by Trish Loye
She shook her head and opened her mouth, but no words came out. She knew she’d broken it. A sense of triumph went through him.
“It was for a good reason,” she said.
His anger began to cool, but the tension riding him didn’t lessen. “What reason?”
“I met with my sister.”
“And?” He snapped the word like a whip.
“The fingerprint found at the apartment was lost.” She finger-quoted the last word.
“I already had Edworthy looking into this.” He shook his head slowly, but didn’t break eye contact with her. “You left without checking with me. And for what? Information I already had access to?”
Her chin lifted. “I needed to see my sister, to let her know I’m okay.”
“You’re not fucking okay. You’re being hunted for treason and murder.” He struggled to stay calm. Did the woman not realize the danger she was in? How could he keep her safe if she didn’t listen to him, didn’t trust him, didn’t share her plans with him? He needed a way to make her follow their contract.
Her face had flushed. He glanced at her lips. He remembered how soft they were.
Fuck, he wanted to kiss her. He took a step back. Now was not the time. He had to make sure she didn’t do anything reckless again.
“You need a consequence,” he said, and couldn’t help how low and rough his voice was.
Her eyes widened. “Wha..what?”
“You broke the contract on the same day we made it.” The anger stirred in him again. “How can I trust you? I don’t think you’re guilty, but you’re acting awfully suspicious. I don’t want to bring you in.” Not really. Not yet, he realized. Shit. He was totally emotionally compromised.
She took a deep breath and straightened. “Then give me a consequence. Something I’ll hate.”
It didn’t even take a second before the words burst from him, like bullets from a rifle. “Sleep with me.”
He instantly regretted what he’d said. Her eyes got impossibly wide and she sucked in a gasp. Fuck. What had he done? Why had he said that?
But she didn’t step back. She didn’t yell. She...considered. He wanted to squirm under her gaze and he felt compelled to explain. He opened his mouth to do just that, to tell her he didn’t mean it, that it wasn’t something he’d ever force on her.
“Okay,” she said.
His whole body locked up with that one word. She was agreeing to it? What the actual fuck?
Did that mean she thought it was a repulsive idea and therefore it was a good consequence? Or did she think that it wasn’t a horrible suggestion? That it was just something that wasn’t in either of their best interests and therefore an acceptable consequence?
Or did she actually want to sleep with him?
No. It was probably an acceptable consequence. Something that wasn’t horrific, but not something she wanted either. Just like the selling of his beach house.
His shoulders slumped at the thought and he knew he’d never enforce the terms of their contract. He swallowed, but she couldn’t know that. “It’s a deal.” He took one more step away. He felt as if he’d built an even higher wall between them, a wall impossible for him to climb.
It was a deal. Sutton leaned against the desk and watched Ryan step farther away from her, his eyes shuttered.
“Let’s start fresh.” She wanted him to understand. “You see why I have to do everything I can to help myself, right?”
He sat on the bed. “Yes. And for the record, I’d probably be doing everything you are.”
That made her smile. “Don’t try to keep me cooped up and safe. I’m good at this kind of thing. Let me help.”
His eyes narrowed as he surveyed her. “You might be good at spook stuff, but you suck at working on a team.”
She arched an eyebrow and then sat next to him on the bed. “Maybe because I’m used to being team leader.”
“No,” he said seriously. “You’re used to ordering teams around, but you’ve never really worked on a team, been a part of one. If you go off on your own, then you’re a liability.”
A liability? “What the hell, Ryan? I’m a valuable asset. You’d be lucky to have me on your team.”
He straightened and faced her squarely. “Yes, I would be lucky to have someone as experienced as you on my team—as long as you followed orders.” He shook his head slowly. “But, Sunshine? You don’t follow anyone’s orders but your own.”
She opened her mouth to rebut his statement, and then shut it while she thought about what he’d said. Wasn’t she a good team player? She thought back to all of her missions during her career. Most of them had her playing a solo role within the op. It was what CIA field agents trained for, to survive and complete missions on their own.
“I’m half sorry I’m telling you this, Sunshine, because at the rate you were doing things, we’d be sleeping together within a day or two.” He shrugged. “But I can’t let what I want interfere with this mission. We have to find Mark’s killer.”
She had no words. And not just to his statements about her not being a team player. He’d just admitting to wanting to sleep with her. It stole her breath. What would it be like to sleep with Ryan again? Memories of being naked in bed with him so many years ago surfaced. From the way his eyes darkened, he remembered too. She licked her dry lips and his gaze went there and then back to hers.
“I want you,” he said, his voice low and rough with need. “Tell me you want me too.”
Her body leaned toward him. She wanted—no, needed—to kiss him, to get lost in his touch. If only for a minute, an hour. “I...”
He leaned in. So close and not close enough. “Tell me, Sutton,” he demanded. “Tell me to kiss you, to take your clothes off, to fuck you like I’ve been dying to.”
She swallowed, trapped in his gaze, his voice, not even trying to break free. Her breath came too quick, too shallow. Her hand lifted. She wanted to touch him again. One last time before this mess was over, before they went their separate ways.
