Explosive Alliance. Susan Sleeman

and Brady needed to recognize that. “So you’re saying if a woman you found attractive could be in danger, you’d climb into bed, sleep soundly and forget all about her?”

      “You know none of us would do that with anyone—attractive or not. Not if we had some proof that they were in danger. You have proof?”

      Cash shook his head.

      Brady made strong eye contact. “Ever consider this thing has more to do with losing your team than with anything else? You know...thinking it’s up to you to stop anything else bad from happening to the people around you?”

      “Maybe,” Cash said, avoiding a more detailed answer.

      “Hey, I get it.” Brady clapped a hand on Cash’s shoulder. “You can’t stand the thought that someone else could die on your watch. But you can’t extend that watch to everyone you come in contact with. You’ll burn out and won’t be good to anyone.”

      “I know that.”

      “But?”

      “Krista and Otto are different somehow. And before you say it’s because I’ve got a thing for Krista, it’s not that.”

      “Then what?’

      Cash shrugged.

      Brady eyed him. “Like I said, figure it out, or you could burn out and that won’t help Krista.” Brady turned and strode back to the kitchen.

      Cash shrugged into his jacket and went to his car. He tried to concentrate on driving but couldn’t get Brady’s words out of his head. Brady was right. After losing his team, Cash hated the thought of anyone getting hurt on his watch. He’d done the right thing in requesting the bomb strike in Afghanistan. They’d come under fire, were pinned down, and a strike offered the best chance of saving lives. Cash couldn’t have predicted the stupid thing would go astray and he’d be the only team member to survive.

      Leaving him to wonder why he’d made it. To question God for eighteen months and not receive a clear answer. Cash usually didn’t dwell on things he couldn’t change, but he just couldn’t shake this. Staying busy was the only way to keep the questions out of his head.

      He cranked up the radio. Old favorites on a country station blared through the car until he arrived at Otto’s house. Cutting off the headlights, he coasted to a stop well out of view of the rustic place.

      Dark and quiet inside, a dim light flashed, then quickly cut off. Suspicious? Maybe. It could be a night-light of some sort, but he wouldn’t take any chances.

      He tugged his collar up against the cold April wind and strode down the driveway toward the A-frame home, a light drizzle dampening his face. The moon, only a sliver tonight, hid behind dense cloud cover.

      He swept his flashlight over the shrubbery abutting the front porch. All clear. He turned the corner heading for the back side overlooking the river swollen from heavy spring rains.

      All was quiet. Serene, even.

      He’d let his fears make him overreact. Nothing new there. Status quo since he’d left Delta. He turned to go.

      A hair-raising scream pierced the air, echoing through the trees.

      His blood ran cold.

      A second scream split the quiet. Both cries came from inside. A woman.

      It was Krista! She was in danger.

      Serious danger.

SEVEN

      Krista fought hard. Her fists. Her elbows. Punching. Pummeling. Striking anywhere she could. She connected, catching the masked intruder by surprise and shoving him away. Scrambling, she dropped to the floor. Shadows clung to the wood. She groped around. Frantic, hurried movements, searching for her gun. Finally, she touched the edge of the cool metal.

      Yes! Only an inch more.

      A hand came around her ponytail. Jerked hard. Pain screamed through her scalp. He kept pulling, bringing her to her feet. His arm snaked around her waist. He dragged her toward the door as if planning to abduct her.

      She couldn’t let that happen. Self-defense courses her father had insisted she take came rushing back. She threw herself back, hit him hard and unsettled him. He flailed around, trying to regain his balance.

      She dived for the gun.

      “Krista, are you all right?” a male called from outside the back door.

      Cash Dixon?

      “Cash, is that you?” she yelled, her mind racing to figure out her next steps.

      Her attacker paused to listen for a minute. A perfect opportunity to act. She grabbed the gun and scrambled to her feet in front of the door. Lifted the weapon. Aimed.

      The intruder held his hands up and inched backward.

      “Stop,” she screamed, but even she could hear the uncertainty in her voice.

      He kept moving.

      She raised the gun higher. He suddenly turned and bolted down the hallway toward the back door. She held the gun at the ready but couldn’t shoot. Didn’t know if she could ever shoot another person. She stepped into the hallway. A wave of light swept in from the open door leading to the deck. She could see a man with a flashlight standing just outside.

       Dear God, please let it be Cash.

      Her attacker barreled ahead, plowing Cash to the ground. The light went out.

      Terrified to act, Krista waited—the gun still in her hand.

      “Krista, it’s Cash Dixon.” The worried voice came from the deck. “Are you all right?”

      “I am now,” she managed to say.