Chapter 5
He couldn’t sleep. Ethan lay on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, his body strung tight with the kind of energy that would consume him if he didn’t do something about it. Paisley had married Trey McCann.
Trey, his fucking buddy who’d been supposed to tell her he’d be in touch as soon as he could.
Trey, who’d transferred out of HOT and stayed in Florida before separating from the military.
They hadn’t been best buds or anything, but they’d both been HOT at one time.
Ethan had always thought that meant something.
Apparently not.
He swung his legs off the bed, shoved a hand through his hair, and made a noise somewhere between anger and pain.
Then he shot to his feet and started to pace. It was two in the morning and there was nowhere to go.
Or was there?
He dragged on his shorts, T-shirt, and shoved his feet into his hiking boots. He had to get out, had to move before he exploded. He prowled toward the back door, but came up short when Ghost looked up from where he stood at the kitchen counter with his laptop open.
“Going somewhere?” Ghost asked, arching one eyebrow.
“Can’t sleep. Thought I’d go for a drive.” He’d been so focused on escape that he hadn’t noticed the flickering light from the computer screen. If Ghost had been an enemy combatant lying in wait for him, he’d be dead.
Ghost shook his head. “Yeah, welcome to the club. I was hoping a beer and something mindless on the computer would help. So far, no dice.”
Ethan studied his boss. Since Kane and Daphne had hooked up and were living together in the smaller of the two farmhouses on the property where the One Shot Tactical Range and Training Facility was located, Ethan had moved in with Ghost. Chance and Seth used to live there, but both of them had found love and moved in with their women.
Blaze was the only one who’d never lived on the property, but he was also the first to shack up.
With the town doctor, which was helpful in some ways. Like when Chance had gotten winged by a bullet on a stealth incursion one night.
Or the time Ethan had fallen off the porch and hit his head because a spider dropped on him out of fucking nowhere.
He hated those little bastards. For something so small, they creeped him the fuck out.
The last time there’d been one inside the break room at the range, Daphne had calmly scooped it up with a bug catcher and took it outside before lecturing him on why spiders were good for the environment.
He knew they were good, dammit. He just didn’t want one on him.
Fortunately, he hadn’t hit his head hard and Emma had confirmed he didn’t have a concussion. Not that he’d have asked, but she’d been there when it happened—they all had because it had been at one of the group’s regular cookouts—and she’d insisted. She hadn’t laughed at him, but the others did.
Stupid spiders.
And why the fuck was he thinking about spiders when everything he’d thought he’d known about Paisley was a lie?
Because spiders are easier to think about than emotional trauma.
“You okay, Dragon?” Ghost asked, eyebrow arching.
His gut was ice. “Yeah, fine. Just thinking about some shit I’d rather not think about. Everything okay with the mission?”
“No changes, nobody breathing down my neck at the moment.”
“That’s good.”
“I’d say so. Waiting on the other shoe to drop though.”
Ethan sighed and rubbed his forehead. “We’ve been here nearly eight months. I thought it’d be different than this, gotta admit.”
“I didn’t know what to expect. Still don’t, if I’m honest.”
Daphne’s brother had been planning to sell Stinger missiles to disciples of the Russian oligarch Viktor Dashevsky, but the team had put a stop to that before it’d happened.
Jackson O’Malley was in jail and the Stingers were in the FBI’s possession.
They hadn’t been able to tie it to Dashevsky’s people though, and that was a damned shame because those fuckers were still plotting something.
Until the Athena Project reached completion and went live, Ghost Ops had to cool their heels in Sutton’s Creek. How long that might be at this point was anybody’s guess. The president and her team said it would be soon, but Ethan no longer believed they were right. Neither, he thought, did Ghost.
Ethan took his leave and headed for his truck.
He’d told Ghost he was going for a drive like it was a random thing, but he knew precisely where he was going.
He drove the short distance to downtown, weaving through the streets until he reached Chestnut Street.
He knew which house to look for because a quick internet search revealed which one belonged to Esther Woods, otherwise known as Miss Hettie.
He drove by the brick Craftsman, studying the house and yard.
Paisley’s Kia sat in front of the house because there was no driveway or garage.
Not unusual for historic homes of the era.
The blinds were closed and the porch light was on.