Their separate ways.
She stopped leaning in. Once this was over, they would still be the guy looking for the calm, retired beach life and the woman who couldn’t stop working. There was no hope for them.
She straightened, pulling back from him and all that he offered. Disappointment clouded his gaze before she’d even said anything.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly before standing.
He gave her a twisted smile. “It’s okay,” he said. “I get it.”
She tilted her head. “You get what?”
He stood too and headed for the door. “You’re still you, and I’m still me.” He checked the peephole and then opened it. “I’m going out for a coffee. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Then we can plan our next move. Together.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Wait, Ryan.”
He paused. But what could she say? Would he consider having her even if she still worked at the CIA? Wouldn’t that disrupt his great retirement plans? Hopelessness drowned her and she could barely get the next words out.
“Could you get me a latte?” Her insides cringed at her question, and her inner voice shouted to stop him as he nodded and shut the door behind him.
She sank onto the bed as tears welled in her eyes. She’d just let something amazing go for a second time, and she knew it wouldn’t be offered a third. Hell, she’d be surprised if he didn’t just turn her in.
But she couldn’t be what he wanted. And if she kissed him again, then she’d sleep with him and if she did that... Her heart twisted with remembered pain even as a silent, icy void filled her. It had taken her years to get over him the last time.
She hit the bed with her fist.
She couldn’t fall for him again. It would destroy her.
Someone knocked on the door.
Ryan.
Her heart jumped at the thought of him back already. Did he suspect she actually wanted more? She wiped at her eyes and scrubbed her cheeks. She would be profession
al. It was better for both of them. Saner.
She opened the door.
Her heart stopped. She realized why she never let her feelings interfere with an op: it made her sloppy. She’d made a potentially fatal error.
She hadn’t checked the peephole.
It wasn’t Ryan.
The man in front of her stood a few inches taller and a lot thicker. He had the same build as the killer she’d stumbled on in Mark’s apartment. Dark hair covered his head and stubbled on his protruding chin. He had a small cut on the bridge of his nose and the start of a black eye. Probably from where she’d kicked him. A snarling wolf was tattooed on the side of his neck. He grinned.
She grabbed for her gun in her shoulder holster, but he struck her hard and fast in the face. The blow snapped her head back and she stumbled. He pushed her farther inside the room before she could recover. His other hand came up holding a gun. She snapped her arm into his, forgetting her weapon for the moment, just needing to block his gun from getting off a shot. She struck his arm and his wrist, grabbing it and bringing it hard down over her knee.
“Suka!” he said, calling her a bitch in Russian.
She kept hold of his gun hand even as he struck her with his other hand. She ducked her chin into her shoulder and took the blow on the side of her head. She didn’t let go even though her head swam. To let go was to die.
She slammed his wrist over her knee again. And again.
He grunted and the gun dropped from his fingers. She kicked it aside even as she pulled on his arm, pulling him down trying to get a hold of the back of his neck. If she could get a knee to his face, then she had a shot at survival.
He turned his hand now that he was no longer holding a gun and gripped her arm tight. Shit. Her heart hammered. She punched at his head, now the one trying to break free. His other arm grabbed her waist, just as she elbowed his nose. He roared and threw her against the wall. Her head struck hard and she started to slide down.
No. She couldn’t fall. She put out a hand, trying to find something to hold her upright. Her fingers hit wood and clutched at the smooth surface of the dresser. She pulled her gun.
He kicked out. Pain lanced her side and flung her back onto the dresser, the sharp edge catching her ribs. The asshole had kicked her, but she’d held onto her weapon. She pushed off the dresser and turned, lifting her Glock. A second kick sent it flying, just as she pulled the trigger. The sound of the bullet rung her ears in the confined space.
Shit. Her gun was on the other side of the bed.
She managed to block his next two punches. She countered with one to his head and then body before she bumped into the damn dresser again. He pulled a knife.
Double shit. She needed to get out of here. There was no room to move. But the asshole and his knife stood between her and the door. She launched into a furious round of strikes and kicks, aiming more to his one side, trying to shift his stance. He blocked most of them and barely seemed affected, while she panted and ached from the blocks her arms took. She wasn’t going to last much longer.
He launched a front kick that she couldn’t avoid and it slammed her into the wall. Her back spasmed with pain.
Don’t stop, Sutton. Keep moving.
She dropped into a crouch, her vision blurry, and felt the brush of a kick going over her head.
Keep moving. Find a weapon.
She moved farther into the room, away from the door. Her hands ran along the dresser as she did.
Her pack. Ryan’s binder. A pen.
She grabbed her weapons and spun. She flung the binder. He laughed as he knocked it aside. But it had done its job. He’d dropped his guard for the briefest moment.
She stabbed the pen at his eye. He jerked away at the last second and it sunk into the soft flesh of his cheek. She pushed hard and yanked down. Blood spurted onto her face and chest. He screamed and punched her again.
