Page 62 of Sutton's Shadow

But her mind was still trying to protect her wayward heart from more pain, telling her she was too broken to love again. She wasn’t ready.

But then he cupped her cheek in his warm palm. “Thank you for giving that to me,” he praised before his lips touched her forehead in a featherlight kiss, and she melted. Her mind and heart on the same page in an instant. This was a man she could fall for. Hell, she was already falling and close to hitting the bottom.

“How do you feel?”

She took a deep breath, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like her lungs were full. Like she could take that deep breath without the pain of her heartache. “I feel okay,” she remarked, stunned to realize it was true. In telling her story, letting out the words, the pain, and the grief, she felt freer.

“It’s part of being human. When we share our pain with others, we can begin to heal both our hearts and our minds. I learned that from Liam,” he confessed.

Sutton let out an indelicate snort. “How could one man be so wise and such a jackass at the same time?”

She felt the rumble of laughter in Wyatt’s chest where she rested against him. “He was a character.”

“I miss him,” she whispered.

“Me too.”

They sat quietly, each lost in the thoughts of their shared grief for one man. Then, moving off his lap, Sutton leaned forward, reaching for the tissue box sitting on the coffee table. She plucked a tissue and wiped her eyes and nose.

“God, I hate crying.”

“The tears are not a sign of weakness, you know. Tears for another are the sign of a pure, loving, strong heart. Embrace them.”

She liked that and smiled, thinking that would be something Liam would have said too. She remembered how close the two men had been and knew Wyatt’s grief was just as raw as hers. It was that realization that had her gut clenching, her guilt consuming her. She felt the burn of more tears but ruthlessly pushed them back. She owed Wyatt more words.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted.

“For what?”

“It was my fault. If I had run when he first ordered me to, he’d still be alive.”

“You can’t know that for sure.”

“Maybe not, but it certainly feels true.”

Wyatt moved her computer aside, then sat on the coffee table in front of her. He grabbed her hands, tissue and all, in his. “No, Sutton. There is not a single thing you could have done differently. What happened, happened. It’s tragic, it sucks, but it was in no way your fault.”

She shook her head, refusing to believe that. “Not your fault,” he growled, shaking her hands with each word. “I lost a man in the attack that injured me. Other men on my team were critically wounded as well. When I was recovering, I blamed myself too. My mind constantly replayed the event, and I wondered over and over again what I could have done differently. Maybe if I had been quicker, saw the threat sooner, those men wouldn’t have suffered, and Sam would still be alive. It was Liam who set me straight. He let me talk it out with him. Then he called me a dumbass. Slapped me upside the head too.”

She smiled. She’d witnessed his so-called “love taps” on many occasions. He wasn’t one to show his affection much, especially not in public. But you never doubted that he cared. Wyatt’s story was the perfect example. He’d sat with his friend and listened. Then he’d set him straight. And now Wyatt was doing the same for her. The vise that had been clamped around her heart since that oppressive Colombian night loosened.

“He made me realize that there was nothing I could have done. War sucks. People die. And make no mistake, Sutton, what you experienced was a war. The fault lay with the ones responsible for the attack. Not the victims.” She knew he was right, but she’d lived with the guilt for so long, it was difficult to let it go. But she would try. She was ready.

Wyatt glanced over at the computer, the image of the leader still open. His brow furrowed, an expression of confusion marring his features.

“What’s wrong?”

“Sutton,” he began with a deep breath. “I talked to the guys on Liam’s team. They’ve been itching to get this guy but said there was no proof he even existed. They couldn’t find your camera, and nobody knew what he looked like. The guy was a ghost. He’d attack, then disappear before the authorities could do anything. There were never any witnesses left alive, at least not ones the authorities had access to. But your pictures prove everything. It also proves there are witnesses who’ve obviously been imprisoned by him. How do you have these pictures, but no one else does?”

Sutton’s heart sank. Her gut churned as she lowered her head, the shame overwhelming her. She knew she’d made a mistake by hiding her pictures. Fear had been a powerful motivator immediately after the attack. But it had been two years, so why was she still sitting on those photographs?

“As we ran, I feared what would happen to the evidence in my pictures if I was killed or captured. I slipped the SD card out of my camera and hid it in a specially built compartment in my watch. Then I chucked the camera. It was the only thing I could think of to do. I knew how important the photos would be. But after I woke from the coma and learned Liam was dead, I let fear overtake common sense. After a few months, I knew I needed to do something, but it backfired.”

“What happened?”

“I sent a few of the pictures anonymously to a journalist I knew in Colombia. He was dead two days later.”

“Jesus,” gasped Wyatt.

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