Page 13 of Handling Haven
Frowning, Haven shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Frisco.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why not? Is there someone else?”
“No, there’s no one else.” She should have lied and said there was, but it was too late now. God, what she wouldn’t give to be her old self again. She would’ve loved to see where the attraction she felt for him would lead. “I don’t go out much—it’s a bit of a hassle with the chair and all. Besides, you should be with someone who can keep up with you and do fun things. There’s not much fun I can have in a wheelchair.”
Rotating the right wheel forward and the left wheel back, Haven spun around and then backed onto the platform, locking herself in. But before she could hit the control to raise it, Frisco put his right foot on the edge of the platform and his hands on the armrests of the chair on either side of her. When she glanced up in surprise, she found him glaring at her, bending down so they were face-to-face. And, damn, he was pissed. His voice dropped low, sending an unwanted chill down her spine. “Do you really think I’m so shallow that this chair bothers me? I’m attracted toyou, Haven, not whetheror not you’re standing on two feet. I can handle you being in a chair.”
Anger boiled within her. She pushed on his arms, but they wouldn’t budge. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want you to have tohandleanything. I’m not the woman I used to be, Frisco. I’ll never be her again.”
“So what? I didn’t know that woman beyond the three or four minutes she was begging me to fucking leave her to die. I don’twantto know that woman. You, right here, right now, are the woman I’m attracted to. The one I’m asking out. The one I want to get to know better.”
“I don’t need your pity, Frisco.”
He huffed harshly and stood erect again. “Is that why you think I’m asking you out? Because I pity you? That’s rich. That’s fucking rich. Give me a little credit, will you? I’m not the type of guy who asks a woman out because I feel sorry for her. I ask her out because I’m attracted to her. Because I want to spend time with her, learning everything about her.
“Sure, I’ve had one-night-stands—I’m a guy after all—but I’ve never led a woman to believe there was something more. Trust me, my interest in you extends beyond a one-night-stand and the last fucking thing I’d do is pity you.”
He thrust a hand through his hair and scoffed. “Jesus. All this time I’ve been carrying around these guilty feelings I might’ve made your injury worse. At first I thought that’s why I couldn’t get you out of my head. But when I saw you today, I knew it wasn’t guilt that had me dreaming of you at night, it was this intense attraction I felt toward you. But whether or not I made the injury worse shouldn’t matter. Do you know why?” He didn’t pause to let her answer. “Because you’re still alive, and I think someone who works for one of the baddest agencies on the damn planet should be tough enough to get past any curveball life throws at them. The alternative would mean I’d never have the chance to see you again, and up until five minutes ago, that would’ve really sucked.
“I hope you track down whoever’s got that nuke. If you need help with trying to figure it out, call me—I’m sure you can find my number—but don’t worry, I won’t ask you out again, because you’re not the kick-ass woman I thought you were. You’re still feeling sorry for yourself ... and that ...that’swhat I pity.”
Turning on his heel, he stormed over to his car, gave her one final furious glance, then shook his head and climbed into the driver’sseat. He floored the accelerator and, with a screech of tires, headed for the exit. Within seconds he was on the main street and out of sight. Haven’s heart clenched, as she tried to convince herself turning him down was for the best. But if that was the case, then why were unwelcome tears rolling down her cheeks?
CHAPTER 11
Avery!Where the hell is that thing with the doohickies?” Haven sorted through the stack of files sitting on her desk for the umpteenth time as she bellowed for her assistant. Avery Knapp had been a godsend these past months. The former CIA-turned-Deimos operative, who’d gotten her nursing degree after retiring from the agency fifteen years ago, had been the ideal person to help Haven recover from the shooting. The woman’s smooth skin and toned physique belied her age, making her appear far younger than her fifty-five years. In addition to being able to render care as needed, and doing most of the cooking and housecleaning, with her high-security clearance, the woman could also be fully trusted with all the classified information that filled Haven’soffice. To give them both solitude when needed, a small guest house had been built for Avery in the backyard of the three-acre property that was surrounded by a high-tech security fence, complete with an electronic, retractable gate for the driveway. While both women were no longer field operatives, it didn’t mean someone from their past might not come gunning for them one day.
