Jump Start (Texas Hotzone 1)

“From me,” she murmured. “You ran from me.”

“I ran from myself,” he said, cupping her cheek. “Not you. And I’m not running now. I’m laying it all on the line here. Everything I am.”

Turbulence flickered across her face. Slowly, she nodded. “Let’s go see your father. Get it over with now. Get this behind you.”

Bobby stood there, basking in the acceptance in her eyes, in the willingness to be there for him he didn’t deserve, when he’d deserted her.

Drowning. Bobby was drowning in a deep pool of water that felt as if it might turn into some of that quicksand he’d experienced back in that Iraqi desert. Jennifer was going with him to see his father. It was what he’d wanted. So why did he have a knot fisted in his gut? Because, he knew, he was afraid of pulling Jen into the quicksand with him.

He lifted her hand, pressed her fingers to his mouth. “Go home and rest,” he finally said. “You’ll need it to deal with my father. I’ll need it to deal with my father.”

“Then come with me,” she said. “We’ll sleep a few hours and leave from my place.”

“If I come home with you…” he said in a thick tone, thinking of how good stripping her naked and holding her would be, “I won’t let you sleep.”

“Sleep is overrated,” she said. “Come home with me, Bobby.”

But that tight feeling in his chest was back. He had to figure out how to dig himself out of this quicksand. “I’ve got stuff going on in my head,” he said. “I need to deal with it.” He touched her cheek. “I’ll pick you up at seven, okay?”

Confusion slid across her face. “Okay,” she reluctantly agreed.

His hands settled on her shoulders. “Thank you for coming with me, Jen.” He kissed her forehead and turned to leave, telling himself he was headed back to the hotel to review the encrypted files being sent to him on the Texas Hotzone skydiving operation and its owner. Telling himself he had duty. Work. Preparation for an assignment that might well be his last, but one he wanted to complete. He’d seen plenty of guys exit the Army and struggle in the civilian world. Hell, he could be one of those guys. He wouldn’t convict one of his own, a fellow soldier, without doing what he could to save him.

It was easier to focus on that than the questions Jennifer would ask if he stayed with her—about his mind-set now, about his mind-set seven years ago. He couldn’t talk about his father. Not with Jennifer. Not without backing out of this visit. Because Bobby might be prepared to face the past, to face his father and himself, but was she? And was he really being fair to ask her to?

Maybe he’d been selfish to return home, to pull her into this. But he had. He’d not only returned home, he’d tasted her, held her, felt the sweetness of her presence surround him. And Lord help him, he felt selfish. Because he wanted more of her.

Deep down, though, he feared she would not want more than their “fling,” as she called it. He feared he’d pushed her away, pushed her too far, for too long, and she really was simply saying goodbye. That he’d lost her, and no matter how hard he tried to win her back, he could not.

He wasn’t sure he was the man who could make her happy. Or maybe he could. By giving her a chance to say goodbye. He needed her to have that choice. Exactly why he wasn’t going to tell her about his reenlistment. He wasn’t going to put that kind of pressure on her. If she needed to use him and throw him aside, if revenge was all she needed from him, he’d give it to her. But not without trying to convince her forever had a place—with him.

11

WITH BOBBY DUE to pick her up any minute, Jennifer scanned her appearance in the solid oak, full-length mirror in the corner of her bedroom. After far too much debate, she wore her black jeans again and a black tee, the V-neck lined with a tiny strand of delicate silver sequins—not overdone, just a tiny bit of feminine accent. Black boots completed the outfit, preparation for being on who-knew-what terrain for the air show. Freshly washed, her hair fell in silky waves on her shoulders, but would most likely be a frizzy mess once she stepped into the Texas August heat. But then, so would everyone else’s—at least it’d look good for when she opened the door and saw Bobby again. If only she’d actually slept and didn’t have dark circles smudged beneath ineffective makeup.

When Jennifer would have turned away, her gaze lingered on the mirror, not at her own image, but on the antique wood, and the history it represented. It had been her grandmother’s. As had the chest-high jewelry box beside it. She’d filled her little condo with the warmth of family, with furniture and trinkets, photos and memories. But Bobby had none of those things. He only had his father, who wasn’t much of a father at all, it seemed.