LITMIR.BIZ

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“Yes.”

      He abruptly released her wrist.

      “Why?” Her voice was husky with emotion. “What did you think I’d put in there?”

      “My pain medication.”

      She stared at him in amazement. “You thought I was trying to drug you against your will?”

      “That thought did cross my mind, yes.”

      “You clearly have a suspicious mind.”

      “It’s kept me alive more times than I can count.”

      “We’re not in a battle zone here.”

      “Doesn’t matter. It’s an ingrained part of my training, thinking of scenarios and outcomes, thinking of everything as a weapon, even this fork.” He used the utensil to eat the last bite of scrambled eggs. “You call it being suspicious, I call it being alert, never letting down my defenses.”

      She realized then how deep his distrust truly ran—not just of her but of everyone and everything around him.

      “If I gave you my word that I won’t drug you, that it’s completely unethical for me to do so, would that make you feel better? If I swore on your mother’s life, as you put it, would that make you feel better?”

      “The only thing that will make me feel better is regaining complete mobility of my arm and rejoining my squadron. Anything less than that is unacceptable.”

      Kelly had worked with patients before who’d been unable to accept their injuries and the limitations that had subsequently been placed on them. Inevitably it made their recoveries slower. But there was no speeding up the acceptance process. Each individual had to get there at their own rate, in their own time, in their own way. She had a feeling that Justice’s way would be the hard way. He wasn’t a man to take the easy route.

      She didn’t even realize that she was absently rubbing her wrist until he spoke.

      “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

      “I’m sorry you didn’t trust me,” she replied. “That’s bound to make this process more difficult.”

      “I told you, I don’t trust anyone.”

      “Not even your own family?”

      “Of course I trust them.”

      “Then trust that your mother knew what she was doing when she sent me to you.”

      “I trust her, not her judgment about everything.”

      “Oh, so you think I conned your mother into sending me here?” Kelly asked mockingly. “Sure, I can understand that. After all, she’s such a gullible lady. Very naive. Easy to fool. Nothing to pull the wool over her eyes. An easy mark. A real bubblehead.”

      “Hey, nobody calls my mom a bubblehead,” Justice growled.

      “My point exactly. She’s one of the sharpest women I’ve ever met.”

      “Okay, okay, so my mother is not easily fooled. Point taken.”

      “I hope so. I’d rather not have this conversation every time I offer you a drink. Think of all the energy you’re expending on that distrust.”

      “It’s not wasted energy.”

      “Yes, it is. That mind-set may be useful during one of your covert special ops, as you called them, but you don’t need that kind of defense mechanism in this situation. You’re safe here.”

      Didn’t she understand that he wasn’t safe anywhere? He’d let down his guard when he’d rushed in to save that toddler, and look where it had gotten him. If he’d been more alert, he might have fallen differently. He’d been trained to drop and roll and had avoided injury so many times in the past. It was one of the reasons he’d gotten his nickname.

      No, he definitely was not safe, not from the nightmares about the car bursting into flames, not about the doubts that he refused to even acknowledge.

      He had no room in his life for such things.

      Kelly claimed she could help him, fine. Here was her chance to prove it. He’d always been a man who believed more in actions than in words.

      That didn’t mean he trusted Kelly, or her motives. Bottom line was that she was still his ex-wife’s sister and his divorce had not exactly been an amicable one. Kelly might still have some sort of hidden agenda for coming here. Which meant he’d have one, too.

      Point, counterpoint, strike, counterstrike. It’s what he did, how he thought. Trust was not a requirement for getting the use of his arm back.

      “You’d better start reviewing my medical report so we can get this op under way.” He impatiently waited while she read through the file. “Well? What’s the plan? You do have a plan, right?”

      “Give me a minute here.”

      “Because planning plays as important a role in the preparation of battle as in the conduct of battle.”

      “Which is all very well and good but we’re not talking about a battle here.”

      “Yes, we are. I’m not stupid enough to think otherwise. It’s going to be a battle to get my strength back.”

      “There’s no guarantee your arm will recover fully, but you have a much better chance of increasing your range of mobility with physical therapy and time.”

      “I don’t have much time and I’m not interested in merely increasing my range of mobility. I want my arm back the way it was before.”

      “I can’t guarantee that will happen, Justice,” she said quietly.

      “No excuses, no exceptions.”

      “And no false promises of a miracle cure. We can just take this one step at a time and see how things progress. Deal?”

      She held out her hand.

      He reluctantly took it in his. His fingers were warm against her skin as he gingerly wrapped them around her hand. Even something as simple as a handshake proved difficult. Gritting his teeth, he silently railed against his own weakness.

      “Don’t push yourself to do too much too soon, that will do more damage than good,” she warned him.

      “Have you always been this bossy?”

      “No, I think I’ve become bossier with age and now I’m getting pretty darn good at it. Which is a good thing considering that you’re used to drill instructors screaming orders at you. But don’t worry, I’ll try not to be too hard on you. No marching orders, none of that ‘right face’ or ‘forward march’ stuff.”

      “Stuff?”

      “Not the appropriate military terminology? Sorry about that. Medical terminology is more my thing. For example, antibodies. Everyone knows that antibodies are against everyone. And that an enema is not a friend. Hey, was that a smile I saw there, soldier?”

      “I’m a Marine, not a soldier.”

      “Sorry, I’ll repeat the question. Was that a smile I saw there, Mr. Big Bad Marine?”

      “It was gas.”

      “Listen, buddy, any more jabs at my cooking and you’ll be pulling kitchen duty. And don’t even think about calling me a feisty little thing again.”

      “I wasn’t going to.”

      “Good.”

      “I’m still waiting to hear your plan.”

      “Okay, then. Here it is. We start out nice and easy…” Kelly began when he immediately interrupted her.

      “I don’t like that plan.”

      She gave a long-suffering sigh. “Maybe this should be the part where I point

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