by Diana Gardin
Snapshots from my life ten years ago flash inside my head. The shit apartment where my mom and I lived. The days on end I’d be without her, because she was off chasing a fix or a guy or both. The men I had to fight off with my bare hands just so I didn’t become a statistic. And when I got caught stealing pills from a drugstore to feed a habit I couldn’t afford, Russ was the cop on the scene. He took me under his wing, made sure I got clean and graduated high school. Then he took me in and helped me get into the department.
I stare into the slate-gray eyes of the only father I’ve ever known. And he’s not even my blood. “I can do this, Russ.”
He searches my gaze for a moment, and then nods like he’s found what he’s looking for. “I know you can, Indigo. The spot is yours. But there’s something you need to know.”
I sit up straighter, pride blooming in my heart. “What?”
“There’s another branch to the task force. Private, locally owned security company here in Wilmington. You’ve heard of them—Night Eagle?”
The name rings a bell. I’m pretty sure they’ve helped out on some cases within the department. And I recall that a couple of ex-cops work for them now. “What’s that got to do with me?”
A smirk crosses Russ’s face. “You’ll be going undercover with a member of their team. You’ve got a partner. He was a SEAL.”
“Partner?” The word tastes dirty in my mouth. “I don’t do partners, Russ. You know that.”
He moves to his desk, picking up a file and handing it to me. “You want this assignment? Then you need to get to know this guy. You’ll be seeing a lot of him, and you’ll have to learn how to work with him in order for this to go smoothly.”
My mouth hangs open as I take the manila folder from his hand. Opening it, I flip through the pages of information about the man I’m supposed to be working with. My eyebrows knit together.
“He’s not even a cop!”
Russ’s brows lower as he focuses on me. “Did you miss the part that says he’s an ex-SEAL?”
Rolling my eyes, I clutch the file a little tighter in my hands. “Which means he’s a cocky asshole who thinks he’s going to save the world all by himself. No thanks, Russ.”
I toss the file back onto his desk.
Russ chuckles softly. There’s love in his expression when he looks at me. “Did I say this was optional? You work with him, this case is yours. If not, we’ll find someone else.”
A groan leaves my throat as my head drops back between my shoulder blades. “Fine. But he better realize that if he gets in my way, I’ll steamroll his ass.”
“Oh, boy,” mutters Russ. “Get out of here, Indigo. Take the rest of the day off and tomorrow too. Get your mind prepared for this, and lose some of that attitude. I’ll see you in a few days.”
Nodding, I exit the office, the name of my new partner rolling around and around inside my head.
Lawson Snyder.
3
LAWSON
My gaze darts around the room, landing for a few seconds on one thing before leaping around again. Never able to pause. Never able to settle, to rest.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a bar. It’s an environment I don’t allow myself to be caught up in anymore, a scene I avoid if I can. When the guys want to meet for drinks after work, I usually decline or suggest that they come hang out at my place for a game instead. I serve beer.
I shy away from liquor.
Since Ghost found me that night, almost beating that guy to death in the parking lot of that bar…
I stay away. I’ve cleaned up my act. Now that I have NES, I don’t need…the distraction. My demons are silenced with every mission I complete. There’s no reason for me to slide backward.
The Oakes bar, owned by fellow NES man Bennett Blacke, has been turned from a dirty hole-in-the-wall to a clean and classic dive. It’s attracted the attention of a younger trendier crowd, but on a weekday night it’s pretty chill. Which is exactly what I need.
I suggested the place because it’s pretty familiar. But now as I take in everything around me, the clammy feeling of anxiety washes across my skin, and I wish I’d insisted on meeting her at one of our offices. Her suggestion of taking away the distractions of our respective office buildings and the chatter of our teams while we got to know one another on a more intimate level seemed like a good one. She’s right, we’re about to be spending a lot of time around one another. And for what we’re going to have to do…we need to get to know each other fast.
I smooth my palms over my face, breathing deeply through my nose before blowing the breath out of my mouth. I open my eyes when the thunk of glass hitting wood pulls me out of my head. I focus on Kandie, the curvy bartender standing beside my table. Her red lips twist in a grin as she leans over the table on her elbows.
Kandie’s giving me an eyeful of the cleavage spilling out of her tight lacy top, but she’s mastered the art of keeping her distance from the male customers who can’t get enough of her, all while being friendly enough to earn killer tips. The customers she actually wants attention from aren’t of my gender, so when I smile at her, I keep my eyes on her pretty face.
“Lawson Snyder.” She gives me a wink and waits for me to finish my sip of the Coke she brought me. “Can’t remember the last time I saw you in here without your crew. You looking for Bennett? He’s not here tonight. See, he hired this very capable woman to manage this place for him while he saves the world with the rest of you assholes.”
She winks, and my grin widens.
“Nah, not looking for Bennett. I’m actually meeting someone here.”
Kandie straightens, her chocolate eyes lighting with interest. “For real? She hot?”
I roll my eyes. “You can be the judge when she gets here.”
She walks away, her ass swaying behind her as she tosses back over her shoulder, “Oh, you know I will, sexy.”
