by Elise Faber
“Gotta get more graceful.”
More glares.
“God, you’re pretty.” Her lips parted, face softening for a few moments. Then her eyes started to narrow again, and I added, “I’m still well-aware that you can kick my ass.”
A nod. A pleased expression before she faced forward again.
I wheeled her to her room and opened the door.
“Dan,” she breathed.
“What?” I asked, knowing full well what had given her that reaction. I’d arranged for a surprise, had snuck it into her room, wanting to keep working at those walls, wanting her to know I hadn’t forgotten all of what had transpired in that cell.
She reached back and covered my hand, squeezing lightly.
I’d put some battery-operated candles on the small table that was in each of these rooms. A single chair, same standard issue, had been pushed to the side to give a full view of the rifle.
Matte black metal, sleek and sexy, and a perfect fit for this woman.
Luna 2.0 had arrived.
I pushed her to the table. “How did you—?” She broke off, shook her head.
“When Laila told you that Luna hadn’t been recovered, I talked to Fred. He helped me get the newest model, but,” I added, “he modified it so you’d have the scope and trigger you prefer.”
Silence.
Absolute silence for an interminable moment.
Then her shoulders shook, and she sniffed.
Shit.
I dropped the handles and rounded the wheelchair, kneeling in front of her. “Shit, Ava. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”
Fingers dropping to my lips, she shook her head, and when her gaze came to mine, I saw that her eyes were damp. “Thank you,” she whispered. “This is the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever gotten me.”
I kissed her palm, peeled her fingers free. “Weapons as a good gift. Check.”
She snorted. “Wheel me closer, Jeeves. I’ve got to check out the goods.”
Rising, I rolled her closer to the table, giving her a few minutes to get acquainted with her new best friend, and heading to the door when the soft knock came. Olive stood on the other side, eyes narrowed.
“No hanky-panky,” she ordered, holding up a tray of food.
“Not on my radar,” I said, which was a lie, of course. I would always want this woman, but also, she was recovering from her injuries. I could wait.
Narrowed blue eyes. “Lie.” She patted my cheek. “But also, you’re a good man. Feed the woman, let her become acquainted with her new best friend, and make sure you both get some sleep—those ribs are still healing.”
“What’s with women always giving me orders?” I mock-grumbled.
Another pat. “You’re used to it.” She said her goodbye, and I shut the door, turning back to see that Ava was on her feet—or rather one foot, sighting the scope.
“Seriously?” I asked, moving toward her, setting the tray on the table, and scooping her into my arms. “No weight on that foot, remember?”
“To the bed, minion,” she said, pointing to the mattress. “I’m not going to argue with you if it infringes on my Luna time.” Since I wanted her resting, I didn’t return with any snark, just pulled back the covers, set her carefully on the bed, and propped her foot with a pillow. “Dan?”
“Hmm?” I said, moving back to the table and the tray of food.
My inner caveman was piqued, a chant of food, rest, sleep, food, rest, sleep on repeat in my brain.
“Dan.”
She snagged my hand, and I turned back.
A tug brought me closer.
Another tug even closer.
One more until our lips were a hairsbreadth apart.
And then she kissed me, slow and sweet and coaxing, but with so much heat that my knees actually shook by the time we pulled away.
“Thank you,” she murmured against my mouth, and the love I felt for this woman was all-consuming and overwhelming and really fucking incredible.
I cupped her cheek, pressed one more light kiss to her lips.
And then I gave into my inner caveman.
Food. Relaxing. Sleep.
The sleep was my favorite part.
Because I got to hold her in my arms again.
Twenty-Six
Northeast England
KTS Headquarters
18:26hrs local time
Ava
A week later, there was a knock on my door.
I was sitting up, staring at the report the tech team had sent over, and trying to figure out our next steps.
We’d run some remote surveillance on the other drops we’d managed to deduce from the initial files, but no trafficking had taken place on any of them. So, it had become clear that the Toscalos and Mikhailovas had changed tactics.
Whether they’d simply stopped trading in people for the moment or just changed the trade routes was still a question we needed answered.
“Come in,” I called since it wasn’t like I was fully mobile.
By the time I made it to the door at “Grandma Speed”—thanks to Laila for that one—the person on the other side would be turning gray.
The knob rotated, and the wooden panel opened.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed that it wasn’t Dan.
“Oh,” Laila grumbled. “Don’t look like that. Dan and Ryker are coming and bringing pizzas.”
I frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s been a fucked-up couple of weeks. We’re hanging out. We’re eating pizza”—she pointed a finger at me—“and we’re going to enjoy spending time as a team.”
Another knock at the door before I could say anything.
Olive poked her head in, carrying a plate of what looked like brownies. She glanced at me working and frowned. “You’re supposed to be resting. You won’t get any treats if you’re not resting.”
I nodded to my foot, encased in the cast and elevated on a spare chair Dan had brought to my room for just this purpose. “I’m resting.”
“I hope so,” she said, pulling a bag out of her jacket pocket. “Otherwise, no cinnamon rolls for you.”
