As recent events merely served to prove.
“No problem. I’d have been upset if you hadn’t called me.”
“Chances are I’d be dead if I hadn’t called you.”
“No. I’m sure you would have gotten you and your remaining team members out.”
Polson came up, effusively thanked Linc, grudgingly acknowledged Jackson, then told him he’d meet up with him back at Pegasus the following day.
“Sorry, man, but I won’t be going back,” Jackson said, shaking his hand.
“What? Scared?”
Jackson chuckled without humor. “Yeah. Of their piss-poor support. I’d advise you to look elsewhere, as well.”
He knew some tended to forget the heat of battle the instant they were out of it. Polson appeared to be one of them. He’d rush right back into the fray, having forgotten everything that had come before. The word “lesson” was completely foreign to him.
While it bothered Jackson to think the guy would be going back to that piece of shit operation, it was Polson’s decision. And this was where his responsibilities officially ended.
As for his team, he’d spoken to them on the plane and not one was going back.
“Yeah, right,” Polson said, grinning. “See you around then.”
“Yeah. Good luck.”
Polson walked away, chuckling.
“I don’t know him and already I don’t like him,” Linc said.
Jackson nodded. “Yeah. Real ass.”
“Maybe you should have left him back in the jungle.”
Jackson looked at him. “I’m just glad someone else outside my team made it out alive.”
Linc’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t know the entire story. And Jackson wasn’t up to telling him just then…if ever.
“Who’s the girl?”
He frowned.
“Don’t play that. I saw the way you were looking at her.”
Jackson laughed. He’d heard it rumored that the once silent Linc had gone all soft lately. He understood it was because he’d fallen for some girl who now lived in Maine and was the reason Linc worked the majority of the time out of Boston now. But he wouldn’t have believed it unless he’d seen it.
He shrugged. “Just some girl I went to school with…?.”
He winced even as he said the words.
He’d never referred to Max in such an indifferent way. She’d always been the girl next door, his best friend.
Now?
He stretched his neck and set his jaw.
“Yeah. Just some girl,” Linc agreed with disagreement. He put an arm over his shoulders. “Come on, let’s get out of here. You’re stinking up the place in more ways than one.”
Jackson picked up his sack and they walked out. If he was hoping Max and her mom were still somewhere nearby, he wasn’t admitting to it, even to himself.
Linc led him to a black Mercedes with tinted windows. It belonged to the Lazarus fleet, he knew. Bullet-proof and tweaked for double the performance of the regular model.
“By the way,” Linc said as he popped the trunk. “I talked to your brother earlier.”
Jackson’s movements slowed as he hoisted his gear inside. “Did you say anything?”
Linc closed the trunk. “Of course not.”
His friend stood looking at him for a long moment.
“But you think I should,” Jackson finally said.
“You’ve got to do what you think best. But, yeah, I do think you need to tell him.”
The mere idea of him telling his older brother he had gone off on that dumbass mission, much less that he’d failed at it and had relied on Linc to get him out made Jackson’s teeth ache.
“He and Jordan are coming in for the holidays tomorrow.”
The holidays.
God, he’d completely forgotten. He’d been so preoccupied, he’d barely noticed it wasn’t ninety degrees with a hundred percent humidity.
He blinked and looked around. Everyone seemed to be greeting family members just arriving and “Jingle Bells” was piped through the airport’s sound system.
He grimaced.
“Come on. I’ll take you out to your grandmother’s place.”
Jackson shook his head as they headed for opposite doors. “My truck’s at Pegasus. I’d much rather you took me there.”
“Then you’ll head to your grandmother’s?”
No, he planned to go to his apartment in town. Cleo would be missing him. Chuck had been looking after her while he was gone, but it wasn’t the same.
“Since when have you become a mother hen?”
Linc threw his head back and laughed harder than Jackson had ever seen him do. Then they both got into the car…
15
MAX FELT JUST this side of roadkill.
She cracked her eyes open to find dreary daylight filling her room. She sighed and rolled onto her back, her arm across her eyes. She’d been back a day, and had slept most of it, but yearned for more. A full week at least.
She peered at the clock and then covered her eyes again. It was just after nine. She was surprised neither her mom nor aunt had come in after her yet. They’d hovered over her so much yesterday, she’d been forced to ask them for some privacy.
They’d looked so hurt, she’d winced at her abrasiveness.
Truth was, she’d never spoken to either of them about some of the horrors she’d seen during her tour in the military. And she never would. It almost seemed like some sort of unwritten rule among the Marines. Forget Vegas. What happened on the battlefield, stayed on the battlefield.
Oh, counselors encouraged them to speak. Communication was comparable to disarming an emotional land mine, one of them had once told her. But how did she explain to her mother and aunt what she’d seen? Wasn’t it bad enough she had nightmares that kept her up at night? Did she really want to plant the images in their minds so they could keep her company?
No. Better they not know the details.
Especially about this latest mission.
Images screamed through her head, one after the other, the rapid report of gunfire deafening her.
She drew in a deep breath and let it out. While the experiences of the past few days were indirectly to blame for her revisiting old memories, she knew she was distracting herself from the truth of her deep sense of melancholy: Jackson Savage.
