CHAPTER 6
Timothy
I wake up with Carla in my arms, and for a second, I think I'm dreaming.
But then she shifts against me, her bare skin sliding against mine, and I know it's real.
She's here. In my bed.
The possessiveness that slams through me should probably concern me.
I've known this woman for two weeks. Spoken to her maybe a dozen times before yesterday.
But lying here with her tucked against my chest, her dark hair spread across my pillow, I know with absolute certainty that I'm not letting her go.
Not to Randall. Not to anyone.
She's mine now.
I'm supposed to be figuring out my life post-Army. Building a career. Finding some kind of normal. Getting involved with a woman who's running from an abusive Special Forces operator is the opposite of normal.
But I don't care.
I've spent fifteen years following orders. Doing what I was told. Putting the mission first. And where did it get me? A medical discharge, a bum leg, and an apartment in the middle of nowhere while I figure out what the hell to do with the rest of my life.
Carla is the first thing that's made sense in months.
Maybe the first thing that's ever made sense.
She stirs, and I feel her tense. She's waking up. Realizing where she is. I wait for her to pull away. To put those walls back up that she's so good at building.
But she doesn't.
Instead, she turns in my arms and looks at me. Her eyes are sleepy, unguarded. Beautiful.
"Hey," I say.
"Hey." She bites her lip. "So. That happened."
"Yeah. It did."
"Any regrets?"
"No." I brush a strand of hair away from her face. "You?"
She's quiet for a moment, and I can see her thinking. Weighing. Deciding whether to tell me the truth or give me some line that'll let her keep her distance.
"No," she says finally. "No regrets."
Relief hits me harder than it should.
"Good," I say.
"But Timothy, I don't know what this is. I don't know what we're doing."
"We're figuring it out."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I've got right now." I pull her closer. "I'm not letting you go back to your apartment alone. I'm not letting Randall get anywhere near you. And I'm not pretending last night didn't mean something."
"What did it mean?"
"Everything."
She stares at me, and I can see the fear in her eyes. Not of me. Of this. Of letting herself believe it's real.
I cup her face. "I want to know everything, Carla. What makes you laugh. What you dream about. What you want out of life. All of it."
"I don't know what I want anymore."
"Then we'll figure that out too."
She's quiet again, and then she kisses me. Soft. Tentative. Like she's testing whether this is real or if it'll disappear the second she lets herself believe in it.
I kiss her back, slow and deep, trying to show her without words that I'm not going anywhere.
The kiss changes. Gets hungrier. Her hands slide over my chest, and I groan.
"Carla," I say. "You sure you want to do this again?"
"Yes."
"You're not too sore?"
"I'm fine." She pushes me onto my back and straddles me, and the sight of her like that, naked and confident, makes every coherent thought evaporate from my brain. "I want you."
"You've got me."
She leans down and kisses me, and I'm lost.
This time is different from last night. Slower. Less desperate. I take my time, learning what makes her gasp. What makes her moan. What makes her dig her nails into my shoulders and say my name like a prayer.
When she rides me, her head thrown back, her body moving like she was made for this, I'm so gone I don't even recognize myself.
I've been with other women. Plenty of them. But none of them were her.
None of them made me feel like I'd been searching for something my whole life and just now found it.
When she comes apart above me, I follow her over the edge, and the only thought in my head is I’m crazy in love with her.
Afterward, she collapses on my chest, breathing hard, and I wrap my arms around her. Holding her. Claiming her in every way that matters.
"That was," she starts.
"Yeah."
"We should probably get up."
"Probably."
Neither of us moves.
Eventually, she lifts her head and looks at me. "I have to call the diner. Tell them I'm not coming in today."
"You work today?"
"I was supposed to. But I can't. Not with Randall out there."
"Call them. Tell them you're sick."
She nods and reaches for her phone on the nightstand. I watch her make the call, apologizing to whoever's on the other end, promising she'll be back tomorrow.
When she hangs up, she looks exhausted.
"You okay?" I ask.
"I hate this. I hate that he's taken over my life again. I hate that I can't even go to work without being scared."
"It won't be like this forever."
"Won't it? He's not going to give up, Timothy. You saw him yesterday. He thinks I belong to him. And he's not the kind of guy who accepts losing."
"Neither am I."
She looks at me, and I see the hope and fear warring in her eyes.
"I need to make some calls," I say. "Get some information. Figure out what we're dealing with."
"You mean figure out everything about Randall."
"Yeah."
"I can tell you about him."
"You can tell me what you know. But I need to know what you don't. Like why the MPs covered for him. Who his friends are. What kind of pull he has."
She nods. "Okay."
"You want to take a shower? I'll make coffee."
"That sounds perfect."
She climbs out of bed, unselfconscious in her nakedness, and heads to the bathroom. I watch her go, admiring the curve of her hips, the strength in her shoulders.
She's a fighter. Always has been.
But she shouldn't have to fight alone.
I pull on jeans and a T-shirt and head to the kitchen. While the coffee brews, I grab my phone and start making calls.
First up is Vincent.
He answers on the second ring. "You need that backup yet?"
"Not yet. But I need information."
"On?"
"Staff Sergeant Randall Shelly. Army Special Forces. Stationed at Fort Bragg. I need to know everything. Service record. Complaints. Friends. Associates. Anything you can dig up."
"That's a lot."
"I know. But it's important. I met a girl"
Vincent whistles.
"She’s in trouble?"
"Big trouble. And I need to know what I'm up against."
Vincent's quiet for a moment. "You sure you want to get involved in this? Sounds like it could get messy."
"I'm already involved."
"Tim, if this guy's Special Forces and he's got friends covering for him, that's not going to be an easy fight."
"I don't care."
