Solitary Soldier. Debra Webb

      He repressed the painful memory. That was a long time ago. He would not think about the past today.

      The images beyond the window slowly came into focus, bringing Sloan back to the here and now. Rachel needed him and he couldn’t turn his back on her. No matter that each time he looked at her son the agony he had spent seven long years burying was resurrected. As Sloan watched, Rachel, wearing the T-shirt and sweats Pablo had selected, knelt before her son and threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. She drew back and brushed the tousled hair from his face and kissed his nose. Sloan turned away.

      He had to keep the past out of the present. Remaining focused would be impossible if he allowed those demons to escape the tightly compartmentalized place he had banished them to all those years ago. Sloan thought briefly of Victoria. His life then, his work with the agency seemed so far away. Almost like someone else’s history. Victoria had sent this woman to him, Sloan owed it to Victoria to do what he could. She, of all people, understood this level of urgency.

      He owed it to himself to take Angel down.

      The concept of intense physical training during Rachel’s stay here had been borne of necessity. In her current condition, Rachel was as helpless as Josh when it came to defending herself. She needed to build up her strength and endurance, otherwise she would only be a liability when Angel showed up. That wasn’t really the issue here. Sloan would deal with Angel.

      But until that time came Sloan needed a distraction, or else he would lose what was left of his mind, then he would be a liability…

      Just like before.

      SLOAN WAS WAITING in the kitchen leaning against the counter when Rachel, breathless from a few minutes of play with Josh, rushed through the door a full fifteen minutes later than he had instructed.

      “Ten-thirty means ten-thirty, Miss Larson. This isn’t Club Med, and playtime with the kiddies is not on the agenda.”

      He was PO’d. Impatience and irritation radiated from him like heat rising off that long stretch of desert highway she had traveled by bus from Chihuahua to Florescitaf. He clearly resented her choosing Josh over his orders. His sandy-colored hair was pulled back, revealing the lines and angles of his handsome face.

      “I’m sorry,” she offered. “I wanted to check on Josh.”

      “Pablo will see to your son while you’re training.”

      Rachel started to argue, then thought better of it. No point in antagonizing the man the first day. “I’ll remember that,” she promised. “But you will have to remember that I can’t pretend my son isn’t here,” she added, intending to make her point whether she argued or not.

      Ignoring her last statement, Sloan gestured to the table. “Coffee or water.” Both sat on the table, ready to be consumed. “You can eat after this morning’s workout. Tomorrow we’ll start at six in the morning.”

      Six o’clock? Trying not to grimace, she pulled out a chair and sat down. Choosing the water over the coffee, Rachel took a long sip. “What’re we going to do first?” she asked in hopes of making conversation. Anything was better than his brooding silence.

      His gaze intent on hers, he pulled out the chair directly across from her and straddled it, then propped his arms across its back. “We’ll do some stretches, run a couple of miles, then do laps in the pool. Maybe throw in some strength training.”