Chapter Seventeen

Natasha

I can't bring myself to step outside. But Doc left the door open a crack, and a light breeze cools my overheated skin. Too bad it can't touch the shame coursing through me.

Standing isn't working out so well, so I put my back against the wall and let myself sink down to the floor. "You're not an asshole," I say softly.

No response. He's only a foot away, so I know he heard me. "Gladys would tell me to strip off my clothes—well, the clothes I'm wearing—and throw myself at you right now."

Doc's laugh is a gentle balm to my battered heart. "She may have suggested I take up naked sunrise yoga a time or two. Apparently, the best place for it is exactly halfway between your house and my campsite. I didn't ask her how she figured that out."

"Oh, God. Do you think she and Donald…or… Shit. She and Clancy…"

"That's not a visual I needed. Ever." Doc glances back at me. When he sees me on the floor, my head tipped back against the wall, he swears under his breath. "Fucking hell, Nat. You're going back to bed."

"No."

"That wasn't a question." Doc loops my arm over his shoulder, grits his teeth, and helps me to my feet. His groan tears at my soul.

"Stop. You're hurting yourself." I try to pull away, but he doesn't let go until he deposits me back onto his bed. "Stay there. You need another dose of antibiotics."

His breathing is too shallow. Too rapid. And under his arm, a small spot of blood seeps into his pale green shirt. He limps out of the room before I can beg him to stay. To listen.

All of this is my fault. Chris. Logan. Doc. I've hurt so many people by not being honest with any of them. By not realizing I can't handle this on my own.

He comes back with a small black pouch. Without even glancing in my direction, he fills a syringe from a clear vial.

I've had enough of this. "Doc? Sit down."

"Not yet. This goes in your thigh or your ass. You pick."

"Thigh," I snap. If he wants surly, I'll show him surly. Two can play at this game.

It burns going in. Enough to bring tears to my eyes. But after he caps the needle and tosses it back into the pouch, I reach for his hand. "Your turn. Sit down."

"Nat—"

"No. You're bleeding. Sit down. Now."

He's wary. I can't blame him. I made him feel like I didn't care—like I didn't want to care—when nothing could be further from the truth.

He sinks down onto the mattress. My fingers aren't entirely steady, but I manage to undo the buttons and ease the shirt off his shoulders. All his bruises are so much darker today. Tracing one of the worst of them with my fingers, I fight the tidal wave of emotion about to pull me under. "Doc…God. I'm so sorry."

The warmth of his skin seeps into my palm. Even with the ache from the fever, my body reacts to his closeness. His scent. The way he covers my hand with his and squeezes gently. "For what? You didn't break into your own house and throw yourself off the balcony."

"About that second part," I say quietly as I guide his arm up so he can rest his hand on my shoulder. The hospital bandage comes away easily. There isn't a lot of blood, but it still worries me. "I might have…well…"

"You mean Parker didn't?—?"

I huff out a laugh. "I hit him with my watering can, then jumped."

His eyes widen. "You could have broken your neck."

"I know how to fall." Plucking the antibiotic spray from the nightstand, I rest my free hand just above his waist. "It's only bleeding a little. But you have to stop this. You're putting your own life at risk…for me."

Doc nods to the tattoo covering his bicep.

That others may life.

"This is who I am, Nat. It doesn't matter that I've been out for almost fifteen years. I can't…not take care of you. I don't know how." With a shallow sigh, he closes his eyes. "Do what you need to do. But distract me. Tell me how you learned to fall."

"In Ranger School."

He's not prepared for that answer. Fair enough, since I wasn't prepared to give it. The spray hits his wound, and he hisses out a breath. "Fuck, that burns."

"You really are a terrible patient." It feels good to smile. Even better to sit so close to this man I've wanted to know for so long and joke around with him. "What did you expect?"

"To come home and sleep for a few hours. To call Gladys and hope she could help me track you down." He reaches up and traces the edge of the swelling under my eye. "I should call her anyway. Or you should. She'll be worried about you once she gets back to Blakely and discovers you're not there."

"Shit. She can't…" My heart pounds so hard, I'm afraid Doc will hear it. "She has to stay away from my house. All the blood… If she calls the police, they'll find out. They'll use her to get to me. I need my phone. Where's my phone?—?"

I'm suddenly dizzy. The walls are closing in. Trapping me. Squeezing the life out of me.

"Nat. Look at me." His sharp words slice through the panic, but fighting my way free is too hard. My eyes burn. I'm on fire, but freezing at the same time. Shaking. Until my cheek presses to his chest, and it's his heart beat I hear, his voice rumbling through me.

"We'll call Gladys. And McCabe. And anyone else you need. I'll keep you safe, baby."