"You care about her."
It's not a question.
"Yeah," I say. "I do. Her name is Carla Alexander. She’s a former marine and Shelly’s ex. He’s not taking the rejection very well."
"Then I'll see what I can dig up. Give me a day or two."
"Thanks, man."
"Be careful. Guys like that don't play fair."
"Neither do I."
I hang up and text Jonah next.
Need more info on Randall Shelly. Whatever you can find. Service record, complaints, anything buried.
You're really going after this guy?
Yeah.
Your funeral. I'll see what I can pull.
Do me a favor and get eyes on Carla Alexander’s car for me.
It’s a Honda parked in the apartment’s lot next to my truck.
I give him her license plate number. I wanted to make sure no one planted any nasty surprises on it.
Jonah could reprogram a security camera or activate a drone or do some sort of NASA shit on it.
I’ll see what I can arrange on short notice.
Sorry man.
The things I do for you.
The shower turns off, and a few minutes later, Carla emerges wearing one of my T-shirts and a pair of her sleep shorts. Her hair is damp, her face scrubbed clean, and she looks younger. Softer.
Beautiful.
"Coffee?" I ask.
"Please."
I pour her a cup, and she wraps her hands around it like she's trying to absorb the heat.
"I made some calls," I say. "Got some guys looking into Randall. Should have information in a day or two."
"What kind of information?"
"Service record. Complaints. Who his friends are. Who might be helping him."
"You think he has people helping him?"
"Adam Hagelin was watching you. That means Randall called in a favor. And if he called in one, he can call in more."
She nods, her expression grim. "His team is loyal. They'd do anything for him."
"Even help him stalk his ex-girlfriend?"
"They don't see it that way. They see it as helping their brother get his girl back." She takes a sip of coffee. "Randall has this way of spinning things. Making himself the victim. Making me the bad guy. By the time he's done talking, everyone believes him."
"I don't."
"You're different."
"How?"
"You listen. You see me. Most people just see what they want to see."
I set my coffee down and cross to her, taking her face in my hands. "I see you, Carla. And I see a woman who's been through hell and came out the other side. A woman who's stronger than she thinks. A woman who deserves better than what she got."
Her eyes shine. "Timothy."
"I'm going to protect you. I'm going to make sure he never touches you again. You understand?"
"You keep saying that."
"Because I mean it."
"Why? Why do you care so much?"
Because the second I saw you, something in me recognized something in you. I've been sleepwalking through life for six months, and you woke me up.
But I don't say any of that. It's too much. Too soon.
Instead, I kiss her. Long and deep. Trying to show her what I can't put into words yet.
When I pull back, she's breathless.
"Come on," I say. "Let's make breakfast. And then we're going to sit down and come up with a real plan."
"A real plan."
"Yeah. Not just hiding. Not just reacting. A plan to end this."
She nods, and I see the first flicker of hope in her eyes.
We make breakfast together. Eggs and toast. Nothing fancy. But standing in the kitchen with her, handing her the spatula, watching her move around my space like she belongs there, feels right.
More than right.
It feels like this is what I've been missing. Not just a woman. This woman. In my space. In my life.
She laughs at something I say, and the sound is like sunlight breaking through clouds. I want to hear it again. Want to make her laugh every day for the rest of my life.
We eat at the counter, our knees touching, and I can't stop looking at her. The way she bites her lip when she's thinking. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear. The way she relaxes, bit by bit, the longer we're together.
This is who she was before Randall. Before the fear and the running. And I want to give that back to her.
"What?" she asks, catching me staring.
"Nothing. Just thinking."
"About?"
"You."
She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling. "That's not an answer."
"I'm thinking about how I'm going to keep you."
The smile fades. "Timothy."
"I'm serious. I know this is fast. But I'm not letting you go."
"You can't just decide that."
"I already did."
"What if I don't want to be kept?"
"Then I'll change your mind."
She stares at me, and I can see the war happening behind her eyes again. Fear versus hope. Self-preservation versus taking a chance.
"You're crazy," she says finally.
"Probably."
"This is a terrible idea."
"Most good things are."
"Randall's going to make your life hell."
"Let him try." I lean closer. "You're mine to protect, Carla. Get used to it."
She opens her mouth to argue, but then my phone buzzes.
I glance at the screen. Text from Vincent.
Got something. Call me when you can. It's not good.
I look at Carla. "I need to take this."
"Go ahead."
I step into the bedroom and call Vincent back.
"What've you got?" I ask.
"Your boy Randall Shelly is bad news, Tim. Worse than you think."
"Talk to me."
"Three complaints filed against him in the last five years. Two from women he dated. One from a female soldier in his unit. All three complaints disappeared. No investigation. No record. Nothing."
My blood goes cold. "How?"
"He's got friends in high places. His CO is a bird colonel who's been covering for him for years. Apparently, Shelly is some kind of golden boy. Gets results. Keeps his team alive. So they overlook the other stuff."
"The other stuff being that he beats women."
"Yeah. And it gets worse."
I close my eyes. "What else?"
"He's got a tight crew. Five guys who'd follow him into hell. All Special Forces. All loyal. If he calls them, they'll come running."
"Names?"
Vincent rattles off five names. Two of them I already know. I write the other three names down.
"One more thing," Vincent says. "Shelly requested leave two weeks ago. Said he had family business. He's off the grid right now. No one knows where he is."
"He's here. In Virginia. Stalking Carla."
"Then you need to be careful. This guy's not stable, and he's got the training to do real damage."
"Understood."
"You need backup, you call me. I can be there in four hours."
"I will. Thanks, Vincent."
I hang up and stare at the list of names. Five guys. All Special Forces. All loyal to Randall.
This could get messy.