The petite, platinum-haired woman strode into the room, opened the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet closest to the door, and pulled out a yellow folder before handing it to Haven. “Thatthingwith said doohickiesin it. You know, it’s a little ridiculous I understand your filing system better than you do.”
Haven huffed as she rolled back over to the massive computer setup that covered an entire wall. “I would have found it eventually.”
“Uh-huh. Want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
Avery crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame. “Whatever’s had your panties in a twist since you got home. You haven’t been this surly in months.”
Ignoring the other woman—Haven had no desire to discuss what a bitch she’d been to Frisco with anyone—she flipped through the still photosfrom the night she’d been shot. Not that she didn’t have them memorized after studying them over and over again, hoping someone she’d missed all those other times would jump out at her.
A minute or two passed before Avery sighed and pushed off the jamb. “Fine. Don’t talk to me about it. Dinner will be ready in an hour.”
Haven was glad when she was finally alone again. Part of her felt like a heel for how she’d treated Frisco, while the other part of her was angry at him for putting her in that position. She didn’t need his pity or guilt or whatever it was. If he wanted to be friends, she could handle that, but anything beyond that wasn’t going to happen. Haven wasn’t even sure if she could have sex with a man anymore and enjoy it. The only way to find out was to do it, but she’d be mortified if things sucked. She’d rather continue to wonder instead of risking knowing for sure if she was less than a responsive woman. She’d always enjoyed sex, but now she doubted she could relax enough with a man for it to be pleasurable. Her mind would be filled with insecurities she hadn’t had since she was a teenager with her first boyfriend.
Theclick, click, clickof toenails tapping against the wooden floors in the hallwayannounced Haven was about to have another visitor—this one she could deal with. Avery’s golden retriever/border collie mix padded into the room. She plopped her furry butt next to the wheelchair and laid her head on Haven’s knee with a sigh.
Unable to resist, Haven lifted her hand and stroked the dog’s thick, reddish coat. “Hey, Roxie-girl. Why can’t everyone be like you? Mum except for the occasional ‘woof’ to make me laugh.”
As if she’d been cued, Roxie let out a softwoof, which brought a smile to Haven’s face. “See, that’s what I mean.”
One thing she’d always wanted growing up was a dog—she loved them. But money had been tight for her mom, who’d raised her two daughters without help from anyone. Then, just after things had improved dramatically for them, when her mom had received a well-deserved promotion and raise after working for the same advertising company for years, it all fell apart at the hands of al Qaeda terrorists. What was supposed to have been a celebratory vacation in Madrid was cut short when ten explosions rocked the Cercanías commuter train system in the middle of rush hour. When the smoke had cleared, Haven had found herself in the hospital with a severe concussion and other non-life-threateninginjuries. One hundred ninety-two people were killed, and over 2000 injured. It took four agonizing days for her to receive confirmation her mother and sister were among the dead. On day five, when she was being discharged, an American stranger had walked into her room and, once again, her life was changed forever.
Her cell phone rang, shoving the thoughts about her family, the day she lost them, sex, and the hunky guy she was attracted to, but who now hated her, from her mind. Checking the screen, she was glad to see it was Kenny. She pushed the connect button and made sure her voice sounded cheerful. Her friend was dealing with his own guilty feelings and flashbacks to India—he didn’t need her to be a downer and add to them. “Hey, kiddo. What’s up?”
“You’re only two years older than me, you know.”
“Yeah, but you’ll always be like a kid brother to me, so I get to call you ‘kiddo.’ What’s up?” she repeated.
The sound of typing came over the line. “I’m sending you some new intel and links. Looks like our mysterious Mr. Smith has decided to pop back up on the Dark Web and is interested in arranging a new meet with Preston Ward.”
