14. BULLET WOUNDS
BULLET WOUNDS
Chris woke because someone was touching him.Every instinct he possessed came online at once.His eyes opened.His hand moved.His muscles tightened.Then he saw Camila.Morning light filtered through the blinds of the guesthouse bedroom, casting pale lines across tangled sheets.Camila was lying beside him.Her dark hair was everywhere.Across the pillow.Over one shoulder.Against his chest.And one fingertip rested on the scar below his left shoulder.Chris stopped.Slowly.Very slowly.He relaxed.Camila noticed.Her eyebrows lifted.
“Good morning to you too.”Chris dragged one hand across his face. “What time is it?”
“Almost nine.”His eyes opened wider.“Nine?”
“You were tired.”
“I don’t sleep until nine.”
“You did today.”Chris reached toward the nightstand.No phone.Right.Roman didn’t keep his federal phone anywhere near this place.He dropped his head back against the pillow.“Fuck.”Camila laughed softly.“You’re very charming in the morning.”
“I’ve been told.”
“You say that a lot.”
“People have a lot of opinions.”She smiled.Then her attention dropped again.To his chest.The smile slowly disappeared.Chris noticed.
“What?”Camila didn’t answer.Her fingers moved toward the scar again.This time more carefully.Chris looked down.And immediately knew what she’d found.Shit.He’d forgotten.Not forgotten the scars existed.You didn’t forget getting shot.He’d simply stopped seeing them.Four years was enough time for scars to become part of a body instead of a memory.Camila’s fingertip hovered just above the pale mark near his shoulder.Circular.Small.Distinct.Her expression changed.
“That’s a bullet wound.”Chris glanced down.Then back at her. “Very observant.”She looked at him.
“Chris.”
“What?”
“That’s a bullet wound.”
“You already said that.”
“Because you’re acting like it’s a paper cut.”He smiled faintly.“It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“You didn’t ask anything.”
“Fine.”She shifted onto one elbow.“Who shot you?”There it was.Chris looked toward the ceiling.He’d prepared this.Of course he’d prepared it.The FBI had prepared an explanation for every visible scar.Roman’s supposed life had been built around Chris Walker’s real one.
A private-security job in Phoenix.A wealthy client.A robbery.Gunfire.Wrong place, wrong time.Simple.Believable.He could recite it without hesitation.Camila waited.Chris looked back at her.“Job went bad.”Her eyes narrowed.“What job?”
“Security.”
“What kind of security?”
“Private.”
“For who?”
“Client.”Camila stared.Chris smiled.“What?”
“You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“Giving me the smallest possible answer to every question.”
“Efficiency.”
“Annoying.”
“Also efficient.”She didn’t smile this time.Her fingers moved gently around the scar.
Not directly over it.Around it.Chris watched her.That was somehow worse.There was no suspicion in her touch.Concern.Curiosity.Tenderness.Those were more dangerous.“What happened?” she asked.
“Somebody tried to rob a client.”
“And?”
“And I got shot.”
“That’s your entire story?”
“Pretty much.”Camila gave him a flat look.Chris sighed.“Camila.”
“Were you protecting someone?”
“Yes.”That part, at least, was true.
Just not who she thought.
“Did they get hurt?”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I noticed.”She shook her head.“You joke about everything.”
“Not everything.”
“Almost everything.”Chris studied her.“Maybe I don’t like serious conversations before coffee.”
“Convenient.”
“Very.”Her gaze dropped again.Then stopped.Chris saw the exact second she noticed the second scar.Lower.Near his ribs.The sheet had shifted enough to expose it.Camila froze.
Her fingers moved.Chris caught her wrist gently.“No.”She looked at him.“Why?”
“Because you’re about to start another interrogation.”
“You’ve been shot twice.”Chris released her.
“Apparently I’m unlucky.”Camila stared at the second scar.It wasn’t as neat as the first.The entry wound had healed cleanly.The exit wound around his side hadn’t.Camila pushed herself upright.The sheet gathered around her.
“Chris.”He looked at her.“You’ve been shot twice? ”
“Yes.”
“Same job?”A beat.Chris hated that there had to be one.“Yes.”Her eyes narrowed.He knew she’d caught the hesitation.“How?”
“Gun.”Camila stared.Chris smiled.She grabbed a pillow and hit him with it.Pain shot through his bruised ribs.“Fuck!”Her eyes widened.“Oh, God. Sorry.”Chris caught the pillow.
“You’re trying to finish what those guys started?”