"You can't." I draw back. Tears cool on my cheeks. "Don't you understand?—"

"I don't understand a fucking thing. You're talking in circles. You won't answer any of my questions. We can't stay here, yet you're the one who broke in. Why? If you were only going to run again?"

Shit. He didn't find my note. There's my answer. He can read it, and I won't have to explain.

"Your office. On your desk. I wrote you a letter," I whisper. I'm too weak to hide it from him. But it's not just my body betraying me. My mind—and my heart—they're in on it too.

His expression hardens. "No."

"No? What the hell does that mean?"

"It means you're not going to take the coward's way out here, Nat. If that's even your real name. You're going to talk to me. Tell me all of it. Right now."

"Or…? Ultimatums like that usually come with an ‘or else.'" I shouldn't push him. This is what I wanted. Isn't it? For him to know me? This is my chance. But I'm so scared he'll decide I'm not worth the effort and walk away. Or worse. Kick me out of his house before I can warn him of the danger he's in.

He stares at me, his blue eyes churning like the sea before a storm.

Here goes nothing.

"Nat is my real name. Sort of. Natasha Janelle Winters. Sergeant First Class, United States Army. Second Battalion, Seventy-Fifth Ranger Regiment."

"Natasha." He's still wary. But he relaxes enough to rummage among the medical supplies for a fresh bandage, hand it to me, and turn so I can smooth it over his side. "I only knew of one woman who made it through Ranger school. A sniper. She works for McCabe now."

"They don't talk about me. Because of…what happened." God, why is this so hard? I want to tell him. I need to tell him. But I can't get the words to come. So instead, I roll up the sleeve of the t-shirt and show him the flowery tattoo on my left arm. "Can you see it? I still can. Barely. But…"

He traces a finger over one of the roses. Down the stem to the next bud where the letter S forms the edge of the flower. "Sua Sponte. Why did you cover it up?"

"Because I knew if anyone found out who I was, my life would be over."

Natasha's gaze darts to the window—and the encroaching darkness outside. "Blinds. Please? And…my gun. If we're staying here tonight, I need it."

I pull the shade, then move to the walk-in closet. I'm not sure she can even hold a gun at this point. But I can manage. The biometric lock on my safe beeps, and the door pops open. When I searched her bag for something she could wear, I found her Glock, and it sits next to mine on the top shelf.

I grab both of them, check the magazines, and secure the door.

"You're in no condition to shoot. But if it makes you feel better to have it close by, so be it." I set her pistol on the nightstand, clip my holster to my jeans, and sit on the bed, facing her. She's tense, her gaze fixed on the gun with her fingers clenching and unclenching around the blankets. "Natasha, look at me."

Fucking hell. The fear in her eyes twists at my heart. I want to find out who put it there and end them. Painfully.

I'm a healer. Hurting people goes against everything I am. But I'm falling for this woman. Keeping her safe is the only thing that matters.

I cup her cheek and relish the way she leans into my hand. "The doorbell camera will capture anyone who approaches the house from the front. I have a spare camera in the kitchen I can set in the back window. They're both motion-activated. My alarm system isn't the best—clearly, since you managed to break in without setting it off—but I can probably get someone out here in the morning to install a better one. If I haven't used up all my favors with McCabe and his team."

She still doesn't look convinced.

"It's been almost forty-eight hours since that fucker broke into your house. You were here last night. No one came for you then. No one's coming for you now."

She shakes her head. "You can't know that. There was blood all over the dock. Someone would have called the police. And when Parker didn't check in… How long do you think it would take for the owners of the marina to give up your name? Your address?"

"You ran out of the hospital before McCabe showed up, baby. His team found the body. Took care of your house—as best they could. There's no evidence Parker was ever there. Whoever sent him won't have any reason to talk to the harbor master. And that's assuming McCabe didn't pay the woman off to stay quiet. I wouldn't put it past him. You're safe here. We're safe here."

A single tear tumbles down her cheek. The tension leaves her shoulders and her eyelids start to droop. "I'm not safe anywhere. Not for long."

"You are for tonight. I'm going to set up the other camera. Then you can tell me the rest." I pull back the blankets, and it's a testament to how exhausted she is that she lies down almost immediately.

"Doc?" she asks after I tuck her in and reach for my shirt. "You're coming right back? I don't want to be alone."

The shirt slips from my fingers. This woman is so fucking strong. She had to be to make it into one of the most elite units in the armed forces. But the desperation in her tone threatens to break me.

I lean down and brush my lips to hers. "I'll be back in ten minutes. Maybe less. You're not alone." The words I want to say stick in my throat.

You'll never be alone again.