Twenty minutes later, after the chopper touched down on the base, Cash said goodbye to the others and practically sprinted to the parking lot, with Ryan hot on his heels. Since he’d left his car with Jen, he had to rely on Ryan to drop him at their building, but fortunately, Evans seemed as eager to get going as Cash did. They were on the road in five minutes flat, and while Ryan drove, Cash grabbed his cell phone from the glove compartment and turned it on. Probably made him a total pansy, but when he saw the missed call and message from Jen, his heart did a dumb little flip.

He punched in the pass code for his inbox, desperate to hear Jen’s voice, even if it was via voicemail, but two minutes later, his desperation had transformed into a burst of white-hot rage.

“Goddamn it,” he swore, slamming his hand on the dash so hard he was surprised the air bag didn’t deploy in his face.

Ryan looked over sharply. “What’s wrong?”

“Fucking Psycho McGee attacked Jen.” Cash’s voice came out low and deadly, and his insides had coiled into incensed knots.

“What? I thought he left town.”

“He did, but apparently he came back. The ass**le showed up at Jen’s apartment, muscled his way inside, and f**king attacked her.”

His hands curled into fists. Jen had assured him in the message that she was okay and that Brendan had been arrested, but that didn’t stop Cash from wanting to murder the son of a bitch.

“Is she all right?” Ryan asked.

“She claims she’s fine.” He clenched his teeth. “But who the f**k knows.”

Ryan sped up without needing to be asked. With the Jeep’s top down, the wind hissed in the front seat and slapped Cash’s face as the scenery whizzed past his peripheral vision. The closer they got to their building, the angrier Cash felt. At Brendan. At himself.

Before he could stop it, a rush of guilt flooded his body and tightened his throat. Fuck. Fuck. He should have been here to protect her. Jen hadn’t said much in the message, and she certainly hadn’t sounded accusatory or upset with him, but Cash was pretty damn upset with himself. What kind of man couldn’t protect the woman he loved?

“Get out here,” Ryan said briskly as he slowed down in front of the building. “I’ll park the car.”

Cash was out of the Jeep before it came to a complete stop. He still wore his dirty fatigues, his boots were caked with dirt and sand from their three-day stint in the desert, but he didn’t give a shit about his appearance at the moment. He all but sprinted up to the second floor, his pulse drumming in tune to his hurried footsteps.

Worry and rage mingled in his blood to form a cocktail of nerves. Jen had said she was okay, but if so much as a hair on her head had been harmed, Cash was going to rip Psycho McGee’s throat out, even if he had to break into the bastard’s jail cell to do it.

“Jen!” he called as he dove through the front door. “Sweetheart, you here?”

No answer.

His heart jammed in his throat. Had she left? She’d said on the message that she and Annabelle were heading back here, but granted, that had been hours ago.

What if she was gone?

What if she’d changed her mind about being with him?

Cold reality splashed him in the face as he realized he wouldn’t blame her at all for that. He hadn’t been there for her when she’d needed him. And wasn’t that the crux of her no-military thing? That she wanted a man who’d f**king be there?

When he entered the living room and found it empty, Cash’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach. A quick peek into his bedroom revealed another empty room.

So that was it. She wasn’t here.

“Cash?”

He jumped in surprise, then spun around to find Jen by the bathroom doorway.

For one long moment, he was frozen in place. His gaze focused on her swollen left eye, already a ghastly shade of purple. Her lush mouth, pursed in a worried frown. Her long blonde hair falling over one shoulder.

“You’re here,” he blurted out.

She cast him a strange look. “Of course I am.”

Cash flew to her, his heart pounding incessantly as he yanked her into his arms and held her so tight he heard her gasp for air. But he couldn’t help himself. She felt so small and fragile in his arms. He breathed in the flowery aroma of her shampoo, the sweet feminine scent that was uniquely Jen, and his heart lurched in his chest.

He pulled back and gently stroked her cheek, right beneath her swollen eye. “Fuck,” he mumbled. “Oh, f**k, Jen. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Her voice trembled. “It looks worse than it feels.”

The sight of that black eye sent a bolt of pure fury up his spine. “I’m going to drown the bastard,” he hissed.

A faint smile played over her lips. “First of all, drowning is Carson’s thing. Second, Brendan was arrested, so I suggest we let the cops deal with him. And third—what are you doing home? I figured you’d be gone for longer.”

“I told you it was a minor op,” he reminded her. Self-recrimination poured into him, and he swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

Surprise flickered in her eyes. “Why are you sorry?”

The lump in his throat was so massive he could barely get a word out. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he croaked. “Christ, I should’ve been here, but I wasn’t and look what happened—that son of a bitch hurt you.”

“Cash—”