Chapter 19

19

From his bed, Fenn watched Kate closely, his trained eyes taking in every minute detail of her body language. He noticed the way her pupils dilated, the slight tremor in her hands, and the tension in her jaw. Telltale signs of someone under immense emotional stress.

She paced the room, her agitation growing with each step. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to hold herself together. Fenn had never seen her so unguarded, so vulnerable. It was a stark contrast to the composed, unflappable pilot he'd come to know and admire.

"Kate," he said softly, his voice gentle but firm. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

She stopped pacing and turned to face him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I can't," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I can't tell you."

Fenn's heart ached at the sight of her pain. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and shield her from whatever demons haunted her. But he knew that what she needed most right now was to air the truth.

"All kidding aside, you can trust me. Always."

A single tear escaped, rolling down her cheek. She brushed it away with a shaky hand. "I'm afraid," she admitted, her voice so soft he had to strain to hear it.

He studied her face, trying to decipher the fear in her eyes. It couldn't be the person hunting her; she was too skilled, too brave to be intimidated by an external threat. No, this was something deeper. Something personal.

And then it hit him. She was afraid of him. Of his reaction.

The revelation stunned him.

What could she possibly have done that would make her fear his judgment? He searched her face, looking for answers, but all he saw was a deep, soul-wrenching fear.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against her arm. She flinched at the contact, and it broke his heart. "I know your heart, Kate. We've literally been through hell and back together. There's nothing you could tell me that would change how I feel about you. Ever."

A war raged behind her eyes. The desire to trust, to confide, battling against the ingrained instinct to protect herself, to keep her secrets close.

He inched himself up on his elbows, blocking out the way the movement made his head throb harder. "What happened, Kate? Talk to me."

She turned away. "I left someone behind," she ground out. "A teammate. It was a couple years before BlackOut Squadron. He died because of me."

Fenn's heart clenched at the anguish in her voice, the self-recrimination that dripped from every syllable. He wanted to reach out, to pull her into his arms and tell her that it wasn't her fault, that she couldn't carry this burden alone.

But empty platitudes wouldn't help. Some burdens had to be carried alone.

Instead, he focused on the facts, on the pieces of the puzzle that didn't quite fit. "I know you. You wouldn't have left a teammate unless there was no other choice. Unless others were at risk, too, or the situation was hopeless."

She whirled to face him, her eyes blazing with a fury that took his breath away. "The circumstances don't matter. I left him. I knew the enemy was converging on his position, and I left him. I made a choice, and he died because of it. That's on me. No one else."

"Okay. So what do we do now? How do we find this guy?"

Kate's jaw tightened, determination settling over her like a mantle. "We interview every living soul in Endurance. Then we tackle the military base, if necessary."

He pretended to give that some thought and cocked his head. "I'm assuming we can skip the polar bears?"

That earned him the ghost of a smile. She crossed her arms over her chest. "For now."

A shadowy thought came into focus. An image of a man. Big. Thick beard… The Frostbite. Fenn struggled to sit up. "I've got the perfect thread to pull first. The fourth guy at the bar." He closed his eyes, searching for the name.

"Marcus." Kate sank down on the edge of the bed. "The one from the maintenance yard."

"We still haven't checked out his snowmobile."

She stood. "I'm on it."

Fenn grabbed for her, but missed her arm. "Nope. No way. We do this together."

"You're not going anywhere until we're sure that thick head of yours wasn't split in two."

"Fine."

His easy agreement seemed to surprise her. "Good," she replied, obviously wary.

As she should be. He rarely bargained away something for nothing. "I'll promise to chill here for the rest of the night, if you promise not to leave my sight."

For a long moment, she just stared at him, her eyes searching his face.

He shrugged. "I may or may not be afraid of the dark."

That quip drew an actual laugh.

He dug his fingers into the covers, forcing himself not to reach for her. Offer the comfort of a partner. Not just a friend.

Not the time, Scarborough. Definitely not the time.

She shrugged. "After that whack on the head, I was going to insist on staying anyway. You need a wakeup call every hour. Sorry. Not sorry."

Yeah, despite the pounding in his head, he was definitely not sorry. Anything to keep her close.

He manufactured a deep sigh. "The things I do for my country."

She stretched hard. "No kidding." She wrinkled her nose. "This room smells like feet."

"Is that a bad thing?"

One elegant eyebrow rose in response. Enough said.

He sniffed at his pits, relieved to note he didn't smell as ripe as he expected. The two of them had spent countless nights racking out together, most of them in places as uncomfortable as they were exotic. But after her revelation, the air between them held a new intimacy.

And, he wanted to believe, the seeds of a deeper relationship to come.

But this wasn't the time to get ahead of himself.

They had a bad guy to catch first.

But they'd be doing it together. He fell asleep with a smile on his lips.