arms flailing now that she wasn’t hanging on to him like an anchor. “My cabin exploded. I could have been dead like you’re supposed to be.” She covered her mouth with her hands. “I can’t believe I said that.”
“It’s okay.” Though, was it? How was she going to explain surviving the explosion without revealing his existence? Was she even capable of keeping secrets?
She stepped forward. He stepped back.
“I didn’t want to believe you died, but we had a funeral for you. They played taps and gave your parents a flag.”
Preston looked away. He already knew about his funeral. He’d been there in the distance, watching, as his family mourned their loss.
Soon he would have to disappear again. No use giving Holly more to mourn. He’d put distance between them and a perimeter of defense around his heart. He wouldn’t think about the first time he’d kissed her, at the age of sixteen under this very dock during a game of hide-and-seek. Or about how she smelled of coconut, the same way she had as a teen. He held his breath and stepped away, toward the cabin.
He had to concentrate on the danger of their situation. He’d trained for that. He looked back at the fireball that had once been her family cabin to make sure nobody had followed them across the lake.
She grabbed his hand.
Even though they’d grown up holding hands, his pulse reacted violently as an adult. The whole fight-or-flight syndrome. He’d be better off if he chose flight rather than to fight for a relationship that could never last. Dead men didn’t date.
He led her along the uneven planks, up onto the deck and through the sliding glass door. His parents hadn’t used the place since his “passing” either. Apparently both families had too many memories at the lake for them to be able to enjoy vacations there without him.
“How did you escape? Can I be there when you tell your parents you’re alive?”
Uh...no. He took another step away and held up his hands so she couldn’t follow.
She scanned him up and down. “Are you hurt? Were you held hostage? Who is after you?”
He lifted his eyebrows. She thought he was the target of the bomb? This was going to be worse than he’d expected.
“Holly.” What a softer man he would be if he’d spent the last four years with her. Unfortunately, his current circumstances didn’t allow for softness. “The bomb was meant for you.”
Her spine shot straight. Her eyes snapped wide. She stumbled backward.
He stepped forward to stabilize her before she lost her balance.
She scampered away. “If the bomb was for me, how did you know about it?”
He held his ground. Tilted his head toward the deck. “I saw it being delivered.”
Her gaze ricocheted back and forth between his eyes. “How? Why are you here? Why does nobody know you’re alive?”
He pressed his lips together. The truth was going to hurt. Just not as bad as the explosion would have. “I’ve been in the US for the past four years. I wasn’t in the helicopter crash. I’d seen someone tampering with the engines and went to ask my sergeant to delay the op, but before he could halt takeoff, my team headed out. They didn’t make it far before crashing into a fuel tanker. Someone else’s body came home in my coffin.”
She rocked onto her heels, gripping the back of the couch for balance. “You’ve been pretending to be dead?”
Was that all she’d heard? “Yes, because—”
“I am so tired of hearing men’s excuses.” Her hand covered her heart. Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I thought you were different, Preston. You used to be.”
He held out his hands and blinked. What just happened? “You’d rather I be dead?”
“No.” She took a couple deep breaths. Her eyes grew shiny, like she was about to cry—to mourn his death a second time. “I’d rather you tell the truth.”
This was what he got for saving her life? A guilt trip? Of course, Holly didn’t know he already had enough guilt to keep him from being able to return home. Probably forever.
But as for telling the truth, Preston had tried, and his sergeant had been killed because of it. SOAR Commander Robert Long had found Sergeant Beatty’s body hanging in his bunk the morning after Beatty told Preston he’d look into possible sabotage. The death had been ruled a suicide.
Letting another person die because they knew the truth wasn’t a risk Preston was willing to take, which was why Holly could never tell anyone about him, either.
“Holly, the CID—Criminal Investigation Division for the military—hid the sabotage from the American people. They aren’t going to let me come back to life and point fingers unless I know exactly who I’m pointing at, and I don’t yet. So that means either the military will throw me in prison, or the person responsible for this will kill me. I have to stay dead for now.”
He wasn’t the bad guy here.
She shook her head. Shook it harder. “No. There has to be another way.”
He used to think the same thing until it ate him up inside. “There’s not.”
But what-ifs still teased sometimes. What if Holly let the crime scene investigators back at the cabin presume her dead, and she started a new life with him off the grid? Or what if she helped him assume a new identity? Or what if he stayed in the cabin and she visited occasionally? Then he wouldn’t be so alone anymore.
But none of those would be the best thing for her. He was there for her and not himself.
She planted her hands on her hips. “Am I just supposed to forget the way you popped back into my life today? Am I supposed to keep this a secret from your family, too? You know your little sister married my brother, right?”
“Holly.” He couldn’t help reaching for her.
She knocked his hand down. “That was supposed to be us. Don’t you care?”
He folded his arms. He wouldn’t tell her how he’d been glad at first when his old buddy Caleb looked out for her after his “death.” Or how he’d broken a couple knuckles punching a tree when she’d finally said yes to the man’s proposal. Or that he’d bought her an engagement ring before he left, and it sat in the loft above them collecting dust.
“I’m here because I care. I’m sure it would be easier for you if you didn’t know I was alive, but I saw someone plant a bomb in your cabin, and I had to save you.”
She glanced out the window. “Why would someone want to kill me?”
The question should rock him as well, but having played dead for the past few years, he’d found out more about murder than he’d ever wanted to know. “It could be a recently released prisoner whose case you lost. It could be a current criminal whose guilt you are about to expose in court. It could be a jealous coworker.” Preston sighed. “Have you received any threats? Do you have any enemies?”
Her