He parked down the street and watched the house, feeling the need to be vigilant.
She’d been terrified and it made him sick to know it was Trey who’d hurt her.
He thought back to that night when the orders had come down.
He’d been on a training run with a group of Green Berets.
There’d been no time for anything except grabbing his duffel and getting on the transport.
Trey had promised to tell Paisley that he’d be back.
He was supposed to say that Ethan would call when he could, but it might be some time.
And he was supposed to tell her that Ethan was sorry he had to miss her birthday, but he’d make it up to her when he returned.
Instead, Trey had lied to her. Told her Ethan was done with her.
Then he’d inserted himself into her life and stolen the woman Ethan loved.
Trey had married her, made a child with her.
Ethan’s gut twisted. Somehow, that was the worst of all. Because Trey was clearly a monster who’d hit Paisley in front of their kid. A monster who would have hit Violet too if Paisley hadn’t left.
Jesus.
Anger, cold and dark and yet somehow hotter than the sun, filled Ethan’s soul. He wanted to scream, and he wanted to destroy.
The master planner in his brain kicked into gear. Because he needed to make plans or he’d lose his ever-loving mind. It was what he did, how he coped. It’d always been so.
What would he do first?
He’d go to Seth for information, because Seth would find everything Ethan wanted to know.
Seth would learn Trey’s routines, his habits, find out where he worked, what he ate for breakfast, when he took a piss, and how much he owed to whom.
Ethan would study all of it carefully. Then he’d find a reason to take a few days off. He’d head to Florida, shadow his prey. When he’d had enough of waiting and watching, he’d strike.
He wanted to kill the motherfucker. Destroy him so utterly there was nothing left.
He enjoyed the fantasy for all of a minute before he let reality sink in.
He couldn’t kill Trey. Not only was he not particularly fond of going to jail for the rest of his life, he was on a mission where the stakes were no less than life or death for millions. Those millions included his friends, the good people of Sutton’s Creek, and Paisley and Violet.
Revenge wasn’t worth the risk to any of the people he cared about.
Ethan leaned his head back on the seat and blew out a slow breath. He could at least beat the hell out of Trey, warn him what would happen if he so much as breathed in Paisley’s direction. He wanted to. So fucking bad.
Except he hadn’t gotten where he was in life by going off half-cocked, even with an elaborate plan. Beating the fuck out of Trey McCann would definitely be satisfying—at least for a few hours—but it wouldn’t change what’d already happened. It might also make Trey more determined to hurt Paisley.
Ethan closed his eyes, shoved a hand through his hair.
He wasn’t supposed to get involved. Period.
He couldn’t risk what it would do to his team if he let himself sink into this morass of rage and pain, which he would do if he spent any time with Paisley and Violet.
He needed his mind clear, needed to focus on why he was part of this team and what they were in Alabama for.
But how could he sit back and watch Paisley flinch every time a man got too close? How could he watch her look over her shoulder with fear in her eyes when he knew what she was running from? When he felt at least partly responsible because he’d trusted the wrong person?
Sure, Paisley could have said no. She could have walked way. She should have. But who was he to say she’d done the wrong thing when he hadn’t been there? Trey had fooled him, made him think he was an honorable man who had a fellow soldier’s back.
Ethan didn’t have to ask himself why Trey did it.
Paisley was the kind of woman who turned heads.
When she’d walked over to their table in the bar that day, every man there had been tripping over his tongue.
Every man had wanted her. Ethan had staked his claim first. Yeah, it’d been pure attraction then. He’d wanted to fuck her.
But then he got to know her, and he fell for her.
He’d imagined a future with her, and he hadn’t hidden those thoughts from his buddies.
He may not have said the L-word, but he’d definitely talked about being with her beyond his temporary assignment to Florida.
Trey had known Paisley was important to him.
Known, and deliberately sabotaged the relationship.
He couldn’t change the past, but he could make sure that Paisley and her daughter were safe in Sutton’s Creek. He didn’t have to get involved with her to do it. He’d make inquiries, find out how bad it’d been, get her some security cameras and an alarm system if she didn’t have one.
Once he was sure she had resources, he’d be content to see her around town or with the Ghost Ops women. Wouldn’t be a problem at all.
Plan made, he started the truck and headed for home.