“I’m not going in there.” I fold my arms across my chest.
Without words, he grips my forearm, hauling me from the vehicle with his good hand. We end up pressed together, my heart beating against his, and memories of us together flood me. His hand finds its way to the small of my back, the slight sensation sending tingles up my spine. Liam’s gaze lingers on my lips before returning to my eyes. He leans into me, licking his lips, causing my breath to hitch.
I blink to break our concentration and jerk from his hold. “If you touch me again, you’ll regret it.” I clutch my arms around myself in an attempt to keep him away from me.
He gives me a wicked grin and steps aside, allowing me to pass then shuts the door. Scraping metal is heard behind me as he grabs our things from the hood. Liam strides around me, leading the way onto the creaky porch. After a moment, the door flies open, and he reaches along the wall for the light, stomping the snow from his boots and proceeding inside. I stand in the doorway, peering around the room, unsure if I should enter. He called this his safe house, but it looks more like a drug den. There’s dust everywhere, and all the furniture looks like it’s been here since the sixties.
“You rather freeze to death out there than to come in?” he asks sarcastically with his back to me.
I roll my eyes, annoyed at the nerve of him. But he’s right, it’s way too cold to be this stubborn. I cave and slowly step through the threshold, closing the door behind me and locking it. Spotting a wooden chair in the far corner, I go to it because the couch looks suspicious. Liam disappears behind a wall, I assume to another room, and comes back with a clean shirt draped halfway on his body.
“Can I ask you to change the dressings, please?” He holds my medical bag out to me.
I huff, plant my palms on my thighs, and stand. “Sure.” I walk forward and take it from him.
He leads me into the kitchen where the lighting is brightest and sits in an uneven chair at the dirty dining table. I place the kit down and open it to remove my supplies. I peel the blood-soaked bandages from his shoulder, the tape snagging at the fine hairs around the wound, and he winces. Darting my gaze to the side of his face, I inhale deep while moving on with my task. I clean his injury, and watch his expressions, wondering how he got here. He runs a hand down his naked chest, and I follow it, my gaze landing on the strip of hair peeking out from his jeans. He looks good, I think to myself. Better than he did when we were together. He’s always been a handsome guy, with an okay body. But what I see now is a tight, toned chest that’s covered with specks of blood. I must linger in thought too long because Liam clears his throat and asks if I’m all right.
“Yes,” I respond, snapping out of my daydream and finish applying new dressings.
He thanks me while pulling the shirt over his body. I nod and rub my growling stomach. He acknowledges the sound, peering at my hand, and stands.
Liam walks to the fridge and pries it open. “There isn’t much here since we don’t use this place often. But we do have water and I think some canned foods.” He takes out a half-empty gallon and lifts it over his mouth. Without letting it touch his lips, he pours and swallows.
I watch his Adam’s apple shift and quickly turn away when our eyes meet again. He hands it out to me, and I do the same, taking several swigs of the liquid to coat my dry mouth. I have my fill, and place it back where he’d gotten it, while he raids the cabinets.
“Bingo,” he says, showing me two cans of ravioli. He opens the next cupboard where he finds a single glass bowl and spoon, just sitting there. “It’s not much. But I can pop these in the oven. We’ll need to share the spoon and bowl, though.”
I shrug.
He unclips the knife from his belt and bangs its point into each can until they’re both opened. Once done, he uses a little of the cold water to rinse out the dish before pouring in the food and placing it in the oven. As he works, I wonder why he didn’t use sink water then realize that the pipes are probably rusty. Twenty minutes or so passes and he removes our steaming-hot dinner using his old shirt to keep from burning his hands.
“Ladies first.” He holds the spoon out to me, and I take it.
I sit in the wobbly chair and devour the food. It’s been years since I’ve had Chef Boyardee, but right now, this tastes like the best meal I’ve had in awhile. I take a few more bites then slide the bowl across the table to him. I allow him to eat, giving myself time to try and make sense of things.
“How long are you going to keep me here?”
He sits the glass on the counter and rubs a hand over his face. “However long it takes to ensure you’re safe.” He pauses and bends down to remove a small black duffle from the bottom cabinet. Dropping it on the table, he continues. “There’s a bed in the back. You should get some rest.”
Liam sorts through the bag and takes out an off-brand mobile device. It has a silver back and a full touch screen. I watch as he punches in a text then he stuffs it into his back pocket. Next, he retrieves a handgun and pulls the other from his waistband, checking to be sure they are both fully loaded. I pay close attention to the way he handles each weapon and must admit, I am impressed. I know he’s an FBI agent, but the way he pops the clips and reloads it with such speed and precision feels like more. I’m no expert, never even fired a gun, but I’ve never seen or heard of a federal agent being that skilled with a pistol.
I think back to how calm he was tonight, not blinking or flinching a bit when he killed those men. Even with one arm, he held his composure and didn’t miss one shot.
“Where did you learn to handle firearms like that?”
He removes a cloth from the bag and wipes each barrel. “Before I became an agent, I served as a Marine, Special Ops.” He looks at me, his features stiff and serious.
I huff and roll my eyes. “Of course you did.” I glance away, only to snap my gaze back a second later. “Is anything you’ve told me about you true?”
He stops what he’s doing, giving me his undivided attention. “I don’t know how many ways I can say I’m sorry. If I could have told you my real name, and what I was doing, I would have.”
“You’re telling me now, which makes me think you could have then. You just…didn’t trust me.” My voice cracks.
“No, it’s the complete opposite. I haven’t trusted anyone as much as I trust you since leaving the Marines. And I wanted more than anything to be open with you, but you’ve got to understand that it’s the nature of the job.”
“Then you should have stayed away. It wasn’t fair for you to come into my life knowing you could never be true to me and now getting me mixed up in all of this.”
“You don’t mean that, Lotus.” He sits the guns down and walks toward me.
I jump up from my seat, backing up to keep him from getting too close. “I’ve asked you not to call me that.”
“My bad. Force of habit. But I get this is hard to grasp. You’ve got to know I truly did—do love you. And I’m going to get us out of this mess.” His hand drops to his side.
“When? I don’t want to be here; I don’t want to be near you. I just want to go home.” Tears line the crevices of my eyes, but I blink them away.