Page 76 of Lock ’N’ Load

She wasn’t a psych major, but even she understood the underlying issue. He was so guilt-ridden, he didn’t think he deserved anything good in his life. For twenty years, he’d been torturing himself over Jerry’s death, carrying around a pain so deeply ingrained it was slowly but surely killing him.

He’d already told her plainly he didn’t want her sympathy, but her heart went out to him just the same. Not in pity, she realized. But she was equally certain he would never let her in until he could set aside the guilt and start living for himself.

As things stood right now, there wasn’t a single part of his life that was devoted to his own happiness. His job was to protect others, and in his spare time, he’d been working on Jerry’s Place to help others, not him. She understood his need to create the nonprofit. It accomplished several things he wanted so desperately. To do good for others in need, to memorialize his friend, and to assuage his guilt. Clearly, the last part wasn’t working, and she doubted it ever could.

Sheba walked at Matt’s side, constantly looking up at him for his next command. The animal was the only other woman in his life. The dog was devoted to him, and she could both see and sense their inherent bond. He would do anything for her, and she for him. That was love.

Her heart clenched, with both joy and sadness. What if he didn’t let her in? What if he couldn’t allow himself to ever love anyone?

As Matt and Sheba came toward her, only one thing was certain. She was head over heels in love with a man who might never be capable of loving her back.

…

Somewhere outside Washington, D.C.

The delicate China cup rattled on the saucer as she sipped her tea. Not even her habitual afternoon Earl Grey could settle the acid churning in her stomach or the fear that now kept her awake night after night.

Things were spiraling out of control, and she had to take matters into her own hands. Setting the cup onto the elegant, inlaid-wood coffee table, she shook her head in disbelief. Their entire world was about to crumble down around them because of some slip-up she must have made. Billy and his family would suffer the most and that was unthinkable. It was…unacceptable.

She glanced down at her perfectly manicured nails and clenched her hands in disgust. Her boy had come too far for the damned Russians to destroy everything he’d accomplished. This was his chance—his dream—and she’d be damned if anyone would stand in his way or undermine the very fabric of who and what he’d become.

There was only one thing to do. Billy might not agree with what she was about to set in motion, but it had to be done.

With trembling fingers, she picked up the phone and dialed.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Before Trista knew it, another week had passed.

After they’d gotten home, Matt had checked in with Buck, but there’d been nothing new to report. She assumed Hentz had informed Wayne and Genevieve that they’d been at Thomas George’s house and that the reporter was dead. From online newspaper accounts, George’s killer was still at large. There’d been no mention of any suspects nor were there any leads for the police to follow up on. She’d expected a serious reprimand from the agency about her and Matt sticking their noses where they didn’t belong, and they’d both gotten it.

The message Buck had delivered to her from Wayne was that if she didn’t stay put, she’d be thrown into protective custody whether she liked it or not. Matt had received a similar tongue-lashing from Buck, along with the reiteration to keep their heads low and he’d be in touch soon.

Soon can’t come soon enough.

Since returning from West Virginia, they’d slept in separate beds every night and had minimal yet civil conversation. He seemed to be avoiding her, going out of his way to put physical distance between them but still remain close enough that he’d be there quickly should something happen. On more than one occasion over the past week, she’d caught him staring at her with an intensity that made her toes curl. There was heat in his gaze, and if she didn’t know better, she’d even go so far as to call it desire.

Probably my own wishful thinking.

Even Matt’s friends had detected the cold chill between them, especially Nick. His sharp gray eyes didn’t miss a beat, and while he hadn’t come right out and asked, she suspected he knew she and Matt had made love.

All the other men were out on one pre-election detail after another, and she missed them, especially Nick. Over the past week, they’d become friends. Probably, she guessed, because out of all them she sensed he was closest to Matt, and he’d gone out of his way to make her feel comfortable. Including giving her some instruction in self-defense.

Upon their return from West Virginia, she’d initially asked Matt to assist her. When he declined with no explanation as to why, Nick had stepped up. That was until Matt caught them grappling on the living room floor with Nick’s muscular arms wrapped around her neck. From that moment on, Matt had taken over, but his instruction had been detached, as if he didn’t want to be near her.

Sometimes she wished she could have fallen for Nick instead. Unlike Matt, Nick seemed to be capable of tolerating her company. Unfortunately, he didn’t evoke the same physical or chemical attraction she had to Matt, even though with his sandy-blond hair and gorgeous gray eyes, he was striking enough to be on the cover of a magazine. And beneath that whole hard-ass cop thing Nick had going on, she was convinced he was really a sweetheart.

She stared at the computer screen, massaging her temples. Breaking into the reporter’s password-encrypted files was vastly more difficult than she’d anticipated, but she was close. Another few hours and she ought to have the password.

Poofy jumped onto the desk next to Matt’s laptop and mewed, nuzzling her arm. Taking a break, she gathered the cat in her arms and held him close. The low rumble of his purr resonating against her chest was a welcome comfort.

The kitchen door shut, and Matt’s boots clumped as he walked into the office. Poofy scrambled from her arms back onto the desk. When she looked up, she found Matt scrutinizing her intently again in that way she’d become accustomed to over the past week, and her heart beat a little faster with the fervent hope that he still wanted her as much as she wanted him.

“I put Sheba up in the kennel,” he said as he wiped sweat from his brow. “I’m heading upstairs for a shower.”

Disappointment swamped her, and she prayed the pathetic longing she experienced every time she saw him wasn’t written all over her face.

His boots clumped up the stairs. From the dampness of his shirt and pants, he and Sheba must have gotten in another heavy training session. To counter all the mushy stuff you’re doing to my dog, he’d said.