Hard Way

Dedication

To MF & MB

Honesty makes us stronger.

Acknowledgment

We deeply appreciate our families’ unflagging support. Credit for much of our sanity is owed to the Group That Shall Not Be Named. Fatin Soufan and Fedora Chen have been marvelous, respectively, in making our publicity opportunities appear and our mistakes magically disappear! In addition, we offer thanks to Sarah Frantz, Rowan Larke, Zoe Archer, Patti Ann Colt, and Kelly Schaub for their friendship, and to Kevan Lyon and Sasha Knight for their amazing enthusiasm.

Chapter One

Captain Liam “Dash” Christiansen sped his Evo X sports coupe around the exit ramp. He gripped the leather-wrapped wheel. Gunned it. The tires squealed, though the car absorbed the curve without fault. He grinned tightly, enjoying the g-force and the tiny tremor of danger. There wasn’t much else to enjoy about the afternoon.

“Keep it under Mach two, please.”

“No problem,” he said.

At the red light at the base of the ramp, Dash slammed to a stop. He was normally a much more graceful driver, but he was making a point.

Sunita, his wife of eight years, sat rigidly in the passenger seat. Elegant fingers tipped with chocolate-brown polish were clasped in her lap. She hadn’t responded to his fit of pique by clinging to the armrest and bitching him out. Nope. Nothing had changed. She fired off brittle silences as ably as Dash flew fighter jets.

The light turned green. Dash floored it and powered through the last Sunday-quiet turn leading to his house.
Their
house, although her increasingly frequent, increasingly lengthy trips to DC made that more of a technicality. A little less than two years before, a job offer to serve as legal advisor to Representative John Rueland had been the making of Sunny’s hard-earned career. They’d indulged in a lavish dinner, made love for hours and welcomed the dawn with a familiar, confident promise.

Time apart wouldn’t affect their marriage.

But it had.

Why, Dash couldn’t say. He and Sunny had waded through some thick shit. They’d been in love since the age of twenty, when a blind date in their hometown of Portland first united an Air Force Academy cadet and an aspiring lawyer attending Berkeley. Semesters apart. Then internships and deployments. They’d triumphed over it all, even her Indian family’s objection to getting married before graduation.

If he and Sunny knew anything, it was how to survive separation. They knew how to sacrifice for a shared vision of the future.

Now, they didn’t even know how to talk to each other. Sunny’s only words since leaving the airport parking garage had been to politely criticize his driving.

After three weeks apart, Dash had expected more than a hug and a quick kiss. Too bad. That was all she’d permitted.

He pulled to a stop in their driveway, threw it in park and gunned the engine one more time for good measure. It did fuck all to ease his tightly wound nerves. This was combat-worthy anxiety. Sunny pointedly ignored him. She opened the passenger door and got out before he’d turned off the ignition. She carried her attaché toward the front door, with her luggage still in the trunk.

God, she was breathtaking. Barely five-foot-two, she never wore exaggerated high heels to lend extra height. She was too clever and strong-willed to need that. Instead she wore beaded silk flats that complemented her sari-inspired business suit, which looked immaculate even after the cross-country flight. Coffee-and-gold fabric curved against her pert little ass. The color utterly suited her deeply tan skin tone. Stockings showed off slender, petite legs—perfection from the backs of her thighs to her dainty ankles.

And her hair. He joked on occasion that he’d fallen in love with her hair before Sunny herself. So thick. So dark and lustrous. When unbound, it fell well below her waist. At the moment it was pinned in an elaborate maze of swirling silk. Dash had come to anticipate the point during their reunions when Sunny would smile, lift her arms and begin unraveling the braids. It was the simplest foreplay—revealing to him what she showed no one else.

But he sat in the car. Fuming. That eroticized ritual looked about as likely as a manned Mars mission by spring.

He switched off the ignition and jammed the heels of his palms against his eyes. Pushed hard. What the hell was happening to them? Building and building…and still, it had no name. A rough patch? A course correction? Something more serious?

He shoved out of the Evo and followed where Sunny had disappeared into their rental. Tidy and compact, the tan stucco bungalow on the north side of Vegas, not too far from Nellis Air Force Base, had been their home for two and a half years. Dash’s assignment to the 64
^th
Aggressor Squadron had been another of those career high moments. All their plans coming to fruition. Clear skies ahead.

More like a sandstorm.

He shut and locked the door behind him.

In law school, Sunny’s colleagues had referred to her as the Ice Queen of Bangalore. Privately, she enjoyed the compliment—as long as they got the city right. She’d usually shared her amusement while curled naked against Dash, their limbs a tangle. Dash had always relished the contrast between his sweaty, debauched wife and the cold-ass lawyer everyone else knew.

Sunny stood dead center in their living room. On occasion, he had been on the receiving end of her Ice Queen glare. More often of late and full-on right then.

“We need to talk.”

Although she’d been born in the US, her voice was tinged with the graceful melody of her parents’ languages.

“You could say that.” He stalked past her and into the kitchen, grabbing two bottles of water. She declined the one he offered. “So. Talk.”

“Liam, you know what this is about. Don’t play ‘dumb as shit’ Dash with me.”

“This is not me playing dumb. This is me being ticked off and confused as hell.” He took a swig of the water, wishing it was straight whiskey. “What’s going on, Sunny? Emails and voicemails, but you don’t reply.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Now you’re home after three weeks, and I get a peck on the cheek? Seriously?”