“I forgot about your ribs.”
“That’s reassuring.”Camila carefully pulled the pillow away.“I really am sorry.”
“I’ll survive.”
“You seem weirdly confident about that.”
“Experience.”Wrong word.Again.Camila’s eyes sharpened.Chris saw it immediately.
She pointed at him.“That.”
“What?”
“You say things like that.”
“Like what?”
“Experience.”Chris leaned back.“I’ve been alive thirty-four years.”
“No.”Camila shook her head.“You know what I mean.”He did.
She shifted closer.“You knew exactly what to do during that attack.”
“Adrenaline.”
“Bullshit.”Chris’s eyebrows rose.“Good morning.”
“You pulled a gun like you’ve done it a thousand times.”
“I worked security.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”Partly.“You knew where to move.”Chris said nothing.
“You knew how to fight.”Still nothing.“You knew how to get us through that warehouse.”
Chris looked toward the window.“Lucky.”Camila laughed once.“No.”He looked back.“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”She studied him.“You’re not lucky.”Chris smiled faintly.“You just told me I’ve been shot twice.”
“You know what I mean.”Unfortunately, he did.Camila reached toward his shoulder again.
This time Chris didn’t stop her.Her fingertips traced the edge of the scar.His body reacted despite himself.Not fear.Something warmer.Her eyes flicked toward his.
Chris looked away first.“Did it hurt?”The question surprised him.He looked back.
“When?”
“When you got shot.”Chris almost made another joke.Almost.But there was something about the way she asked that stopped him.“Yes.”Camila’s expression softened.“How bad?”
Chris stared at the ceiling for a second.Bad enough that he’d thought he might bleed out before the tactical team reached him.Bad enough that he’d heard Sloan screaming his real name while pressure was applied to the wound.Bad enough that Mercer had sat beside his hospital bed and told him if he ever ignored an extraction order again, Mercer would personally put another bullet in him.Bad enough that Chris still occasionally woke remembering the sound of gunfire inside that Phoenix warehouse.He swallowed.
“Bad.”That was all.Camila seemed surprised he’d answered at all.She touched the scar again.Chris’s throat tightened.“You almost died.”Not a question.He didn’t answer.Camila looked at him.“Chris.”He gave her a tired smile.“Apparently not.”
“That isn’t funny.”
“I know.”Another rare honest answer.Silence filled the bedroom.Camila’s hand remained against his chest.Then she noticed something else.The scar continued around his shoulder.
“Turn around.”Chris looked at her.“No.”
“Chris.”
“No.”
“I want to see.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“Because this is getting creepy.”She shoved his shoulder lightly.“Turn.”Chris laughed.“You’re bossy.”
“You like it.”
“No comment.”
“Turn around.”He should refuse.Instead he carefully rolled onto his stomach.His bruised ribs protested.Camila’s laughter disappeared.Chris knew what she was seeing.The exit scar.
Larger.Ugly.Then the second scar lower along his back.For several seconds she said nothing.Chris stared into the pillow.That silence bothered him.“What?”Her fingertips touched near the first scar.Gently.“You weren’t just shot twice.”He turned his head enough to see her.“This came out here.”
“That’s generally how bullets work.”
“Chris.”
“Sorry.”She traced around it.He closed his eyes.Camila didn’t know she was touching a part of Chris Walker.Not Roman.Those scars had existed before the FBI ever invented Roman.They belonged to another undercover identity.Another case.Another life.
Camila was touching the truth with her bare hands.And he was lying underneath them.
“What happened after?” she asked.Chris’s eyes stayed closed.“After what?”
“You were shot.”
“Hospital.”
“How long?”
“Couple weeks.”
“Then?”
“Went back to work.”Camila’s hand stopped.“You went back?”Chris realized he’d answered too quickly.He turned his head.She stared at him.“What?”
“You were shot twice protecting somebody, nearly died, spent weeks recovering, and then went back to the same job?”Chris shrugged.“Needed the money.”Camila’s eyes narrowed.No.She didn’t buy that.Not even slightly.“Why?”
“What?”
“Why did you really go back?”Chris stared at her.Because the case wasn’t finished.
Because people were still in danger.Because three other agents had spent nearly a year building the operation.Because Chris Walker didn’t know how to walk away when something mattered.He couldn’t tell her any of that.So he gave her Roman.“I’m stubborn.”