She glanced toward the window. She couldn’t count the times she’d padded across the room to stare out onto the frozen landscape, wondering if he’d come out to his grandmother’s home or stayed in town. She’d held her cell phone tightly in both hands, longing to call him. She’d even dialed once and quickly hung up, praying her number hadn’t had a chance to register on his end, yet not caring if it had.
What hurt beyond all else was that she had no clue what had happened. No idea what had made him turn from her so completely. If she knew, she could formulate a plan to deal with it, dress her wound and limp on. Instead she felt as if she was bleeding to death.
There was a soft rap at the door.
Max squeezed her eyes closed tighter.
“Maxi?” The hinges squeaked as her mom ventured inside the room. “You awake?”
“Yeah,” she said softly.
Moments later the mattress shifted slightly. Max opened her eyes to see her mother sitting down beside her. Concern was etched so deeply on her face, it made Max hurt.
“How are you feeling this morning?”
Tears stung the back of her eyes, surprising her.
“Oh, honey…” Cindy moved in and gathered Max in her arms, something she hadn’t done since Max was a young girl. “Shhh…it’ll be okay. Everything’ll be okay. You just wait and see.”
Max tried to find the strength to fight, but instead surrendered, weeping nakedly against her mother’s shoulder…
JACKSON HAD A LIST the length of his forearm to complete, yet all he could do was sit at his kitchen table staring at his cup full of cold coffee.
He was exhausted yet he hadn’t slept a wink. He was hungry, but couldn’t bring himself to eat. He was hurting, but couldn’t seem to do anything to address the pain.
So he merely sat.
Cleo leaped onto the table and padded over to him, rubbing her nose against the side of his face. He blinked, registering that her nose was cold, and she was purring, but unable to do much more.
He didn’t get it. He’d seen dozens of battles. Had witnessed countless casualties. Faced brutal opponents. Yet he couldn’t ever remember a time when he’d felt this out of it before.
He distantly registered the ringing of his cell phone but couldn’t remember where it was, much less answer it.
He began lifting his cup, then forgot why and put it back down.
Cleo stopped cleaning her flank long enough to stare at him, then walked over to the cup and stuck her nose inside. The sound of her lapping was loud in the otherwise silent apartment.
Jason…
He winced. His brother was going to freak when he found out Jackson had used Lazarus Security resources to get out of Africa.
Damn.
That was one conversation he wasn’t looking forward to having. He could already hear Jason saying “I told you so” in several different languages and myriad tones of voice when it came to his warning against signing with Pegasus.
As for any future he might have had with Lazarus: gone.
That was probably for the best. If these past few days had proven anything to him, it was that his brother was right.
He snorted.
At least that part of the conversation Jason would enjoy.
“Hey, big brother, you were right. I’m not cut out for this business. You’ll be happy to know I now get that I’m a complete, abject failure…?.”
The words wove around his brain and back, settling somewhere near his solar plexus. He absently rubbed his chest, imagining Jason’s self-satisfied grin.
He closed his eyes, thinking of the men he’d lost in Africa. There was no taking that back. No erasing the visions of their dead and dying bodies. No chance at another shot to make things different.
He lifted his cup and took a sip of the cold coffee, grimacing when he had to take a long, black cat hair out of the side of his mouth. Cleo stared at him as if to say, “So?”
He pushed from the table, dumped the cup’s contents into the sink, rinsed it, then took the vodka bottle out of the freezer and poured a finger inside the cup. He knocked it back, stood for a moment, then took the bottle out again. He carried both back to the table, pouring as he went.
Hey, at least he wasn’t drinking straight from the bottle. And if he needed any more, he could always go downstairs to The Barracks to get it.
Cleo checked out the change in beverage then glared at him. He lifted a brow, then watched as she flicked her tail and leaped from the table.
Not even his cat wanted his company.
Fine.
The cell phone rang again. He ignored it.
So what did he do now? Did he go back to work downstairs? Take the path Jason had mapped out for him and expand the bar’s food offerings? Become the cook everyone suggested he should be?
He downed the vodka and poured another.
Of course, he could always just sit here and pickle himself…?.
Yeah, just then, that option was the most appealing.
The fact that he wasn’t much of a drinker became immediately apparent. Of course, his exhausted state might also be contributing to the lightheadedness he felt.
Max.
The name he’d banned from his head floated in on wings and stayed there.
Damn it all to hell and back. What had he been thinking when he’d allowed things to get personal between them? When he’d given himself over to feelings he had probably always harbored for her, but never acted on?
He grabbed the vodka so violently a portion spilled over the top of the bottle.
What was he talking about? He’d had as much say in what had happened between them as he did in the price of gas.
Was it really only a few nights ago he’d kissed her for the first time right over there in the living room? Tasted her lips? Felt the heaviness of her breasts in his hands? Slid his fingers down between her thighs to find her hot for him?
His back teeth were clenched so tightly together it took effort to loosen them so he could down another slug of vodka.
As expected, the memories that trailed those were what had gone down in Africa…?.
His sheer terror when they’d first taken gunfire, his only concern for her safety. Her being held captive. Her melting against his hand when he’d given into the urge to touch her when they’d lain together in the tent.
His cell phone again.
He awkwardly pushed from the table, staggering a little as he crossed to his bedroom. It took a few moments, but he finally located his cell in the pile he’d emptied out of his sack on his bed.
He answered without checking the display.
“What the fuck do you want?”
There was a heartbeat of silence, then, “You kiss your grandmother with that mouth?”