The Soldier's Mission. Lenora Worth

in the world could she help Paco Martinez deal with post-traumatic stress if someone was trying to finish her off before she even got started? That thought caused her to gasp and grab at Paco’s hand.

      “Did you remember something else?”

      “No, but I just realized something.”

      His dark eyes swirled with questions. “Spit it out.”

      “What if that person out there was trying to stop me from talking to you?”

      THREE

      She had a point there. And she had already suggested he might be the target. But killing her for talking to him—or to keep her from talking to him—that was a different twist. Paco couldn’t deny he had people gunning for him on so many levels. But to try and take out a pretty, innocent woman just because she was trying to help him. Who would want to do that? Maybe the shooter had been after him to begin with. That made more sense.

      But he’d gone on a long run early this morning. It would have been easy for someone to spot him and take him out there in the desert. And by the time anybody found him, the vultures and other predators would have finished him off, anyway. No, this shooting had been timed for her arrival, by Paco’s way of thinking.

      “So maybe I should be asking you all these questions,” she said, her expression bordering on smug. “I’ve read your case file. You’ve had quite a career in both special ops and with CHAIM. Both classified, of course, but I know things went bad on your last mission in Afghanistan. That’s a lot of stress for any one man.”

      Paco wanted to laugh out loud, except a burning rage kept him from cracking a smile. That and the way she’d changed from timid to tempest by turning the tables on him. “You have no idea, darlin’.”

      Her expression turned sympathetic, which only made things worse. He could handle anything but pity. “I think I do. That’s why you called me that night.”

      He got up, stomping around the small café, his gaze hitting on an old shelf full of several carved wooden figurines of warriors astride horses his grandfather had created to sell right along refrigerator magnets, greasy hamburgers and ice-cold soft drinks. Grandfather Rainwater was content with his life.

      Paco, however, was still struggling with his.

      And this perky little counselor lady wasn’t helping matters. Neither was being shot at so early in the day.

      Remembering his midnight-hour shout-out, he said, “I shouldn’t have called the hotline that night. False alarm.”

      “You called for a reason. Maybe someone else out there thinks you have a problem.”

      Paco turned to lean over the table, glad when she slid into the corner of the booth. Glad and a little ashamed that he’d stoop to a frowning intimidation to make her go away. “You wanna know why I called that night? Really want to know?” He didn’t wait for her to nod. Pushing so close he could see the swirling violet-blue of her eyes, he said, “I wanted to take a drink. I wanted to get so drunk I could sleep for a week without nightmares or guilt or regret.”

      He lifted up and sank back down, the shock in her vivid eyes undoing him. “But I promised that old man in the kitchen back there that I was done with drunken brawls and feeling sorry for myself. I respect him and I didn’t want to let him down. You see, he lost his son—in-law—my father—to the Vietnam War. And you probably know about my brother—he’s in a wheelchair, compliments of Desert Storm. But…it’s hard sometimes, in the middle of the night. So I wanted a drink, okay. But I didn’t take that drink. Instead I prayed really hard and in a moment of sheer desperation, I dialed the number on the card Warwick gave me and blurted out all of my frustrations to you.”

      Hitting a finger hard on the table, he said, “I hope you’re satisfied now. All clear?”

      “Do you still want to drink?” she asked in a silky-strong whisper, her wide-eyed expression daring him to deny it.

      Paco looked down at her, saw the strength pushing away the fear in her eyes, the solid concern out-maneuvering the shock on her face. He had to admire her spunk. His grandfather was the only person in the world who never backed down when it came to Paco and his moods.

      Maybe he’s finally met someone else worthy of that kind of status. Someone else he could learn to respect. And someone else who was willing to go the distance with him.

      “Yes, I still want a drink,” he said, surprised at this whole conversation. “But I won’t take another one. I go to my AA meetings on a regular basis. I’m better now, I told you. So let’s focus on the problem we have here, right now.”

      The doubtful stare she gave him implied she didn’t believe him but she nodded her head in understanding. And right now, Paco couldn’t worry about what she thought.

      “Are you driving back to Phoenix today?” he asked, pulling her up out of the booth.

      The confusion in her eyes slammed head-on into his own conflicting feelings. “No. I have a hotel room at the foot of the Grand Canyon.” Looking sheepish, she said, “I thought if I couldn’t find you I’d do a little hiking.”

      He drew in air, thinking it a blessing she’d found him. Just the thought of her alone near the Canyon with a lunatic tracking her sent fingers of dread racing across his spine. “Does anyone know where you are?”

      “My parents and my supervisor at the clinic.”

      “Would they tell anyone else?”

      “They might mention I’m at the Canyon. I didn’t exactly post what I was doing. Just told them I’d be gone for a few days on a trip to locate a client.”

      A knock at the restaurant door caused Paco to spin around. His grandfather came out of the kitchen. “It’s a delivery man bringing fresh produce,” Walter said, waving Paco away. “Sorry. They usually pull around to the back.”

      Paco watched as Walter headed to open the door, the hair on the back of his neck bristling. His gaze hit Laura’s, both of them realizing too late—

      “Grandfather!”

      Paco went into motion, rushing toward the door. But Walter already had it open, a smile on his face. “Joseph, why didn’t you—”

      A fist in Walter’s face knocked the old man back onto the floor. Walter hit his head on the corner of a bench as he went down. Then he didn’t move.

      Paco heard Laura’s scream even while he rushed the man at the door, taking the intruder by surprise, one hand pressing down on the man’s weapon hand and the other one on his throat. With a grunt and heavy pressure on the wrist, Paco forced the man to drop the handgun he was carrying. But his opponent didn’t let that stop him. He reached around with his other hand and tried to bring Paco down. Paco countered with an uppercut to the man’s chin. Then they went down with fists popping against skin. The man was big and solid but Paco didn’t let up until he had him rolled over faceup. Struggling to hold the man down, Paco memorized his face—scarred and brutal—just before he slammed his fist back into it.

      Laura ran to Walter. “Mr. Rainwater? Are you all right?” Paco’s grandfather didn’t respond. Blood poured out of his nose and his breathing was shallow. Deciding the best thing she could do right now was to help Paco, she searched for a weapon and saw Walter’s rifle leaning against the kitchen door. Without thinking, Laura grabbed it, trying to focus on the man who’d managed to get in and knock out Paco’s grandfather. When Paco rolled the man over and begin hitting him in the face, she waited, her pulse flat-lining then spurting into overdrive. But the stranger reached up and managed to get his hands around Paco’s neck. Paco grunted, working to flip the man over. When that didn’t work, he tried hitting at the man again but he couldn’t break away. Pushing at the man’s thick arms, Paco finally managed to get his own fingers around the other man’s throat.

      Then it became a battle of wills as both held tight, each trying to