“I think I’d remember that,” she replied, rolling back to look at him. “David. It really is…Ow!” She sat upright nearly head butting him in the process. “Something’s stabby there.” She gestured around her back.

“Lie back down and let me see. And yes, it’s really me.”

She mumbled something into his pillow as he pulled up her shirt all the way to her shoulder. He grit his teeth. Molly had a line of glass shrapnel down her back. Nothing that he couldn’t deal with himself, maybe five shards, but still, he couldn’t believe she wasn’t screaming the hotel down. He needed to take advantage of the adrenaline while it was numbing her to the injury. “What did you say?”

She pulled herself to her elbows and turned to look at him over her shoulder. “I said, ‘You said you’d come for me.’”

“What?” He grabbed his first aid kit out of his bag and lightly pushed her back down. Grabbing a pair of forceps and gauze, he set about removing the glass.

She just groaned. Good job too. He’d heard what she said, and it bit him to his core. When he’d last seen her at the airport in Iraq, he’d told her that he’d come for her. They’d had such an intense connection, albeit totally platonic, that he’d been sure that he would be looking her up as soon as he got stateside. But his sober, in-recovery head had prevailed. He’d struggled when he got back stateside. He was hauled over the coals by the Feds and then became instrumental in bringing down the black-ops company he’d worked for.

He’d left the dark side, and maybe he should have found Molly, but something had held him back. He’d realized that she was better off without his fucked-up self hanging around. Now she was here, he couldn’t imagine how he’d convinced himself of that. How he’d stayed away for so long. She was still…perfect. Well, bleeding, obviously, but perfect nonetheless. He had to keep his head in the game. The original plan: stay away from her. He didn’t deserve her, and she definitely didn’t deserve a broken, ex-military guy with no foreseeable future. Especially since he’d just effectively deserted his post.

No. He had to keep her at arm’s length. The level of his attraction to her in Iraq had shocked him, rattled him to his core. But he’d been involved with such shady activities, he’d barely spoken to her. Barely spoken to anyone. Now, for sure, he was better. But the darkness still lurked. The memories of the deaths of friends, the nightmares, and cold sweats that came from nowhere. She’d never understand what he’d done. No one could.

He barely could.

The last of the glass was out, and he sprayed an antibiotic ointment over the little cuts, and fixed a makeshift bandage with gauze and tape. “There. Good as new. Kind of.”

She sat up. Shit, her face was so white.

“Are you going to pass out?” he asked, concerned.

He shoved her head between her legs and held her down with his hand between her shoulder blades. She relaxed beneath his hand, and he found himself stroking her shoulders.

Her head popped up. Followed by the rest of her. She was at the door before he had time to react. “Dr. Doubrov. I have to find him. It’s important.”

CHAPTER TWO

Molly felt for her pocket. The envelopes were still there, thank God. She opened the door, but David slammed it shut.

“I’ll just be a few minutes. I just have to see Dr. Doubrov. It’s important.”

“Is that the guy you were holding hands with? He was shot, sweetheart.” He frowned at her.

Molly took a moment. Yes. He’d fallen down. He’d been shot? “Who shot him?”

David was silent for a moment, and her gaze rested on his face.

David. Here.

Hell, he looked good. All these months waiting for him, and he was just here.

When she had first really laid eyes on him, she was peeking at him through a window as he took an impossible shot into a trailer and saved them. He’d been drunk, and impossible. And she’d wanted him so much. Wanted to save him, to make him feel better. To stomp on whatever demons were keeping him from participating in reality. To run her fingers through his short dark hair. His eyes had been so sad, and he’d seemed resigned. Like he’d already given up on life. In that second he’d broken her heart as he’d saved her life.

It hadn’t hurt that he was tall, and built in the way only a career combat military guy could be. Broad shouldered, with hard arms that she just wanted to be wrapped in. When his dark eyes had rested on hers, the hard lines on his face faded, and although his lips remained pressed into a hard line, his eyes had smiled at her. She thought. Maybe she hoped.

Right now, all she could think of was that she wanted to touch his face. To kiss him. To understand what had happened to him, and what had changed. And he had changed. He seemed more in control, sober, obviously. He spoke with a lower voice. Seemed less…something. She couldn’t put her finger on the change. Her hand reached out to him, but she snatched it back before she could touch him.

She was on a mission. She was supposed to destroy the envelope she didn’t use, but in the end she hadn’t had time to give him either of the messages, so she figured she should keep them, but everything was getting confused in her mind. Should she destroy them both? Is there someone else she should give the message to? She had to keep working through the problem. If she stopped, she feared she’d break down and might never be able to pull herself together. She didn’t want him to witness that. She clenched her fists.

“Who was he?” David asked.

“He’s the Russian minister of antiquities. Alexandre Doubrov. Why would someone…?”

“I have no idea,” he said, leading her back to the bed. “But you’re not going anywhere. There was no way he’d have been able to survive that shot. I’m sorry.”

She nodded but said nothing. He’d died right in front of her. Poor Alexandre. She had to get hold of Brandon to tell him she’d failed. But she wanted the whole picture before she called him. She yawned. Suddenly sleepy.

“So what have you been doing this past year?” David said, his voice seeming miles away.

Her mind immediately went to the airport at Iraq, as it had a million times before. He’d grabbed her and roughly pulled her into his arms, telling her that he would find her and come for her. Then he’d kissed her forehead hard and departed with his old team of explosive experts on a mission, leaving her to return to the states. Damn him.

“What have you been doing since we met last?” she asked sluggishly.

He sat across the room from her in an armchair. “Giving evidence, getting my shit back together, you know, the usual.” He dragged the chair closer to the bed, still keeping his distance.

Her mind wasn’t really in the room. She was picturing Alexandre’s face as he’d caught sight of her. How his face had lit up, happy to see her there. How he’d kissed her cheeks and then how he’d jumped, a little startled, when he’d felt the contraband being exchanged. And then…he’d been shot. In front of her. Was it because of her? Suddenly she realized she was cold. A few seconds later she was shivering uncontrollably. Her brain ceased to work…at least in any meaningful way. All she wanted to do was get warm.

“Get in.” David gestured to the bed. She didn’t need to be asked twice. The huge fluffy duvet was calling to her, but she couldn’t seem to move. “You’re probably going into shock, Molly.” She felt his hands pushing her down.

“How back together is your shit, then?” she mumbled, fast losing the threads of consciousness.

“Not very,” his voice came from far away.

When she awoke, David was asleep in the armchair. She bit back a groan as she sat up. Her cuts stung like a motherfucker. She’d been cut by the vase, which had been shattered by the guy who’d shot her friend. She took a steadying breath. Okay. She could do this. Her country had asked her to step up, and she’d tried her best. But she wasn’t done. She hadn’t failed…yet.