Chapter Twenty-Three
Liam waited for the daytime bartender to find his credit card and close him out, but the minutes ticked by. He wanted to hurry. A strange sensation pressed on his chest when they split outside the gym.
Nerves would’ve been the easiest description. Telling Chelsea that he was to blame for Julia’s death would be a harsh blow. His fingers drummed on the bar top. He was drawn to the electric hum that flowed with Chelsea. But would that change when he confirmed what had always been his worst fear?
Finally, his card appeared, and he quickly added a generous tip as an offer of apology for not cashing out the evening before, then he hustled to his Explorer.
As he fumbled the keys into the ignition, he noticed his hurry, and he dropped his head against the seat. “What are you doing?”
Nothing. They’d done absolutely nothing because he wasn’t jackass enough to rebound into the world of women by wanting to fuck Julia’s best friend.
If more than a year had gone by, did that make Chelsea a rebound?
He turned the key, wanting regret to wreck him, but it never came.
Liam blew out his cheeks then secured his seatbelt and ignored his newfound attraction. He needed her help and had to concentrate if he wanted to tiptoe around a conversation with her that Sorenson said he wasn’t allowed to have.
The drive to the condominium parking lot was short. He skipped stairs as he summited the second floor and knocked.
No answer.
He knocked again, and after a short wait, heard her call through the door, “One second.”
Finally, the knob twisted, and Chelsea threw the door open. “Hey. Give me a second to finish changing.”
Wet hair draped over her shoulders. She’d changed into jeans and an extra-large T-shirt. Her breasts swayed under the soft fabric, and all he could think was braless.
“Sure thing.” He signaled that he’d be on the couch because if he said anything else, who knew how it would sound.
Liam settled in the living room but couldn’t ignore a mental replay of her nipples pressing into the shirt. She could hide behind baggy clothing, but nothing she did could stop his imagination.
Would her breasts feel firm? Do her nipples match the deep pink of her lips? He repositioned on the couch, giving in to one last wonder of how Chelsea might sound. What makes her hum? How would she sigh?
“If you need anything from the kitchen,” she called, “just grab it.”
He exhaled, feeling the tightness course his body, and pushed a hand across his face. “Yeah, will do.”
But he wasn’t about to stand and put his arousal on display. Again, Liam repositioned, grabbing the closest magazine from the coffee table, and tried to kick back as though he gave a damn what the page he turned to said.
Chelsea returned. She wore a new shirt, bra clearly in place, and a flowing sweater that dangled to her thighs. He noted, without meaning to, how it failed to hide her curves.
“You need help.” She sat on a chair adjacent to the couch and perched her bare feet on the edge.
Yeah, he sure as hell did, but he stared blankly.
Her arms wrapped around her shins, and she hugged her legs. “At work?”
At work… “Right.” Damn, he needed to focus. But there she was, shower fresh, and he probably stank like the gym and had an erection to hide.
She bounced up and angled her chair, then wrapped herself into a ball again.
“Do I smell bad or something?” He turned his head from side to side, smelling his armpits and nervously laughing.
“No!”
“You backed away,” he pointed out.
“No,” she insisted. “I thought… maybe you wanted space.”
His eyebrows arched. “Either way, I didn’t expect to work out in jeans.”
She waited, eyes wide, for him to explain what he needed. Here went nothing. He hoped she didn’t try to gut him when the conversation was done.
“A few years ago, I worked a job where someone’s loved one, his daughter, died.”
Liam had likely already said too much. That was more than he’d shared with Chance. But, he hoped, Chelsea had to have at least some level of security clearance.
“After a few years,” he continued, “the person who was hurt—” He was being too vague. “For conversation’s sake, we can call him…”
“Fred,” she offered.
Random, but he’d take it. “Fred,” Liam repeated. “A few years after Fred’s daughter died—”
“How’d she die?”
“During an op.” He wouldn’t give specifics. She needed distance and deniability.
“She was killed,” Chelsea confirmed.
He nodded.
“Friendly or enemy?”
He thought about the lines that they were already going to cross if she helped him. “Enemy.”
