Damien leveled his frigid stare on her, but she was too enraged to squirm.
“Don’t make it personal,” he ordered icily.
Frustrated, fighting tears, Laurie shouted. “Of course it’s personal! He dragged us into this, turned our lives upside down, put Stacy in danger. You’re a psycho if you think I’m not going to take it personally!”
“Snap out of it!” Damien barked the command. “Get control of yourself! Hysterics won’t do you or Stacy any good.”
Laurie jerked back as though he had slapped her. Her eyes narrowed. Rigid determination held her in place. For an instant, she only wanted to claw him. But he was right. Personal business had to wait until Stacy was safely home. She faced Damien with a deceptive air of glacial calm.
“Now what?” she demanded coldly. “Sit and wait?”
Inside she fumed and despaired. Her whole life was apparently founded on lies.
“More or less,” he replied calmly, once more the professional soldier as he studied her through speculative brown eyes.
ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening
16
How did he do that, she wondered irately. How did he turn off emotions like that? She envied him the ability. Or did he actually feel any emotions? She remembered the tragedy in his eyes and how quickly it had disappeared.
“Unless someone finds us, we shouldn’t have to do anything,” he continued. Something flickered in his eyes. He scowled in disgust.
Laurie studied him suspiciously. He was keeping something from her and seemed disgusted not to be in the middle of the action. Anger slowly drained from her, leaving exhaustion in its wake, along with a storm of mixed emotions. She leaned on the table, needing the support.
“Get some sleep, Laurie,” he suggested. “It’s been a long day.” His expression softened for a moment, his gaze lingering on her face. “In more ways than one.”
She nodded wearily and stumbled up to the loft. Mentally and physically exhausted, she crawled into the remaining twin bed. Curling on her side, she pulled the blanket to her chin.
Though she was bone tired, everything she had learned whirled in her head, kept sleep at bay, until she dozed fitfully with disturbing dreams.
* * * *
Damien stared out the window into darkness and scowled at his reflection. He hated this highly unorthodox mission. Using a civilian in a mission went against everything he knew and believed. He snorted in disgust. Such a thing was unheard of in Navy SEAL history. He curled his hand into a fist on the wall beside him.
Her image slid easily into his mind. Her eyes had sparked emerald fire at him but he had also seen the turbulent swirl of raw emotions behind the anger. Every word, every shred of evidence, had torn apart whatever illusions she built her life on and it was his responsibility. He leaned his forehead on the cold glass and let out a ragged breath.
He wanted to hold her, to soothe her, and that shocked him. Women were nothing but sex partners for him—at least for the last several years. He frowned at his uncharacteristic urges. He could not feel anything for her, did not want to care for her. He was supposed to train her not lust after her. An untrained, emotional woman could get a lot of good men killed. He glared at his reflection then turned and stalked away.
“Hell and damnation,” he muttered as he switched off the lights and locked the door.
“Train a woman in only a week to wage war? I’m a Navy SEAL not a babysitter.”
Muttering under his breath, he put his gun on the small end table by the end of the sofa, stripped to his underwear, and climbed into bed. With the blanket pulled to his chest he lay on his back and glared at the ceiling.
“Christ!” he continued his angry muttering. “I can teach her to use a gun, train her to fight, but I can’t give her the instincts—not in a week.”
“Just get the job done,” he finally told himself just before exhaustion dragged him into tormented painful dreams, nightmares he had experienced for years. Almost twelve years ago, he had been a greenhorn—young and impressionable. Now he was a thirty-two year old combat veteran who lived only for the next mission.
* * * *
Sometime in the early morning hours, Laurie’s eyes snapped open. She listened intently and wondered irately what had dragged her out of sleep for the second time in as many nights.
She groaned in the dark and rolled over. Damien could deal with whatever had woken her.
ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening
17
Moans and groans drifted up the stairs and caught her attention. She tried but could not close her mind to it. She slipped out of bed, pulled the blanket around her, and tiptoed downstairs. The moans were interspersed by unintelligible commands and stifled yells.