She wafted the bag under my nose and immediately my stomach rumbled.
“Freshly baked?” I asked, able to feel the heat from the bag.
“Yup.” A beat. “So, you working?”
I flicked a finger, made the laptop’s screen go black. “Nope.”
She handed over the bag.
“How’d you know?” I asked, opening the top and scooping out a fingerful of frosting.
“About your cinnamon roll addiction?” Olive shrugged when I nodded. “Same way I know you don’t like chocolate and that for some inane reason, Ryker doesn’t drink coffee—”
“Can’t mess up this perfect temple,” Ryker said as he pushed through the door, pizza box in hand.
“Says the man carrying a pizza with at least five types of meat on it,” Dan said dryly. His eyes met mine, and I felt my heart pick up its pace. He’d slept in my bed every night for the last week. He’d helped me to the bathroom, washed my hair over the sink. He’d brought me coffee—because I sure as shit drank it—and he’d . . . been there, even when I’d been cranky.
And I had to face it; I’d been cranky a lot.
I wasn’t used to not being busy.
Even between missions I was always training—either hand-to-hand combat training or working out in the gym or practicing at the range or even just prepping for the next mission. So to have had a week off, and five to seven more in my future, I was going a little stir crazy.
And maybe part of me was still half-expecting that Dan would get tired of my bullshit and back off, if he saw how much of a bitch I could be.
Instead, he just grinned.
Which usually resulted in me threatening to use Luna 2.0 on him.
And that resulted in him kissing me until I forgot to be grumpy.
I couldn’t lie and say it didn’t work.
N
ow, he and Ryker set the pizzas down, shoved my laptop onto a shelf, and moved me so they could drag the table to the foot of the bed.
“Hi,” Dan murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of my neck as he deposited me near the headboard. Olive shoved a pillow under my cast, and Laila set a plate of pizza in my lap with a wink.
“Don’t think I didn’t see that,” she whispered.
“No comments allowed from the team leader married to her underling,” I muttered.
“Comments withheld.” A beat. “But I’m happy to see you . . . well, happy.”
“Exactly,” Olive said, bouncing onto the bed next to me. “I don’t care who you’re doing the nasty with”—she arrowed a glance at Dan—“and that’s a metaphorical nasty, since she’s not cleared for bedroom activities yet.” That glare swiveled to me. “Well, technically you’re not cleared for any activities yet.”
“How about sniper practice?” I asked innocently.
“So much sass,” she grumbled. “You always used to be so quiet and following my orders. You were my best patient.”
“I was just your sneakiest,” I told her. “Unlike those two, who complain every time and make it obvious.”
“Hey!” Ryker said.
“Hey!” Olive said.
“Cat’s out of the bag,” Laila said. “You would have done better to hold that one to your chest.”
I picked up a slice of pizza. “I just spent two days getting shot and stabbed and having bones broken. I killed my father—which I should probably feel guilty about, but I don’t, so you tell me what kind of person that makes me—and then I confronted being back in a cell where I spent the better part of two years, one that gave me nightmares up until all the shooting and stabbing and bone-breaking. I think I’m done holding things to my chest.”
Silence.
Then Dan sank down on the bed next to me, took my hand. “Two years?”
“Yup,” I said then added dryly, “Anyone want to join me for the Toscalo family reunion?”
“If it means I get to obliterate them all, then yes,” Ryker said.
“Agree,” Laila said.
“I’m in,” Olive said.
“You don’t even have to ask,” Dan said.
Aw.
Planning the destruction of my biological relatives. Good times.
“I think we’d better start with pizza,” I said.
“Fair,” Laila said, loading her own plate, “but if we get a chance to take out the Toscalos, we’re going to take it.”
“Agreed,” Dan said.
I nodded.
Olive patted my hand.
Ryker met my eyes, inclined his head.
“In the meantime,” Laila said. “We focus on the Mikhailova. And we focus on finding out whether the traitor in our midst is Daniel or someone else.” Her brows furrowed, her expression intent and dead set. Then she relaxed, met my eyes, and smiled. “But first, pizza, and dishing on your and Dan’s kissy-face activities.”
“A lethal secret agent should not be saying words like kissy-face,” Dan muttered.
“Don’t try and put me in a box!” Laila exclaimed.
I sighed.
Olive grinned over at me. “Yes. We are women, hear us roar. Heels and guns, pizza and . . . all the kissy-facing.”
I groaned.
Ryker burst out laughing.
“Remind me again why I let you guys into my room again?”
“We brought treats,” Olive reminded her, snatching the paper bag with the cinnamon rolls back. “Anymore sass out of you, and I’ll eat this myself.”
“Tyrant,” I muttered.
“Friend,” she whispered as Laila grabbed the TV remote and she and Ryker began arguing over what movie to put on. “One who’s glad to finally be able to see the real you.” Olive leaned close. “And if you’re wondering why you don’t feel guilty about your father, it’s because you’re a good person, one who’s had to make a lifetime’s worth of tough decisions, and this one wasn’t any different. You did what you had to do, and you’re not going to look back and analyze every eyelash twitch.”
