Chapter 12
TWELVE
He’d left her sleeping—he hadn’t known what else to do.
Wake her up and…say what? Last night was incredible and I never stopped loving you, but I don’t know how to do this and I’m terrified I’ll fuck it up?
Yeah, that would go over great. He’d already fucked things up by disappearing once.
So he’d done what he always did when things got complicated—thrown himself into work.
Now he sat in the command center, a converted library on the mansion’s main floor, reviewing supply manifests with all the enthusiasm of a man facing a firing squad.
He went over ammo counts, MRE inventory and replacement parts for comms equipment.
The kind of tedious shit that kept a team operational but made his eyes cross.
His mind kept drifting to the way Elin looked in his T-shirt, fresh from the shower—something he never thought he’d see again.
And he’d tried to show her everything he couldn’t say. Every touch, every kiss, every time he’d made her come apart in his arms, that was him trying to tell her she mattered. That this mattered.
But this morning, she barely looked at him.
When he walked into the kitchen, still high on endorphins and lack of sleep, and she’d met his eyes for maybe two seconds before looking away like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t spent the night in his bed, in his arms, wrapped around him in ways that made his chest tight just remembering.
There was no arguing that women were complex, and what Elin must be experiencing after finding him alive was far more complicated. Since they had yet to talk, really talk, he could be reading the situation wrong.
“You gonna stare at that clipboard all day or actually check the inventory?”
Mason looked up to find Con leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, smirking.
“I’m working.”
“You’re brooding. There’s a difference.” Con’s boots thumped as he crossed the room and dropped into the chair across from him. “What’s eating you?”
“Nothing.” Mason held back a sigh and returned to his manifest. “Just trying to figure out why we’re going through rounds like candy. Are the guys practicing or just wasting ammo?”
“Sounds like a little of both.” Con was quiet for a moment.
Mason fixed his attention on the list. Here it comes.
“So. You and Elin.”
Mason’s pen stopped moving. “What about us?”
“Come on, man. Chase said you left breakfast like someone lit a fire under your ass, and she bolted before that. Plus, you’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The ‘I finally got the girl and now I don’t know what the fuck to do’ look.” Con grinned. “It’s very becoming on you.”
Mason set down the clipboard. “Drop it.”
“Why? She’s good for you. Makes you almost human.”
“Con—”
“Seriously, though.” Con’s tone shifted, losing the teasing edge. “Don’t screw this up. Elin’s solid. Smart as hell, doesn’t take shit from anyone. So what’s stopping you from getting her back?”
“I don’t know.” The words came out rougher than intended. He thought he had her back, but he’d read their entire night wrong.
“But you want her back.”
He wanted her back so bad that his chest was at the point of bursting. “I’m trying to let her adjust to knowing I’m alive. That had to screw her up. Hell, it would screw any of us up. Remember when we learned Apollo was really alive?”
At the mention of Apollo, Con’s lips whitened at the corners. None of them had truly processed those emotions. They’d believed their teammate dead, but later discovered he’d faked his death and gone even deeper underground to find a terrorist. Now he was on the Alpha team…and he had a wife.
“Exactly my point,” Mason said. “I just don’t—” He stopped, jaw working. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“Have you talked to her about what she wants? How she feels?”
“I tried to last night.”
“And?”
He sent his commanding officer a look that Con understood.
“You ended up in bed instead.”
Mason groaned. “I’m pretty good at the action side of things, so I tried to show her.” He and his brothers-in-arms didn’t talk about women or feelings—they roasted each other over poker and cutthroat games of water volleyball in the pool.
Mason thought about the previous night. He’d definitely shown her. But in the cold light of day, when the team was around and real life intruded—how was he supposed to act? What was he supposed to say?
And why had she looked through him like he was invisible?
Movement caught his eye through the window. A man crossed the courtyard toward the mansion’s side entrance. Gray hair, medical bag, purposeful stride.
“Is that Dr. Patir?” Mason sat forward.
Con glanced out the window, something flickering across his face. “Yeah. Routine checkup stuff.”
“We don’t do routine checkups.” Mason stood, moving to the window. “Who’s hurt?”
“Nobody’s hurt.”
“Then why’s the doc here?”
“Mason.” Con’s voice carried a warning. “Leave it alone.”
But Mason’s mind was already spinning. The team was fine this morning. No training injuries, no one limping or favoring anything. Which meant—
“Is it one of the women?” Mason turned to face him. “Is someone hurt? Because if something’s wrong—”
“Everyone’s fine.”
