Your wife’s death . . . your wife’s death . . .

Those words echoed over and over in his head, making him certain that one of the explosions from the op had fucked up his hearing, or worse, his brain.

“There must be some mistake,” Travis said hoarsely. “I talked to her not six days ago.”

“The cable came in at oh-four hundred yesterday—”

“H-how?” His questions were mechanical now. His legs were feeling numb, and it was a struggle to remain upright.

“Vehicular accident. We don’t have the details. But there’s a C-130 heading out . . .”

Travis heard no more. He found himself on the floor, on his ass, looking up at his CO and his fellow SEALs; his cheeks were wet.

That was how his nightmare began. Weeks that started with grief and anger finally ending in numbness. Because if he didn’t numb his pain, he couldn’t function.

He’d been thrown in jail twice. Both times for assault. The first time was for threatening the medical examiner with bodily harm—backing the man against the wall. The second, he punched out the detective on the case. The fucker insinuated that Sarah had been having an affair with John Cooper. Their car had exploded before falling into the Atlantic. It took two days to retrieve their bodies. Mutilatedby the elements, Travis didn’t really have much of a body to bury.

Nightmare.

Travis’s house had been ransacked—had become a crime scene. John Cooper’s blood was found among ripped-out cushions. It became a cold case. Rumor was Cooper owed the Russian Cartel some money for drugs.

Travis concluded that Sarah tried to help Cooper and got caught in the crossfire. After a two-week emergency leave, he went back to the mountains of Afghanistan a much-changed man. He became cold, methodical, and robotic on the battlefield. He served out the months required on his enlistment and quit.

He lost his purpose, but Benjamin Porter gave it back to him. In some way, his impromptu stint as a bodyguard for a senator gave him insight into the private security business, and the money to be gleaned from it. But the lead that cropped up following the discovery of the tattoo on the assassin, which was similar to Sarah’s, was the biggest boon motivating Travis to get his act together. He needed to get into the game. He sold his house, moved to DC, took out his investments, and started Blake Security Inc.

His buddy, Nate Reece, who had been a paramilitary operative for the CIA Clandestine service, partnered with him to form BSI. And with much input from Porter, BSI had grown into what it was today. Travis couldn’t deny that he had a driving reason to succeed. The more clout he had with the big guys, the more access he had to information. Information he had hoped to use to find out the truth about his wife’s death, and a large part of him believed she was alive. After three long years, his determination finally paid off.

Now he just had to figure out how to recapture the life they had shared. He looked at his closed study door and sighed. Hiding from Caitlin certainly wouldn’t contribute to that goal. Time to get his head out of his ass and man up.He’d be damned before he let John Cooper reach out from his grave to destroy them a second time.

“Well, hello.”

“Uh . . . hi,” Caitlin greeted the petite brunette tentatively. The woman gave her a broad smile, and gave her horn-rimmed glasses a push with a finger before entering the house.

“I’m Emily Shephard. You must be Caitlin.”

Emily walked over to the dining table and lowered an armload of files. Turning around, she extended her hand in greeting.

Firm handshake and intense scrutiny. Caitlin felt like she was under a microscope. Being on the run meant avoiding people, and right now she was a bit uncomfortable.

“Em.” A firm voice spoke behind them. “Are you trying to intimidate my girl?”

A protest bubbled up Caitlin’s throat at Travis’s proprietary words, but the heated possessive gaze he shot her, well . . . shut her up.

Emily burst out laughing. “Wow, Travis you don’t waste any time.”

“I go after what I want.” Travis stopped right in front of the two women and crossed his arms, not taking his eyes off Caitlin.

Caitlin frowned. Travis had some sort of epiphany during the fifteen minutes he had disappeared. She didn’t know whether it bode well for her or not. He seemed to have changed tactics from allowing her some leeway to a full-court press.

“What do you have for me, Emily?”

The brunette jerked her chin over to the files on the table. “Those are new contracts and applicants that may suit the job.Also Ed is suggesting you at least web conference in to the interviews this afternoon for the Kennedy account.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“Why can’t you do the interviews?” Caitlin needed to speak up. “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to babysit me.”

Travis scowled at her. “I’m not leaving you alone in a strange house or dragging you to the office with me on your first day home. Besides, we need to get you some basic stuff.”