Chapter 18
Sleep came reluctantly. Hoot had never been particularly good at sleeping in unfamiliar places, even though he’d had to do it more times than he could count.
And Lark’s couch wasn’t exactly designed for a man his size, either.
His feet hung over one end, one shoulder pressed awkwardly against the back cushion, and every time he shifted, something in the frame complained.
He’d slept in worse places. But the woman in the other room had been through enough tonight, and he’d promised to stay. So, he endured the discomfort and stayed.
Eventually, exhaustion won, and the dream came with it.
He was back in Afghanistan. Back on the mission. Everything unfolded exactly as it had a hundred times before. The team moved through the compound, clearing the way for the PSG operatives. Hoot could hear Voodoo behind him, Atlas and Ma covering the opposite side. Gunfire erupted ahead.
They pushed through the heavy resistance and kept moving. The HVT was finally secured and extraction was underway. Then Bullet appeared. Running faster than his namesake.
“Hoot!” He spun. Bullet raised his rifle and fired over Hoot’s shoulder. The enemy went down, and Bullet grinned.
“Good deed for the day.” The last word was still hanging in the air when a sudden shot shattered the quiet. Bullet jerked, and Hoot caught him before he could hit the ground. Blood soaked through his hands instantly.
“No.”
Bullet’s eyes found his. “Hoot...”
“I’m here.”
“P-Pray.” The word echoed. “Pray—”
Hoot shook him. “What?”
“P-Pray.”
Then everything went black.
“Hoot!”
His eyes snapped open. Someone was touching him, and instinct took over. He grabbed the wrist, twisted, and surged upright, dragging the person down to the floor. In seconds, he had them pinned beneath him.
Then he saw her face. Lark’s green-gray eyes were wide. Her hair was mussed from sleep. Her breath came quickly.
Hoot froze. “Fuck.” He released her immediately and scrambled backward. “Lark.”
“I’m okay.”
“I could’ve hurt you.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I could have.”
She sat up, rubbing her wrist. “I know. But lesson learned. Don’t wake someone with military experience from a nightmare.” She tried to make it sound like a joke, but Hoot wasn’t laughing.
The shame hit him hard. “I am so sorry.”
She studied him for a moment. “You were dreaming.”
Hoot looked away. “I was.”
“I heard you yelling.”
His jaw tightened. “What did you hear?”
“Your teammate’s name. Bullet.”
He closed his eyes. Of course.
She shifted closer. “Tell me about it.”
“I can’t tell you everything.”
“I know.”
“Operational details are—”
“Classified. I understand.”
He nodded. So he told her what he could. It was easier than he thought it would be. She possessed a certain quality that made confessing his deepest, darkest secrets feel effortless.
When he got to the part when Bullet was running toward them and the final shot, he stopped and took a deep breath. “Then he died.”
Lark’s expression softened. “He said something, didn’t he.” It was more statement than question. “Something that haunts you.”
Hoot stared at the floor. “Yeah.”
“What was it?”
“Pray.”
She was quiet. “What does that mean?”
“I’ve wondered the same for eight years?” He swallowed. “At the time, I thought it meant exactly what it sounded like.”
“A plea?”
“Yeah.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“No.”
She frowned. “Are you sure?”
Hoot looked at her. “He was dying, Lark. I was holding him. He barely had enough strength to speak.”
“But you said he was yelling your name before that.”
Hoot nodded. “Several times. That’s when he saved my life.”
“And paid for it with his,” she whispered, obviously remembering their earlier conversation about Bullet. “And then he said pray.”
Swallowing hard against the lump forming in his throat, Hoot uttered a simple, “Yes.”
She stared into space. “What if that wasn’t the whole word?”
Hoot frowned. “What?”
“What if he was trying to say something else?”
He felt his pulse quicken. “Like what?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “But what if pray wasn’t a request?” Hoot went still. “What if it was a warning?”
The thought hit him like a grenade detonating inside his chest. A warning. He’d never considered it. Not once.
For eight years, he’d carried that final word as a plea. A dying young man’s desperate request for grace.
But what if—
“What if he’d found something?” Lark continued softly. “Something during the mission. Something he’d realized wasn’t right. Maybe he was trying to warn you.”
Hoot couldn’t breathe. Bullet had been there. Inside the compound. Near the vault. Near the information PSG had wanted. And then he’d died.
The mission had been textbook. Almost too perfect. They’d always thought that.
Hoot dragged a hand over his face. “Jesus.”
Lark reached for him. “Hey.” He looked at her. “I don’t know if I’m right,” she said. “I’m just asking questions.”
“But nobody ever asked that question.”
She squeezed his hand. “Maybe you weren’t supposed to figure it out alone.”
Something inside him cracked. Not completely. Just enough. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. For eight years he’d lived with the belief that Bullet’s last word had been a prayer. Now he wasn’t so sure.
And suddenly the dream wasn’t just a nightmare. It was a memory that might be evidence.
Lark moved closer. Her shoulder touched his. Then her head rested against him. Hoot didn’t move away. Instead, he put an arm around her. She tucked herself against his side. The warmth of her seeped through him. His breathing gradually slowed.
“You don’t have to figure it out tonight,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“You can sleep.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“Then I’ll stay and keep you company.”
He looked down at her. “You’ve got a strange definition of self-preservation.”
She smiled sleepily. “So do you.”
A few minutes passed. Her breathing grew slower. Then she yawned for the tenth time.
“Go back to bed.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re falling asleep sitting up.”
“I’m comfortable.”
“You’re lying.”
She smiled. “Nuh-uh,” she muttered.
Hoot stood and reached down for her hand. “Come on.”
She placed her hand in his and rose. Then she went up on her toes. He thought she was going to whisper goodnight. Instead, she kissed his cheek. Except Hoot turned his head at exactly the wrong moment.
Her lips landed on his. They both froze. For one heartbeat. Two. Then neither of them moved away. Hoot’s hand tightened around hers. Lark’s fingers curled against his.
Then… he kissed her. Really kissed her. And everything else disappeared. The nightmare. The mission. The questions.
There was only her. Her warmth. Her softness. The faint hitch in her breath when he pulled her closer.
It wasn’t like any kiss Hoot had ever experienced. There was no hunger without tenderness. No heat without something deeper beneath it. It felt like recognition. Like he’d somehow found something he’d never known he’d been searching for.
His hand slid carefully to her waist. Lark leaned into him. And Hoot knew with startling certainty that he never wanted the moment to end. That realization scared him more than any mission he’d ever walked into.
Bullets were simple. Enemies were simple. Fear was simple.
This wasn’t. This was Lark. And for the first time in years, Hoot had something he could lose.