Chapter 18
Briana
Not daring to move, I lie still, barely able to breathe.
What if this is a dream? Maybe I’m back in the woods, amped up on drugs, with Mr. Mumbles crouched nearby.
This euphoria can’t be real. Can it? Sex has never been so…
There’s not even a word in the English language to describe what just happened. Nothing comes close.
Kade stirs, his cock twitching inside of me. If he is a hallucination, I pray it never ends.
I had no idea the act could be so, so… fucktacular.
As if reading my thoughts, Kade chuckles. With my ear against his chest, the deep, low sound vibrates through me, sending a ripple of sensation straight to my clit.
In response to my twitches, his thickness swells once more.
Our eyes meet when my chin lifts to settle on his chest. What the hell just happened? Sex is just sex. Isn’t it?
His steady gaze doesn’t waver. It’s like he’s known me for far longer than a few stolen hours. My heart beating in time to his, I try to make sense of everything.
This man—a stranger—just shattered every belief I had about my own femininity. Am I experiencing post-orgasmic euphoria, or something more?
Do I thank him? Crawl off to the couch? Neither option seems appropriate—especially since he's still inside me in no rush to move.
His lips curve. Along with a hint of smugness, I sense something much softer and familiar. As if we’re not two people from different worlds, but a pair that belongs together.
The drumming of his heart slows to a steady, soothing beat. It lulls me to a place before wars, before death. My eyes grow heavy as his rough palms glide up and down my back dissolving every worry.
In my dream, the cockpit shakes. Systems fail. No power. No time.
“C’mon, c’mon.” I run through the emergency checklist on instinct, knowing—deep down—there’s no saving this.
My harness tightens. Pressure builds.
The marine I saved drops like a stone in my peripheral vision.
“Oh, God, no! Kade!”
“Flygirl. Wake up.”
Pulse racing, my eyes snap open. The nightmare fades while its cobwebs cling, not wanting to let go.
“Sorry,” I murmur. Spooned in his arms, I twist to face him.
“Don’t be.” His calm voice grounds me. “I wasn’t sleeping. Just resting. Wanna talk about it?”
Kill me now. Talking to Herman is bad enough. “Hell, no. You?”
His head shakes as he chuckles. “Guess we’ve got emotions-off-limits in common too.”
His smile way too contagious, I grin. “Along with being alpha control freaks?”
“I prefer natural born leaders.”
“You would.” When a snort escapes me, I realize the first-time awkwardness is gone.
Up on one elbow, he tucks a stray lock behind my ear. “Can I ask you something personal?”
“No.” Groaning, I pull the pillow over my head.
The mattress dips. Thighs straddle mine. A heartbeat later, my fabric fortress is yanked away.
“Just one. After, we switch. You get full interrogation rights.” Full of heat, his gaze pins me.
He should have a warning label: Post-coital eye contact may result in inconvenient truth-telling.
I sigh. “Fine. But only one.”
“Why is your family so overprotective? Were you sick when you were a kid?”
Wow. That came out of left field. Time ticks by as I debate how much of the truth I dare reveal. Besides my first shrink, and Herman, of course, I’ve never told a soul.
Kade doesn’t press. He sits back on his heels, fully naked, utterly still, eyes locked on mine. Patient. Open. Somehow… safe.
Lids lowered, I look away. “When I was sixteen, I tried to off myself.”
Before the expanding silence devours us whole, I try to explain how much worse it gets.
“My family covered it up. Said it would ruin everything—college, jobs, marriage prospects. So, it became our dirty little secret. In their minds, I’ve never really grown past that moment.
I’m forever the unstable teen one step away from suicide. ”
His hands dig under the sheets to find mine. No words, no pity. Just quiet presence.
Dear God, he undoes me.
Having played my cards, my gaze drifts back to his. “My turn.”
“Shoot.”
His cocky confidence emboldens me. “Why aren’t you married? And no clichés about finding the right woman.”
