The last statement struck Kerra like a blow to the chest. She took several steps back and dropped down onto the edge of the bed.

Oblivious to his unwitting revelation, The Major continued. “He took his failure hard. We had a vicious quarrel. Issues that had been brewing between us came pouring out and … Did he tell you about Debra’s diary?”

Marianne had obviously been someone important to Trapper. That didn’t trouble her as much as the fact that he’d never even mentioned her name. However, he’d spoken freely about his mother’s diary and how he had used it as a weapon against his father, but it would be a betrayal of his confidence to admit she knew about that.

When she didn’t respond to his question, The Major wheezed, “Well, no matter. Each of us said things that damaged our relationship.”

“That saddens me.”

“Me too. Can’t speak for John.”

“I believe he regrets the rift. Deeply.”

“If he does, he sure hasn’t shown it.”

“I don’t believe it’s irreparable.”

“Because you don’t know John. He gives no quarter. He can be unmerciful. Harsh. Cruel, even.”

Kerra’s throat grew tight. “Why are you telling me this?”

“According to Glenn, you’ve ‘taken up with him.’ You’re adults. It’s not my business except that—I suppose because I saved you once before—I feel a certain responsibility toward you, Kerra.”

“What about Trapper? Don’t you feel a responsibility toward him?”

“Of course I do. I love my son, but he rejects it,” he said, his voice cracking. “He’s discarded everything and everyone who cares about him. He’s chosen a destructive path and is determined to stay on it. If only to spite me,” he added in an undertone.

She disagreed. Trapper wasn’t motivated by spite, or jealousy, or the pettiness The Major attributed to him. But she wasn’t going to get in the middle of the conflict between them, which was already complicated enough.

She said, “Trapper believes he’s right.”

“If he is, that makes him a target. Don’t you see? Like I was Sunday night. Like you were and still are. Take my warning to heart, Kerra. John is reckless and won’t listen to anybody, and as long as you’re with him—” He broke off. “The nurse is back and reclaiming her phone. I have to go.” He heaved a rattling breath. “For god’s sake, be careful.”

“I will. Now please rest.”

They exchanged subdued goodbyes. For minutes after they disconnected, Kerra remained seated on the bed, her posture slumped with despondency over everything The Major had told her.

She didn’t realize the shower had stopped running until Trapper opened the bathroom door and came out, a cloud of steam escaping with him. “I hope I didn’t use all the hot water.”

He was wearing only a towel around his hips, his hair still soaked and dripping onto his shoulders. His torso was lean, skin tightly molded to muscle and rib cage. The wedge of damp, softly curled hair over his pecs tapered to form a sleek, yummy trail. The landscape beneath the towel was so well defined it was decadent.

He would have looked delicious if not for the hostile glint in his eyes as he walked over to the bed and held out his hand. “Give me the phone.”

She laid it in his palm. He took the back off and removed the battery. In a dull voice she said, “I thought the number was untraceable.”

“Not worth chancing. You and The Major have a nice chat?”

“Not really.”

It wasn’t the reply he’d expected. He stopped fiddling with the phone and focused the cold blue eyes on her.

“He said that I should take warning.”

“Against?”

“You.”

“Figures.”

“He called you reckless, and said that you can be harsh, cruel, and that you’ve chosen a destructive path.”

He assimilated all that, then smirked. “You know where the door is.”

He moved away and took a pair of Levis from one of the shopping bags Carson had brought. Turning his back to her, he dropped the towel and pulled on the jeans sans boxers or briefs.

Kerra stood up. “Who’s Marianne?”

He froze for a five-count, then hiked the jeans over his butt and did them up before coming back around. “I hate new jeans,” he muttered and began rummaging in the shopping bag.

“Trapper?”

“Hmm?” He snapped the price tag off a long-sleeved black t-shirt and pulled it on over his head, seeming to have forgotten that his hair was wet. After pushing his arms through the sleeves and working the shirt over his chest, he bent down and scooped the towel off the floor, then vigorously rubbed it over his head.

“Are you going to answer me?”

“Obviously, if the old man is that talkative, he’s recovering. I should stop wasting good worry on him.”

“Answer me!”

He dropped the wet towel back onto the floor, then placed his hands on his hips and glared at her from the opposite side of the bed.

She didn’t cower.

He raised his hands at his sides in a no big deal gesture. “Marianne Collins. She was another ATF agent.”

Kerra held her ground but didn’t say anything.

He stayed as he was for a few seconds, then picked up the shopping bag and dumped the contents onto the bed. He found a pair of socks among the items. He ripped open the packaging with his teeth and sat down in one of the chairs at the table to pull them on.

As he reached for his boot, he glanced at Kerra, who hadn’t moved from her spot. He cursed under his breath as he pulled the boot on. “If he brought up her name, the least he could have done was give you the nitty-gritty. Or did he?”

“He said your obsession with the Pegasus cost Marianne her job, too.”

“It did. She defended me and supported my hypothesis about an instigator. The bureau decided that if her loyalty to me outweighed her loyalty to it, she should go when I did. The difference was …” he said, taking up his other boot and shoving his foot into it, “… she gave a fuck.” He stood up and tested the feel of his boots and the stiff new jeans before looking across at her. “The hot water’s probably been replaced by now.”

“Marianne wasn’t just a colleague, was she, Trapper?”

“Too bad none of this was covered in all those Internet articles you read about me. You could be taking a nice, hot shower, and I could be left the hell alone!”

“You were together?”

He hissed an expletive, but then took a breath and flatly stated, “We were engaged.”

“She broke the engagement after she was fired?”

“No, I did.”

“Why?”

“Because she was learning what life with me would be like. How reckless, harsh, cruel, and … What was the other thing?” He snapped his fingers several times in rapid succession. “Destructive.”

Suddenly, his head dropped forward. He pressed his thumb and middle finger into his eye sockets. When he lowered his hand, he walked over to the window and parted the curtains to look out. Kerra knew he wasn’t taking in the scenery. There was nothing to it except a potholed asphalt parking lot and tumbleweeds trapped against a leaning, snaggle-toothed fence.

He was quiet for so long, she thought he was done talking about it. Then he began in a monotone.

“I came home one day. Middle of the day. Marianne was in bed, crying. Like, sobbing. Wracking sobs. Inconsolable. She cried for a long time.” A beat later, he said, “While I cleaned up the blood on the bathroom floor.”

Kerra felt as though she’d swallowed a stone. She stood as unmoving as one.

“Marianne hadn’t told me she was pregnant, not wanting to add to the pressure I’d been under at work. But that only compounded the pressure she was under. All that stress and bitterness and uncertainty about the future didn’t make for a healthy environment for an embryo.”

A full minute ticked by. When he turned around to her, his impenetrable mask was firmly fixed. “So, yeah, definitely destructive. I was afraid that if I stayed, I would only cause Marianne more grief, more heartbreak, and from the reproachful way she was looking at me, I knew she was afraid of the same. So I packed my things and left that night. Which is what you should do. Heed The Major’s warning. Leave.”