Chapter One
Thursday, October 23
Louisiana
Standing naked and numb, in the middle of the empty dining room, Brea Bell blinked. What had just happened?
She felt flattened. Her world had been shaken, turned inside out, upended every which way.
Pierce Walker did that to her.
While her body had still been glowing from the pleasure he’d heaped on her, everything had begun falling apart.
Now he was gone.
The second he had answered the unexpected ring of his phone, her lover had been replaced by pure warrior. Within minutes, he’d dressed, grabbed his bag, and disappeared on a dangerous mission to tangle with the drug lord who had nearly killed him mere weeks ago.
He’d left her terrified for his safety—and burning with so many questions.
She’d known he made his living as a sniper who killed bad guys and terrorists while keeping his fellow operatives safe. At least that’s what she’d told herself.
I’m glad my father is gone. I hated him. It’s why I killed him.
Until Pierce had uttered those words, she would never have thought him capable of murdering his father in cold blood. How could anyone kill their own flesh and blood? Brea couldn’t fathom it, but Pierce had.
And he’d expressed no remorse.
Say you’ll move in with me.
His soft, shocking demand just before he’d slipped out the door still rang in her ears. How did Pierce think she could do that without imploding her entire life? And how could she commit to any sort of future with him when she didn’t know whether to believe he was the steadfast protector she’d come to know…or concede she’d fallen for a bad-boy fantasy who was good at manipulating her body?
Brea couldn’t stay here. She needed to go home. She had to think.
Trembling, she dressed, then defaulted to familiar domestic tasks that calmed her mind. Soon, she’d silenced the music, boxed and stored their food in the refrigerator, and cleared the table. She also made Pierce’s bed, trying not to remember just how good it had felt to be underneath him on these very sheets.
Some headstrong part of her wanted to linger, as if the secret to understanding him hid under his roof and she could absorb his truths if she simply remained. But that was her hopeful heart talking.
She had to start using her head.
As she retrieved her purse from the floor, she tucked the half-spilled contents back inside, then glanced at her phone. It was nearly midnight, and her father had texted to ask when she was coming home two hours ago.
On my way.
As soon as her reply was delivered, she darkened the device. Tears threatened to fall, but she stifled them. Once she was in her room, where no one would disturb her, she could start unpacking everything alone.
Brea flipped off lights all over Pierce’s house and contemplated leaving his key on the table. But that would be a cowardly way to end their…whatever this was. She owed it to them both to hear his story. Then she’d decide if giving in to her heart and building a future with him was in her best interest.
How ironic. She’d knocked on Pierce’s door a few hours ago, hoping they had a chance at a new beginning together. After tonight, she wasn’t sure there’d be any coming back.
The silence as she headed through the inky night to Sunset felt heavy. The old her would have called Cutter and asked for his advice. But she already knew what he’d say. She didn’t want any opinions now except her own.
When she pulled into her driveway, the house looked dark, except for the light Daddy kept on above the stove whenever she was late. Bless him…
Her fingers fumbled as she unlocked the door. She dead-bolted it behind her, then dashed to her room. In the dark, she dropped her purse on the desk to her left and shut herself inside before she fell across her bed and let her thoughts run free.
Who was this man, deep down, she’d given herself to? What had she done?
She’d fallen in love. She’d let herself believe she and Pierce could forge something lasting, despite their chasm of differences.
And she might have made a colossal mistake.
Brea grasped now why people called it heartache. Hers wrenched with uncertainty and pain. Sobs followed.
Behind her, the lamp on her nightstand suddenly flicked on.
She sat up with a gasp. Her father stood not two feet away, watching her with a disappointed stare.
“Brea.” He never yelled. He never had to. His ability to emote, which made him so good behind the pulpit, also made him an amazingly effective parent.
She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Daddy, what are you doing up? Do you need something?”
With a heavy sigh, he sat beside her and took her hand. “Just to talk to you. You’ve been the best daughter a man could have asked for, and I know you’re a grown woman…”
Brea heard the “but” in his voice. Since she was a pleaser, the worst possible punishment had always been enduring her father’s disapproval. “Daddy…”
“Let me finish. I know where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing.” He frowned.
He’d found out about Pierce? Figured out they’d had sex?
Her heart stopped. “I can explain.”
But what could she say to reassure him that wouldn’t be a lie?
“You may think I’m naive or out of touch, and I realize almost no one saves themselves for marriage anymore.”
She knew where this was going, and it wasn’t fair. “Then why are you lecturing me? You’re not waiting. I know about you and Jennifer Collins.”
“I never said I was perfect. But there’s a big difference. Jennifer and I have both been married. We lost our spouses because it was His will—my wife shortly after childbirth, her husband in war. We spent months getting to know each other. We started as friends. We’ve taken our relationship very slowly. We waited three years to take the step you have with this man you’ve known for…how long?”
By comparison, her answer would make her sound rash. “Not three years.”
“Not even three months. I know your generation has a ‘hookup’ mentality, but—”
“It’s not like that.”
“All right,” he conceded. “But the fact that I haven’t met him—that he hasn’t done me the courtesy or you the honor of even showing his face here—concerns me.”
Of course Daddy would see it that way. “I didn’t think I needed your permission to date someone. I’m an adult.”
“You are, but I’m concerned. You haven’t acted like yourself in weeks. You’ve been quiet. Secretive. Sometimes even evasive. I’ve been worried something was troubling you. So I asked Cutter. He expressed concern about your attachment to this fellow operative, whom he categorized as savage and unprincipled. Dangerous. Not good enough for you.”
She wasn’t sure what to think about Pierce right now, but she couldn’t not defend him. “You don’t know him, Daddy. Cutter is biased after they argued during a mission.”
“Maybe. But do you know what this man does for a living?”
Her father was gentle. He condemned violence. Though Cutter and Pierce worked on the same team, her friend got a pass because he rescued hostages and often provided first-response medical attention to people in need. He protected those afflicted by war.