The Soldier's Mission. Lenora Worth

He waited for his pretending-not-to-be-interested grandfather to bring the requested food. Then he shoved one fork at her and took his own to attack the creamy yellow-crusted pie. “Eat.”

      She looked down at the plate then picked up the fork. “I don’t eat sweets.”

      “Try it.”

      Luke took his time eating his own side of the pie. Then he sipped the dark brew, his gaze hitting at hers in the old, pot-marked mirror running behind the cluttered counter. “Now, why are you here?”

      She chewed a nibble of pie then swallowed, her eyes opening big while she slanted a gaze toward him. “One of your friends was concerned.”

      “I don’t have a lot of friends.”

      “The Knight,” she said on a low whisper.

      “Just saw him a few weeks ago.”

      “I know. He wanted to make sure you were okay.”

      Luke knew she wasn’t telling him the whole story. He’d talked to Shane Warwick two days ago. The man was crazy in love and making big plans for his upcoming Texas spring wedding. Shane was going to repeat the vows he’d spoken in England—to the same woman he’d married in England. He’d called Luke to invite him to the wedding but Shane had asked Luke how he was doing. Polite conversation or pointed inquiry?

      “Who are you?” he asked, this time all the smile gone out of the question. “And don’t lie to me, lady.”

      Laura swallowed down more coffee, hoping it would give her more courage. “I told you, I’m from CHAIM.”

      “Who really sent you?”

      Laura couldn’t hide the truth. “I…I came on my own. I mean, I got clearance to come but I asked to come and see you.”

      His smile was so quick and full of stealth, she almost missed it. But if he ever did really smile, Laura believed it would do her in for good. The man was an interesting paradox of good-looking coupled with dangerous and scary. His dark hair, longer than army regulations allowed since he was usually undercover, sliced in damp inky lines across his scarred face and around his muscled neck. His eyes were onyx, dark and rich and unreadable. His skin was as aged and marked as tanned leather. It rippled over hard muscle and solid strength each time he moved. He wore a black T-shirt and soft-washed jeans over battered boots. And he smelled fresh and clean, as if he’d just stepped out of a secret waterfall somewhere.

      His gaze cut from her to the mirror, watching, always watching the door of the diner.

      “Why did you feel you had to come and see me?”

      Laura prided herself on being honest. So with a swallow and a prayer, she said, “Because you called me—on the CHAIM hotline—late one night. You said you needed someone to talk to. So I’m here.”

      Luke lowered his head, the shame of that phone call announcing how weak he’d felt that night. He’d had the dream again, maybe because he had just returned from Texas and more death and dishonesty. Maybe because he would always have the dream and he’d always feel weak and guilty and filled with such a self-loathing that it took his breath away and made him want to drink that whole bottle of tequila sitting on the windowsill.

      “I shouldn’t have called,” he said, the words hurting and tight against his throat muscles. “You didn’t have to come here, Ms. Walton. I’m fine now.”

      She went from being intimidated to being professional with the blink of her long lashes. “You didn’t sound fine that night. I called Shane Warwick and he arranged permission for me to come and see you. I live in Phoenix.”

      Luke whirled on the stool, his face inches from hers. “Then go back to Phoenix and leave me alone.”

      “But…you…shouldn’t be alone. I’m a counselor. You can trust me and you can talk to me about anything. Even if you’ve slipped up and had a drink—”

      “Leave. Now,” Luke said, grabbing her by the arm.

      “But—”

      “I haven’t had a drink in four months and I don’t need you here. All I need right now is to be left alone.”

      He saw the concern in her eyes, saw the hesitation in her movements. She wasn’t going to leave without a fight.

      Luke glanced toward his grandfather. The old man’s face was set in stone, as always. But Luke could see the hope shining in the seventy-nine-year-old’s black eyes.

      He didn’t want to disappoint his grandfather, but Luke didn’t want this woman hovering over him, trying to get inside his head, either.

      “I’ll take you back to your car,” he said, guiding her with a push toward the door.

      Laura Walton shot a look at him over her shoulder. “I have to make sure you’re ready to come back to CHAIM full-time now that you’re back from the Middle East and out of the army.”

      “I’m ready,” Luke said on a strained breath. Why had he dialed that number that night? Now he had trouble here in the form of a dark-haired female. A pretty, sweet-smelling woman with big blue eyes and an academic, analyzing mind. The worst kind.

      “Could we have a talk?” she asked, digging her heels in with dainty force.

      “We just had a talk and now we’re done.”

      He had her out the door, the warmth of the morning sun searing them to the dirt-dry parking lot. “Where’s your car?”

      “Over there.” She pointed to a small red economy car. “It’s a rental. My car is in the shop.”

      Luke tugged her forward until they were beside the car. “Then you can be on your way back to the rental counter. Have a nice trip back to Phoenix.”

      She turned to stare up at him, her eyes so imploring and so blue, he had to blink.

      And during that blink, a bullet ricocheted off the windshield of her car, shattering glass all around them in a spray of glittering white-hot slivers.

      TWO

      Paco shoved Laura down behind the car, his hand covering her head. “Friends of yours?”

      “I don’t know,” she said on a gasp of air, the shock of her words telling him she was being honest. “What’s going on?”

      “You tell me.” He lifted his head an inch. And was rewarded with another round of rifle fire. “Somebody doesn’t like you being here, sweetheart.”

      She tried to peek around the car’s bumper, but he held her down. Glaring up at him, she whispered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you sure they aren’t shooting at you?”

      “That is a possibility,” he said on a growl. “I’ve made a lot of enemies lately.”

      “Anybody in particular?”

      Paco thought about the laundry list of sins he’d committed in the name of grief. “We don’t have that long. I have to get you out of here.”

      She seemed to like that idea. “So how do you plan to do that?”

      “Good question.” Paco pulled his sunglasses out of his T-shirt pocket and shoved them on then slowly lifted so he could scan the surrounding desert and mountains. “If it’s a sniper, we’re stuck here. If we move, they could take us out in a split second. But if they’re just using a twelve-gauge or some other sort of rifle, we might have a chance at making a run for the café.”

      “My windshield is shattered,” she said, her tone sensible. “That means they could do the same to us if we move.”

      “True. But a moving target is a lot harder to pinpoint than a parked car.”

      “Maybe they weren’t aiming at us.”

      Paco