Chapter Sixteen
Sam stormed through the front door, giving a passing thought to how much easier it was to breach an entryway without having to worry about explosives. That simplified things. He started to turn the lights on, then hesitated. He’d once seen a warehouse in Sadr City wired to explode the instant someone flipped the light switch.
This is a suburban home, not a war zone.
Still, he couldn’t be too careful. Not without knowing what the threat might be, and he knew there was a threat. He could feel it in his bones.
He slipped one hand under the newly built entry table, retrieving the Marine-issued .45-caliber Colt Close Quarter Battle Pistol from the secret compartment he’d built there. He grabbed the night-vision goggles he’d stashed there, too, donning them in a quick, fluid motion.
He drew the gun to his chest, gripping it with both hands as he stepped toward the sharp corner separating the living room and dining area. Adrenaline pulsed through him as he scanned the room, keeping his breathing even so his hands stayed steady.
“Who’s here?” he barked. “Identify yourself now!”
No reply.
He kept his elbows tucked in, both hands on the weapon as he leaned his body slightly toward the interior of the room. His eyes sliced the dark space in vertical motion, moving from one end to the other with meticulous precision.
All clear.
With his lead foot on the apex of the corner, he pivoted, scanning the dining area, keeping his eyes in line with where he aimed. The gun was steady in his hands, as natural there as a glass of water or a set of car keys. He peered into the dining room, mentally cataloging every chair, every napkin.
Nothing looked out of place. He studied the bouncy chairs, the crumpled baby bib on the counter, the vase of half wilted flowers Sheri’s parents had sent for her first day at work.
Sam turned again, semicircle complete. He crossed to the threshold of the kitchen, conscious of the fatal funnel, of the danger that this could be the choke point for an ambush. His shoulders were tense, but his grip on the tan metal of the pistol didn’t waver. He scanned the kitchen, watching, waiting, braced for the threat.
He pivoted back toward the bedrooms, toward potential danger. He kept his back to the wall, approaching the boys’ room first.
He touched the door, noting the closed position. It was open when they left, he was sure of it.
Goddammit.
Sam gripped the handle, doing a soft check to see if it was locked. It wasn’t. He drew his weapon to close-contact firing position, ready to push the door open, braced to confront the intruder.
“Sam? What the hell?”
Sam spun around, stunned to see Lieutenant Limpdick standing in the doorway of the master bedroom. His hands were behind his back, holding something. Did he have a weapon? Sam trained the pistol on Limpdick’s chest.
“Get your hands where I can see them—both of them—right f*cking now!”
Limpdick’s eyes fell to the firearm and went wide. He brought his hands in front of him. They held a vase of red roses.
“What the hell?” Limpdick demanded, reaching out to flip on the hall light. “Unarmed man, here.”
Sam lowered his weapon, squinting at the roses in case it was a trap.
No trap. They were just flowers, nothing odd about them. He yanked off his night-vision goggles and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the sudden rush of light. Limpdick stood frozen, hands still gripping the vase.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” Sam sputtered, reorienting himself to the situation. “How did you get in? And where the hell is your car?”
Limpdick shook his head, his eyes still fixed on Sam’s gun. “A cab dropped me off. I wanted to spend time with Sheri and the boys.” He nodded at the pistol. “Seriously—what’s going on here?”
“How the f*ck did you get in? Answer me!”
“The door was unlocked. I just wanted to talk to my wife and see my boys.”
“Your ex-wife!” Sam snapped. “She’s not your property, and neither is this house. You can’t just walk in here like you own the place. If I ever catch you trespassing again, I won’t even bother calling the cops. I’ll blow your brains out and ask questions later.”
Limpdick stared at the gun, studying it. Then he nodded once. “Understood.”
Sam glanced over his shoulder, relieved to see Sheri hadn’t followed. She wouldn’t be aware of anything that had just transpired. He flipped the safety on the pistol and tucked it in the back of his shorts, pulling his T-shirt over it.
“I take home security and the safety of household members very seriously,” Sam said.
“No shit.” Limpdick frowned. “They teach you how to clear a room military-style in manny school?”
“Yes. They’re very thorough.”
Limpdick raised an eyebrow. “I may be a Navy man, but I know that Colt you’re packing is the new standard-issue weapon of choice for the Marine Corps. They made 10,000 of them last summer for elite Special Ops troops, didn’t they? Coyote brown, special release. And those night-vision goggles—those aren’t the kind civilians buy at Walmart.”
Sam stared him down, silent. He refused to acknowledge his cover was blown.
Limpdick shook his head. “You’re a Marine, aren’t you? That’s what this is about. Her brothers sent you.”
