Catalyst (Flashpoint Book 2)

by Rachel Grant

  “This is about her, her family, and oil. My job is to gather intel. South Sudan is on our radar because of the oil reserves and the opportunities for enemy states to seize power in the destabilized democracy. To Brie, it might be small and personal, but there are worldwide implications.”

  He closed his eyes, thinking of the woman who hid her vulnerabilities behind a dry, self-deprecating wit. “You want me to seduce her into opening up and telling me about her family.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a shitty thing to ask of me, and a horrible thing to do to Brie.”

  Nary a ripple of remorse flickered across Savannah James’s face. “So? You want her. That’s been obvious from the start.”

  “If you know anything about me, it’s that I don’t hang out for postcoital chitchat.” Shit. He never screwed around with anyone he might care about. Cece had taught him to avoid relationships, and he sure as hell couldn’t open the door to feelings between him and Brie. Something had happened in South Sudan. He wouldn’t be able to sleep with her and keep his heart locked down tight. It was why he’d avoided her from the moment they’d arrived on the aircraft carrier.

  Using sex to get her to talk would be cruel to them both.

  “You sleep around. She sleeps around. It’s not like I’m asking you to do anything either of you are averse to.”

  “I don’t fuck for the Army.”

  “Maybe it’s time to start. Put your dick to good use.”

  “I’m Special Forces, not a spy. You can’t force this on me.”

  Savvy leaned forward and held his gaze. “No. But if you don’t, I’ll find someone else. I’ve already got a list. Lieutenant Fallon would be perfect. Civilians just love Navy SEALs.”

  Jealousy like he’d never imagined filled a void in his chest. “You really are a bitch, you know that?”

  “No, Bastian. I’m a patriot.”

  “Bullshit. You just like screwing with people’s heads.” No way would Fallon agree to her plan. This was manipulation, pure and simple.

  Her eyes hardened, but she offered no excuses. “As long as Brie is on the Dahlgren recuperating, so are you. Your superiors at SOCOM know the situation and have agreed not to interfere. They don’t like it, but they see the big picture. The staff here have their orders to leave you alone. It’s why you’ve been given separate rooms instead of being assigned beds in the main ward. You’ll have unfettered access to Ms. Stewart while she’s here. The no-fraternization rules on an aircraft carrier won’t apply to you.” She gave him a tight smile. “Fuck her. Don’t fuck her. That’s up to you. The point is to get her talking, and report back to me once you learn anything that might be important.”

  Brie fiddled with the bow she’d tied at her waist, embarrassed she’d sought Bastian out in a moment of weakness, that she’d wanted him to see the silly outfit she’d made, after a week of wearing improvised clothing that included rubber tire sandals.

  Here she was on a massive Navy vessel, still improvising. It was meant to be a silly, shared joke. Better quality than ratty old-tarp underwear.

  Once upon a time, she’d lived a life that required high fashion. In that world, the rubber-tire sandals would have been perfectly acceptable, as long as they had a thousand-dollar price tag.

  She knew more than a few of her friends from that era now wore diamond-encrusted “ally” safety pins. They weren’t bad people, but they were clueless. White, shallow, and rich, they didn’t see how white privilege had shaped the world and their place in it.

  Brie was no saint, and she was aware she benefited from a great deal of white privilege even without her family’s money—after all, an A-Team had been sent to rescue her in South Sudan. If that wasn’t privilege at work, nothing was. She tried to be thankful for the gifts she was granted and to use them to give back, to be a force for change, instead of being defensive and full of denial. She still failed, and it wasn’t like she’d renounced the house in Morocco once she’d learned she was one-third owner. But she tried to be aware and to correct her own actions when her unconscious exercise of privilege came to light.

  Of course, she could do more good if she hadn’t gotten herself cut off from the family billions. The money could have done far more for others than the questionable donation of her time and attention, such as it was.