I glance down at my drink, chuckling. It’s that moment when the air in the bar around me shifts. It’s subtle, but there’s a change in the oxygen mixing with the carbon dioxide, a disturbance in the way the particles move. I graduated near the top of my class at the Naval Academy, but chemistry was never my thing. Even so, I’m pretty sure the elements don’t move that way.
There’s a stirring in my gut, a tug, a pull that drags my gaze from my drink toward the door. And even though I’ve never seen the woman before in my life, I’d be willing to bet my savings that it’s Indigo Stone who’s standing just inside the front door.
And everything inside me tells me that this is one of those moments in life that I should take notice of. One of those times when I should realize shit’s about to change.
She stands there for a second, taking in the room. She’s all kind of calendar-girl sexy, if the calendar is full of sex, drugs, and motorcycles.
My eyes don’t know where to land first. I start with the slim but shapely legs covered in ripped-up black pants and balancing on high-heeled black boots. She’s petite, her tight little body wrapped in a black leather jacket. Slim shard of flat, toned stomach bared underneath. Rivers of dark, flowing hair tumbling around her shoulders.
Her body would stop traffic. But then my eyes land on her face, and this face?
This face could start wars.
It’s the kind of beauty made to look tough. I bet her dark, thick eyeliner and full red lips were applied just as carefully as the holster I spot on her belt.
I’m completely still as I watch her gaze scan the room before she takes her first step forward. She walks to the bar, her ankles crossing as she leans over and speaks to Kandie in a voice I can’t hear. Kandie’s lips curve upward as her gaze flicks toward me, and then she says something to Indigo before turning away to grab her drink. Indigo waits until she has a beer in her hand before slowly turning to face me.
And with each step she takes forward on those heels, the tension thickens and draws tighter.
She doesn’t stop until she’s standing behind the chair op
posite mine. “You Lawson Snyder?”
No smile accompanies her words, but now I can tell the color of her eyes. They’re the color of warm cinnamon, and they’re overflowing with intelligence, boredom, and something I can’t quite read.
Standing, I hold out a hand. “Yeah. That’s me. Indigo Stone?”
She grasps my hand, and I zero in on five purple-painted nails before my fingers wrap around hers.
Warm. Soft. Firm.
Her hand is all of these things at the same time, and a jolt of awareness zings through my system as I meet her steady gaze.
Jesus, she’s beautiful.
It’s the last thought I have before she drops my hand and takes a seat, bringing her bottle to her lips as she sizes me up. “Guess we’d better learn a few things about each other, huh?”
Taking my seat, I assess her the same way she does me. I know a little about her background, that she’s an undercover detective and that she’s good at it. There’s no way her superiors would have chosen her for this assignment otherwise. Now that I have her sitting across from me, I’m taken aback by her appearance. Yes, she’s stunning. But something about her speaks to me in particular. She’s not classically, girl-next-door pretty. There are a lot of guys who’d walk right past her without taking the time to appreciate her beauty.
I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve been forced to focus on her, but that thought seems insane to me right now. Every single thing about her speaks to me, and the fact that she’s everything opposite of the usual type of woman I’m attracted to is forgotten.
I don’t date. As a rule, I’m not looking for that perfect woman to settle down with. Not with all the shit I’ve been through. Going into a relationship would be asking someone else to unpack my baggage, and that’s just not fair. Not to anyone.
But when I’m with a woman for a night or two, she doesn’t look like Indigo. I don’t typically choose women with tattoos, not having any myself. And her ink is extensive. She’s like a walking, talking piece of artwork. I find my eyes tracing the visible lines creeping up around her collarbone, her wrists, and her stomach. Colorful and vibrant, the designs are stunning. Just like the woman wearing them.
She’s also got a hard style that I can’t do anything but appreciate now that she’s sitting here. But if you’d asked me an hour ago to describe my perfect woman, she wouldn’t have been wearing black leather and carrying a Glock.
Shaking my head to clear it, I sip my Coke. “I guess we should. Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself? Why’d you become a cop?”
Her eyes narrow the slightest bit, but she doesn’t otherwise react. She crosses her legs, leaning back in her seat as she watches me.
“It was either that or continue down the path I was on.” She leans forward, the expression on her face totally serious. “And you know what, Lawson? That path led nowhere good. There were only two places I would have ended up: in the gutter or behind bars.”
My instinct is to flinch, to rear back at the ugliness of her words. But the fact that she has a past is written all over her, and I refuse to be someone who sees her for what she’s been through and nothing else. So I do nothing. Say nothing.
Her eyes flick to my nearly empty glass. “What are you drinking? Let me get the next round.”
I lift my glass. “Sure. This is Coke.”
She gives me a blank look. “Coke with…”
I smirk. “Coke. Straight.”
Her expression turns baffled. “You’re an ex-Navy SEAL, one who actively works on privately contracted black-ops missions, who only drinks Coke?”
I lift a brow. “Tonight I’m drinking Coke. Sometimes it’s Dr Pepper. Seems like you’ve been well versed in all things Lawson.”
