Page 68 of Once a Killer

The minutes ticked by, and he began to jiggle his leg. Was she going to hide in her room until he gave up and went to bed? He stood up to knock on the door, then forced himself to sit down.

She’d had a rough experience tonight. Whatever had happened with Larrimore and Kingsley hadn’t been trivial. Based on how she’d reacted to the sight of them, it had been traumatic. Painful. Difficult. He wondered if it had changed the trajectory of her life, and suspected it had.

So he stayed on the couch, bouncing his knee. Dug his fingers into the couch to stop himself from going to her door. It felt like she’d been in that room for hours.

He was about to stand up and knock on the door when it opened and she stepped into the living area. She wore a long white tee shirt and a pair of navy blue pajama pants. She carefully set the gun in her right hand on the end table before she sat down beside him.

Within reach. Not as close as he wanted.

She stared at the glass of scotch on the coffee table, and he nudged it toward her. “I know you don’t drink on an assignment, but this is an unusual situation. I put it there so you could take a sip if you wanted one.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“This isn’t ‘on the job’” he said. “This is you recovering from a painful, traumatic incident.” He nudged it a little closer. “One sip isn’t going to hurt anything.”

She drew a deep shuddering breath, then closed her eyes. Nodded. It looked as if her anger had turned to cold resolve.

She picked up the glass, and the amber liquid sloshed up the sides. Was she nervous about telling him her story? Or was she still that shook up over seeing the two men?

She took one tiny sip. Swallowed, then took another and set the glass back on the table. Drew a deep breath and swiveled to face him.

He didn’t like that -- it put her farther away from him. So he lifted her legs and draped them across his lap. Then wrapped his arm around her and tucked her against him. He stroked her thighs and dropped a kiss on her head. “Are you comfortable?”

She drew in a shuddering breath. Blew it out. Then looked at him and smiled. “I’m very comfortable,” she said. “Are you?”

“More comfortable than I think I’ve ever been.” He smoothed one hand over her left thigh, then cupped her knee. The bones were hard, and smooth against his palm, and with his thumb he caressed her kneecap. Back and forth, a language of touch, telling her over and over, ‘I’m here. I’ve got you.’ “Tell me as much or as little as you like,” he finally said.

Staring down at his hand on her knee, she nodded. Swallowed. Cleared her throat. “Larrimore was the captain in charge of the base where I was stationed in Afghanistan,” she began. “The base was surrounded by small villages, and our purpose there was to shut down Taliban and Al Qaeda activity in the area.” She stared at his hand on her knee and covered his, tightened her fingers against him.

“This is the hard part,” she whispered, then swallowed. Turned to look away from him. “I was a sniper,” she finally said, still not looking at him. “I didn’t go into the Marines thinking that’s what I’d do, but during training, I did really well with the long guns. So they sent me to sniper school.”

Her hand began trembling on his knee, and he set his other hand over hers, trapping her fingers between both his hands. He wanted to reassure her, but he let her speak instead. He wanted her to get it out.

“My job was to protect our troops,” she said, sliding her fingers between his. “My targets were people wearing explosive vests, and people burying IED’s. Occasionally I was in a tower at the base, but mostly I was on a roof in one of the villages.”

He slid his hand out from between hers and wrapped his arms around her. Tugged her onto his lap completely and tightened his hold on her. “How awful for you.”

She stared at one of his hands, but he didn’t think she saw him. “It was,” she said, and her gaze was far away. Back in Afghanistan. “This one time, I was on a roof in a village. The roof was covered with tar paper, and the sun was beating down. It was boiling hot up there. I was sweating so much that the salt ran down my face and stung my eyes.”

She swallowed, but he was sure she didn’t see him. “I saw this guy squat on the road. Dig a hole, and I knew he was burying an IED. So I took aim. He turned, as though he’d sensed someone was watching. I pulled the trigger. The guy’s face was there, and then it wasn’t.” She shuddered. “I was doing my job. Protecting my teammates. But it was hard watching that young man die.” She drew in juddering breath. “I really hated what I had to do.”

She swallowed and stared far into the distance.

He wanted to ask for more details about her job but knew it would be painful for her to drag them to the surface. So instead, he said, “The guy you were caught in bed with. He was a sniper, too?”

She nodded. “Yeah, we often worked together. Protecting each other’s backs. He always wanted to take the shot, but he missed a lot of them. I cleaned up for him.”

“And he ratted on you because he was jealous of that?”

Bree sighed. “I’m not sure why. I was happy letting him take the shots. But half the time, yes, I cleaned up for him. I guess that’s why he was angry. I hurt his pride.”

“So Larrimore was your CO. Did you get along with him?”

He felt her tense before she said, “Yeah, we got along just fine. Until after David and I were caught. He grounded both of us, pending a hearing, so we both spent a lot of time on the base.” She drew in a deep breath. “I didn’t have anything to do, so I spent most of my time reading. Watching the guys on the base. And I saw something I shouldn’t have seen.”

He tightened his arms around her. “What was that?”

“I saw Larrimore with a guy who wasn’t an Afghan. That’s why I noticed him. He had blond hair. He was taller than the Afghans. More muscular. And he spoke Russian.”

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