Page 12 of Shadow Target

Shaking his head, he opened his own door and muttered, “Then this terrorist is sniffing around the villages you fly into?”

Climbing out on her side, Willow said, “Yes. So far, he’s raided some of the villages, but not kidnapped any of the children in the Delos charities, not yet anyway. He goes in disguise, through the villages at large, to find kids. But he’s always around and we know that someday, he’s going to start going after the Delos children in the charities themselves. It’s only a matter of time. He’s a lurking hyena waiting for an opportunity to attack and capture his victims.” She moved to the rear of the car, opening the hatchback for him. She could see how upset he was, but nobody else could have. Shep always cloaked his emotions. Willow agreed one couldn’t turn into a sniveling, emotional basket case, but just sharing how he felt would have been enough for her. She saw the tightness at the corners of his mouth, telling her he was damn well upset. Plus, when under emotional duress, he always narrowed those incredibly sea-blue eyes of his. Those were the only markers to tell her he was troubled.

Leaning in, Shep grabbed his two duffle bags, hefting them out of the SUV.

“Tell you what,” Willow said, closing the hatchback and locking it, “I’ll show you to your condo, first. But then? If you feel up to it? Come down to mine and I’ll make you breakfast. Then, you can go back to yours and sleep off the time zones. Sound like a plan?” She wondered why the hell she was offering him this. The look in his eyes, however, told her why. There were still solid, good feelings between them. They might have both suffered badly from the divorce, but it had not destroyed the slice of goodness that had always existed between them.

He smiled tiredly. “Now you’ve gone from being my Angel and ascended to sainthood. Thanks. I’d like a good, hearty breakfast.”

Her heart opened. She saw the exhaustion shadowing his eyes, but also, his gratitude over the kindness she’d just extended him. “Okay, then,” she said, turning. “Follow me.” Because if she hadn’t turned? Willow could feel tears encroaching at the backs of her eyes and she wanted to sob. Sob out the three years lost between them.

His Angel.

Tears burned in her eyes and Willow quickly forced them away. That had always been his endearment for her. If she hadn’t ignored it, she was afraid she’d say things that shouldn’t be said. Instead, she led him to the underground elevator, slid an ID card into the slot, hit the button, and the doors opened. When she stepped aside, she didn’t avoid his glance. Willow could feel him digging into her for a response, but she wasn’t going to give him one. Those days were past. He’d had his chance. He wasn’t getting another one. Once he’d stepped in, she pushed the button for his floor, and the doors slowly cranked closed. It was humid and stuffy in the elevator as it slowly rose, protesting with strained sounds.

“It’s old,” she said.

He shrugged, the duffle bags at his feet. “Yeah, well, we’ll all get there someday.”

The door opened and Willow stepped out, saying, “Follow me.”

She had a key to Shep’s condo and halfway down the highly waxed wooden hall, she stopped and unlocked it, pushing the door open. Stepping aside, she said, “This is a condo building used by many Americans. It’s nicely furnished, and you’ll feel like you’re in a hotel.” She gestured for him to go on in.

Shep looked around his digs. It was a two-bedroom condo, and he hefted his bags onto one of the king-sized beds. He heard Willow in the kitchen and ambled down the light-green-tiled hall. The kitchen and living room were open-concept and were filled with hotel-like furniture, for sure. She was in the kitchen pouring herself a glass of water. She drank and turned and said, “This condo is fully furnished. You won’t want for anything. When I found out it was you coming, I took the risk of getting you some food I thought you’d like in here,” and she gestured toward the large American-sized refrigerator.

He halted near the granite counter that had white quartz with black fissures through it, arms across his chest. “Still risk-taking?” he teased.

Giving him a sour look, she set the glass on the counter. “Is there any other way to live, Porter? Come on, let’s head down the exit stairs to the fourth floor. My condo is literally beneath yours.”

The smile he gave her, the sudden heat in his eyes, caught her off guard as she opened the door and stepped into the empty hall. Yeah, he was still interested in her, dammit. Why? It had been three friggin’ years! Hadn’t he moved on? Willow almost stepped up to boldly ask him who the new woman in his life was. She assumed he had one.

She didn’t end up doing so but, if the ‘new and improved’ Porter was sincere about being a better communicator with her, she’d find out pretty quickly anyway. Any time she’d tried to look into his family or past? He’d locked her out. Walking to the heavy metal exit door, she placed her magnetic strip card against a panel nearby and opened it.

Holding up the card, she said, “Part of security procedures here. No one can get in or out of this building by the exit stairs unless they have a card. I have yours down in my condo and I’ll give both it and the elevator card to you. With this setup, if terrorists try to enter one of these buildings via the exit door. They won’t get in.”

“Good to know,” he said, holding the door open wider for her. She gave him that bored look of hers. “I haven’t changed that much,” he informed her.

“Yeah,” she grumped, throwing him a dark look over her shoulder as she started down the stairs, “you haven’t.”

Shep tried to keep his face neutral as he entered Willow’s large, roomy condo. It was entirely different from his hotel-looking one. She had huge jungle plants in all four corners of the living room. There were comfy light-blue chairs, a long couch, a recliner and a rocking chair. The floor was covered with a large rug patterned with pink blooming lilies floating on a quiet pond. On each of the three cream-colored walls were watercolor paintings. He wondered if they were from her brother, Ben. Even though her older brother had been a handful growing up, he’d always had extreme artistic talent. The family had tried to guide him into art school, but he’d wanted excitement, danger and risk. Just like Willow, Shep supposed, but Ben was testosterone on legs, doing crazy things that could get him killed someday. He’d had a lot of luck, but even then, luck could run out.

Halting in front of one of the paintings, the one depicting the Grand Canyon from the South Rim, he asked, “Did Ben paint this?”

Willow halted next to him. “Yes. All these paintings are by him.”

“You know when you showed me his work on your cell phone back at Bagram?”

“Yes?”

“I thought he was an incredibly talented artist. Does he do art anymore?”

“I haven’t seen Ben in two years,” she admitted, frowning. “I rarely hear from him. He’s a black ops soldier. He’s always in battles. I just wait, I guess, like my family does, to be told he’s died in the field.”

Shep knew how close the two siblings were and, without thinking, he reached out, resting his hand lightly on her slumped shoulder. “I’m sorry, Willow…” and he held her startled gaze. Realizing what he’d done, he swiftly pulled his hand away. Shep stepped back to put enough distance between them so he couldn’t accidentally touch her again on impulse. He saw agony in her eyes for a moment and then, just as swiftly, that emotion was gone. Willow had been in the military, like him. They knew what a game face was and they knew how to wear one and wear it well. And she had one on right now. Lamenting the shift between them, Shep knew he had no one to blame but himself. Being around Willow was like being around gasoline, and he was the match.

“Do you have any way to stay in touch with Ben?”

Shaking her head, she said, “No, but I wish I did. Come on, I’m making us some breakfast. I’m starving.”

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