Her shrug looked forced, but she kept her chin up. “Sorry. Just tired. And we both have to go to work tomorrow.”

Dash grit his teeth together.
Work.
Christ, they didn’t fight about much else. Or talk about much else.

Something dark and nasty was pushing out from his skin. Stronger and stronger. Each calm blink of her deep brown eyes stoked his most basic, most devastating fears. He was losing her.

That fear was rapidly boiling into venomous anger.

“So spill it. I’m through with twenty questions.”

When they shared free time in the same zip code, he and Sunny were both avid practitioners of various martial arts styles. From ju-jitsu to Krav Maga to Kalaripayattu, an Indian fighting style Sunny’s father had taught her from childhood—they loved it all. Incorporating new moves into their sparring sessions bordered on the obsessive. There was always victory to be had in a takedown.

She stared at him that way now, as if they were on the verge of a sparring match. Her eyes blazed with dark defiance, not any need for rational discussion. Her lips always rested in a placid half-smile, no matter her mood, which only heightened her apparent calm. Mystery and challenge. A stellar mind tucked inside a petite, apparently defenseless body.

Dash knew better. She dished it out as well as she could take it.

That infuriating half-smile never changed when she said, “I want a divorce.”

He might as well have taken a roundhouse to the face. Flinch. Stagger. Boil with rage. That was on the inside.

In truth he stood as mountain-still as she did.

“What did you say?”

“I want a divorce. We’ve known this has been a long time coming.”

“
We?
Bullshit.”

“It’s true and you know it. Things are…broken.” She had the emotional courtesy of appearing pained. A sheen of tears brightened her eyes before she blinked them away. “There’s no sense in dragging this out.”

“This. As in our marriage.” He carefully capped the water bottle. Then he hurled it against the wall, where it cracked and spun on the tile floor.

Sunny flinched, but neither of them moved. Still on the sparring mat. “You can put that temper away or I’m leaving.”

“You seem ready to leave anyway,” he sneered, his head buzzing and thumping. “It’s a
marriage
, Sunny. It’s supposed to be
dragged out
. Till death do us part, if I remember right.”

“Things change.”

“So, what, no counseling? No…I don’t know, sitting down and talking it through?” He was pacing now. The energy ballooning in his bloodstream needed an outlet before he smashed something more than a water bottle. “Three weeks gone and
boom
. All settled in that million-dollar brain of yours. Did you have an epiphany on the goddamn plane?”

“It hasn’t been that simple.”

“Oh, glad to hear. Do elaborate.”

No wonder she was such a damn good lawyer. Nothing read on her heart-shaped face. Only long years together gave Dash little hints that his wife was still in there somewhere. Her feet were positioned side by side. Primly. Symmetrically. She always stood that way when greeting her parents after a long absence. And her fingers were knitted together at her waist, fidgeting.

“When was the last time we laughed, Dash? Like old times?” Her words started out almost accusatory, but they slipped toward wistful as she continued. “When was the last time we dressed up and headed down to the Strip? Or ate somewhere that didn’t do takeout? Or shut the phones off and stayed in bed all weekend?”

“You say that like it’s something I haven’t wanted.”

“Funny way of showing it. I come home and get the cold shoulder about how much time I’m spending in Washington.”

Dash stopped, glared. “I’ve supported your choice from the start.”

“My choice? Now it’s
my
choice?”

“Two years is a long time.”

“So was waiting for you to come home from each tour.” Her mouth tightened. Gloss shimmered there, as perfect as the rest of her. “You haven’t shown me anywhere near that level of support and reassurance.”

“You are so far off the mark—”

“And then there’s sex,” she said with more force. “Generally, it’s right before I leave, when you realize I’ll be gone soon. It’s an obligation like packing my toiletries bag.”

A headache exploded across his brow. Sex…an obligation? That he didn’t support her career? He supported it every time he watched her print new boarding passes and didn’t shred the damn things.

“It’s so bad you wanna throw it out? Just like that?”

“I said it hasn’t been a snap decision.”

She swallowed. The flash of worry on her face tightened his spine. A shiver crawled over his skin. Something big was coming. For the first time in his life—combat and all—he didn’t know if he could handle it.

“And now,” she whispered. “Well, I’ve met someone.”

His temper didn’t blaze. Instead, he went corpse-cold. “Met someone.”

“He works in Rueland’s office too.”

“Met. Someone.”

Her shoulders yanked back, on the defensive. “Ten years as a couple. Eight years married. Maybe six of those spent apart. Are you going to tell me it wasn’t bound to happen?”

Dash strode across the room. Her wrists in one hand. The knotted bundle of her hair in the other. He gripped both too hard. Sunny hissed. Her dark eyes widened. He was so close he could make out every kohl-black lash.

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. It was not
bound to happen
. But you can let it happen. So where is this jackass? Waiting to whisk you away?”

“Don’t be patronizing. He’s in Los Angeles until we return to DC.”

“Thank fuck for small mercies.”

“Dash, stop it. Let go of me.”

“No.” He gave her head a shake. “You might as well tell me to calm down too. I’ll tell you
no
again.”

“This is why I didn’t want to return your calls or reply to your emails. I knew you’d lose it.”

“You were right,” he said with a nod. “And it’s better in person after all. That way I can look you in the eyes when you answer me.”