Page 26 of Near Miss

Nathan chuckled. “No wonder your aim was crappy at the shooting range. You need to get laid.”

Lachlan tossed his pal a one-fingered salute. “Piss off. Are you going to drive or not?”

His gesture only made Nathan laugh harder. “Don’t get your panties in a wad, amigo.” Still chuckling, Nathan turned out of Lachlan’s apartment complex in Arlington and headed in the direction that would take them toward Reston’s town center.

The gallery had packed his new acquisition in a wooden crate, making him grateful he’d corralled Nathan into lending his truck and his muscles to get it home and up to his eleventh-floor apartment.

After they’d hung the painting in his living room over his brown leather sofa, they stepped back to admire their work. The piece of art dominated the small space, the emotions of the men charging into battle leaping off the canvas with dramatic tension.

“It’s quite the statement piece. Not bad.” Nathan nodded his head in approval. “At least now you have something on the wall. I don’t mean to be rude, amigo, but I’ve seen cheap roadside motels with more personality than your place.”

Lachlan looked around his apartment. He had a bed to sleep in, a small table with four chairs to eat at in the small dining nook, and a couch to sit on in the living area. The sixty-five-inch flat-screen TV on the wall opposite the sofa had been an indulgence, though he hardly ever turned it on.

Viewing it through Nathan’s eyes, he supposed it looked a bit sterile. “It’s a rental,” he offered, as if that was a valid reason when the truth was he didn’t care what his living quarters looked like. Adding bits of fluff wouldn’t keep his nightmares at bay or make him feel like he belonged in this city.

His job allowed him to return to Afghanistan. Once he’d taken care of his unfinished business there, he didn’t know if he’d stay in the States, return to Scotland, or throw a dart at a map and see where it took him. He did enjoy working with his security teams, all former military men. It reminded him of what he’d lost when he’d left the SAS. Maybe he’d form his own security company somewhere. Start over.

For some reason, an image of Sophia popped into his head when he contemplated a normal existence.

“What brought that frown to your ugly mug?” Nathan’s comment reminded him he wasn’t alone.

“Nothing, pal. Dinner’s on me. There’s a decent steakhouse around the corner.”

Nathan slapped him on the shoulder, humor brightening his icy eyes. “You know just how to woo me, you handsome stud.”

Lachlan’s lips tilted. “Arsehole.”

Chapter Twelve

AsilverBMW.

Again.

Sophia double-checked the rearview mirror on her Prius. The man behind the wheel looked the same. Dark hair, mirrored sunglasses. She split her focus between the road ahead and the car behind. Her shoulders relaxed when she turned into the office parking garage, and the BMW continued past. Plenty of people made the same commute up Duke Street, she wasn’t sure why she kept noticing this guy.

Maybe because the situation with Lachlan had her nerves on a tightrope. He definitely was hiding something.

Who was the man he’d met with at the art gallery reception? She should have snapped that photo and sent it to Admiral Dane.

And why, with all of Lachlan’s secrets, did her brain keep replaying the kiss they’d shared that set her blood on fire? The kind you read about but didn’t believe happened anywhere except in a novel or movie. Swoon-worthy.

Until whatever haunted him had taken over and he’d frozen, trapped in a memory.

She managed to banish thoughts of the silver car and Lachlan most of the morning and get her work done, but “the kiss” snuck back into her head during her walk to the Metro for her meetings on Capitol Hill. Lachlan’s normal icy control hadn’t just cracked, it had shattered. His tongue had branded her, his hand on her breast possessive, his hard length pressed into her stomach, filling her with a heady sense of feminine power she’d never experienced before.

The sun shone brightly from a cloudless blue sky as she crossed over busy Duke Street and strolled down the brick sidewalk on Diagonal Road toward the King Street-Old Town Metro Station. Her mood upbeat, she donned her shades and sang the lyrics to a Rihanna song under her breath as it streamed through her earbuds.

Fingers of unease danced across her shoulders, whispering of a presence at her back. She glanced over her shoulder. A dark-haired man in black slacks, red shirt, and sunglasses, strolled behind her. Something about him jarred her senses like two discordant notes, but she couldn’t put her finger on why.

She took out her ear buds and picked up her pace. The Metro station was only a couple of blocks away.

When she reached the station, she swiped her card and hurried up the escalator to the platform just as the yellow line pulled in. The doors hissed open, disgorging a few scattered passengers.

She made a beeline for the nearest train car and stepped in as the door chime sounded.

Her sigh of relief was short-lived. An arm thrust through the closing doors, and the stranger forced his way into the car.

The bass drum of her heart almost drowned out the train’s automated scold.

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