  In the long run, wasn’t getting cut off the most selfish thing she could have done? Standing on principle had helped no one, least of all herself. Now her family operated without a conscience—not that they’d had one even when she was in the fold—and did more damage without her there to speak for the trees.

  She was a shitty Lorax.

  Selfish to the bitter end, she chose her pride over the trees. Her honor over environmental justice.

  She’d left the money behind and helped no one.

  When she looked back at her life, was there anything she could point to that she could be proud of? She’d thought that would be her work for USAID, but now it was likely her presence in South Sudan had only endangered the people she wanted to help.

  She fiddled with her gauze belt. She’d been good at fashion. Clothing and makeup had been fun. She’d enjoyed the parties, the flash and glamour. It was why she’d wanted to model for that creep Grigory to begin with. The ultimate dress-up game where she got to be pretty and sexy, clueless that it would be a magnet for pedophiles.

  Her mother had been a fashion model in her heyday and taught Brie tricks of the trade, like dressing up a boring outfit with a silly bow. Now the gauze flower felt pathetic. Like wearing a gaudy, diamond-encrusted safety pin.

  No amount of accessories would make her an ally when her presence in South Sudan had brought pain and suffering.

  Gabriella had been makeup, flowers, and diamonds. An accessory of Prime Energy, who could be had for the right price.

  Brie was… She didn’t know exactly who Brie was. She’d been trying to be someone else. Someone worthy to make up for the work she’d done for Prime Energy. But that woman was a fraud too. She wasn’t selfless or magnanimous. She was merely seeking self-serving redemption.

  A tear spilled down her cheek, and she realized she was in a self-pity spiral. The kind that once upon a time had led to drinking and drugs. The kind that could lead her there again if she wasn’t careful.

  All because Bastian hadn’t come to see her in the three days they’d been in the medical ward together. She was pathetic, pinning her self-worth on a man.

  Jesus. This was why she’d avoided relationships. Emotional attachment always led to this. The bleak spiral. The self-loathing. The desire to use.

  A drink would soothe the ache. A pill would take away the pain. A needle would deliver her to bliss.

  No.

  Fuck. No.

  I am better than this.

  She stood and paced her small room, leaning on the cane. Dr. Crane wanted her to walk, to work her leg muscles. She’d get her wish, because walking was how Brie always faced the pull of craving. The ache for escape.

  She preferred running, but she was days—weeks?—from being able to run any distance. So she paced her small room, not daring to leave the confined space because she might run into Bastian or the men on his team.

  Men who’d risked their lives for her unworthy ass. The cane slipped on the floor, and her leg nearly buckled.

  Pain shot up her hip.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Deep breath. Slow down. Plant the cane. Walk. One foot in front of the other.

  “The kids escaped.”

  The deep male voice came from the doorway. She turned to see one of the soldiers who’d been in Bastian’s room. He was tall with wide shoulders. Utterly imposing. “The ones in the market?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He stepped into the room. “Master Sergeant Pax Blanchard,” he said, holding out a hand.

  Her right hand gripped the cane, so she offered her left. “Brie Stewart.”

  “Sorry,” he said, switching to his left.

  “Are th
ey still in South Sudan, the kids?”

  “Most of them escaped into the White Nile or the Sudd—they told us that’s where their parents were, on the islands, hidden in the swamp. We got two out with Savvy’s help, but she’s being secretive about where they are.”

  “She does enjoy keeping her secrets.”

  Blanchard nodded. “The market—it was destroyed. I thought you’d want to know. No kids will ever be sold there again.”

  Emotion swamped her. She covered her mouth as she sucked in a breath. “Thank you. It means a lot to know something good came out of…what happened.”

  “Bastian insisted we save the kids. It was his plan.”

  She understood what he didn’t say. Because they’d saved the kids, the rest of the A-Team hadn’t been there to back up her extraction, leaving her and Bastian stranded. They’d been on their own when the team could have swooped in, rescued her, and left.

