Heavy Artillery Husband. Debra & Regan Webb & Black

enough.”

      She struggled to keep up with his longer stride even in her flats. Just like old times, she thought. At just over six foot he was eight inches taller than her, and those inches seemed to all be in his legs. Where were they going? Away from her car...back the way she’d come, she realized. The headlights of a car in the distance allowed her to make out a vehicle waiting in the ditch a few yards away. Black. SUV.

      He opened the passenger-side door for her, the way he’d done at every opportunity since their first date. Her stomach churned as her heart floated on a silly, girlish burst of hope. Could this really be Frank, alive and apparently well? She squashed the fluttery sensations. If it was, her husband owed her a great many answers. “Where are you taking me?”

      “Does it matter as long as you survive?”

      “It might,” she replied. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

      “One of the many things I love about you.”

      Though he’d surely meant it as a comfort, his use of the present tense deflated her hopes and sent them crashing in an unwelcome thud in her chest. It couldn’t be true. If he still loved her, why had he let her suffer thinking he was dead? “The rental agreement is in the car,” she remembered, too late.

      The SUV bumped and lurched along the ditch until he found enough of a rut to get them back up to the road. “Sophie, they know you were driving the car. You were run off the road because they were following your movements. They’ve targeted you.”

      She studied what she could see of his hard profile, finally registering his all-black attire. In the dark sweater, cargo pants and matte jump boots, he’d dressed for an operation rather than a reunion. She suppressed the chill of concern about what he’d gotten himself tangled up in. “Who is ‘they’?”

      “It’s a long story.”

      “Then start talking.” How could this be happening?

      “As soon as we’re safely out of here. The story I have to tell you is too important to be interrupted.”

      “Convenient.” She crossed her arms. “You invite me to a conversation and then you won’t talk.”

      “It’s better if you hear none of it rather than only some of it,” he insisted. “Keep an eye out for anyone on our tail.”

      “Fine.” She wanted to ignore him and the outrageous situation, but she couldn’t afford such a childish indulgence. “At least tell me how you faked your death.”

      “Soon, I promise.”

      Anger surged through her, fueled by the adrenaline of sliding off the road into increasingly impossible circumstances. “Tell me now or take me back to the hotel.”

      “If I take you back to the hotel, they’ll kill you tonight,” he claimed. “And Frankie tomorrow.”

      That got her attention and put her focus back on point. She pulled her cell phone out of her purse, her fingers brushing, in the process, the notes he’d written. Goose bumps surged up and down her arms. “I’m calling Victoria. She’ll send someone to pick us up.”

      He shook his head. “No. Turn it off. Please,” he added, softening the order to a request. “There’s no such thing as safe if they can track you.”

      She’d deactivated the GPS signal, but he didn’t need to know that. Until she could trust him, she wouldn’t give him any more advantages. Let him worry that she could turn on her phone at any time and get help immediately. “Give me a good reason to trust anything coming out of your mouth.”

      “I’m your husband,” he stated. “You’ve always been my top priority.”

      She laughed. “I might believe such a statement if you were still officially alive.” Headlights flashed in the side mirror, and her heart rate kicked up. She hoped it was just a speeder and not more trouble.

      “Then how about this?” He spared her a quick glance. “I’m the only living person who understands what we’re up against.”

      The “we’re” stood out to her, a beacon slicing through the fog of his words. Reluctantly, she cooperated, turning off her phone and dropping it into her purse again.

      “You’re angry.” He checked his mirrors. “You should be. And I’m more sorry than any words can accurately convey.”

      “That sounds like a cop-out.” She ignored the little voice in her head that wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Faking a suicide fell into the category of drastic measures. Frank wasn’t the sort to take such a step without good cause. She fisted her hands in her lap, her fingernails digging into her palms. If she left her hands loose, she would no doubt reach out to him just to see if he was real.

      “At the time, it was necessary,” he said as if he knew what she was thinking. “I knew you’d be okay, better off without me dragging you down.”

      What did that mean? She heard the bitterness underscoring his words. If she was so much better off, why storm back into her life? Why were she and Frankie in danger? “Being a widow hasn’t been peaches and cream, Frank.” Her emotions leaped wildly with every heartbeat, unable to settle between joy that he was alive and outrage that he’d chosen a fake death rather than trust her with his secrets. How dare he!

      “Yeah, well, being dead isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, either.”

      “You’ve put Frankie and me through terrible heartache. She needed you.” I needed you. She kept the admission to herself, unwilling to let him have that much of her again. Not before she understood how this had happened.

      “You both need me right now.” He sighed and in the light of oncoming headlights she caught the tic in his jaw.

      “Arrogant as ever.” She couldn’t resist baiting him. That supreme confidence had been simultaneously one of his most attractive and most frustrating traits when they were young and eager to get out and conquer the world. Together. So much for that philosophy serving as the cornerstone of their marriage and family.

      False or not, death had parted them, and he’d left her alone to find her own way through the consequences of his mistakes. “You know I can keep a secret,” she said, hating the tremor in her voice. “You had no right to keep the truth from me.”

      “I know.” He stretched a hand toward her as he used to do on road trips. “I’m so sorry, dolcezza.”

      She didn’t take that hand, though refusing it cost her. She wanted to touch him so badly. “You’re going to tell me the whole story.” He’d never been a fan of her using an inflection that carried the same gravity and certainty of his general’s tone of command, but if any situation required it, this was the one.

      “I am,” he replied, with both hands on the steering wheel once more. “You’re not going to like it.”

      “I already don’t like it, Frank.”

      He’d saved her life tonight. In theory, anyway. For all she knew, he’d hired the driver to run her off the road so he could look like a hero. She gave herself a mental shake. Regardless of circumstances, she couldn’t believe he would willfully risk her safety under any circumstances.

      “Give me one thing,” she said. “One detail to go on, or I will call Victoria and Frankie and tell them you’ve kidnapped me.”

      He muttered an oath, knowing she would follow through. Between the Colby Agency and Leo Solutions, Frank wouldn’t have anywhere to hide if they knew he was alive.

      “The man following you was one of the top snipers in the Afghanistan military. One word from his boss and your life is over.”

      She sucked in a breath. “Why?” Who would make her a target?

      “That’s one detail. I swear to you, as soon as I’m sure we’re out