Way of the Warrior (Troubleshooters #17.5)(19)

He reached over the side of the hammock and grappled for his water bottle, always thirsty these days, his throat perpetually raw, the pain an ever-present reminder that he’d walked away from that accident when others hadn’t. He’d been partnered with Captain Jablonski that day. Jablonksi and the flight crew hadn’t stood a chance. Pinned by the wreckage, Gavin hadn’t been able to reach them, couldn’t see, couldn’t move, just heard their last gasps. His hand grazed over Radar’s soft fur before wrapping around the plastic bottle. He sucked down a long draw of ice water. He swung one leg off the side and tapped the hammock into motion.

His career credo during his Air Force days as a pararescueman had been “These things we do that others may live,” and he’d embraced that mission. He’d expected to die in the line of duty. Finding a way to face growing old without that mission had knocked the props out from under him. He took another long gulp of water. God, he missed being a pararescueman—also known as a parajumper, or a PJ.

The job fielding emergency calls had been a godsend, considering he wasn’t good for much of anything since that crash had rattled his brains and damn near crushed his larynx. Ironic really. He’d always been known as the least chatty PJ in their squadron, and he’d almost lost the ability to speak altogether. Yet now his world revolved around words. He’d been a damn good medic in his unit. From antiterrorism missions in the Gulf of Aden in the Middle East to earthquake relief in the Bahamas, he was the one everybody requested in a medical crisis. At least he’d found a way to put some of his emergency responder skills to work. Even if he was going damn near stir-crazy, aching to be in the fight rather than just listening.

Listening last night had taken that frustration to a deep, dark level.

And the cops hadn’t even caught the bastard.

Gavin had done some nosing around after the incident. The police hadn’t been able to pin anything on Jared Lewis other than some harassing texts. There was a restraining order. And Stacy’s insistence that he’d tried to break into her house before. For now, Gavin could only make sure she was safe, so he’d called in some favors locally to have her watched until she made it to his house this afternoon. And more favors long distance to help over the next few days. It had been all Gavin could do not to rush right over to her last night, but he knew his time was better spent coming up with a strategy.

Every day this month since he’d moved back to Kentucky to pick up the pieces of his life as a civilian, he’d been tempted to phone her. And every day he’d made an excuse to wait.

After what happened last night, there could be no more waiting.

He heard the car stop outside his home. Stacy Currie. He’d known his Anastasia wouldn’t waste time coming to see him once she knew he’d returned. She’d always been braver than him. Since he’d heard her gasp of recognition on the phone last night, he’d known the confrontation would be inevitable. He’d considered going to her place, but being near her again would be difficult enough. He needed the edge of being on his home turf, so once the police had left her house and reassured him she was safely secured, he’d texted her his address, noted he’d be awake by two, and left it at that. Would she come alone? Or with an escort?

Where was her ex now? The cops said they’d followed a car racing away from Stacy’s house to outside the city limits. The cowardly jerk would likely lay low for a while. Gavin intended to use that time to his advantage to prepare.

Radar lifted his head, nudging Gavin’s hand. The car door slammed closed.

Gavin scratched his dog’s ears. “It’s okay, boy. She’s…a friend.” He took another swallow of water and called out, “I’m in the backyard.”

The soft tread of her steps rustled in time with the branches. One set of steps. She’d come alone.

His duplex was on the edge of town, with minimal traffic. His backyard was enclosed with a tall, wooden privacy fence. The gate squeaked open in the quiet afternoon. His gut knotted. He nudged his sunglasses up along the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed as he just breathed in the moment. Was it memory or reality that led him to catch a whiff of her—like strawberries. She’d favored the scent for lotion and shampoo when they’d been together before.

“Gavin?”

That voice was unmistakable now that she wasn’t whispering, a hint deeper than when they’d been teenagers. Today, the melodic tones weren’t filled with terror.

He gestured to the Adirondack chair beside his hammock. “Have a seat. You’ll pardon me if I don’t get up. It was a late night at work.”

“Of course.” She walked closer, the sound of her steps on the thick carpet of grass echoing his heartbeat. Of course she’d come. She’d always had a steely will encased in a five-foot-one body, like a delicate butterfly that withstood the fiercest wind. “I got your text.”

“I should have sent it sooner.”

“Yes, you should have.” She hesitated beside him before sitting with a sigh. “You’re really back. It’s actually you.”

“More or less.” He shifted on the hammock, both feet on the ground as he faced her chair, forcing himself not to think about how delicately beautiful she was with her strawberry blond hair, sky-blue eyes, pale skin with freckles all over her body that he’d explored with his mouth. “Are you okay after last night?”