But she was already gone, snagging her pack, and darting by him, racing for the door. She’d lost her weapon, but it couldn’t be helped. She sprinted for the stairs at the end of the hall. Six floors. She just had to stay ahead of him for six floors.
She’d slammed through into the stairwell just as the first bullets bit into the wall beside her. Her body begged her to stop, but she pushed through the pain and took the stairs two at a time. She had to make it to the bottom floor.
Her breath sounded too loud in the concrete stairwell. Someone opened the door a floor below her.
“Get back,” she screamed.
A woman’s eyes widened at the sight of Sutton racing down the stairs toward her. The woman clutched a boy in a ball cap to her.
“Get back in your room!” Sutton yelled again.
The woman yanked the boy back into the hall and the door slammed. Sutton raced by it.
Three more floors. Another round of bullets bit into the walls when she crossed the landing. She covered her head and kept going. He was gaining on her.
Two more flights. She needed to move faster. Her lungs burned and she pushed herself. Why hadn’t she trained more? When she’d been younger, these stairs would have been nothing. Another landing. She covered her head without slowing and darted across. Bullets whipped by her.
Too close.
One more flight. She could see the door.
Don’t trip. Don’t fall. Go faster.
The mantra reverberated through her mind. She needed to be faster.
Then the door was there and she was through. She almost sobbed in relief until she realized the hall led to the busy lobby. One filled with innocents who didn’t deserve to be gunned down because she wanted to hide from a killer.
Fuck. She turned away from the lobby and pushed through a set of swinging doors.
She entered a room full of steam and large carts piled high with towels and sheets. The laundry room. There was a door on the far side. Three women stood chatting and folding towels by the opposite wall. They froze when they saw her.
“Hide!” she ordered them as she sprinted for the door. “Now!”
She must have scared them, because the women dropped behind one of the tables.
Good enough.
Sutton pushed open the door. It led outside to an alley. A bullet bit into the doorframe beside her. One of the women screamed. A glance back showed the assassin. His cheek torn open and blood streaming down his front made him seem like a ghoul from a horror movie.
She ran out, letting the heavy door slam shut behind her. She took off for the alley entrance when a black sedan pulled up and blocked the exit.
Fuck.
There was nowhere else to go.
12
Ryan let the hotel room door swing shut behind him.
“Could you get me a latte?”
Had she really just asked him that? Like he hadn’t just bared his fucking soul to her? Fuck. He shook his head at himself. When was he going to stop expecting her to feel things like he did? She was a goddamn spook and they weren’t known for their feelings.
He took the six flights of stairs to the lobby because he couldn’t stand the idea of being cooped up even for a short elevator ride. He strode through the lobby, his gaze automatically taking in the civilians waiting to check in or out and the hotel staff with their professional smiles.
He pushed through the glass front doors and out into fresh air. He didn’t want coffee; he just needed to move, to get rid of this tension riding him. Tension caused by one pig-headed, gorgeous spook who wanted a fucking latte.
He breathed deep and increased his pace. He’d always been more into their relationship than she had. Not that he’d known that. She was such a good actress. He’d thought she’d loved him. Hell, he’d asked her to marry him and she’d said no. Why did he think things would be different now?
People edged away from him on the sidewalk and he knew his scowl was deep and fierce, but he just didn’t care that he was scaring strangers. He needed to punch something. Sutton had always driven him crazy. Crazy with need. Crazy with
love. Just plain crazy. And she was doing it again.
He had to keep things professional between them.
Professional, like making a contract where she sleeps with him if she breaks it? Yeah, that was really fucking professional. He blew out a harsh breath. He was a former Navy SEAL commander, not a schoolboy in love for the first time.
But he was in love.
Dammit. He stopped walking and his shoulders sagged. That was the crux of the problem, right there. He was in love.
And Sutton wasn’t.
Time for him to face reality, and act like a man. The woman didn’t want him. Oh, she might want sex with him, but she didn’t really want him. It was time to move on.
He spotted a coffee shop across the street. Might as well get her a latte and they could go back to pretending they’d never cared for each other while they hunted for a killer. And after it was over, he definitely wouldn’t make her come stay with him for a weekend to take pictures. He more than regretted the deal they’d made. She could disappear into the spook network that she loved, and he could go back to his beach house.
Maybe he should get a dog.
He ordered a latte and a black coffee when his phone rang.
“Marchetti.” He stuck the phone between his chin and shoulder while he grabbed the drinks.
“It’s Dante. Are you with Sutton?”
Ryan stopped. The tone of Dante’s voice made him shift into full combat mode. He set the drinks on a spare table. “I’m outside the hotel. Alone. Talk to me.”
“There’s a report of shots fired at the hotel.”
Fuck. Sutton was on her own.
He blasted out of the cafe and started running. “Get me eyes inside. What’s happening?”
“Working on it.”
“Work faster,” he snarled.
Be safe, Sutton.
He knew he’d just decided to play it cool with her, but the thought of her in danger brought all of his highly trained protective instincts to the forefront.
Sirens sounded in the distance. He needed to get Sutton out before they descended on the hotel. But first he had to figure out what he was running into.