I released a breath, touched to the core. All these years I’d done my level best to keep everyone out, and . . . I hadn’t succeeded in the least. They knew me with or without the walls.
Then she gave me the death knell. The one that made my eyes sting. “And you’re not going to feel guilty because we won’t let you. We love you, Ava.”
“Fuck,” I muttered.
“What?” She frowned, even as Dan, all too familiar with my outbursts by now to react, simply squeezed my hand.
“I don’t know how you assholes made a place in my heart,” I told her. “But I’m damned glad you managed.”
“Don’t be too happy,” Dan said. He jutted his chin toward Laila.
Who had just come to an agreement with Ryker about which movie to watch.
It was Christmas-themed. It was a Christmas-themed romantic movie.
In the middle of summer. In a room of secret agents.
I gestured to Dan to come close, leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Spoiler alert,” I breathed. “I like it when the guy and the girl get their happy ending.”
“I heard that!” Laila crowed.
“Good,” I said.
And I decided that if this was the result of my walls falling, of me failing to keep everyone at a distance—a brightly lit room full of friends and a man I cared about deeply—then I could deal.
I grabbed Dan’s shoulders and hauled him close.
Then I kissed him until my head spun.
Yeah, I could deal with that, too.
Twenty-Seven
Central Georgia
Dan’s cabin
18:36hrs local time
Dan
“How did I let you convince me to deal with this humidity again?” Ava muttered, sitting up on the blanket I’d spread out for her. She poked a finger under the calf-high cast and began scratching. “This is going to smell like death when we get back to headquarters.”
“A little sweat never hurt anyone,” I said.
“Says you,” she said, still grumbling. “I’m the one who’s melting over here.”
“Come melt over here,” I said, still prone on the blanket, my head pleasantly full after the trio of whiskey-lemonades we’d drunk.
The sun was finally descending, taking the worst of the heat out of the air.
But the humidity was still intense, making our skin sticky, even in the shade of the trees.
“Fine,” she said, rolling toward me. “But it’s at your own peril.”
Two weeks from that night in Ava’s room, a little more than three since her injury, and she was finally more mobile. Her stitches were out, her antibiotics finished, and her cast had been cut down, replaced with a waterproof version fresh from Fred and his team.
She was hobbling around.
And going nuts being confined at headquarters.
So, when I’d floated the idea of spending a week here at the cabin, under the guise of me needing to check on the property—even though I’d had to pay for a vacation for my caretaker to get the place to ourselves—I’d hedged my bets.
She’d accepted without hesitation.
Thus, my plan to get her alone was successful.
“Too bad the peaches are all harvested,” she murmured.
“Yeah,” I said. “It was an early season.”
“How’d you become a peach farmer?”
“Stupidly,” I told her.
She laughed, pressed her body along my side. “Tell me.”
“I was driving by after a mission, saw the For Sale sign, and figured I was nearing thirty and it was time to buy some property.” I shrugged. “The trees were pretty. The house was decent. So, I put in an offer.” A roll of my eyes. “I had no clue how in over my head I was. I’m hardly ever stateside, and now I owned a farm? Ridiculous.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Six years.”
&nbs
p; “Well, the trees look to have survived.”
“Thanks to Hank.”
She propped her elbows on my chest. “Who’s Hank?”
“The caretaker I hired about two weeks after realizing the actual size of this place.”
“Smart.”
I shook my head. “Necessary after a stupid purchase.”
She brushed a kiss to my cheek. “Probably,” she agreed. “But I am fond of this place.” A smile. “I would like to experience it when it isn’t a thousand degrees.”
“Just a little hyperbole there.”
“Shut it, you,” she said.
“It’s shut,” I countered.
We lay in silence for a few minutes, the temperature lowering to something less in the vicinity of Seventh Circle of Hell and more to actually comfortable. But then Ava shifted and stretched back onto the blanket, her arms above her head.
My eyes drifted to her breasts, mouth watering.
We’d done very little kissy-facing as Laila called it, mostly because the team had been hanging out together and because I’d been forcing myself to not pounce on her like the starving beast I felt like.
I fucking loved her body.
But she’d been injured.
Was still healing.
So, though I’d held her every night since she’d woken in the infirmary, I hadn’t allowed my brain to even consider anything more than that and the occasional kiss.
She moaned softly, and my eyes caught on the shimmering skin at the base of her throat, the way her lips, plump and tempting, parted as she breathed slowly and steadily. How her breasts lifted and fell in time to her breathing, the slightest jiggle visible in the V of her T-shirt.
Fuck.
Still. Healing.
“Mmm,” she said, stretching for another moment before shifting to her side and propping her head on her hand. That V gaped . . . and I suddenly had a problem with my shorts fitting properly.
“I need more whiskey,” she said.
I started to sit up, reaching for her glass. “I’ll go in the house and get you—”
The skies opened up.
Without warning, in that uniquely Southern way. I hadn’t noticed the clouds coming in, the already-darkening evening sky hiding their approach.
