by Elle James
“And you didn’t.” She reached across the table and touched his fist. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Mad Dog jerked back his hand. “My father was the bastard. I understand why mother left.”
“But you never understood how she could leave you with him, did you?”
God, she’d hit the nail on the head. He drew a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. I survived long enough to get out.”
For a moment she was blessedly silent, then, “Go ahead.” She nodded toward the food on his plate. “I promise not to grill you with any more questions while you eat.”
Mad Dog stared down at his plate without seeing the food. His memories took him back to that ratty trailer in the roughest neighborhood of Houston. The place his father had called home. He was lucky to be alive, considering the number of drive-by shootings and fights involving knives and handguns that had taken place around his house. He’d been in a few fistfights and had disarmed a guy with a blade, but he hadn’t thought he’d ever get out of that hellhole, not until the judge made him choose.
“Caleb, you need to eat,” Jolie said softly. “I’m sorry I brought up all that crap about your family. But you’re here now. Fuel your body. We might be in for a helluva week.”
Mad Dog glanced up into Jolie’s gaze. No one had called him Caleb in a long time. It was Maddox or Mad Dog. Calling him Caleb made it sound so intimate and personal.
Not that she was getting intimate with him, but he liked the way she said his name in her warm, husky voice.
He dug his fork into the casserole and lifted it. “Here’s to finding our terrorist and putting an end to his shit.”
Jolie nodded and lifted a forkful of food. “To what you said. Let’s get the bastard.”
Before he gets us, Mad Dog thought.
After they polished off plates full of the delicious casserole, Jolie scraped the remaining food into a plastic container she’d found and cleaned earlier. Then she stood at the sink, filling it with water and soap.
Mad Dog carried his plate to the sink. “You cooked. I’ll clean.”
“I didn’t cook,” she reminded him.
“Well, you cleaned the plates we ate off. The least I can do is clean them again.”
“I was going to do the rest of the dishes in the cabinet. You don’t need to hang around while I do that.” She took his plate, rinsed it in the empty sink then dropped it into the soapy sink.
“Fine. But it’ll go much faster if I wash and you dry.”
“Okay. But I’ll wash and you can dry.”
He took the towel she’d used earlier and assumed a position beside her.
One by one, she cleaned the dishes, and he dried. When they got to the glasses, she washed out the cabinet above and to her left.
Every time Mad Dog dried a glass, he reached around her and set it on the shelf. And every time he did, he bumped into her.
The longer they worked, the more he collided with Jolie’s body, and the hotter he got. When they finally finished, Jolie popped the plug from the drain. “Well, that’s all for now. I think I’ll see if the water is hot enough for a real shower.”
Mad Dog had just placed the last glass onto the shelf, when she turned and ran smack into him.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, her gaze focused on his chest, her cheeks suffused with a pretty flush of pink.
He gripped her arms to steady her. “Let me dry your hands.” He let go of her arms, took her hands in the dishtowel, and gently dried the droplets of moisture from her skin.
“No, really…you don’t have to…” Her voice faded off, and she looked up into his eyes. “This isn’t going to work.”
“No?” Though her hands were already quite dry, he couldn’t bring himself to relinquish his hold.
And she wasn’t fighting to be free.
She turned her head slowly back and forth. “There’s something going on between us, and it’s not right.”
“Or is it too right, and you don’t know how to feel about it?” Because that was the way he felt at that exact moment.
“You’re my partner for this mission. Nothing else.” Her fingers squeezed his, and she pulled her hands free. “As soon as we get our man, I’m out of here.”
“I understand,” Mad Dog said. “No strings.”
“No strings and no anything else.” She walked away, but then turned back. “There’s a sleeping bag in the barn. That’s where you can bunk.”
“No way. If Nadir or Dwayne, or whoever he is, shows up, and I’m a hundred yards away, I’m doing you no good whatsoever.”
“I told you. I can take care of myself.”
He closed the distance between them and grabbed her arms. “Sweetheart, if someone wants you dead, you might not have a chance to take care of yourself. You need help.”
Jolie inhaled and exhaled, taking her time. “You’re not sleeping in the house. If you don’t want to freeze to death, you’ll sleep in the barn.”
With that, she left him standing in the kitchen.
“Be sure to lock the door behind me, as well as the deadbolts. I’ll make rounds before I leave.”
She waved a hand behind her. “I’m getting a shower. If you want one, you’ll have to wait.”
“That’ll give me time to check all the windows and doors.”
She didn’t respond. Nor did Mad Dog expect her to. He made his rounds of the house, checking the locks on the windows, amazed at how many were unlocked.
“They probably leave their keys in the cars, too,” he muttered. That kind of lifestyle was completely foreign to his, having grown up in one of the most desperate neighborhoods. If someone left a door unlocked, someone else would find it, walk in and take whatever the hell he wanted.
Checking the locks took longer than he’d expected, but it helped also to pass the time. He wanted a shower after working in the dusty basement and carrying the frantic raccoon out of the house.