  As if she needed another reason to respect Chief Warrant Officer Sebastian Ford. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  The soldier nodded. “Glad to see you’re recovering.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant—and please share my thanks with everyone on your team.”

  “If you visit Camp Citron before you leave, you can thank the team yourself.”

  “I have no idea where I’ll go from here, but I hope I’ll get that chance.”

  He nodded. “It was nice meeting you, Ms. Stewart.” With that he turned and left, and she was once again alone, waiting and wondering.

  Waiting for the man who’d saved her in South Sudan. Wondering why he hadn’t visited her in the last three days. And hating herself for wanting to see him. For valuing his opinion of her more than she valued her own.

  He was a coward, plain and simple. He should have gone to see Brie the moment Savvy left. But Bastian had stayed in his room like the chickenshit he was.

  Now it was two a.m., and he couldn’t sleep. He wanted to see her. Read aloud to her. Talk to her. Play quarters with her. Do everything Savvy had ordered him to do with her.

  But it was Savvy’s orders that also held him back. He couldn’t use her like that. He couldn’t get involved.

  He also couldn’t walk away.

  His head ached, and it had nothing to do with the concussion.

  He tossed aside the bedcovers. No way was he sleeping tonight. His room was too small. He stepped out and nodded to the hospital corpsman who monitored the ward overnight. He was just going to pace. That was all.

  He wasn’t going to see Brie.

  Just because he stood outside her room didn’t mean he was going inside. But the same compulsion had him turning the knob on her door and silently entering her room. There were enough lights on the medical monitors that he could see her sleeping form on the bed.

  There. He’d confirmed she was here. Time to go before he woke her.

  He settled into her visitor’s chair, because clearly, his brain no longer controlled his body. He watched the rise and fall of her chest and tried to figure out why he was here.

  “This is a little creepy,” she whispered.

  He startled, bumping her rolling meal table and knocking it into the wall with a loud bang.

  She laughed. “Smooth, Chief.”

  He ran a hand down his face and shook his head. “That’s me. Smooth.”

  “What are you doing here at…” Her voice trailed off as she looked at the clock. “Two in the morning?”

  “I missed you,” he blurted, like the fool he was. “I wanted to see you.”

  “Bullshit. You could’ve seen me any time in the last few days, but you waited until the dead of night.”

  He reached out, took her hand, and cradled it in his. “It’s true. I’ve missed you. And true I could have come sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  He threaded his fingers through hers. Her hands were smooth but not soft, the fingers slender and warm. He’d forgotten the pleasure of simply holding hands. Forgotten how the touch could be laden with anticipation and trigger a spread of warmth.

  Just as he’d entered her room without conscious thought, he pulled her fingers to his mouth and nipped at the tips. Then he sucked her index finger and enjoyed her soft gasp of surprise.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

  “Holding your hand.”

  “With your mouth?”

  He smiled and moved to suck on her middle finger.

  She touched his chin. “You look good without the beard.”

  “Which do you like better? Bearded or without?”

  “I don’t know. I only saw you without for a minute, and it’s dark in here. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

  He turned her hand palm up and began to massage, applying pressure to the muscle between thumb and index finger. “I need to thank this hand, for saving my life.”

  “Just the hand?”

  “And the brain it’s connected to.” He massaged up her arm. “How is the leg?”

  “Getting better. It still hurts, but I can walk if I don’t put too much weight on it. The ankle sprain is almost gone too. How’s your head?”

  “Better. Vision isn’t blurry anymore. Headache is mild. But I can’t sleep.”

  “So you figured if you can’t sleep, I might as well be awake too?” Her voice was soft and sleepy but held humor.

  “Scoot over.”

  “What?”

  He stood. “Scoot over. So I can lie down. I think I’ll be able to sleep if I’m with you.”

  She did as instructed, and he settled in next to her, raising the railing at his back to keep himself from falling off the narrow bed. It was too small for two people.

