Jessica Patch - Deep Waters

Caley swallowed hard. “I believe it,” she rasped. The exact kind of man she would never attach herself to. “I tend to like a quieter life.”

“Sorry things have shaken up for you,” Tom said. He glanced at Shepherd, whose neck had flushed. Was he angry at Tom’s words? “But this guy will keep you safe and I’ll do what I can on my end.”

Tom left with his report and Caley stared at Shepherd.

“I’m not reckless.” Shepherd’s voice came with a gravelly hard edge.

“I didn’t think you were, or that Tom implied that. I think he admires and respects you as a brave soldier.” She was thankful he was fearless. But while he wasn’t reckless, crazy meant going into dangerous missions with no fear of dying. No worries. No concerns. He had been point man for the Special Reaction Team in the Marine Corps. Yeah, she was familiar.

That’s why Wilder hired him right off the bat and bragged about Shep. He had experience in crisis situations. Terrorist attacks. Hostage situations. VIP protection. Out of the nine-member elite team, Shep was positioned at the front. Leading the entry element.

No fear of death. Of leaving a loved one behind. That nagged her. And it shouldn’t.

His jaw flexed. That had seriously rubbed him wrong. “How’s Miss Whittle?”

“I don’t know. I need to get to the hospital.” Her body felt like a waterlogged tree trunk, exhaustion seeping into every pore. What was happening to her perfect little world? Why was it crumbling like wet sand? Sunshine had turned to storm clouds. Torrential rains had fallen.

And she was falling apart.

“I’ll drive you over there. Go get cleaned up and—” he surveyed the disaster “—and I’ll start putting this back together.”

Right now what she needed wasn’t a fresh change of clothes. Or a clean house.

Right now, she needed...comfort. A hug from Dad or Wilder.

All she had was Shep.

He’d quickly proven he was able to protect her physically. But she needed emotional security and that wasn’t his strong suit.

“You hear me? You’ll feel better if you clean up.”

No. She wouldn’t. He was all she had right now. She inched toward him, his eyes narrowing further with each step. When she reached his personal space, he backed up.

Don’t run from me, soldier. She needed solace and safety from strong, able arms.

He backed up until the kitchen counter blocked his getaway.

She slipped her arms around Shep’s waist and rested her head on his chest, listening as his heart rate kicked up. Waiting for him to reciprocate.

A hug.

What she desperately needed.

His body went rigid.

“I know this isn’t part of your assignment, but I need physical contact, Shepherd. A hug. A pat. Whatever.”

Slowly, his arms encircled her. Awkward, but there. The warmth of his hands seeping through her T-shirt.

“And don’t say ‘there there’—just tell me everything is going to be fine.” She buried her face into his T-shirt, the smell of soap and total ruggedness rushing her senses. She inhaled and exhaled as his arms held her close.

“Everything’s gonna be fine.” His voice faltered but held enough confidence that she believed him. She pressed into his broad chest, like an iron wall that no one could penetrate. A force to be reckoned with. Here, sheltered by him, no one could touch her. And that brought more comfort than she was expecting. Dad and Wilder could make her feel safe and protected, but this...this was different. Terrifying. Exhilarating.

She clung to him.

He didn’t push her away. Didn’t tighten his grip on her either.

But he had her. He wasn’t letting go and that meant something. At some point, though, he would let go. He’d leave her. For a cruise. And that sent a ripple of fear down her spine. Someone was hunting for something she didn’t have. Someone who would keep coming. “Why would anyone think I have a single thing worth taking?”

“You were close to Mary Beth. She confided in you.”

True.

“And if he didn’t find what he was after that night in her dorm room, he may think you did.” His breath ruffled her hair.

“But Miss Whittle.” A hiccup escaped her lips and she pushed down tears as she fisted his shirt.

“I know.” His hands pressed in on her back, but didn’t move. Didn’t caress or offer any added solace. He wasn’t a comforter. He was a soldier.

Time to let him abort the mission. She broke the contact.

His eyebrows furrowed and he pursed his lips before shoving his hands in his pockets.

Caley put some distance between them. “We should go to the hospital. I can clean up later.”

“Roger that, Little Flynn.” He cleared his throat and clomped to the front door. Had she crossed a line? Was hugging her that unbearable?

“Shepherd, you’re doing all you can. You don’t feel guilty do you?” He’d noted that he’d failed her before. But he hadn’t.

“I’m fine. It’s 1815 hours. You need to eat. I’ll get you something at the hospital cafeteria.” He opened the door, waiting for her.

She glanced around the room one last time. How was she ever going to solve this nightmare when she didn’t have a single lead? And what would happen if the oxygen cylinder had been tampered with and each incident was linked? Nora Simms wouldn’t see tragedy. She’d see news media and scandal. She’d see donors pulling out and dollar signs slipping away along with her father’s legacy and life achievements. And Caley and Leo Fines would be out of a job they both adored. But she couldn’t put her career above the life of Mary Beth.

So why would anyone else?

* * *

Last night had been painfully long for Shep. It was easier for him to get in, accomplish the mission and move on to the next one. That’s how he’d been living his life since he’d joined the marines at eighteen. No need for feelings. Shut them off. Be a soldier.

But he never truly shut them off. Only shoved them down. All the resentment, anger, hurt from his childhood. The terror from war. The death tolls. The loss. Buried deep.

Until he’d given his life to Christ.

A weight had lifted, but even then Shep had made sure to keep the most painful things locked away. They were too hard to deal with and he wasn’t going to curl up in the fetal position and cry like a baby.

But when Caley wrapped her arms around him, burrowing against him...something had cracked loose. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he rubbed his chest hoping it would soothe the ache that thumped there.

It had throbbed all night as he sat in a waiting room chair while Caley had kept vigil at Miss Whittle’s bedside.

Didn’t look like Miss Whittle’s son needed to fly in, though he had offered. She had been cleared to come home this morning at 0900.

Now, Shep sat in one of Caley’s Adirondack chairs, holding the phone to his ear and waiting for his Alpha Charlie from Wilder. But he’d take his reprimand like a good soldier. He’d let some dude give him the slip. Twice. Meaning Caley was still a sitting duck.

Shep had been trained to take down an enemy. Didn’t matter if he wasn’t familiar with the landscape. He should have taken the guy to the ground, gotten answers and been on the cruise liner to the West Indies—the next mission. No feelings involved. Wilder answered and Shep gave him the rundown of events.

“So you have no leads? Nothing to give Tom?” Wilder asked. His voice remained calm. Too calm. Shep knew Wilder well enough to know it meant a storm was brewing underneath his tone.

Bearer of more bad news. “No. We have a theory.”

“Oh! A theory. Well, of course. That’ll solve this case.” Sarcasm. Wilder’s typical way to reply when he was frustrated. Welcome to the club, bro. “A theory is nothing more than a good guess. You aren’t going to find squat on a good guess.”