He scrubs a hand over his beard, hissing into the stillness. If he didn’t want to share, he shouldn’t’ve insisted on ‘truth or dare’. Thing is, no one’s playing.
“I don’t have anything to offer,” he says finally. “My bank account’s a joke. I bounce between volunteer fireman, part-time handyman, and acting sheriff. I live in a town that doesn’t even have a stoplight. A woman deserves more.”
I shift, sliding out from beneath him until we’re face-to-face again, kneeling on the bed.
My thighs to his, my ass to heels, I cup his beard. “Would you judge a potential wife by her net worth?”
“It’s different.” His gaze shifts to the side.
“No, Kade, you’re living in the dark ages.” There is so much more I want to say, but he doesn’t give me a chance.
Brows creased, he mumbles something about a shower, then jumps from the bed.
Shit. I should’ve said, “You’re a war hero, a Marine, a man of honor. Money means so little in comparison.”
I suck at words. No wonder my relationships don’t last.
After I shower, he’s gone, a note left on the counter.
Help yourself to anything.
Beside the yellow square sits a burner phone, already connected to his Wi-Fi. When I check the bank’s portal, it says my replacement card should arrive today.
While I make coffee, last night replays like a catchy tune you can’t get out of your head. The sex? Beyond amazing. Anything more? No way. We’re both broken. People like us don’t get the kids, the white picket fences…
Sure, we could blame the military, but let’s be real—we were fucked up before we ever laced our boots. The uniform gave us somewhere to hide.
Sipping my cup of joe, I dial my brother Apollo. “Hey, Pol.”
“Where are you?” Worry laces his voice. “Everyone’s freaking out trying to find you.”
A long deep sigh escapes my lungs. God knows I love my family, but I need space—boundaries. I can’t keep running, and I’m done letting them control my life.
“Did the rest vote you in as their official spokesman?” My tone comes out harsher than intended.
“C’mon, sis. It’s not like that.”
“Clearly it is. So let me say this in plain English. If everyone doesn’t go home now, I’ll be spending all future holidays alone. Also, if I get wind of even one more intervention attempt, I swear to God I’ll ghost you all.”
The silence gives me hope. Perhaps this time he’ll understand.
“Bree, look at it from our side. You lost your job, your boyfriend, your apartment—all in six months. Then you tell us you’re hiking off-grid, alone, no way to reach you. For someone with your history, what were we supposed to think?”
He sighs. “And now, your lawyer says the FBI is seriously considering charging you for Brett’s murder. They’ve already petitioned a judge for a warrant.”
“What?” The word barely makes it past my lips.
My pulse spikes. Ice floods my veins.
Did Kade…? Oh God. Did he agree to sex just to keep me calm—until his buddy could slap on the cuffs?
Shit. I am such an idiot.
“Okay. Here’s my last and final offer.” Pacing the floor, phone clutched tight, I try not to lose my shit.
“You stay. I’ll keep you and only you in the loop.
The lawyer can stay too. The rest of the horde, including the shrink, needs to go home.
They have families and jobs. Lives. This needs to stop. ”
“Bree—”
“No. I’ve said this a million times. You need to listen. I haven’t been suicidal since that one stupid teenage moment. It was a bad second in a dark year. A blip. A speck. It doesn’t define me—it never did. I am not fucking depressed.”
My fingers grip the counter. “What I am is angry. Am I clear?”
“Jeez, Bree. You don’t have to shout. I’m on your side.”
I exhale. “Sorry. This has to end. I’m a grown woman. A decorated Navy pilot, for chrissake. If you’re the mouthpiece, simply deliver my message: Go home. Today. Now. I mean it.”
After a quiet goodbye, I just stand there, furious, adrenaline humming beneath the surface.
Then I scroll to the contact I swore I’d never dial again.
Andrea needs to start telling the truth. My ex is dead. Deep down, I know she had something to do with it. If she doesn’t start talking? God help her.
