Page 41 of Luck Be Mine
“He told me I could call, and he’d walk me through it.”
She leaned forward and studied the papers on the table.
All the places tagged for her to sign were marked with neon pink sticky tabs. All neat and insulting. Hunt sorted the other pages. “Retirement fund, insurance, and VA info, and this.” He separated the edges of the letter and pulled it out, then handed it to her.
She took the letter, read the page, stopped, went back to the top and read again. Hysterical laughter erupted. She threw the letter at him. “Jesus.”
“What?”
Hunt scanned the page. His eyes widened, flash anger striking like lightning.The CIA wants to recruit her, and could she contact them at her earliest convenience?
She rose and paced from one end of the kitchen to the other.
“What the fuck is this?” Hunt scraped deep to contain the eruption of his temper with little success.
“How the hell should I know?” She stopped in front of the sink. She bent at the waist as if sick and leaned her forehead on the edge of the counter.
He tossed the letter on the table. “Dammit, Cait, that’s my world and I don’t want you in it.”
She jerked upright and whipped around. “What exactly do you mean?”
Hunt had shifted to his mean face. He knew it. Couldn’t stop it. “Just what I said.”
“Perfect. Is QM out, also?”
“Cait, wait.”
“No, leave it.” She hobbled away from him and down the hall. The bedroom door closed with a quiet click. The shower turned on.
She didn’t argue. She didn’t slam the door. She didn’t ask for help.
“Jesus, Hunter.” Hunt stayed seated, his eyes closed, jaw clenched.
§§§§§§§§§§
◊ First Fight, Second Chance ◊
Combat awareness woke him from deep sleep. Alert, he took a few seconds to orient himself. The fresh, soft sheets smelled of sweet apple blossom and lavender. There was none of Doogie’s snoring, and he had no weapon. He stretched a hand to find Cait. Her side of the bed was empty and cold.
She’d been asleep when he’d finally come to bed. A fight, if you could call it that, was inevitable, but not over this. He’d been tempted to stay on the sofa, but he didn’t want Cait any angrier with him than she was, and their red sofa would forever not be the answer. Their shared bed was a safe, sacred place. To find her asleep when he came to bed settled some things and solved nothing.
Darkness shrouded the room, the bedroom door edged to closed. Light from the living room gave him a clue to her whereabouts. He looked at his watch. Three a.m. This time of night he knew.
He swung out of bed. Back at the start of their relationship, he’d understood they had the potential to badly hurt each other. It sucked to be the first one to do the dirty deed. He was going to have to learn not to be so damn protective, but he did not want his tough world for her. It was a dangerous, soul-crushing, and violent place to live.
However, he hadn’t used the right words, and he saw the hurt crush her before she could blank her face. He didn’t say sorry easily. The words were a trigger from his ugly childhood. But he owed her one. He slipped into a pair of athletic shorts and went quietly into the living room on bare feet.
Cait stretched on a purple swirled mat in the midst of the crowded living room floor. The pose challenged the muscles around her freshly healed hip. Her eyes closed, she pulled in a deep breath and released. Not sure what he should do, given the rockiness from earlier, he stayed still. Her determination, strength, and focus showed in the discipline of the pose. Pride in her washed over him. He should tell her so.
Her eyes popped open. She tilted her head and gazed at him. “Hey.”
“I’m proud of you.” He kept his voice quiet in keeping with the dark of night.
She dropped her head, closing her eyes again. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”
She kept her struggles to herself, and he was guilty of letting her. “What are you doing awake?”
“It’s like this sometimes. Dark of night, dreams, anxiety, headache. I have to move.”