  “You might be able to sleep, but I don’t think I will,” she said.

  He pulled up the railing on her side as well, trapping her in with him. “There. Now we can pretend this is a pillow fort.” He pulled her snug against him, so they were chest to chest, hip to hip. She smelled of a flowery soap, and he wanted to nibble on her neck to see if she tasted as sweet as she smelled.

  “Aren’t you going to get in trouble for this?”

  Savvy had cleared that path for him, but he couldn’t admit that to her. “I’ll sneak out early.”

  “The person on duty at the desk might see you.”

  “He did. He didn’t say anything. Honestly, I don’t think he cares.” That was certainly true.

  “Why were you avoiding me, Bastian?”

  He ran his fingers through her short hair. “Because I’m a bastard.” Also true. He leaned into her and kissed her nose. “I’m here now.” He traced her eyebrows and cheekbones with a fingertip. “Go to sleep, Brie. You’re safe. I promise, you’re safe.”

  Far too late, but the truest thing he’d ever said.

  20

  Sleeping pressed against Bastian’s side wasn’t the most comfortable Brie had ever been. This was why she’d had a strict policy of never spending the night. It was sweet to try to sleep cuddled up to a guy, but sleep in those situations was usually elusive.

  She turned on her side, putting her weight on her left—and uninjured leg. In a sleepy haze, he draped his arm over her, spooning his knees behind hers, his crotch pressed to her ass.

  Okay. That wasn’t so bad.

  It was kinda nice, actually, the feel of his firm thighs against hers, his arm cuddling her, making her feel safe.

  She closed her eyes.

  Bastian was in bed with her. Holding her. It was a fantasy come true, having the big, warm Green Beret wrapped around her as he slept.

  The comfort lulled her to sleep, and she dreamed vivid, awful dreams that escaped her conscious mind when the loud snoring of the man at her back intruded into her somnolent abyss.

  Not only was he snoring, but he’d rolled to his back and was taking up three-quarters of the narrow bed.

  He was the worst sort of slumber party guest, a loud bed hog.

  She elbowed him gently. “Bastian. You’re
snoring.”

  He rolled to his side, cupping her breast as he burrowed his mouth into her neck. “Sorry,” he murmured and promptly dropped back into a deep sleep.

  She smiled, enjoying the embrace. They’d spent days together, yet they’d never dared to sleep at the same time.

  Sex was one thing, but simultaneous sleeping… It brought intimacy to a whole new level.

  She covered the hand that cupped her breast, smiling at the casual contact, and drifted back into a deep sleep.

  Bastian woke, his arms full of woman. And not just any woman, but the one he wanted more than sun and air and food combined. Her gorgeous, rounded ass was cradled against his rock-hard erection in what had to be the smallest bed that had ever accommodated two people.

  Suddenly, he was grateful all beds weren’t king-sized. He’d take a narrow bunk with Brie any day. But this wasn’t his bunk, it was a hospital bed, and all at once he remembered he had to keep up the charade, to vacate her bed before dawn lit the sky.

  He’d never been more reluctant to leave a woman’s bed, and this after an adulthood spent escaping at the very first opportunity.

  But then, he hadn’t been inside Brie’s body—not yet. This wasn’t a post-sex cuddle session. This had been sleep and comfort and basically asking for trouble. He never shared a bed for sleep after sex, so this begged the question: what did it mean to sleep with a woman without sex?

  Even worse, he didn’t want to leave her. He’d slept deeper in the last four hours than he had in weeks—maybe months.

  Damn. This could be habit forming. Like a sleeping pill.

  He kissed her neck as he scooted back to extract himself from her side.

  “Bastian?” she said in a sleepy voice.

  “I need to go back to my own room, sweetheart.”

  She rolled to her back and faced him. “Are you going to ignore me when the sun rises? Like before?”

  “No.” He kissed her eyebrow. “I’m done being a bastard.”