do that much damage with even the better of his bum legs. “I will call later.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“Goodbye, Lauren, I l—”

She disconnected before he could even finish saying he loved her.

Nola hesitated in Rick’s door, hating to pull him out of his reverie as he stared at his closed cell phone cradled in his hand. You’d never know he was injured the way he sprawled on his bed like any other guy lounging at the end of a long day of work. He’d changed into fresh sweatpants and a T-shirt stretching over muscles.

His hand still clutching the cell phone.

Who was Lauren? Not that it should matter to her. Logic told her if he had a serious girlfriend, he would be moving in with that woman rather than Nola.

One weekend five years ago gave her no right to feel jealous.

So why was she standing here with the cookies he’d forgotten in her hand feeling the need to close the door on that part of her life? Had she asked him to move in with her because she had some maniac blowing up things in her life?

Maybe the whole move-in thing had been some spontaneous goof-up that he already regretted now that the Lauren person had called.

Nola rapped her knuckles on the door, drawing his attention away from the phone and to her. “Did you mean it when you said you were going to move in with me?”

“I never make promises I can’t keep.” His thumb moved back and forth over the small silver phone.

“Never?” She inched into the room, unable to help noticing how stark it looked for a place he must have lived in for months. Whenever she’d spent even a week in the hospital, she’d brought pictures and a water fountain from home along with her helmet to serve as motivation to recover her health and her life. “It must be tough carrying around that much perfection.”

He crossed his feet at the ankles, lounging in bed, a look she remembered as well as the errant twinkle sparking to life in his eyes. “When you have a mouth this big, you have to be right.”

Laughter bubbled from her in a surprising burst.

She smiled along with him. How could she not? And what a time to realize she hadn’t smiled this much in… She couldn’t recall how long. “That ego must be mighty heavy to tote around, too.”

“You’ve spent enough time in the military to know it’s important to be able to make decisions quickly in the field. Once committed to the plan of action, see it through.”

Except she wondered if he could still be in the military with the injury to his legs. That would have to chew at him. Attitude was so important to recovery. She wondered if she would have even made it without the hope of regaining her place in the cockpit again.

Imagining his pain stole the smile from her face. She set the cookies on his bedside table. What a pitiful offering to someone who’d lost so much.

He popped the lid off and pulled one out, waving for her to have a seat in the leather recliner beside the industrial hospital roller table. “Have you had any more thoughts on who would want to blow you up beyond that mystery stranger?”

She sat, because then he would have an excuse to stay right where he was, all comfy on his bed, not because she wanted to stick around longer. Hah. Liar. “I lead a pretty benign life. The only people who want to blow me up are enemies overseas and it’s not a personal thing, ya know?”

“Sure.” He couldn’t stop from asking, “You’re absolutely certain your ex-husband’s not the stalker type?”

“The last thing my ex wants is to lay eyes on me again. Peter’s happily married with a pretty new wife living in Georgia. And yes, that stung for three frozen margaritas, a hangover and a week beyond that before I decided to move on.” She took a deep breath. “He has two baby girls and another kid on the way.”

“That bites.”

She jolted. She hadn’t expected sympathy. “Yeah. Far worse than losing the scumbag.”

“My mom still seems to think I want updates on my ex’s dating life.”

“God save us from helpful relatives.” Was that plural ex wives? Or just one? She was tempted to ask but that would put them on a more intimate footing before moving in together.

Not wise.

He toasted her with a cookie, chewing down two before he spoke again. “Who knew you were here?”

She bristled. “Are you insinuating I didn’t tell the police everything?”

“God, you’re a prickly thing. I was just wondering if you held back. Sometimes there are things we think sound silly or unimportant.”

Her stiff spine eased. “You’re trying to help and I should be grateful. This whole thing just has me wound tight. I’m used to worrying on the job, but damn it, I treasured the safe haven of home to recharge between missions and now this stalker has encroached on that.”

“Burnout bites, too, doesn’t it?”

Burnout? He had his wires crossed there, but she wasn’t going to argue with the man. Better to change the subject. “I’m going to say this one last time. The second I asked you to move in, I regretted it. These are my problems and I won’t be able to live with myself if something happens to you because of me.”

“Well, like I said before, seems as if we’re stuck with each other. So if you don’t mind a stubborn, bum leg bodyguard, I’m ready to sign on for the job. God knows I’d like to get out of this place and the last thing I want is one of the prison warden nurses watching over me 24-7.”

“So you think I’m a pushover?”

“Hmm. I guess I don’t really know you, do I?”

She swallowed hard against the memory of the things they did know about each other, intimate things that heated the air like the lotion he’d rubbed all over her body the second day they’d made love because one night hadn’t been near enough. Leaving him had been more than difficult. She’d wanted more, so much more, but time had run out for her.

Now here they were again. What was he saying? She needed to keep sharp around him or her mind would muddle up and she would do something impulsive like ask him to move in with her.

“I may not know you, but I have decent instincts, and I believe you’ll be fair. Plus, you have a day job that will give me some breathing room.”

“Breathing room is important to you.”