Con stood, and it wasn’t hard to pick up the undercurrent of irritation in his CO’s voice.
“Then why—”
“Just drop it, man. It’s not your business.”
Not his business. The words hit like a slap. They were a team. They trusted each other with their lives. If one of them stumbled, they all did.
“Bullshit,” Mason said flatly. “We don’t keep secrets. Not about injuries, not about medical shit. If someone’s compromised—”
“No one’s compromised.” Con’s jaw was tight. “Let this go.”
They stared at each other. Mason’s instincts screamed that something was off. Con was a terrible liar, always had been. What made him such a great leader was his ability to deliver the harsh truth when they needed it.
Whatever the reason for the doctor’s visit, Con knew. And he was actively hiding it.
“Fine.” Mason’s jaw flexed. “I’ll drop it.”
Con headed for the door, then paused. “Focus on your own situation, yeah? You’ve got enough on your plate.”
He left before Mason could respond.
Mason stared at the empty doorway, then shifted his attention to the window. Dr. Patir had come inside. His instincts blared that something was wrong. Those same instincts had kept him alive on countless missions.
His mind shot to the moment he walked into the kitchen with the other guys. The women had been clustered around the table, speaking in low voices. They’d gone quiet when the men walked in.
The women knew something.
And Elin—
His heart kicked against his ribs. Elin was there too. Part of whatever secret they were keeping.
What if she was the one who needed the doctor?
The thought hit him like a punch to the gut. That bag Sinner handed her looked a lot like a pharmacy bag. Was she taking medication? She was in perfect health before…but she could have developed a condition. Diabetes. High blood pressure.
Depression from, say, a major loss in a person’s life.
But what if it wasn’t something so easily treated? What if something was wrong and she hadn’t told him because—
Because why would she? They weren’t together. Not really.
And he’d destroyed any trust between them when she found out he was alive.
He had to talk to her.
Mason could hardly concentrate on the task he needed to finish, and time dragged. The minute he completed the inventory, he hurried to the computer lab. The door was half open, and Elin was dialed in to her work. Dante and Sophie were there too, all three of them focused on their screens.
He knocked on the doorframe. “Hey.”
Elin glanced up, and for a second—just a second—something almost vulnerable flashed across her face. Then it was gone, replaced by polite professionalism.
She glanced at Dante and Sophie, but they ignored his interruption.
Elin spoke up. “Hey. What’s up?”
What’s up. Like he was just some guy. Like last night hadn’t happened.
“Can I talk to you?”
“Kind of in the middle of something.” She gestured at her screen. “We’re tracking down a connection. It’s time sensitive.”
“It’ll only take a minute.”
Sophie and Dante exchanged glances. Dante stood. “We could use a coffee break—”
“No,” Elin said quickly. “Stay. We’re almost through this encryption.” She looked back at Mason. “Can it wait?”
“No. It can’t wait.”
He needed to know she was okay, needed to know what the hell was going on with the doctor. Needed to know why she was looking at him like he was an inconvenience.
“Dr. Patir is here. Do you know anything about that?”
Dante turned his head at mention of the Blackout team doctor, who only ever visited when one of them was too injured to patch up. Like when Denver sustained that last head injury that took him off the team.
Sophie looked straight ahead at her monitor—a tell if Mason ever saw one.
She and Elin knew what was going on. But if the doctor was here to see Elin, she wouldn’t be sitting here. Relief flooded through Mason.
“I’m working, Liam.” Her voice was flat. “Unless this is mission critical, I really need to focus.”
He stood there for a heavy heartbeat, staring at her profile and wondering how the hell to bridge the gap he’d thought was already starting to close. Starting to heal.
Obviously, he was wrong. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
He forced himself to walk away and made it to the stairs before he had to stop, one hand braced against the wall, breathing hard.
He felt Elin slipping through his fingers. If only she would give him a sign, talk to him. Hell, even rage at him for leaving her with the kind of pain he never should have made her feel. Then they might stand a chance.
What he feared above anything else was waking up one morning to find out that her job was done…and she was gone.
He tasted iron—reminded himself it was his own damn doing.
He’d walked away. He’d told himself it was protecting her.
All he’d really done was leave her in the wreckage.
* * * * *
Elin had either done something monumentally smart or monumentally stupid.