“You wanted to take something back to them,” she reminds me. “If you’ve got time, why not stay here and we’ll put our heads together and come up with a plan? These things have been simmering for four years, there’s no rush to solve them now.” Her eyes soften. “You need to have answers. You’re never going to move forward unless you stop looking back.”
I chuckle again, but this time it’s without mirth. “What if I can’t?”
“I’ll help. Look, I don’t know anything about being a SEAL. I don’t know how a computer works except by turning it on and off and getting frustrated when stuff doesn’t work. But I’m a good listener, and I know what makes people tick.”
I turn away, bowing my head and rubbing at my temples. Vaguely I’m aware Cat’s resumed what she’s doing to give me some time.
Finally, I have my thoughts in order. “The backstop if I can’t come up with anything to take to the club is I could stay here. Start some sort of business.” I shrug. “If they declare me out bad, it might be option B in any event.” I raise my head, but not toward her. Instead I stare out of the window. “Two months, Cat. That’s what I think we’ve got. Let’s use them wisely.” Now I turn directly to her and wink. “I’ll give you my cock, and you give me your help.”
“That, mister,” she points a finger at me, “is a bargain I can’t turn down.”
I snort. “I’d best get those steaks grilling. Gotta feed my woman so she’s got stamina tonight.”
21
Cat…
Even before Weston reappeared in my life, I’d known I was living here on borrowed time. The ghosts had such a tight hold on me that I couldn’t see past keeping my family home. It had been built by my great-grandfather and now I was the last of the line. How could I turn my back on my heritage?
I had no choice, knew I’d have to move on eventually. Maybe I was just waiting for a man like Finn to enter my life, or at least something that would give me a proverbial kick in the ass.
I like Finn, a lot. I think I love him, though I try to tell myself it’s too early for that. Daily, I’m learning more about him.
Our relationship is already comfortable, both in and out of bed. Even if this isn’t forever, he might help me move on. Utah? I’ve never considered that state, but as I told him, a nurse could be a nurse anywhere, and all I’d need to get is a license for that state.
Finn’s broken, I’m not blind to that. A therapist would say it went back to being abandoned by his mother and never having the real support of his dad. He doesn’t trust anyone. Is it too late for him to learn?
If I abandon my home and go with him, am I setting myself up for a world of hurt? Or would it be the start of an adventure?
I may be the stupidest woman in the world, but I want to help him. Maybe it’s because I haven’t been subjected to what makes him Stormy, or maybe, I keep that side of him down.
He’s promised to help me out by making the farmhouse an attractive property to sell, and in return I’ll assist him in finding answers. While I may have doubts about my contribution, I can be a sounding board if nothing else.
It’s not as if I’m rushing into anything. I can change my mind anytime.
Finn and I have already gotten into a kind of routine, and it’s that we continue, the only difference being, we share the same bed. He does odd jobs around the farm while I sort out the horse and chickens, and start the slow process of going through all the stuff in the house. My chores take the longest, and I’m often to be found sitting staring at a photograph album or memento with tears flooding down my cheeks. More than once I’ve come back to myself with Finn’s arms wrapped around me. He sits silent, saying nothing at all until I lay that particular ghost to rest.
Sometimes I feel guilty. I had a childhood that I can look back on with tears now, but which I know will bring me comfort in the future. Finn has none.
Steak is surprisingly not the limit to Finn’s repertoire of food. Having fended for himself most of his life, he’s no stranger in the kitchen, and while it can’t be classed as gourmet food, it’s more than edible. Despite my fears about a biker’s misogynistic reputation, he doesn’t expect me to wait on him hand and foot.
After we’ve eaten, Finn normally settles himself at the desk where my PC is set up, opening his laptop there too. It’s then he disappears into his own world, sometimes not emerging for hours as he delves deeper into whatever database he’s exploring next.
Another month has passed, almost without me noticing. I glance up from my book, seeing Finn’s hands are raised in the air as he stretches. Standing, I cross over to him and rest my hands on his shoulders.
As I begin to give him a massage, I ask, “Getting anywhere?”
“Well, I’ve just found out that one of my old team members didn’t die.”
“What?”
He points to the screen. It shows a picture from the news of a team of six SEALs. “That’s what I saw on the news report at the time, but it must have been an old photo, and the news got its wires crossed. Gun,” he points to a photo, “well, he didn’t sign up for the last tour. There was another man who died. I’d always assumed he was dead. But Gun, or Jeffrey Morgan, is very much alive.”
“Suspicious?”
One of his hands covers mine. “I’m suspicious about everyone. But maybe in this case without basis. He’d done his time.”
“Can you track him down?”
“That’s what I’ve been doing. He’s got a job in security, but whoever he’s protecting now is classified.”
“Hidden from you?”
Now he sits forward again. “Not for long. I doubt it’s anything, but it’s worth investigating. If anything, it would be useful to talk to him. He was around when everything went down.”
Frowning, I ask, “Why didn’t you know he hadn’t died with the rest? Wouldn’t he have gotten into contact with you?”
He shrugs. “Being a SEAL was all that I wanted from life. When I got kicked out, I didn’t want any reminders of what I’d lost. Tailor, apart from Pooh, was the one I was closest to. He tried to keep in touch, but I blew him off. It was he who contacted me to tell me about Nazia.” He thinks for a moment. “Even Tailor didn’t know I’d joined the Satan’s Devils, and didn’t know where I was. All he had was my phone number. On my part, I didn’t ask about the team, and he didn’t tell me Gun hadn’t re-signed up. I don’t think Gun ever forgave me for getting Pooh killed, so he would never have contacted me himself.”
The lines on my brow deepen. “I’ve listened to your story, Finn. You’ve told it a few times. But there’s one thing I can’t get straight.”
“What?” As always, he turns, his eyes focused on me. It’s one more thing I like about him—he never discounts I might have anything to add. Even, when most times, I don’t. When he tells me why an idea doesn’t have legs, that too appears useful, as it seems to help him get things straight in his head.
“Pooh was with you. He was there when you set the explosives.” I try to put my thoughts into words. “Did he have a headset too? Could he hear what Smythe had to say?”