She seemed to give him claustrophobia, because his gaze finally broke with hers, away, out the window to the sky he no longer sailed through, only him and his parachute. She imagined the clouds called to him. That she could well understand because the sky called to her as a pilot. She couldn’t imagine having her wings clipped.

Finally, he looked back. “Breathing room is critical. Call it my cave time.”

“A man who admits to Cro-Magnon traits?” She stuck a finger in her ear and twisted. “I can’t have heard right.”

“What can I say? My ex made sure I understood myself well.”

There he went mentioning the ex again. How recent was the divorce? Did it have anything to do with his injuries? He hadn’t been wearing a ring five years ago. Okay, she was thinking way too much about his personal life. “This whole moving in together sounds good, but…”

“You’re having second thoughts about my coming to Charleston with you.”

“I have some kind of maniac trying to blow me up and the last thing I want is to put somebody else in danger. Damn it. I should have thought this through.”

“I’ve already told you, lady, you can’t shake me loose now. If you won’t let me in your house, I’ll be sleeping in a tent in your yard, and believe me, the cold air and humidity will play hell on the rods in my legs.”

In spite of his humor, he was set on a path as steely as the metal in his legs. She could tell he wasn’t going to back off. She would just have to hope and pray the police protection around her house would be enough to keep them both safe.

Rick had helped her before, and while it had only taken a couple of days, she couldn’t walk away from him while he was in need even if it took longer to help him through his recovery.

As much as she chafed at the idea of playing to the he-man syndrome, she also walked in that world daily. She understood how much more it must chafe at him to have the props kicked out from under him.

Men didn’t seem to get the fact their strength came from so much more than catapulting out of airplanes.

All a moot point. Apparently he’d decided his redemption lay in protecting her. And he did need her, too. She owed him for that weekend five years ago. She might not have made it through without the confidence he gave her. So much of her survival depended on the mental.

Something she could give him now.

“All right, roomie. How fast can we spring you from this joint?”

Through the café window, he watched the smoldering remains of her car in the lot, firefighters waiting, their foam caking and crackling like an over-baked meringue. Cops were long gone, having already finished their note taking and investigation.

They never even saw him from his perch in the nearby greasy spoon where he inhaled the scent of frying hamburgers and humanity.

If he wanted Nola Seabrook dead now, she would be six feet under. But he liked the hunt.

She always used her remote starter for her car, so he’d known she would thumb the button rather than turn the key. The look of shock, the fear on her face when her car exploded had been well worth the risk of planting the device in open daylight. Of course the thrill, the rush, that’s what this was all about.

Recapturing what he’d lost.

She would die—eventually. He had his timetable, but it would be his. He was in control of his life again. He didn’t need his youthful body. He’d learned to dominate with his mind, his brain. Working his way onto the military hospital parking lot had been a rush.

His street-smart wits combined with his warrior-honed skills made him indomitable.

The fun was in the cat-and-mouse game. She owed him for the humiliation she’d caused. She wouldn’t get away from him this time.

He started to leave, but reconsidered. He needed to eat after all. What better way to savor this victory than with a meal while he regrouped for the next stage of his battle plan?

Apparently he wasn’t the only one watching the rehabilitation center with such interest long past what the burning vehicle warranted. A teenage girl stared at the medical building—the windows, not the SUV. She clutched her cellular phone in her hand, her too-tight jeans slung low on her hips with too many holes in them to be accidental. Why did these youths want to appear poor? He’d been poverty-stricken and it was not fun or trendy.

She pocketed her cellular phone and sidled up to the linoleum counter. “I’d like an application for a waitress job.”

The woman behind the cash register shook her head. “We’re not looking for any more after-school help.”

The girl shoved her hands in her back pockets. “Please, I work really hard and it says right there you need help.”

“Don’t want no troublemaking teenagers.” The woman—Jo Nell, her tag read—folded her arms underneath her well-harnessed breasts.

“I won’t cause trouble. Besides, it doesn’t look to me like you can be picky.” The girl’s eyes stayed strong, defiant, but her voice had just a hint of desperation. “How about I work for a trial hour, with no pay? Then you can decide. Looks to me like you’ve got your hands full with all these gawkers trolling in from that car explosion…”

The man working the griddle leaned into the pass-through window. “Jo Nell, quit your yacking and give the girl a chance. She’s right. Orders are coming faster than you’re filling them.” He pitched a pad and pencil her way before snatching up a spatula again. “Number seven coming up!”

The teenager snatched an apron and hooked it over her neck. “Thanks a million. You won’t regret it. I’ve got hardworking genes.”

Tennis shoes squeaking, she wound her way across the room with a single-minded determination that made him grin with memories he had not allowed himself in months.

Pencil poised over her paper she stopped by his table. “Have you decided yet what you’ll have?”

“I most definitely have.” He folded the menu closed. “What is your name, chica?”

“Lauren, and hopefully that’ll be on my own name tag at the end of the next hour so I can work here near my dad’s hospital.”

Once he finished placing his order, he smiled at the innocent child, thinking of his own family he’d lost because of Nola. “Good luck, little Lauren. And be careful in this big city. I would hate for bad luck to visit anyone as lovely as you.”

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