Chapter Twenty-One
Ana
Snuggled under my blanket, with only a dim bedside light illuminating the room and him, I watch Luke sleep, not that I can see much of him but his legs, but it doesn’t matter. He’s a gorgeous, loyal, wonderful man, who in his imperfection becomes perfect in my eyes. The truth is that he presents himself to the world as the solid, confident, steady figure, arrogant even, at times, but those times relate to work.
My mind flashes back to a day at the ranch. Kurt had invited us out to train, always pushing us to stay fresh, skilled, always growing. Luke had invited me into the combat circle inside the gym. Ten men had watched us, and while Luke was bigger, stronger, I held my own. I’d seen the respect in his eyes that day, as if yes, he realized I was Kurt’s stepdaughter. He didn’t realize before that day I was one of his trainees as well, and that I had, in fact, trained with him all my life.
It was right after that when trouble started, when Kasey cut in and wanted to fight Luke.
“No,” I’d said, facing Luke, hands on his chest. “This is not a good idea.”
Luke had captured my hand and said, “It has to happen. You know that.”
On some level, I had known. Kasey was combative with Luke. He needed to respect him, but Kasey foolishly believed that because of his years of training with Kurt, he’d win this battle. Luke, however, I already knew, didn’t just train with Kurt. He trained with several men of Kurt’s caliber and that experience, along with his active duty, made him the better fighter.
It took Luke about ten minutes to lay Kasey out. He could have done it in two. He let him save face.
Kurt always said two skilled fighters would be divided by intelligence, maturity, experience, control, and a good gut instinct. He later told me Luke won on every count over Kasey. He told Kasey, too, and that didn’t help matters. He and Luke were destined to always bump heads.
Luke was too much like Kurt. Kasey was too different. Luke’s gut instinct told him this hit list originates with Kurt. I need to set aside predisposed notions about him and think about what I’ve missed. What have I missed?
I squeeze my eyes shut and I’m back in the past, remembering the last day I saw Kurt. Luke and I were both leaving on jobs. We’d woken up that morning in each other’s arms, naked, pressed close. We’d made love, a slow, sensual joining of our bodies, we’d finished with an hour of just talking. “I don’t want you to go,” I whisper.
He’s tender and sweet, stroking my hair from my face. “I’m going to buy you your ranch and horses.”
“I’d rather you just stop going on these missions. I’m terrified of the day you don’t come home.”
“I live that every day you go to work,” he replies. “Thank God you’re a badass. Thank Kurt, too.”
Two hours later at least, I’d been packing for an undercover mission in Tennessee when someone knocked at the door. It had been Kurt, who never came to me. I always went to him. I drift between slumber and that memory, reliving it. I open the door to find him standing there, muscles bulging from his T-shirt sleeves. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m leaving on a mission. Since we’ll both be gone a while, I thought I’d bring by those pastries you love so much.” He indicates the bag in his hand.
I smile and invite him in, but there’s a niggle of unease in me. “You’re going on a mission?” I ask as we settle at my kitchen table. “I thought you retired from this kind of thing?”
“Really bad guys sometimes need to be dealt with by really bad guys like me.”
“You’re not a really bad guy.”
“Well, what you don’t know won’t hurt you, honey.” He motions to the bag. “Pull out one of those pastries and hand it over.”
I fight the sleep overcoming me, feeling as if I need to be back in that moment, but it’s too late. I’ve been too long without sleep, and some part of me accepts that rest is necessary. I don’t know how long that darkness consumes me before there’s an awareness in me, something that jolts me to a sitting position. The room is still dimly lit by the side table lamp and Luke is sitting up staring at me.
“What are you doing, Ana?”
“I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Talk to me?” he asks. “What did you want to say? Did you want to tell me I’m a monster? Or a killer? Because I already know.” He stands up and walks toward the bathroom.
I have two options. Let him go. Or go after him. I go after him. As I told myself when I came back downstairs, this back and forth ends here and now.