She stared at his face and then down at the file. In slow motion, she picked up the clipping on top. Award-Winning Photojournalist Killed in Kabul?
“We worked with a translator and a driver. Together we made two trips into Iraq and four into Afghanistan. Me as foreign correspondent, Finn as a photojournalist.”
There was a long silence. “You were a war reporter?”
“I met Finn on my first day in Baghdad, and we hit it off right away. We had an ongoing argument about which was the better medium for telling a story—words or images. He said that I wrote about the truth whereas he showed it. Neither of us wanted to be embedded with the troops. We wanted to be free to tell the stories we wanted to tell. The ones other people weren’t telling.”
She sank down onto one of the kitchen chairs. “Ryan—”
“After a British journalist was killed, Finn decided he’d had enough. He said we’d ceased to see beauty in the world, only the bad and the ugly. Everything we saw was distorted and discolored by conflict. He wanted to take photographs that didn’t involve human suffering. I talked about this place all the time, and we were always making plans. I was going to run a sailing school, and he was going to use his photographic skills to raise awareness of the importance of marine conservation. On really bad days we decided we’d open a bar together and drink our way through the profits.” He stopped and heard the scrape of the chair on the floor as she rose to her feet.
A moment later a glass of water appeared by his hand.
He took a sip, embarrassed by how much his hand was shaking.
“We were about to fly home, but I wanted to do one more story, so we went with our translator and fixer to a local village. Finn was joking that he was going to sail my yacht while I did the work when our vehicle was hit.” Just for a moment he felt it again, the blinding flash and then the white and the lack of sound. “We were close to a military base. A helicopter pilot risked his life to get us out of there, but it was too late for Finn. He was killed instantly.”
Her hand reached across and covered his, slim warm fingers sliding between his.
“I’m sorry.”
“I was the one who was sorry. If it hadn’t been for me, we would have been on our way home. I was the one who pushed for one more story.” Even now, four years later, the knowledge left a bitter taste in his mouth and the gnawing agony of guilt. He reached into the file and pulled out a photograph. “This was one of his last photographs.”
She removed her hand from his and took the photograph. “It’s very powerful.” She stared at it for a long moment and then placed it carefully back in the box and closed the lid. “You were badly injured?”
“Bad enough. I had serious internal injuries and my shoulder was messed up. I was in and out of hospital for four months. I had eight rounds of surgery. And I was a difficult patient. Ask Agnes and Rachel. They took the brunt of it.” He stared at the file. “Rachel was home from college for the summer and she virtually moved into my hospital room and stayed there with me until I was discharged. The first day back on the island, she forced me to get dressed, and I managed to walk as far as the harbor before having to sit down. My legs wouldn’t hold me and my shoulder was agony. Every day she made me get up and walk a little farther until eventually I was walking as far as the lighthouse. I had no idea my little sister could be such a bully. When I was strong enough to walk as far as Shell Cove, she decided I should start swimming. I remember the day she and Alec forced me to go sailing. It was a perfect day, and I felt the wind fill the sails and knew this was where I wanted to stay.”
“So the sea healed you.”
“In a way, but I think it was more about the people. Before I left the island I couldn’t wait to get away. I felt trapped, I was going crazy. I thought anywhere in the world had to be better than this place, living among people who know everything from how much you weighed when you were born to what you liked to eat for dinner. Then I discovered differently.” He licked his lips, not sure whether by being economical with his words he was sparing her the detail or himself. “I guess you could say my priorities changed. An honest person would probably say it was a shame I had to be blown up to discover something I should have known all along.”
“I think we don’t always see things clearly when we’re living in the middle of something.” There was a long silence. “I owe you an apology.”
“No. I’m the one who owes you an apology for not being honest, but I was afraid you wouldn’t trust me. And I wanted you to trust me.”
“Because you feel you owe Brittany.”
He could have told her the truth. He could have told her that the reason he couldn’t stay away from her had nothing to do with Brittany, but that would have led the relationship in a direction he suspected she wasn’t ready for it to go. And he wasn’t sure he wanted it to go there, either.
Whatever she thought about her suitability for the role of parent, she’d shown herself to be fiercely protective of Lizzy. That fact alone meant he should stay the hell away from her.
“That’s right.” He kept his face blank. “I owed a friend a favor.”
“The other night—”
“You had a bad experience. Neither of us was thinking straight.” Finding willpower he didn’t known he possessed, he stepped back and reached for the file. “I should go. I have a pile of paperwork waiting for me before I turn in. If you need anything, you know where I am.”
He saw something flicker in her eyes. Hurt? Confusion? Either way, he saw her register the dismissal and draw the conclusion that his attentions had all been driven by nothing more than a Good Samaritan i
nclination and a debt owed to a friend.
It was a measure of her inexperience that she believed his words over her own instincts.
If she’d looked into his eyes, she might have questioned it because he was pretty sure that the words coming out of his mouth were not backed up by the expression on his face.
He wanted to drive her back against the wall and kiss her until she could no longer articulate her own name. He wanted to strip off those clothes and fill his hands with those voluptuous curves.
Instead, he ground his teeth and walked to the door.