Virginia pulled into Mark's driveway and came to a stop by the gate. Bruce and Steve were there, expecting the worst judging by the assault rifles they were both cradling. She wasn't about to get into the discussion of the legality of civilians owning fully-automatic firearms.

Mark leaned out of his window to talk to Steve. Virginia sat stiff in her seat, focused on the house looming in front of her, finding it hard to believe that she was there, again.

Bruce kept his distance, and she suspected it was because he was not too happy about her showing up at their door again. But when she glanced over, he nodded with a look of . . . Was that gratitude? Well, duh, probably because you saved his boss's ass. After he saved yours, of course.

Turning to the conversation going on beside her, she wondered what all this meant for him now. Running to her rescue wasn't going to make him employee of the month.

"Heard you had a little trouble today."

Virginia jumped and spun her head around at Bruce's voice in her ear. His forearm rested on her roofline as he leaned down, wide shoulders filling the open window, the rifle now flung over his shoulder. The too-long bangs fell forward, shadowing his dark eyes, but she could still tell when they swept across her face to settle on the tear in her shirt that exposed her sports bra—and everything she owned above it.

"You okay?" he said, lifting his gaze back to where it should be.

Shocked by the concern in his voice, she drew her chin down to her chest and arched away from him. "Are you?"

He smiled, revealing perfectly even white teeth. It all seemed so foreign, making her realize she had never seen him smile before. He truly was a handsome man when he wasn't being such a prick.

Caught up in the out-of-character moment, she couldn't stop staring at his mouth. "You have a nice smile."

The smile slid away as a frown creased his brow.

"Is there a problem, Bruce?" Mark's voice had an icy edge to it.

Bruce straightened, looking awkward and rigid as he pushed the hair from his face and answered, "Nope, no problem, boss." He turned away and headed to the gatehouse to seal them in.

She drove up the driveway to the front door and stopped.

"Will you come in?" Mark asked.

"I need to get to the station."

He sat silent for a bit before pleading his case. "I'd really like you to come in. I'll make some calls. We can try to figure out what to do about Gus."

It wasn't an unreasonable argument—uniting against Gus. Damn it, I really should get out of here . . . "Okay, let me call in and talk to Cap first."

There was a hint of relief in the smile he gave her before getting out of the car and giving her privacy. He entered the house, leaving the front door ajar. While on the phone, she couldn't peel her eyes away from it. It gave off a thrilling, beckoning challenge as though displaying a USE AT YOUR OWN RISK warning.

With DANGEROUS stamped all over it.

Skull and crossbones too.

Once inside the house, she stood frozen in the hallway near the front foyer. She didn't want to be there. It was all too painful.

"Can I get you something?" Mark called to her from behind the bar while pouring himself a drink.

I could sure use one of those. Not happening.

She looked down to her ruined shirt and dirt-smeared arms. "Do you have a shirt I could borrow? . . . I mean have?" Because she sure as hell wasn't coming back to return it.

Mark's gaze slid to her exposed cleavage, and her body proved how much of a traitor it was willing to be as it went on a little joy ride. But pain and anger were her protectors as they rushed in and beat down the reaction.

Pulverized it actually.

"Go ahead"—he nodded to his bedroom—"you can use the shower too, if you want."

She stood glued to the spot, debating on whether she could go into his bedroom again. She talked herself into it, deciding quicker was better, like ripping off a Band-Aid. Forcing her feet to turn, she headed for his room.

Without even glancing at the bed, she went straight to the dresser. The first drawer she opened had a number of plain black Hanes. "Perfect," she whispered, pulling one out. She held it to her nose and inhaled the freshly laundered scent she would forever associate with him. If sadness could be given a form like the Grim Reaper, it just reached in and put a death grip on her heart.

Get changed and get out of here, she warned herself.

A shower was out of the question—far too many memories for that—but she could at least wash up in the sink. She had almost made it to the archway of the bathroom when she heard the door close behind her.

He was in the bedroom . . . with her . . . not good.

"Ginny . . ."

)l(

Moving toward Virginia, Mark had no idea what he was going to say. The events of the day were not what he had expected or wanted, but then again, they had given him a good kick in the ass. Staring down the barrel of a gun had a way of making a man face his emotions. It was time to set things straight. The thought of what could have happened to her made his whole body shudder.

As she ignored him and kept walking, he mentally pleaded, Please listen.

He must have said the words out loud because she stopped, hung her head, and exhaled so loud it sounded like a truck's airbrakes. "I'm grateful for you coming to my rescue, but beyond that, there is nothing to discuss," she spoke to the ground.

