A Promise to Protect. Liz Johnson

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      FOUR

      Matt growled deep in his throat, his knee screaming as he sailed across the lawn toward the figure still in shadows. This could be the guy who had threatened Ashley. This was his chance to pin down the jerk and get some answers.

      It was dumb. Careless. Amateurish. The porch was welllit, and the guy was watching it closely. He should have pretended to leave and snuck around behind the guy, but it was too late now. As soon as Matt moved toward him, the man in black noticed and ran, too. His pace was no match for a SEAL running at top speed, but he had a pretty major head start. He hit the sidewalk seconds ahead of Matt, diving into a car idling at the curb.

      Matt ran into the street, but was met only by the blaring horn and blinding lights of the car as it took off. He bounced off the offending hood and managed to land on steady feet.

      Ashley ran up behind him as the car sailed away.

      Probably a getaway car.

      “Are you okay?” Her hand rested on his arm; it was strangely heavy for such a small woman.

      He shrugged away from her touch and bent over at the waist, pinching his eyes closed against the fire searing down his calf. “I’ll live.”

      Although the guys on his team would never let him live down losing a footrace to a thug, Ashley wasn’t quite as likely to ride him about it. Then again, he’d lost a valuable opportunity to end this whole thing right there. Maybe she should rag on him for it.

      He should have caught the guy. Should have finished this thing.

      “I think he’s gone.” She took two small steps back, reaching her hand out to him again, more tentatively this time.

      He shook his head with a wry grin and straightened all the way up.

      “What’s really going on with your leg?” In the dim streetlight, she glared at him. Hard. She meant business.

      “Is that the look you give the kids here when they misbehave?”

      “Yes.” She pulled on his arm until he stopped on the sidewalk leading to the front door. “I check out everyone who comes into this house, and you’re no exception. You don’t have to tell me the country, the mission or anything else classified. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

      “I told you already—just a couple stitches near my knee.”

      Her pale fingers squeezed his biceps like a kitten bite. “How many is a couple? Do you need to see a doctor?”

      He looked toward the clouds covering the moon. How much could he say without scaring her? This wasn’t just about him. She had to worry about Tristan when he was deployed, too. She wouldn’t just dismiss the injury. She couldn’t. Not after ten years with a SEAL for a brother.

      “About ninety.”

      Her mouth dropped open, and her grip weakened for a moment. Then she quickly shook her head. “How’d you get them?”

      “A guy with a knife who wasn’t very happy that I was trying to get us to the extraction point.”

      “Who is ‘us’?”

      He chuckled. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

      She nibbled on her lower lip, staring at the ground for what felt like an hour. “Are you going to have to retire?”

      He scooped her chin up with one finger; her skin was softer than suede. Her gaze darted around the street, around his arm, over his shoulder. Anywhere but his eyes. And it was suddenly clear. She worried about him. Not quite like she worried about Tristan. Not to the same extent, certainly. But she was concerned about his welfare, about his future.

      He couldn’t remember the last time someone had been really concerned about him. Sure, the other SEALs watched his back, and if he was in danger he knew that any one of them would dive into the line of fire for him, but they weren’t so great at expressing concern—or any emotions at all. A punch in the arm was about as close as any of them got to saying “Hope you’re okay” or “Get well soon.” And aside from them, who else even gave him a second thought? His commanding officer was always yelling at him to be careful with C-4. His landlord was afraid he wouldn’t make it back from a mission and would miss a rent payment.

      But genuine concern for him as a whole? Maybe his social worker from way back when, Miss Jorgens. She had looked like she was going to cry when she dropped him off with the Wellseys nearly thirty years before. Maybe she’d known then about his foster dad’s temper. It hadn’t stopped her from driving away.

      Well, it was only fair that Ashley worried СКАЧАТЬ