Sam gritted his teeth, but said nothing. “If you have a problem with me, take it up with Mac.”
“I’m not interested in talking to Mac.” He lowered his hands, setting the roses on the hall table. “I showed up and found the door unlocked. I wanted to make sure everything was okay, and I wanted to talk to Sheri—to get her to listen to me. She needs to see reason. We belong together, as a family.”
Sam shook his head, grateful he’d put the pistol away so he wouldn’t be tempted to shoot him. “You don’t break into a woman’s house to convince her you belong together. Sheri’s already made up her mind.”
“Where is she? I just need to talk with her.”
Limpdick started toward the door, but Sam put his hand out, stopping him. “I’m asking the questions here. Why are the lights out?”
“I wanted to surprise Sheri.”
“Surprise,” Sam scoffed. “A romantic little ambush? Get out. Get out now.”
Jonathan frowned. “You have no right to order me around in my own home.”
“For the last time, this isn’t your goddamn home!” Sam snapped. “It never has been. And Sheri isn’t your wife. I’m going to go out and ask her if she wants me to call the police, or if she’d like to let you see the boys one last time before you leave. Either way, I’m watching every f*cking move you make, and then I’m going to drive your ass to the airport and make sure you get on your goddamn plane.”
“My flight isn’t for more than a week.”
“You’re trying my last shred of patience here,” Sam barked. “Be grateful you don’t have a bullet between your eyes.”
Sam turned and stalked back to the doorway, pausing to tuck the Colt and the night-vision goggles back in the secret compartment. He pushed the front door open, surprised to see Sheri still standing exactly where he’d left her.
“You obeyed my order,” he said.
“Don’t sound so surprised.” She smiled up at him, and Sam felt his heart twist. “I figure if one of us is going to get shot confronting an intruder, it should be you. I don’t want to leave the boys motherless.”
“Smart woman.” Sam took a deep breath. “Jonathan is here.”
“What? How on earth did he get in?”
“He claims the door was unlocked.”
She opened her mouth to say something, then frowned. “That might be right. I came home for lunch when I found out I’d be working late tonight. I was having trouble with the lock, and I was in a hurry and—dammit, this is my fault.”
“No,” Sam insisted. “It’s not your fault. A man can’t just walk into your house, not even if the door is unlocked. It’s trespassing.”
She hugged her arms around her elbows. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’ll be more careful.”
“It’s okay. Want me to call the police?”
She hesitated. “Let me talk to him first. He wants to see the boys?”
“He wants to see you, too.”
Sheri glanced down at the babies, who were fast asleep in their carriers. “Can you watch them for a second? I’d like to give him a piece of my mind before he gets distracted pretending to play daddy.”
He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you alone with him. Not after what he pulled tonight.”
“You can stay within earshot. Please? I just need a second.”
He hesitated, then bent down and picked up the infant carriers. “I’m following you inside, and I’ll give you some space. But if he so much as lays a finger on you—”
“Thank you, Sam. Truly.”
Sheri walked through the door, her stride purposeful and confident, even though Sam could see her hands were shaking. She marched right up to her ex-husband and folded her arms over her chest.
“Never again, do you hear me? You do not ever, under any circumstances, enter my home without my express permission.”
“You’re being unreasonable, Sheridan. I just wanted to talk with you, and I haven’t been able to get you to listen. We just need to sit down together and—”
“No! Let’s get one thing clear here. We are not sitting down together, nor are we standing up, lying down, or assuming any position together besides that of two people who happen to share a whole lot of animosity and two really amazing kids. Do I make myself clear?”
“We’re a family, Sheridan.”
Limpdick started to reach for her, and Sam braced himself to pounce. She beat him to it, smacking Limpdick’s hand away as she took a step back.
“We belong together,” Jonathan tried again.
Sam set the baby carriers at the edge of the living room, out of Limpdick’s line of sight. He checked to be sure the boys were still sleeping, then positioned himself in the corner of the room. He stood at ease, thumbs interlaced behind his back.
“You gave up your rights to me and to this family when you walked out on us,” Sheri said. “When you betrayed me.”
Sam tried not to wince as he thought about betrayal. Was he really much better than Jonathan?
“You slept with a stripper, for chrissakes,” Sheri snapped. “In our goddamn marriage bed while I was taking the boys to the doctor for a checkup.”
Okay, maybe he was a little better than Jonathan.
“Surely you’re aware that wasn’t all my fault,” Jonathan replied. “What was I supposed to do? We hadn’t been intimate for weeks, and a man has certain needs.”
“You’re insane!” Sheri yelled. “I gave birth to twins—your children, might I remind you. You’ll have to forgive me if I didn’t hop straight off the delivery table to ride the baloney pony.”