"You should stay here and lie low for a bit until we figure out exactly what prompted—"

Virginia spun around to face him, and holy shit, did she look pissed. "Perhaps it had something to do with the price on my head!"

"You found out?"

"Yeah, with no help from any of you. Thanks for keeping me in the dark by the way."

"Stay and we can—"

"No. I can't be in this house" —her eyes shifted to the bed—"this room" —then back to him—"especially with you."

He could understand that . . . but it still hurt like hell. "I know I've been a jerk over the last few months. I'd like to explain."

Virginia brought her palm up. "No need, you have made your feelings perfectly clear."

"I want a chance to fix us."

She choked out a laugh. "There isn't any us, not anymore."

As he stood there wondering if it was time for those three powerful little words, she turned away to head inside the bathroom.

"I need you."

Okay, it wasn't quite the three he'd been going for, but they did manage to stop her in her tracks. Not that she was happy about it, wheeling around to confront him with a don't-bullshit-me glare. "For what?"

"To save me."

That delicate arch to her brows disappeared as they were pulled down. "I'm nobody's savior."

"Tell that to Dominique, or the Green Soldiers, or—"

"I don't want to talk about them with you!" Arms locked over her chest.

Mark nodded. He had a lot to make up for, and he didn't expect it to be easy. Steeling himself against the sting of prodding at an unhealed wound, he said, "Simon would agree with me."

Virginia's eyes squeezed shut, pain loosening her rigid stance. How he could have ever blamed her for Simon's death was beyond comprehension. It was obvious that she hurt just as much as he did over the loss of his nephew.

"I'm quitting the business."

Her eyes flew open.

He shrugged. "It's time. It's practically sucked the life right out of me. You made me see that. I felt alive being with you, like my old self. It made me realize just how much of me I've lost."

"You told me when Jack died that it was hard to leave."

"I have a way. It's not going to be a walk in the park, though, but I'm not asking for your help, either. I . . . I just need you to be waiting when I claw my way out of this hellhole."

She took a long moment to study him, and he knew that same old doubt was gnawing away at her from the inside.

"No," she finally said.

"That's it? Not even an 'I'll think about it' or a 'maybe' after all we've been through?" He hadn't meant for his tone to be as harsh as it was, but desperation had a funny way of morphing into either full-blown panic or spontaneous anger.

Her face took on a ruthless look. "I've been seeing someone . . . Walt."

It felt as if a sucker punch had hit right into Mark's gut, stealing his breath.

She shifted her feet, looking uncomfortable with the sudden confession. When he didn't respond, she cleared her throat and continued, "I thought Gus had . . ." She took a shaky breath. "I got a text from Walt's phone saying they were going to kill him if I didn't come down there, alone. Walt's phone is missing . . . stolen."

There was a little too much conviction to her tone, as though she were trying to convince him of the story's legitimacy. Or was she the one that needed persuading?

"He's probably worried. I need to go to him," she added.

"Is it serious?" Mark asked, bracing for yet another blow.

There was a small sarcastic grunt, followed up with a drawn out, "We are going slowly."

He spoke without thinking. "Please don't rush into anything on the rebound."

Not his brightest move.

Her chin lifted and her shoulders squared. "Oh, don't worry about me. You weren't all that devastating." She turned and stalked into the bathroom in a huff.

He didn't remember telling his legs to move, but he was beside her in an instant. He wanted to explain how he felt, why he had stayed away for so long, but nothing was going as he had hoped.

She was angry.

He was desperate.

Time to change tactics.

He caught her upper arm, swinging her around to face him. "Don't lie to me. I know how being apart feels." With his other hand he picked up the heart charm hanging from the chain around her neck, the necklace he had given her after his trip to New York. He heard the slight catch in her throat when his fingers brushed against soft skin. "When you close your eyes and kiss him, I know it's me you wish for."

There was a quick gasp. "Don't be ridiculous!" Wrenching her arm free, she took a step back, the charm slipping through his fingers and falling back to her chest.

He moved closer, his face only inches from hers. "If that's not true, then prove it. Kiss me."

"No!"

But he didn't miss the glance at his lips or the sudden parting of hers. He still had a chance. There was just one more button to push. . . "Scared of the truth?"

She stiffened and yup, there it was, a glint flashed in those green depths.

She never was one to turn down a challenge.

END OF CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

She's no pushover, but he seems pretty sure of himself. What do you think is going to happen?

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