Page 92 of Keeping a Warrior

A long pause, and then Rhys said, “Not as up close as you did, but yes.”

His voice was thick, and raw. “When I was still with my squadron, we were out on a call. I was in the trail helicopter manning the .50-cal, meaning we were on overwatch while the lead helo was handling the casualties. Right when they landed to pick up the wounded guys, a small pickup truck started barreling along the road toward them.”

Devon let go of his shirt and laid her hand over his heart, listening.

Rhys stared up at the ceiling as he retreated into the memory. “I fired some warning shots in front of them, and a couple of Marines on the ground tried waving them off. They kept coming so I—”

“You lit them up.”

Rhys nodded, his lips tight. “I did. Turned the truck into Swiss cheese. When it stopped moving, I—I cheered. Then the Marines dragged the bodies out.”

Devon winced. “Not much to cheer about,” she whispered, thinking about the insurgent’s shocked face, then the permanent blankness of death.

“No. Turns out they were armed, so I’d saved the guys on the ground. But—”

But human beings were still dead at your hand. At my hand.

She shuddered. Could she have done anything differently?

“Hey. You can’t second-guess it, Devon, or you’ll drive yourself insane,” Rhys said gently. “You made a split-second decision based on your training and assessment of the situation. Trust it.”

I have to. I don’t have any other choice if I want to live with this, do I?

She looked up at him. His steady gaze held understanding, and a pain that mirrored her own. Cupping his cheek, Devon closed her eyes as his lips touched hers and clung for one brief second.

They lay down fully clothed, and Rhys spooned around her. “Get some sleep. I’m here.”

Nestled in his arms, Devon blinked back hot tears.

Her teammates. Husbands, fathers, sons, all of them. Would they have lived if she hadn’t been able to kill the insurgent? Probably. He’d been trapped in the house, with only one way out. The SEALs would’ve heard the exchange of gunfire and been waiting for him. Game over.

But she wouldn’t have lived through it. The women and children certainly wouldn’t have, and the moment Devon walked into that stone house, they’d become her responsibility and hers alone. She’d saved them, and herself, by taking someone else’s life.

It was self-defense. It was protection of the innocent.

Devon closed her eyes.

It was war.

Chapter Sixteen

Rhys lay awake long after Devon drifted into an uneasy sleep.

She should’ve had backup.

They’d all heard the stories of insurgents who dressed themselves as women, knowing the American men wouldn’t dare search them. Why hadn’t that occurred to him—to anybody—before they’d sent Devon into that house alone?

Thank God she was as cool-headed, and capable, as she was or else a flag-draped box would be on its way home to her family at this very moment...

The horror of it slammed into Rhys anew.

Because of his short-sightedness, his eagerness to get into the action, Devon now had another burden she’d have to carry for the rest of her life. How many times had Rhys woken up sweating and gasping for air at the memory of bullet-riddled, bloodied bodies lying next to a smoldering truck?

And he hadn’t looked into their faces a split second before he snuffed out their lives.

“You’re so strong,” he whispered into Devon’s hair. “So fucking strong. And I’m so sorry.”

At last he fell asleep to the sound of her steady, reassuring breaths.