“There’s no need to be rude, Sheridan.”
“Actually, I think this is exactly the sort of situation that requires it.” She took a deep breath and a step back. “Look, I’m not going to have this conversation with you. Say what you need to say to the boys, and then I’d like you to leave. If you pull anything like this again, I’m reporting you to your command.”
Jonathan scowled at her, then shot a hateful look at Sam. “Like she’s any good in the sack, anyway. Take my advice, man—don’t bother with this one. She makes cold fish look like good bedmates. Seriously—”
It was the last word he uttered before Sam punched him squarely in the jaw.
…
Sheri fell into bed early that night, feeling exhausted but restless, craving Sam’s touch. She slept in unfulfilling bursts and woke at the crack of dawn with no hope of drifting back into a slumber.
So much for sleeping late on a Saturday.
She rubbed her cheek against her pillowcase, certain she still smelled a faint hint of sawdust where Sam had rested his head.
Christ, was that only two days ago? Amazing how quickly things changed.
She had to admit, watching him punch Jonathan while defending her honor had been pretty hot. She may have sworn off military men, but that didn’t mean she was immune to the charms of a hot, burly beefcake with an overcharged sense of responsibility, too much provider instinct, and a mean right hook.
She rolled over again, restless. A wild rooster crowed outside her window as the sun bathed the room in pale light. She could smell the sea air and a hint of something in the sheets that must’ve been the scent of Sam’s shampoo.
She wanted to keep fighting her attraction to him, but she wasn’t sure she had it in her. Seeing Jonathan and Sam together, it was clear they had nothing in common. If she was worried about Sam lying and cheating and treating her the way Jonathan had, she felt fairly certain she didn’t have to fear that.
Still, there was something about Sam she couldn’t quite read. Something that didn’t add up. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she sensed he had secrets.
The thought of Sam and secrets sent her mind wandering down another path entirely. Did he crave her touch the way she craved his? Did he lie in bed thinking about her, wanting to wander down the hall and crawl in bed beside her?
She glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even six in the morning. Was he awake yet? He was an early riser, so it was possible. Maybe now would be a good time to discuss things. To talk about this crazy attraction between them.
Talking isn’t what you have in mind, her subconscious scolded, but she was already out of bed and cinching her robe at her waist.
She padded quietly down the hall, not wanting to wake Sam or the boys. She peeked into the babies’ room and saw them both curled in their cribs sleeping soundly. She paused a moment to watch them breathing, then crossed the hall to his room.
The door was open, and she hesitated, not wanting to invade his privacy. But maybe he was up, too. Maybe she could offer him some coffee or toast or—
Coffee and toast is not what you want to offer him.
She cinched her robe tighter and stepped into the doorway.
It took her a moment to register what she was seeing. Sam was seated in his desk chair facing away from her. The back of the chair covered most of his torso, but she could tell he was shirtless. Early sunlight bathed his shoulders in a warm glow.
His right arm moved rhythmically, stroking something in his lap. She could see his forearm disappearing and reappearing at the edge of the chair, moving in a steady tempo. A flash of terry cloth poking out at the edge of the chair told her he had a towel on his lap. His shoulders moved with each stroke, and she shivered with intrigue at the knowledge of what he was doing.
She knew she should leave, and give him some privacy, but she felt frozen in place. Was he thinking about her as he touched himself? What if she tiptoed in and offered to assist? What if she dropped to her knees in front of him and—
Sam whirled around. The towel in his lap masked the evidence of his arousal, but it was his expression that made Sheri take a step back.
Absolute, total horror.
He blinked at her, his face shifting from horror to guilt. “I can explain.”
“Sam, I’m not—”
“Just give me a second to—”
“It’s okay, I have brothers. I understand.”
“No, I swear, your brothers didn’t—”
“Sam, stop.” She stepped forward, trying not to look at the bulge beneath the towel he’d thrown over his lap. “It’s okay. We all have needs. I mean, God knows I’ve been working my personal massager overtime, and—”
She stopped, trying to read him. He hadn’t said a word, but the bulge under the towel wasn’t going away.
“Look, Sam. This is silly.”
“It is?”
“I want you. You want me. It’s stupid for me to be next door fantasizing about you and touching myself while you’re in here like this. We should be touching each other. This is ridiculous.”
She took another step forward, close enough to feel the heat of his skin. She wasn’t sure if it was lust or insanity making her bold, but she didn’t care. She was done dancing around this. She moved her hand to the sash on the front of her robe and untied it, shrugging the purple satin off her shoulders. She shivered as the purple satin fell to her feet, and she stood there naked before him, daring herself not to flinch.
Daring Sam not to run.