Solitary Soldier

Sloan parked before the double doors at the front of the southwestern-style house. The exterior was a stucco finish, painted a pinkish tan like the wall surrounding the property. The roof was a rustic red tile. One of the front doors suddenly opened and a short, thin man stepped out to meet them.

“This is where you live?” Rachel asked, then winced. God, what a stupid question. Of course this was where he lived.

“Ever since I ran off the local drug lord,” he said before hopping out of the Jeep.

Rachel frowned. Was that supposed to be a joke? Did she really want to know? Too tired to consider the remark any further, Rachel unfastened her seat belt and leaned between the bucket seats and released Josh’s. The boy, teddy bear in tow, scrambled out of the seat and into his mother’s arms. Rachel settled Josh onto the ground once they were out of the Jeep. Sloan was speaking to the other man in Spanish. Rachel couldn’t quite get the gist of the conversation. Something about a room, and trouble.

She and Josh were the trouble, of course.

“Good evening, Señora Larson,” the man said, his smile wide and pleasant. “I am Pablo. I am very sure that you are hungry. Come in and I will prepare a proper feast for such honored guests.”

Rachel took an instant liking to the man. She returned Pablo’s smile and followed as he led the way into the house. Rachel could feel Sloan behind her. She didn’t have to look, his formidable presence was unmistakable. There was an aura about the man that entailed much more than his air of danger.

Details flooded her senses. Muted colors, thick upholstered furnishings. Rachel had to admit that she had been way off base about the man’s taste in accommodations. Sloan’s home was elegant in an understated sort of way. Her artist’s eye was drawn to the clean lines and sparse but inviting furnishings of each large room she passed. The expansive hall cut through the middle of the house, flowing both left and right about midway. Pablo turned right and continued until they reached the third room on the left.

He gestured for Rachel to enter before him. “If there is anything you need, señora, do not hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you, Pablo,” she said tiredly.

“I’m hungry!” Josh piped up.

Heat scalded Rachel’s cheeks. Josh was always hungry. “Josh,” she scolded.

“The boy needs to eat,” Pablo agreed. “Come with Pablo, little man, and we will prepare the feast together.” Pablo winked when Josh eyed him hesitantly. “You may taste as we go.”

Josh was ready to go then. He took Pablo’s offered hand and told him about his new bear as they disappeared down the hall. Rachel was amazed at how easily Josh befriended the strangers he met. She thought of the woman and the bear and decided that a long talk with her son was in order.

With Josh and Pablo gone, Rachel had no choice but to acknowledge her host’s brooding presence. She turned hesitantly to face him.

“I don’t know why you changed your mind,” Rachel began, trying hard not to allow that icy blue gaze to undo her. “But I—”

“You should eat and get some rest,” he said, his words an order rather than a suggestion.

He turned to go but Rachel stopped him with a hand on his arm. He stared first at her hand then at her, as if her touch were somehow offensive to him. But the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips was anything but offensive to Rachel. She jerked her hand back when a mild shock radiated through her, but caught herself before she frowned.

“I’d like to discuss your plans,” she managed in a surprisingly even voice. “I don’t want to be left in the dark. I need to know what you have in mind.”

For one long moment his gaze held hers and something intense passed between them. For Rachel, it felt all too much like sexual awareness. Sloan was handsome, in a fierce, rugged way. He was big and muscular and with eyes that could unsettle her with just a look. He frightened her, yet drew her on some level that Rachel could never hope to explain. Maybe it was simply the need to feel protected by someone who was strong enough to go up against Angel.

“I don’t have a plan.” His gaze remained unreadable, as seemed customary for him. “I’ll let you know when we have anything to discuss.” He brushed past Rachel and sauntered in the direction into which Josh and Pablo had disappeared.

Rachel leaned against the door frame, crossed her arms over her chest and sighed wearily. The man’s attitude infuriated her. How on earth would she ever tolerate his rude indifference? Rachel was too tired to contemplate the issue any further at the moment. She was so tired she wasn’t even sure she would make it through dinner. For Josh’s sake she would have to muster up the energy to at least show up, then see to her son’s bath and to get him tucked into bed. And just maybe, she could manage a leisurely bath of her own.

She glanced around the spacious room she and Josh were to share. She thought of the property’s elaborate security system, and then of Sloan himself. Despite her enigmatic protector’s personality, or lack thereof, Rachel felt safe for the first time in nearly five years.

SLOAN STARED AT the bottle of tequila on the table before him. He knew there would be no sleep for him tonight, no matter how much he drank. His mind was reeling with bits of information he didn’t want to remember. Faces he didn’t want to see. Voices he didn’t want to hear. But there were certain points he had to allow himself to recall. He had waited too long, planned too often for this very moment, yet feared it would never come. Not once since pulling himself from the gutter pain and depression had hurled him into had he allowed a glimmer of real hope. Anticipation was one thing, but hope entirely another. He’d learned the hard way that hope was only for those too weak to acknowledge defeat when it had them by the throat.

