When she’d asked who Katherine was, his brain had imagined his sister in Becca’s situation. And the momentary mental exercise had both twisted his gut and lit up every protective instinct he possessed.
So, here he was cooking sloppy joes—his favorite meal, the one his mother had always made to cheer one of them up—for his dead CO’s daughter.
What a cluster.
He set out everything they’d need to eat and poured a couple of glasses of water. Then he made his way back down the hall and knocked softly at her door. No answer.
“Becca? No rush. Just wanted to let you know dinner’s ready.” Frowning at the silence on the other side, Rixey hesitated, then cracked open the door. “Hey, Becca?”
She was sound asleep at the bottom of the bed, her face turned to the side, her feet still on the floor. It was like she’d just fallen over from exhaustion. And, given the dark circles under her eyes, that probably wasn’t far from the truth.
Standing at the threshold to the room, he debated whether to just bug out or wake her. Her body had clearly been craving some sustenance, but maybe she needed sleep more. His indecision annoyed him, so finally he pushed into the room and crossed to the side of the bed. “Becca? Hey, Becca, wake up.” No response. Out cold.
He eased the covers back from the top of the bed so he could slip her between them. Crouching by her legs, he removed her sneakers, then he leaned in over her.
God, she was pretty, with her soft, pale skin and her full, pink lips. The yellow shirt nearly matched her long hair, still pulled back in a ponytail. She just had a light about her he found so appealing. Because, these days, he didn’t have much light in his own life. Everything was dark and heavy, saddling him with the bone-crushing weight of guilt and regret and wants never to be fulfilled. But Becca was just . . . sunshine, warm and life-giving.
His gut clenched. What if she’d gone upstairs when she’d gotten home earlier? What if the guy rooting through her office had been armed? What if Rixey hadn’t arrived when he had?
He couldn’t know the answers, of course, but he knew enough to know he didn’t like any of the likelies.
He slid his arms under her shoulders and knees and lifted her up. Her warmth soaked into his skin, making him crave more of it, especially when she turned her face into his chest. God, when was the last time a woman had touched him?
“Charlie,” she whispered.
A sharp wave of jealousy speared through him for a split second, until his brain’s cognitive function pushed through the possessive urges and reminded him that Charlie was her brother’s name. Jesus. Where the hell had that come from? What right did he have feeling jealous over her?
Refusing to examine those questions too closely, he laid her against the cool sheet and pulled the covers over her. She stirred, mumbling a little and pushing her bottom lip into a pout, and then she stilled again.
His body tight with all kinds of desires he’d no business having, Rixey turned on his heel, killed the lights, and closed the door behind him.
Back in the kitchen, he braced his hands against the counter and stared at the paper plates, napkins, and drinks he’d laid out on the breakfast bar. Probably better dinner hadn’t happened, after all. She didn’t have much insight into who might’ve broken into her place, and he had some things to look into before deciding how best to approach her brother’s alleged disappearance. What the hell else did that leave them to talk about?
So, did you know your father’s lies and betrayal led to the deaths of six of my friends, impugned my honor, and ended my military career? Can you pass me another bun?
Yeah, not happening. Ever. First, why would she believe him over the official Army line? Especially when the powers that be had gone out of their way to make sure no one would believe anything he or the others had to say about what had happened. Second, the Army had made his and his team’s freedom contingent on the signing of a nondisclosure agreement, so he couldn’t let that news pass between his lips even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. Frank Merritt deserved everything he got. But no kid deserved to find out that their father was anything but the decorated military hero the Army made him out to be. Rixey was a lot of things, but spiteful SOB wasn’t one of them. Still, it chafed his hide to do anything that benefited the man responsible for pulling his life out from under him.
A door clicked open down the back hall, and Rixey’s muscles tensed. Socked feet scuffed against the wood floors. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “How long was I asleep?”
Rixey turned and found her standing at the edge of the kitchen, sleep still clinging to her features and making her look young, innocent. “Not long. Don’t worry about it,” he said, hoping his suddenly dark mood didn’t bleed into his words.
She hugged herself and met his gaze. “You put me in bed.”