While Jolie showered, Mad Dog walked out to his truck and collected his Go Bag. Sadly, it contained all of his worldly goods. He’d rented the cabin in the mountains fully furnished. When he’d left his apartment in Virginia, he’d sold or donated all of his furniture and electronics. Nothing tied him down. Especially not things. And he didn’t have anyone to go home to or who cared whether or not he lived or died.
Well, there was his SEAL team. They’d tried to keep in touch up until he’d moved to Colorado to the remote cabin with no cell phone reception.
When he’d become a SEAL, his confidence as a man had soared. He’d even begun to think that once the missions slowed down, he might have a shot at a real life, a relationship with a woman. Children weren’t completely out of the question, though he worried he’d be too much like his father. In which case, he’d rather not bring children into a world where they weren’t loved.
Darkness had fallen on Montana while they’d eaten their dinner. Outside, the stars shone like so many twinkly lights. He’d seen skies as clear and beautiful in Colorado.
For a couple minutes, he stood out in the open, locating some familiar constellations. If he stayed in Montana long, he’d invest in a decent telescope.
It was just a dream. Once this mission was complete, he’d be assigned to another. And he had no idea where that one might take him. He’d be better off sticking with just his Go Bag and his pickup.
As much as he tried to steer clear of the woman, his thoughts went to the CIA agent showering in the house. Under her tough exterior, her body was all female. And he’d bet her skin was silky soft and beautiful with the water running over her naked body.
Against his better judgment, he’d stood beside her washing dishes, and touched her more than was necessary. His body had felt drawn to her like a moth to flame. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be scorched. Or she might shoot him.
His lips twitched. From what Lambert had told him, Jolie Richards was an expert marksman and sniper. She knew her way around weapons and wasn’t afraid to pull the trigger.
He’d be smart to keep his hands off Agent Richards and his mind on what was more important—keeping her alive and neutralizing a terrorist.
With his bag in hand, he entered the house and locked the door behind him.
“Shower’s yours,” Jolie called out, and a door closed with a snick.
Mad Dog walked down the hall to the open bathroom. The air was warm and moist and smelled of honeysuckle.
The scent reminded him of the vines on the fence behind the trailer park where he’d grown up. For him, honeysuckle was a symbol of hope. No matter how many times the park manager had cut it, the hardy plant grew back. No matter how many times his father had physically or verbally abused him, cutting him down, making him feel small and stupid, Mad Dog had fought his way back.
He liked that Jolie used honeysuckle shampoo.
Closing the door, he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. The woman was even more tempting than before. He really needed to rein in his lusty desires and keep focused on the task.
After a quick, cold shower, he dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, figuring the night would be cold and the sleeping bag might not be enough.
Pulling on his boots, he gathered his bag and carried it into the living room where he stashed it in the corner.
The room still needed a thorough cleaning and dusting, but the musty smell did nothing to hide the fact this had once been a cozy place to hang out when the weather was too cold to go outside.
He could picture Jolie sitting here with her father, enjoying a television program or listening to music.
Her father had made a home for her, teaching her skills she’d need to survive on her own. Despite losing her mother, she’d had it good, with a loving parent there for her every step of her childhood.
He wondered if he should let her know that he was heading out to the barn. Mad Dog walked to the room he’d found her in earlier that day, the one that had housed the raccoon, and stood listening, trying to ascertain whether she’d already gone to bed.
With his hand raised to knock, he paused.
The door opened, and Jolie gasped. “Oh.”
He lowered his hand. “I’m heading out to the barn. That is, unless you’ve changed your mind and want me to stay in the house.”
She drew her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed on it, a frown denting her brown. She wore an old, oversized Denver Broncos T-shirt that hung halfway down her thighs and nothing else that he could see. Her nipples’ tight little nubs pressed against the soft fabric.
Jolie wrapped her arms around herself and shook her head. “No, you should probably go. I’ll lock the door behind you.”
“Good. And if you hear anything or are worried, just yell really loudly. I might hear you.”
“Thanks,” she said, her tone flat, her lips twisting. “You’ve made your point. I’ll sleep with my Glock on my nightstand. There, are you happy?”
“I’d be happier closer to you, but that helps.” He touched a finger to her cheek. “I’m not trying to be a pest, but I want to keep you safe until we get our man.”
She nodded. “I get it. What you don’t understand is that I came out here to get away from others. I don’t want anyone else caught in the crossfire. No collateral damage.”
“I’m used to taking risks. It goes with the job description.” He rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip. “Goodnight, Jolie. I hope you sleep well.”
Then he left her standing there and walked out the front door, pulling it closed behind him. He waited there until he heard the metallic click of the deadbolt shooting into place.
“Goodnight, Caleb,” she said, her voice muffled by the sturdy wooden door.
With a smile tugging at his lips, he clicked on his flashlight and walked across the yard to the barn.
Once inside, he found a light switch and turned it on. A dull yellow bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a soft glow into the center of the old structure. It smelled of really old hay and dust.
Mad Dog entered what must have been the tack room in which Jolie had slept the previous nights. An old Army cot stood in one corner with a sleeping bag rolled at the foot.