Sloan had faced defeat, but he hadn’t wallowed in it, at least not for long. He couldn’t change history, but he sure as hell had some say in the future. And he would make Angel pay. Very soon.

To Sloan’s supreme irritation the vivid mental image of Rachel Larson suddenly loomed large in his mind. He could still hear the fear and panic in her voice when she called out for Josh. That same desperation had haunted his own voice seven years ago. The euphoria still lingered from the profound relief he had felt this evening when Josh was in his mother’s arms once more. The relief he had been denied seven years ago. Then the realization that Angel might be close by.

Too close.

Sloan shook off the feelings nagging him, but he couldn’t completely shake the picture of Rachel. The fear in those big brown eyes, the way her lips quivered with uncertainty. If anyone he had met in this business had ever needed protecting, she sure as hell did. But Sloan wanted to do more than protect her, he wanted to know her as a woman. That simple touch this evening in her room had sent fire raging through his veins. For the first time in more years than he cared to admit, Sloan yearned for more than mere physical release.

Ire burned in his gut. He couldn’t feel this way.

It was nothing more than his exaggerated instinct to protect. That’s all, he assured himself.

Angel flickered amid the other tangle of images and thoughts involving Rachel Larson. Sloan swore. His attraction to a woman who had once been involved with Angel made Sloan’s gut clench. Those feelings were a betrayal to the memory of his wife and son. He must be losing his mind to entertain such a fantasy. Hell, he had already lost his mind. He had brought Angel’s son into his own home.

Sloan swore repeatedly.

He hated himself for what he was doing. But it was the ultimate goal that made it all worthwhile. Angel would come for his son. It was the basic concept of possession. The kid belonged to him. Angel would want him back, so he had to come. When he did, Sloan would be ready.

And Angel would die.

Then Rachel and Josh would be safe.

That wasn’t supposed to be what counted to Sloan…but somehow it was. Somehow their welfare already meant entirely too much to him. And that didn’t sit well with him. But he would not let either of them any closer. He would stay in control—no matter what it took. All these jumbled feelings were nothing more than his deeply entrenched need to protect those weaker than him.

The way he couldn’t protect his own wife and son.

“Excuse me.”

Sloan’s head shot up at the softly uttered greeting. Rachel Larson hovered near the door. Hesitantly she stepped out onto the patio and approached him, her bare feet soundless on the cool tile. His gaze followed her movements, his body automatically responding and he silently cursed himself again. He was a fool. Sloan leaned back in his chair and leveled an impatient gaze in her direction.

“I prefer drinking alone, Miss Larson,” Sloan said tersely. “So if you’re looking for company, you’ll find Pablo’s more to your liking.”

Rachel hesitated a few feet away from the table. “I…I just wanted to thank you for helping us. I realized after I put Josh to bed that I hadn’t properly thanked you for allowing us refuge in your home.”

Sloan tossed back the tequila in his shot glass and set the empty glass down next to the bottle. The last thing he needed was her gratitude distorting the already fuzzy scenario taking shape in his head. “Don’t thank me, Miss Larson, I’m not doing it for you.” He poured himself another shot. “I’m doing it for me.”

Rachel nodded mutely. “Of course,” she murmured. “Well, good night then.”

Before she could turn away, and to Sloan’s royal irritation, he stopped her. “There is one thing you can do for me,” he said, his words dripping contempt, his senses already piqued in anticipation of her response. “You can tell me how you managed to get yourself intimately involved with a lowlife scum bag like Angel.”

Rachel visibly faltered. She seemed to struggle with her answer for so long that Sloan felt certain she didn’t plan to tell him. She shoved a handful of that thick dark hair behind her ear and drew in a deep breath. When her gaze finally connected with his again, her eyes were suspiciously bright. His gut clenched. Sloan swore another silent oath.

“I was very young, just nineteen,” she began slowly. “He tricked me into believing he was someone he wasn’t.” She swallowed, the effort required displayed along the delicate column of her pale throat. “My father died because of what I allowed to happen. If I hadn’t…” She fell silent, her eyes downcast.

Sloan’s chair scraped across the tile as he pushed back from the table and stood. Her head snapped up and she shivered as he walked deliberately toward her. When he stopped, he stood only inches from her. She tensed, and her breath caught with a little hitch. Damn him, he wanted to touch her. Anger swirled around him, inside him. He didn’t need this.

“You allowed yourself to be seduced by the bastard while he was plotting to kill your own father?” Sloan hurled the words at her like missiles intended to wound, intended to push her away. Hadn’t he done the same damned thing? Seduced by the challenge of the hunt, he had dogged Angel’s every step until the animal retaliated. Years of pent-up rage unleashed inside Sloan at the thought.

He leaned closer to Rachel, directing that unforgiving energy at her, widening the emotional gap between them. “I guess that makes us both pretty stupid, huh? Neither one of us were smart enough to know what we were up against until it was too late.”

She trembled, but held her ground. “He tricked me. I didn’t know—”