Chelsea took that in then unhooked her arms from her legs to sit cross-legged in the chair.
“Fred gained access to a list of people involved in the operation where his daughter died. For the last few years, Fred has planned and carried out his revenge.”
Liam paused for a question, but she didn’t ask any.
“He’s targeting the loved ones of the people on that list,” he continued.
“Are you on that list?” she asked quietly.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
Chelsea pressed her lips together then tilted her head. “Julia?”
Again, he nodded. His chest ached as if an anvil were pinning him to the couch. “Yeah. She was killed to hurt me.”
Her dark eyes grew glassy, but she took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. Finally, Chelsea asked, “That’s why you think I won’t talk to you again?”
“Why would you?” he asked.
She didn’t dispel his concern, but the color faded from her face and her head angled toward her lap. Damp hair curtained from the side of her cheeks, masking what little her expression might show.
Julia had died because of him, and now Chelsea knew the ugly truth. She knew how unfair her death had been, knew that because of his actions, everyone had suffered. Their loss was because of him—as simple as that.
She stood, emotion tight on her face. Her fists hung limply by her side as she stalked to the couch and towered a foot away.
Liam held his breath. Whatever she had to say, whatever blame she forced him to hold, he deserved it.
Chelsea dropped, nearly sitting on her ankles, and hovered in front of him. “Are you okay?”
“Me?” He didn’t understand and jerked back.
She wobbled, off balance by his quick move, and slapped her hand on his knee to steady herself. He covered her hand with his. His other one caught her shoulder.
“Shit,” he offered. “Sorry.”
She eased onto the couch and laid a hand on his forearm. “Are you okay?”
Why did she ask that? “Julia died because of me.”
Chelsea bit her lip, studying.
“Why aren’t you yelling?” he demanded. “Cursing—or whatever it is that you do.”
She rubbed his forearm as if to promise one day he wouldn’t hurt. It made him angrier. Liam snagged his arm away.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“What? Stop that,” he snapped. “Why the hell—”
“Neither of you deserves that—”
“No shit. But I’m to blame!”
Chelsea wrapped her arm around his shoulders, holding tight when he yanked back. Her other arm locked around his chest. He couldn’t breathe. He shouldn’t breathe. If someone had to die because of Red Gold, he should have been the one.
His molars gnashed. He’d come to Chelsea to ask for help, to tell her the truth, not for her to comfort and console him.
She let him go, and Liam hated how cold the room grew without her close as much as he hated her pity. “I’m not here to feel better.”
She held his gaze. “Consider it an added bonus.”
“Chelsea, I caused her death. What don’t you understand?”
“You’ll never be able to move forward until you realize you aren’t to blame.”
Who said he wanted to? Liam didn’t know right from wrong, up from down. He sure as hell didn’t know what moving forward even meant. But he knew Chelsea wanted him to feel better. “Fine. I’m not to blame.”
Chelsea’s pink lips thinned into a stubborn line. “I was trying to help.”
They’d spiraled away from the point, and he had to focus. Otherwise, who knew where they would end up. Like her bed. Shit, what was wrong with him? He cleared his throat. “I’m worried about Linda and Frank.”
Her eyes flashed. “Wait—are they in danger?”
“I think so, yeah.” He couldn’t lie as worry clouded her face, and admitted, “Yes, they are.”
“What are you doing about it?” she asked incredulously.
“Talking to you.”
Chelsea’s brow pinched. “Liam—”
“This is a thousand layers of complicated and classified.”
“So?”
“I have orders.”
“To what?”
“To stand down.”
Her jaw fell. “Why?”
Her reaction mirrored his initial one. “If I said, I think you’d be in danger.”
“That’s horseshit,” she snapped.
Liam froze.
“Don’t look at me like that. Tell me why.”
Chelsea could curse. That was a level of pissed he didn’t know existed, but her rage didn’t change the situation.
“There’s a level of government interest and involvement that I can’t understand.
The kind where if you know too much, if I share too much, if we get caught doing what I’m about to ask you to do, we’ll end up in some unmarked dungeon at a nonexistent black site. ”
“Liam,” she finally whispered, “what have you gotten yourself into?”