A few seconds pass before she calls me back. “What is going on? They won’t tell me anything. Is Brett really dead?”
Her voice cracks—but not from grief. Any lingering doubts about her innocence vanish. I’m sure there’s guilt hiding beneath the tremble.
She’s holding back. Damn her.
How much should I say? The FBI’s probably sitting on half the details but seeing how I’m the one they’re about to cuff, I don’t owe them squat.
My fist tightens around my phone. “Why did you let Brett tag along?” Cold, flat words slice through the airwaves. “So you two could laugh while I squirm? Was humiliating me the plan?”
“God, no, Bree. It was nothing like that. You’re my best friend.”
I roll my eyes. Nothing screams bestie like screwing my lover. “Then explain it, Andee. What the hell was he doing there?”
“It wasn’t my idea. It was his. He’s such a douche. Why you stayed with him as long as you did—”
“Andrea. Stop.” My voice cuts through her bullshit. “Why was Brett in the woods?”
The pause drags on too long. Lies take time to build.
“He wanted to convince you to give him another chance. I felt guilty about our affair, so I agreed to help. His plan was to show up after I left, hike by your side, and win you over. You screwed everything up by leaving early. He tried to follow and now he’s dead. It’s all your fault.”
Plausible. Almost too plausible.
But the tears?
They don’t read like guilt.
They smell like fear.
“No… let’s try this on for size. Brett wanted me back and asked for your help. You agreed, but with your own agenda. Your confession made him pissed. He never meant for me to learn about the cheating. Let me guess, did he even call me a cold fish?”
“That part’s true. He didn’t want me to tell you, but I’m your best friend. You needed to know. I didn’t kill him. I loved him.”
“Okay.” Time to let the FBI sort this out. “Call this number. Ask for Hunt. Tell him exactly what you just told me.”
“No.” She sniffs. “You don’t understand. I can’t get involved.”
“Fine. You leave me no choice. Either you tell your version, or I’ll tell mine.”
Hanging up, I call my credit card company and write down my new numbers. A thirty minute walk later, I stride toward the turn-of-the-century courthouse, ready to break some balls.
Under the brick building’s keystone arch, I reach for the door handle, then freeze.
To my right, through an open window, I recognize Hunter’s voice. “I have no choice. I have to arrest her. Her ex was killed with her revolver.”
“Which wasn’t in her possession at the time.” When my night’s big mistake strides into view, I duck behind the shrubs, straining hard to hear the other man.
“So she says. Where’s the proof? Hers are the only fingerprints on the weapon.” While the fed’s argument might convince a jury, it makes no sense.
“Any intelligent person would’ve wiped the gun down,” says Kade.
Exactly. Two points for my side.
“I’m not saying I disagree. Nevertheless, the governor’s screaming. Social media’s lit up—everyone’s convinced there’s a killer in the woods. People are panicking. And in a state that lives off tourism…”
A pause.
In other words, I am totally fucked.
Hunt’s tone softens. “Better to arrest a damaged hero than admit there’s a boogeyman out there. Her lawyer can argue self-defense. Clearly, someone was stalking her. It shouldn’t be a stretch.”
“Give me twenty-four hours.” When the man who fucked me last night walks away from the glass, his voice becomes muffled. “I promise—either way—I’ll get you the evidence you need.”
My heart hammers. If I want to stay out of prison, I’ll have to find the murderer myself.
God. I sound like every cheesy thriller ever written.
First step? I need to replace my camping gear.
With no Uber available for hours, I call my brother. “I need a chauffeur. Can you help?”
“Depends. What for?” As always, his aid comes at a price.
“Just do it. After you drop me off, you can call the lawyer Dad hired—tell him whatever you want. I promise to accept his services.”
It’s a safe bet. By the time I return, I’ll either have found the killer or be dead. I’ve lost everything. I will not add my reputation to the pile.