“So what changed your mind?”
“You did.” She gave him a half smile. “If I was going stir crazy after just a few hours, how hard must it be for you—a guy accustomed to living life under the most extreme conditions—to be cooped up in a house, alone? There’s only so much sun-worshipping, lounging, and sleeping that one person can do.”
“I manage.” His voice sounded a little rougher than he intended, because what she said was true. He was slowly going out of his mind, and the better he felt physically, the worse it became.
“Besides,” she added, giving him a slow smile, “I like you.”
Jamie’s mood lightened. “Thanks.”
“I think the next two weeks could be a lot of fun, if we keep an open mind.”
Jamie looked sharply at her. Was there a hidden meaning in her words? He couldn’t tell. Her face was the picture of innocence. “I think you’re right,” he finally agreed.
“Then it’s settled. Do you want me to make some lunch for you before I leave?” she asked. “I can just put it in the fridge for whenever you’re hungry.”
“Nah, that’s okay,” he protested. “I can handle lunch. You’re already doing way more than I expected.”
“If you’re sure…”
“Absolutely. I’ll see you in a few hours. I’m just going to hang by the pool.”
He stood in the doorway and watched her as she walked across the street and then maneuvered the pretty little convertible Porsche out of the garage. He lifted a hand as she drove past, wishing she didn’t look so perfect in the luxury sports car.
As comfortable as he was, financially, he’d never be able to afford a car like that. He owned a motorcycle and a beat-up Land Rover that had seen better days. Both suited him just fine, but he couldn’t envision Rachel driving either one. Okay, he could definitely see her sitting behind him on the motorcycle, with her legs bracketing his own, and her arms wrapped around his waist. But that sweet little fantasy would have to wait until after his cast was removed, and he went through rehab, which could be months from now.
Jamie gave a snort of disgust, and closed the front door. Here he was, envisioning a future with a woman he barely knew; a woman who had been accustomed to a much more luxurious lifestyle than what he could offer. He had no reason to think she would be willing to settle for a guy like himself. He wasn’t being self-deprecating, because he wasn’t a bad catch, overall, but a woman like Rachel McCafferty—he refused to think of her as Rachel Narducci—was way beyond his pay grade.
*
He was suffocating. Darkness pressed in on all sides, and his body was wedged so tightly beneath the fallen concrete that he couldn’t move.
Couldn’t breathe.
He was going to die here, buried alive beneath the tons of rubble. Dust filled his nose and mouth. Someone called his name.
“Colter, help me…help me.”
It was his buddy, Mike Santos, and they were trapped side by side. Jamie stretched his fingers, and touched Santos’s head. Beneath his fingertips, his friend’s skull crumbled, and Jamie’s fingers sank into something warm and sticky.
In the darkness, someone moaned in pain.
He tried to move, and the sound came again.
Jamie realized it was him.
Something brushed his face and Jamie came awake with a start, throwing his arms up in a protective gesture, before opening his eyes. He blinked against the bright glare of sunlight, and a shadow fell across his face.
Rachel.
“Sorry,” he muttered, and shoved himself higher on the chaise longue. “I must have fallen asleep.”
She was bent over him and he realized the ends of her hair had brushed across his face, waking him up. Now she stretched up and adjusted the tilt of the pool umbrella until he was fully in the shade.
“You’re starting to burn,” she observed, standing over him.
Even under the shade of the umbrella, Jamie had to shield his eyes to look at her. The nightmare began to fade beneath the glare of the sun. “How long have you been here?”
“I just got back. Have you been asleep this whole time?”
“I guess so.” He shook off the lingering grogginess and scrubbed a hand over his face. “How long have you been gone?”
“About three hours.”
He had been asleep for the entire time she’d been gone, partly due to the meds he’d taken after she’d left. Things were getting better, though. He no longer needed to take the pills every few hours, as he had when he’d first been released from the hospital. He was down to taking just one or two doses each day, mostly for pain and partly to help him escape the memories of that shitty day in Syria, when a Russian bomber had decimated their Marine compound. But the meds were no longer keeping his nightmares at bay. Pushing the unpleasant thoughts aside, he reached for his crutches, but Rachel was there first.