“Listen, Blue. Buck’s gone. Nothing we do will bring him back.” I hated saying those words, and they came out through gritted teeth, but they were fucking real. “I think the murder charge was bullshit, but you won’t get anywhere barking up that tree. We’ll never know the truth. It’s the fucking military you’re up against.”
She folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her gaze at me. “Was it bullshit, Ford?”
Aw, fuck. I wanted to tell her the truth. I did. That I was going to clear Buck’s name, to return the honor he wore like a fucking cape. I needed him to rest in peace. So I could be at peace too. Maybe.
The truth was going to spur on her search, though, same as it did mine. I couldn’t have Indi looking into this. Buck had gotten killed over it, pinned for a murder I was sure he didn’t commit. The other translator was killed or had killed himself, and it was made to look that way, based on what Kennedy’d been digging up. If Lincoln fed him that intel, then it was valid. Something he needed us to look into outside of military channels.
Whatever or whoever was behind Buck’s death and framing was big. Big enough to get me dismissed when I tried looking into it.
Certainly big enough to cause Indi harm if she got in the way.
Someone may have come out here to search her house to make sure she didn’t know anything. It was that possibility—my fear that this break-in might somehow be related—that made me twist the truth.
I didn’t want lies between us, but I had no choice. I’d protect her. No matter what.
“He left base without authorization and was in an area we weren’t allowed to be in. It got him killed. I wish to God he’d gone out some other way because he was a goddamn hero, but the facts are facts. We can’t change them.”
Stubbornness warred with pain in her expression.
“And the murder charge?”
Fuck, I couldn’t explain that one away because we both knew Buck well. That he wasn’t a murderer.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly, then reached out and stroked her cheek with my knuckles. Intentionally, I didn’t answer her question. I couldn’t. Not only because I didn’t want to share anything about it with her, to protect her, but also because I had no answers. Yet.
She was so sweet, her skin smooth. I reveled in it. Got lost in her. I touched to soothe her, definitely, but to settle something in me as well. That I could now touch her freely. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you. For your family. I was—am—hurting, too.”
Saying those words was fucking hard.
The time I’d been back in Sparks was the longest I’d stayed anywhere since boot camp. That I was putting down roots, building a compound, a business, and a life here was new. And hard.
Sharing was hard after being trained to keep everything close.
“I know,” she blurted, rushing to throw her arms around me.
Her forgiveness made my deceit even worse, but I soaked it up like a sponge. Wrapped my arms around her and held her against my chest in the embrace I should have offered at the memorial service and every day since.
“I’m going to make it up to you,” I promised. I intended to make everything up to her—the lie I just told her. Letting her believe Buck was a fuck-up. Hurting her all those years ago. Ruining her sex life.
I intended to heal all the wounds I’d inflicted or spend my entire life trying.
Because Indigo Buchanan was mine.
Mine to protect. Mine to pleasure.
There was a knock on the door, and we stepped apart.
“That’s probably Kennedy to get your house secure.”
“A replacement lock is enough,” she said.
I wasn’t thrilled we’d spent the night with a busted front door, but while someone had broken in, this was Sparks, not behind enemy lines. I was used to waking up ready to kill, so I hadn’t doubted Indi’s safety. In fact, having my arms wrapped around her all night was the first time I knew she was truly protected. Broken door and all.
I just gave her a non-committal grunt in reply as I went to let Kennedy in. We’d get the lock replaced. Fix the door and jamb. Set up cameras. Motion relays inside. Sensors on the windows. Hell, even the fucking chimney. Whatever it took. We’d know everything that went on here from the command center.
Turned out, it wasn’t only Kennedy waiting on the stoop, but Hayes, Taft, and even Gram.
Kennedy held a box. Hayes had one too. The two of them looked me over and grinned like Tweedledee and fucking Tweedledum. Taft—the youngest of our team—stood beside Gram, a little more reserved. He’d missed the fun convo in the kitchen the day before about my issues with Indi.