“That I believe.”Chris smiled.“See? We’re making progress.”Camila didn’t smile.She leaned closer.“Were you scared?”Chris went still.He didn’t like that question.“Everybody gets scared.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the one I’ve got.”She studied him.“What scares you?”Chris’s eyes moved to hers.
There were a thousand answers he could give.Death didn’t scare him as much as it probably should.Pain didn’t.Guns didn’t.Being caught undercover did, but not enough to stop him.Failure.People getting hurt because of him.Watching someone he cared about become collateral damage.And now—Camila discovering the truth.Chris reached up and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear.
“You ask too many questions.”She covered his hand with hers.
“You hide too much.”His smile faded.Neither moved.Then Camila leaned down and kissed him.Softly.Nothing frantic.Nothing fueled by fear.Just a kiss.Chris rolled carefully onto his side, one hand moving to her waist.She kissed him again.His restraint didn’t disappear this time.It softened.That was somehow more dangerous.Camila rested her forehead against his. “You know what bothers me?”
“I suspect you’re going to tell me.”
“I slept with you.”Chris raised an eyebrow.“I’m aware.”
“I woke up with you.”
“Also aware.”
“I’ve seen you nearly kill yourself protecting me.”
“That feels dramatic.”She ignored him.“And I still feel like I know almost nothing about you.”Chris’s expression changed.Camila noticed.“There.”He sighed.“Not this again.”
“That look.”
“What look?”
“The one where you disappear.”Chris’s eyes moved away.Camila touched his jaw and turned him back toward her.“Where do you go?”
“Nowhere.”
“Liar.”This time the word wasn’t playful.Not entirely.Chris felt it.A warning of what would eventually come.He looked into her eyes.
“If you knew everything about me, you might not like me very much.”Camila’s expression softened.
“Let me decide that.”Chris swallowed.“You don’t know what you’re asking. ”
“Then tell me.”He stared.There it was.The opening.He could tell her.Right now.
My name is Chris Walker.I’m FBI. I’m an Undercover Agent.The street racing was fabricated.The first chase with Mateo was staged.Everything your brother trusts me for was engineered.The scars came from another undercover operation.Every time I leave you, I report to the people trying to put your brother in federal prison.Chris almost said it.Almost.Then Mateo Vargas’s face appeared in his head.The operation.The agents depending on him.The drugs.The people who’d already died.The organization they were trying to dismantle.He couldn’t.Not yet.Chris kissed her instead.Camila melted into him.
His hand slipped around her waist, drawing her carefully closer while protecting his ribs.
The kiss deepened.Warm.Slow.Intimate.Camila’s fingers moved through his short blond hair.Then down his shoulder.Across the scar.Chris shivered.She pulled back slightly.“Does that hurt?”
“No.”
“What did?”He smiled.“You.”Her eyebrows rose.“Excuse me?”
“You hit me with a pillow.”She laughed.Chris kissed her again.For several minutes, questions disappeared.So did everything else.Eventually Camila rested against his chest.
Her fingertip returned to the lower scar.Chris watched her.She didn’t realize she was memorizing him.Every mark.Every reaction.Every inconsistency.Someday, when she discovered the truth, she’d remember this morning.She’d remember asking who shot him.
She’d remember him saying security.She’d remember the slight pause before every answer.And she’d know.Camila’s finger stopped against the scar.“Two bullets.”Chris looked down.“Yeah.”
“Same night.”
“Yeah.”
“You saved whoever you were protecting?”Chris hesitated.Then nodded.“Yes.”That answer was true.Camila smiled softly.“I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“You pretend you don’t care.”Chris frowned.“I care.”
“You pretend you don’t.”
“Different.”
“Not really.”She lifted her head.“You went back for them.”Chris froze.Camila didn’t notice the effect of the words.“And then you went back for me.”His throat tightened.She smiled.“That tells me more about you than all your terrible answers.”Chris looked at her.
He didn’t know whether to feel exposed or terrified.Probably both.Camila kissed his chest beside the scar.Then settled against him again.Chris stared at the ceiling.There was far more to Chris Roman than Camila knew.The problem was—there was actually far less.Roman was a collection of documents.Fake arrests.Fake jobs.Fake history.Fake memories.But the scars were real.The man who’d gone back for her was real.The way he felt with her was terrifyingly real.Camila’s eyes drifted closed.Chris brushed his fingers through her hair.She murmured sleepily:“One day you’re going to tell me everything.
”Chris’s hand stopped.Camila didn’t see his expression.
“Yeah,” he whispered.One day.And when that day came—she was going to hate him.