Still, Scott hadn’t taken her for an Alanis Morissette fan. Rock was more his thing. She’d always had the radio on some kind of pop station. Katy Perry, Taylor Swift, that kind of stuff—i.e., not his favorite.
Figuring she was sanding down the doors that he’d helped her move out there yesterday—and that they both needed time to cool off—Scott sat down to make some calls.
It took a while to get ahold of Colt, but he touched base with the rest of the guys in between attempts and gave them the difficult news about Travis.
It didn’t get any easier with retelling. Like him, Baylor, Donovan, Spivak, and Ruiz were devastated and shaken up by the loss. To have escaped the missile attackand then to be killed in their own backyard—alone—was a bitter pill to swallow. Next to Scott, Baylor took Travis’s death the worst. Tex—Baylor’s call sign—might not be a commissioned officer, but as senior chief, he had the same sense of responsibility and duty toward the team.
But, as Scott told him, if the kid’s death was on anyone, it was on him. Scott was the one who’d made the decision for them to scatter and go dark. When you were an officer, you were responsible. You had to learn to deal with that or you wouldn’t be around long. But this one was different. The six survivors had shared a special bond and losing one of them... it hurt. Badly.
Scott didn’t want to think that the kid had disobeyed his orders and contacted his ex-girlfriend, but given how things had been going for the rest of them—Baylor, Donovan, and himself—he knew that it wasn’t as easy as it sounded to stay in the dark where women were concerned.
In between calls to Donovan and Spivak, Scott reached Colt, who had just gotten back to DC from Alaska. It was still strange to talk to his former friend after three years of being hated for something he didn’t do. But maybe as a guy, Scott could understand Colt’s side of things a little better than Kate did. What Colt had seen between Scott and Kate had been innocent, but he could see how it might not have looked like it. He’d wanted to tell Colt the truth, but Kate had been adamant. It wasn’t just about her mom finding out. Kate had wanted Colt to trust her on his own. But trust for a hardened, jaded guy like Colt didn’t come blind. No matter how much she might want it to.
But strange to talk to him or not, when it came to Kate, he and Colt were of one mind. Scott didn’t need to ask; Colt volunteered to go with her on his own. Although “volunteered” was a nice way of summarizingthe “what the fuck does she think she is doing?” response Colt had had.
Confident that Colt would track Kate down and that she would be in good hands, Scott finished up his calls and glanced out the window. The lights were still on and the music was blaring—Natalie had moved on to Gwen Stefani and No Doubt. Still pissed. Apparently, she needed more time. He decided to jump in the shower before talking to her.
He’d cooled down, but a cold shower would take care of any lingering... hot spots.
He wished that his other issues could be so easily washed away.
When Natalie had put her hand on his chest, he’d looked down and his chest had filled with such longing, it had nearly made him forget everything else—including her part in all of this.
He’d wanted her comfort. He’d wanted to hold her in his arms and love her again. And the intensity of that desire had taken him aback. Which was a nice way of saying it had scared the shit out of him.
He’d been angry at her for making him feel this way and at himself for his weakness. Especially after the blow he’d just taken. Travis’s death seemed a brutal reminder of what she’d done. He was mad at himself for kissing her and even madder at himself for the feelings that had come after. So he’d lashed out.
Wrongly, he admitted.
She hadn’t been trying to seduce him. But with Natalie somehow it got all twisted together.
How could he still want someone who had lied to him? Spied on him? Betrayed him and had probably been responsible—intentional or not—for leaking the information about their mission to the Russians that had seen eight—now nine—of his men killed?
He wanted to stay angry. But he couldn’t ignore herintentions or that she’d tried to stop it, saving lives—his life—at the risk to her own.
That had to count for something.
If they were going to get out of this, Scott knew that he had to start using his head. Where was the that infamous cool under pressure that made him one of the best at what he did? The levelheaded thinking and judgment that made him always know what to do? He had to tamp down the anger—and the lust. But when it came to Natalie that was easier said than done. He’d never been cool or rational about her. Nothing about his feelings for her had ever made any sense.
He dried his hair before putting on his clothes. He probably should apologize.
After tying his shoes, he looked out the window again and then headed down the stairs. She’d been out there a long time. He glanced at his watch, surprised to see that it was almost 2100 hours.
She must be starving—he was. Maybe he’d make her a sandwich as a peace offering. Although with his culinary skills, he’d probably be better off taking her some of her own leftovers.
He flipped on the light in the kitchen and suddenly everything went dark.
He swore. The power must have gone out. He guessed it shouldn’t be much of a surprise. As run-down as this place was, faulty wiring was pretty much a given. But it was still a pain in the ass, especially as he hadn’t noticed where the breaker box was.
He hadn’t noticed candles or a flashlight, either. It was also a moonless night and dark as hell out here in nowhere land.
As his burner phone wasn’t equipped with a flashlight, he retraced his steps to the living room—there was a little more light in there from the big windows (or maybe his eyes were getting adjusted)—and located the gearbag that he’d left in the hallway. He found the small flashlight but wished his NVGs weren’t at the bottom of a Russian river. Instinctively he also grabbed his Glock.
It was a good instinct.
He’d just finished tucking the gun into the back waistband of his shorts when he caught a flash in the hall mirror that sent him diving to the floor right as the living room window shattered behind him.
• • •