Indigo sets down her beer and leans onto her elbows. “I’ve read what they put in your file. Tell me something. When’s the last time you went deep undercover in an investigation? I don’t mean when was the last time you were briefed on a mission and executed it. I mean when were you laced in an undercover situation where you had to wait it out and not be an instant hero? That’s what I’ve really been wondering.”
Instead of answering her question, I mimic her position and lower my voice. “Do you think I can’t handle this assignment?”
Indigo doesn’t move. The only clue I have that she’s riled is the slight flare of her nostrils. “I think your boss has worked hard to put himself in a position where the government comes to him for assignments like this. But I haven’t worked with you before, so I’m not going to automatically assume you know what you’re doing.”
My blood pressure rises. I know there’s no way I can hide it in my expression, which is crazy. Because hiding my true feelings is something I’ve perfected.
“You’re questioning my ability to complete this mission.” The words escape through clenched teeth.
She cocks her head to the side and smiles. “You see? That shit right there? That’s what I’m talking about. This isn’t a mission, Lawson. This is an undercover assignment. Something I’m well versed in, but you have no clue how to execute. Especially with a partner.”
While everything inside me wants to explode, my training and experience kick in and I take a second, watching her. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth while I count backward from ten. This isn’t even close to how I thought this meeting was going to go.
“Listen, Indigo. If you get only one thing out of this conversation, you need to hold on to this. We’ve been assigned to get this job done together. You might not like it, but my work is everything to me. I’ll protect you with my life if it comes to that. You have my word.”
Maybe it doesn’t help that it sounds like I’m grinding the words over rough stone, but it’s true all the same.
She stands up, her palms slamming down on the table as she leans toward me. Her lips twist into a snarl and she stares me down. “That’s just it, isn’t it? I. Don’t. Need. Your. Protection.”
Her chest heaves as she pulls breaths, and I don’t move as I meet her stare for a full minute. Finally, she drops back into her seat.
“I don’t do partners.” The words are bitter as she spits them toward me. She folds her arms across her chest, her beer long forgotten.
“Yeah?” I force my voice to soften. “Why’s that?”
She finally breaks our stare, glancing away as she swipes her beer off the table and finishes it.
“Doesn’t matter why. But if I’m being honest, I don’t trust you. I don’t know what it’s going to take to change that, but I don’t. You need to go into this assignment with your eyes wide open. We have about a week to get our shit together. Or this whole operation is going to be a big, hot mess.”
4
INDIGO
The very next day, I’m thrown to the wolves.
Russ and I show up at the extremely high-tech and glossy Night Eagle Security office. We’re shown upstairs to a huge conference room by a raven-haired beauty who introduced herself as Rayne Teague. I’m seated next to my boss at a long, rectangular table in a comfortable leather chair facing a giant wall of windows, trying not to be blown away by the place and all its bells and whistles. It’s a far cry from the fully functional, yet boring-as-hell police station where I work most days.
Across from me sits a solid wall of ridiculous man muscle. It’s ridiculous because I work with men all the time, but I’ve never seen this kind of drool-worthy muscle all in one place. I scowl at them for the injustice of it.
Lawson glares right back from the middle of the line, an indentation forming in the middle of his otherwise smooth forehead. The weird tension and tingling animosity from our meeting last night definitely hasn’t dissipated.
The man sitting at the head of the table speaks, calling the first meeting of the task force to order.
“Thank you, everyone, for being here, and welcome to those we haven’t had the pleasure of working with.” The warm, welcoming words are a direct juxtaposition with the gruff voice a
nd serious delivery.
“I’m Jacob Owen, and this is the Delta Squad.” He gestures toward the wall of muscle sitting before us. “This is Lawson Snyder, who will be partnering with Ms. Stone during this mission.” He indicates Lawson, who nods at Russ and the unidentified woman sitting at the end of the table.
“And this is Thorn Ryder.” Owen gestures toward the man sitting on Lawson’s right side.
I let my eyes slide over him, taking note of his bulky, muscular build, the tattoos scrolling down his arms, and the short blond hair. He’s handsome in the manliest kind of way, but his constant grin and confident smirk makes me want to look away.
“Bain Foxx.” The man on Lawson’s other side lifts his chin in a defiant sort of recognition. The first word I’d use to describe Bain is dark. Dark brown hair cut in an edgy style, short on the sides and lopping curls in the front. Olive skin and the most gorgeous blue eyes I’ve ever seen. There’s swirling ink covering every inch of skin I can see except for his face, and a thin silver ring loops through one nostril. The expression on his face is a glower short of hostile. But despite his obvious anger, he’s flaming hot in his own off-limits kind of way. In fact, every single man in this room, not excluding the middle-aged leader, Jacob, is dripping with purely masculine sex appeal.
“The last member of the Delta Squad is Ben McBride.”
Ben offers me a grin that breaks up the seemingly serious nature of his comrades, his chestnut brown hair falling into his eyes and mossy green eyes twinkling with nothing but good humor.
“Howdy.” He greets me with a generous Southern accent, tipping an imaginary hat in my direction.