He unrolled the bag and lay down on top of it. After sunset, the temperature had dropped at least twenty degrees, but his sweatshirt was keeping him warm for the moment. A hint of honeysuckle clung to the sleeping bag.
The thought that Jolie had slept in the bag recently, made him warm all over.
And she was in the house all alone. If a terrorist really wanted to get to her, he could break a window.
Mad Dog cocked his head and listened. He could hear nothing outside the walls of the barn. How was he supposed to protect his partner if he was half a football field away from her? Hell, he wouldn’t hear if she screamed. Not through the walls of the house and the barn.
He gathered the sleeping bag, pressed it to his nose and inhaled the scent of honeysuckle.
A minute later, he was out of the tack room, the barn, and standing at the base of the porch stairs before he could change his mind. Not that he would.
He crept up the stairs, wedged himself and the sleeping bag into a corner and lowered himself into the cocoon, guessing the temperature would dip close to freezing by morning. Already, every breath he released produced a cloud of vapor.
Wrapping the bag around himself, but keeping his feet free so he could jump up if necessary, he laid his handgun beside his leg and tried to close his eyes.
So much had changed in the past forty-eight hours, he doubted he’d sleep. He was too wound up to even consider closing his eyes.
From contemplating self-destruction to partnering with a trained assassin, he’d come a long way, physically and mentally, in a very short time.
He was just glad he had work that required the skills he’d trained so hard to gain.
That Jolie didn’t want a partner didn’t hurt his feelings. He could understand her reticence. She liked to work alone. Mad Dog would have to convince her a partner would be a benefit. Not just for varmint removal of the four-legged variety.
He grinned in the darkness. First day on the job and he’d wrestled a raccoon. The guys from his old team would have a good laugh at his expense.
It had been a long time since he’d had a good laugh at himself. And even longer since he’d been attracted to a woman enough to want to stick around.
He lifted the corner of the sleeping bag and sniffed again.
Oh, yeah. He wasn’t ready to abandon this project. Not yet.
5
Before taking her shower, Jolie had cleaned out her bedroom and closet of all the animal droppings, shredded fabric and papers the raccoon had used in forming her nest.
No matter how much she’d cleaned, mopped and dusted, she still had an itchy, twitchy feeling when she laid in her bed.
Maybe she’d feel better once the HVAC man came to decontaminate the heating and air-conditioning vents.
Every little noise, from the creaking of the house as it settled, to the rustle of trees outside, sounded like little raccoon or mouse feet skittering across Jolie’s nerves.
For a badass sniper and assassin, she wasn’t so good at handling animals. The handgun on her nightstand gave her a little comfort. But, like Mad Dog had said, if she shot at a rat or raccoon, she’d likely put a hole in the flooring, giving them one more way to access her room.
For an hour, she lay staring at the ceiling. Yes, it was her old bedroom where she’d grown up. Yes, it still had the same paintings on the wall and her mother’s quilt on the bed. But it was different.
The entire house was different. Her father wasn’t down the hall snoring softly. He wouldn’t be rising early in the morning to go out and milk the cow, or feed the hogs and chickens. He wouldn’t be there like he had when she’d made scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast.
Her eyes burned and tears welled, spilling out the corners. After so many years, she’d thought her heart would have healed. Coming back to her old home had only ripped open the wound. She missed her f
ather. Her only family.
The walls seemed to close in around her, and her breathing became more difficult.
Jolie tossed back the quilt, grabbed a jacket and padded barefooted down the hallway. She didn’t bother to put on pants, her T-shirt was long enough to cover everything that counted, and she really didn’t give a damn what anyone thought about how she was dressed. All she knew was she needed to get out of the house before she suffocated.
She struggled with the deadbolt, her hands shaking as it finally released and she could pull open the door.
Cool air hit her face and legs. Pushing through the screen door, she stepped out onto the porch. Her feet welcomed the chill of the boards against her skin.
Jolie drank in deep breaths of the clear, mountain air. When she’d been a teen, hormonal and thickheaded, she’d step out on the porch at night to clear her thoughts.
Something about the crispness of the stars and the sharpness of the air she breathed brought her back to calm. This time was no different.
She stared out at the plethora of sparkling stars in the sky, picking out the easy constellations, without even trying. Some things never changed, and she found solace in that.
Her father had been a very busy man, tending to a ranch with cattle, horses and other livestock. He rarely had time to relax. But he made time to take her stargazing. He’d been fascinated by the vastness of the universe and shared his fascination and knowledge with his only child.
Tears fell in earnest now—a silent cleansing she never realized she’d needed until now. After her father had been killed, she’d set about selling every living thing on the ranch. Anything that required her to stay and care for it, had to go. The pain had been so excruciating, she’d hurried through the motions, intent on getting away, thinking the pain would lessen once she left.
In a way, leaving had helped dull the pain. But it was still there. The hollowness of being truly alone in the world. The loss of her mother had hit her hard. She’d clung to her father for the love and support she knew he’d provide. Never in all her years had she ever thought she’d lose him, too.
