Today, I’d gotten her stabbed. How long would it be before I got her killed?

Chapter Six

Rumor has it that Senator Reynolds has started an exploratory committee to vet his chances at running in the next presidential election …

—Capital Confessions blog

Kate

My eyelids fluttered open, the ache in my side waking me, my mind cloudy with sleep and drugs. I reached for the pills Blair had left on my nightstand, and my gaze settled on Matt slouched in the leather chair opposite my bed. He stared back at me.

“Are you in pain?”

I nodded, the lump in my throat suddenly making it hard to speak. I hadn’t cried once today, but for some reason, tears threatened at the sight of Matt sitting in my bedroom.

He’d come back. It was real. It hadn’t been a dream.

He rose from the chair, all long limbs and ease. At some point in the day he’d changed into jeans and a dark T-shirt, the fabric highlighting his impressive biceps. He stalked toward me, stopping at my nightstand, grabbing the bottle of pills and twisting the cap off, taking out two and handing them to me along with the glass of water Blair had left for me.

Our fingers grazed each other as I took the medicine from him, that little brush of skin enough to make me think that maybe I wasn’t feeling so foggy after all. Was it anticipation or nostalgia or some heady combination of the two that had my body gravitating toward his? Did he feel it, too?

I swallowed the pills, handing the water glass back to Matt, purposefully letting my fingers curl around his, testing his reaction, waiting to see if I was alone in the arousal spreading through my body.

Matt turned away, but I reached out, my hand on his elbow holding him in place. If he didn’t want me, fine, but I wasn’t going to let him run from this without a fair fight.

“Will you sit with me for a bit?” I asked, the heat from his skin seeping through my fingers.

He stiffened, as though his body was poised somewhere between fight and flight, but he didn’t pull away. A small sense of triumph filled me when he nodded, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to my legs, close but not touching.

“Were you there when I fell?” I asked. “Are you the one who called the paramedics and stopped the bleeding?”

He nodded, his jaw clenched.

“Thank you.”

“For what? Nearly getting you killed?”

“You didn’t nearly get me killed. You didn’t stab me.”

“I should have protected you more.” He tore his gaze away. “I had my eyes on you the entire time. You were in the crowd and I saw you stumble, and I thought that you’d just tripped, and then the next thing I knew, your body hit the pavement. The guy was a pro and he was prepared. I told you I’d have your back, and when it came down to it, I didn’t.”

“Do you think I’m angry with you? That I blame you?”

He made a frustrated noise. “You should be angry with me. You should fucking blame me. You wouldn’t have gotten involved in any of this if it weren’t for me.”

He’d always been protective, but this was extreme, and there was no way I was going to let him use some sort of misplaced guilt as yet another barrier between us.

“Are you kidding me? I’m involved because someone sent me information on what happened in Afghanistan. Someone wants me to be involved. That’s not your fault. Just like what happened to your friends isn’t your fault.” My tone softened, trying to figure out how to get through to him without ripping open the gaping wound that seemed held together by a Band-Aid and avoidance. “It isn’t your fault that you survived, either.” I reached down and squeezed his hand, curling my fingers around him as though I could pull the pain from his body. I’d experienced my fair share of loss, but watching someone you loved punish himself and suffer was its own special brand of torture. I wanted to fix him; I just didn’t have the tools to do it.

Seconds passed, the night stretching between us, before Matt spoke.

“We could go around in circles about this, but we both know that you never would have been involved if not for me. You’re in this because of me. So don’t tell me I shouldn’t feel responsible.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

I’d forgotten how stubborn he could be; unfortunately, we had that in common as well.

“Look, I’ve been stabbed today and fainted. As fun as sitting here arguing about who’s responsible for this is at three a.m., can we save the fight for the morning? Or never. We have bigger problems, namely the fact that any proof I had about our fathers’ potential involvement in your unit’s ambush in Afghanistan is gone. And it’s not like I can get in touch with whoever was sending me the information in the first place. It’s kind of a one-way street there.”

Matt let out an oath, jerking his hand from mine, breaking the connection between us. He rose from the bed, six feet, two inches of fury, pacing the length of my bedroom like a caged panther. He stopped and faced off against me, hands on his hips, his expression seriously pissed.

The fact that I was becoming majorly turned on probably said a few things about me and my propensity to court trouble, but whatever. Matt in a good mood was hot; Matt in explosive mood was rare, but when it happened, I could never resist the urge to crash into him and give as good as I got.

“You’re joking, right?”

Oh yeah, my body was definitely awake now.

“You can’t be serious. After everything, after you were fucking stabbed, you honestly think the smart idea is to try to get in contact with this person? They’ve put you in the line of fire; the last thing you need is for them to send you more information.”

“Those papers are the only leverage I have.”

“Wrong. Those papers are a death sentence. You need to distance yourself from this. I don’t know, go out of town or something.”

“I have a job. One I worked my ass off to get.”

“Please tell me you applying to the CIA didn’t have anything to do with this, that you weren’t hoping you’d stumble upon some information about what happened to my unit.”

Ugh. He knew me too well.

“Me applying to the CIA didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“Is that really true?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“I forgot how stubborn you could be,” he muttered. “Although, I didn’t think you were this stupid.”

Oh, hell no.

He didn’t get the high ground here, not after everything that had happened between us. I might have been able to accept his reasoning for why he didn’t tell me he was still alive—even as I hated it—but his choice also meant he didn’t get to judge my choices. We all did what we had to in order to get by.

“Stupid? I’ve been taking care of myself for over three years. I’ve been on my own, doing just fine without you. You left. You didn’t bother telling me you were still alive, didn’t try to take me with you. You don’t get to judge my life choices or have an opinion on the decisions I’ve made. You gave up that right when you basically ended our engagement without any care for how I felt about it. I’m not an eighteen-year-old girl anymore. I don’t need you taking care of me, not that I really even needed it then.”

His brow rose, spiking my temper, the gesture having me vacillating between wanting to smack him or press my mouth to his and have my way with him.

“Really? Because in two days you’ve had your apartment broken into and been stabbed.”

“It’s not like I asked for those things to happen. Besides, I’m fine. I’m not going to pretend the last few days haven’t been rough, but you know what, I’m still here and I’m not backing down.”

“Maybe you didn’t ask for this, but you jumped in without looking, risking your life in the process. This isn’t a fucking game, Kate. Do you not get how high the stakes are? How far these people will go to get what they want? Do you really think either one of our fathers has any sentimentality where we’re concerned? If you get in their way, they will destroy you. Period. And don’t mistake it, you are in their fucking way.”