Karasu didn’t know what she’d expected, but the place was as neat as a pin, the floors gleaming. She climbed up to his apartment and knocked on the door. It opened a crack. “What do you want?” She couldn’t see much of him because he was in the shadows and the door wasn’t open wide enough. But she caught a glimpse of his hard, wary eyes.
“I’m from the Agency.”
His brows rose and he snapped. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
She had her work cut out for her here, but something inside her felt tethered to this man she had never met. She’d only heard his story. “You have a handler.” She shrugged. “You can contact him. I’ll wait.”
He closed the door in her face. Several minutes later, it reopened. He stepped out of the way to let her pass.
“He didn’t know what this was about.” The man wasn’t going to give an inch. She recognized that stance. SEALs had a natural way of broadcasting they were locked and loaded. Striker was no different. She wouldn’t want it any other way. In their business, if you weren’t aware and careful, you were dead.
She looked pointedly at the sofa, telling him he was rude without saying a word. He stared at her telling her without words, he didn’t give a damn if she was uncomfortable. He folded his arms across his chest scowling, then nodded. She settled down on the cushions. Again, the place was neat and tidy. Mrs. Kovic, maybe?
“He wouldn’t. It’s not about business.”
“You look like a hitter to me.”
She sighed, trying to have patience. “If I was and you were my target, you’d already be dead. So, can we talk for a minute?”
“What do you want?”
“I’m here to speak with you about Preacher, Iceman, and your team.”
He stiffened and stared at her, a chiseled set to his face. The muscle in his jaw jumped and he abruptly looked away, his mouth compressing into a grim line, the guilt on his face said it all. “What the fuck do you have to do with Preacher?” he snarled, but Karasu recognized the pain in him because it was exactly like the pain in her as if they were kindred souls. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, the team was his family as much as his family was in California. It made her think about her own family and how she could go about reconciling with them. That generated a host of emotions, fear, humiliation, embarrassment, shame. She had been forced to dishonor them. Striker had chosen to cut off his brothers and, in the process, he hurt them immensely. If she could make a difference with him, maybe she could understand how to get back on the path back to her own family.
Karasu clasped her hands together as she fought back the sudden sting of tears. He had obviously lost weight, his face was thin and haggard, and a bleak hopeless expression haunted his eyes. The ache unfolding in her became more intense, the look in his eyes a knife to her heart.
“I’m so deeply in love with him, I would gladly give my life for him. Enough to open up old wounds, regret and so many other things to come here to speak with you when I don’t even have my own shit together.”
He tried to say something, then closed his mouth and swallowed hard, then tried again. “That’s good.” His voice broke and he turned away, dragging his hand across his face. “Does he love you?”
“Yes, he does.” He might not have said it, but Karasu knew in her heart it was true.
“So, go and be happy together. What do you want from me?”
“I don’t want anything from you, but your team deserves everything from you.”
“Get the fuck out of here. I’m not going to discuss my shortcomings with a total stranger.”
“Look,” she said fiercely, and his eyes flashed. “I’ve been gone from my family for a long time, longer than you have. I understand you’re scared, feeling alone, isolated. I know what all of that feels like.”
His face hardened. “I’m not fucking scared! You want me to do something you haven’t had the guts to do? That’s rich and easy for you to come in here and judge me.”
“It is easy because I understand. We have something in common, the two of us. We both chose not to go home. That’s on us.” She rose from the sofa and marched up to him, poking him in the chest. “But, in the process of self-protection and fear, we’ve hurt the people we love. You’ve hurt your teammates. How long do you think you can beat yourself up for the impossible choices you had to make…to save your brother, to save Preacher, exposing yourself to a possible court-martial. Those were brave, brave choices. Now make another one and embrace the family who loves you, who needs you.”
Striker braced himself in a gunslinger stance, his face mottled with rage, but it wasn’t directed at her. “I have the burden of destroying my life. I don’t want to be part of the brotherhood if I failed them. That’s what eats away at me inside.”
“Wow. That’s a heavy load to carry, especially when you haven’t talked to them.Talkto them. Come to Virginia, meet with them, find some peace in this or it will haunt and then destroy you in the end. Bitterness has one victim. You.”
He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, refusing to look at her, his face like stone.
She sighed with a painful catch to her heart and turned away from him without a word. She headed to the door.
“Will you be there?” he asked, and she froze turning back around. His expression was carved by anguish as his gaze riveted on her.
She started to hope like she had never hoped before. “Yes.”
* * *