by Zoe Dawson
He set everything down on a small empty desk. “Come on. You can’t function like this. Let’s get some food and sleep as well.” When she didn’t move, he gestured again.
“I need some air.” She did because she was getting close to a total meltdown, tears and snot and crying, which she hated to do, especially in front of someone. Her past washed over her with memories of the last time a man made her cry, crushed her almost to the point of no return. Crying was weak and it came at the end of a person’s rope.
She had no intention of being at the end of her rope. Not when it came to Paige and Chris. She could not fail them.
Outside the command center, she kept walking, all the way down to the elevator, then she was inside, her breath hitching. Through sheer will she pushed her emotions back. At the lobby, she marched out into the street. She walked knowing that he would be shadowing, but if she could just clear her head, stop the welling of emotion from robbing her of her dignity, she would be all right.
It felt good to move as she passed restaurants that were opening and dodged tourists and locals out early, taking in the flavor of the city. She spotted a white van. It was moving slow and steady trying to pass the flow of people. Did it have a dent on the side? She increased her speed, knowing it was a longshot. Just as she darted around a car coming out of an alley, the van stopped, giving her a line of sight. She couldn’t let them get away this time. Determination rising in her, she lengthened her stride to an all-out sprint, her breathing coming in labored gasps as she raced to the van, frantic to see the plate on the departing vehicle. Praying that the driver couldn’t see her in his rearview mirror, she twisted past an older woman pulling a wagon. She darted out into traffic, horns honking in her wake, a sickening rush clutching at her when the van turned the corner and she lost her chance. Her chest heaving and her lungs on fire, she increased her speed and saw that it had stopped just ahead.
She ran up to the vehicle, to the driver’s side, and said in Portuguese, “Why are you following me? Who are you?”
An old man turned to look at her, his eyes widening. Then she saw the floral print on the side panel and the name of a flower shop. He had a bouquet in his hands. Gasping for air, she backed up.
“Desculpa. Eu cometi um erro, senhor. Desculpa.”
She backed up right into Pitbull.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, and she didn’t want his words to make her feel better, but they did. They helped immensely.
He slipped his arm around her and steered her away from the van toward the sidewalk. She walked with him, her face hot, her heart beating hard, the desperation nearly overwhelming her common sense. There was no trail to follow. God, let there be a break in this case. Losing either of her friends would be…incomprehensible.
She raised her hand to cover her damp face, and he pulled her into an alley. He took a step closer, and she tensed. She tried not to show it, but that much was really beyond her at the moment. The world she knew was letting her down. And she didn’t know what to do about that. What she did know was that Pitbull was living up to his name. It seemed when he had something between his teeth, he wasn’t going to let go that easily. He had a way of looking at her, into her, like he saw far past her defenses, to the core of her that most people couldn’t even guess at. She hadn’t given him anything.
Leaning against the wall, he drew her against him. She was so tired, still sore and so worried, she melted against him for the strength he offered.
“I know something isn’t right with you.” He said it quietly, but somehow the softer tone wasn’t the least bit comforting. In fact, it only served to unnerve her.
He saw far too much, far too easily.
She didn’t know how long they stood there. Long enough for her breathing to level out and her mind to clear. Swallowing against the sudden tightness in her throat, Mak felt as if her insides had turned to lead.
Her reaction had been reckless, and her throat closed up with another painful cramp, only this time her vision blurred with tears.
“What is this about?” he asked.
She looked up, and the impact of him slammed into her. Errol Ballentine was so much more than a handsome face or a dedicated warrior. She’d like to think it was all gung-ho and testosterone, but she had pushed away her attraction to him because she was so used to distancing herself from men who might make a difference.
The angles of his face in the early morning light were damn near perfect. He gave scruffy a new meaning with his tousled hair, beard stubble darkening his jaw. That firm, sensuous mouth with those soft looking lips did her in, and those eyes, pale gray under dark lashes, crystal clear as river water, unwavering and focused completely on her.
He was right and leaving him guessing didn’t sit right with her. There weren’t many people in this world other than Carlos Pena who had seen her completely lose her shit. It was because of that depraved drug lord that she had lost everything that mattered.
“It’s mixed up in my past. It’s a long story,” she said. Giving something away almost hurt her physically. Talking about her past brought back a lot of pain, and until this moment it hadn’t been worth it.
He was doing it again, looking into her, sensing her anguish, his face softening. Then his mouth slanted over hers, and she gave herself up to the taste and the heat of it. He was rock solid against her, the muscles in his arms flexing around her, the gentle strength of his hand on the back of her neck, the sensual thrill of having his tongue pushing into her mouth again and again, the erotic rhythm of it melting her brain. He was insistent and tender at the same time, turning her on with every move of his lips over hers, with every thrust into her mouth, making her want to give him more.
Damn, she usually had more sense.
And she wasn’t fooling herself. This didn’t have anything to do with being out of her mind moments ago and him doing his job—sorta. He’d come after her because it was his job to protect her. Not that she needed it. She could take care of herself.
But this man, this pit bull wouldn’t let go at all. Pitbull—his war name was as much a part of him as his real name. She slid her fingers into his hair and kissed him like her life depended on it, slow and deep, teasing him with her tongue, breathing him in and tasting him—and it was so impossibly good, so impossible.
“Pitbull,” she whispered, liking the way it sounded in her breathy tone.
This kiss was the most reckless thing she’d done in a very long time.
Where would it go?
Where could it go? she asked herself.
She needed to be smart here, but it took a monumental effort to pull away. He tasted and felt so good, and it had been so long since she’d been kissed. But she broke away from him. She should have stepped away, but it was beyond her, wrapped so close to him, his breath soft on her skin, her melting inside.
“I am going to take a rain check on that story,” he said, his voice rough.
She nodded, unable to speak.
She really needed to get a frigging grip, even though one of his hands was still in her hair, rubbing the back of her neck, the other loosely around her hips.
“We need to…”
“Yeah.” The quicker the better, and still she didn’t move away from him.
Who the hell was he to affect her in this way? Some guy who’d stood up to her with the toughness of the dog he was named after, a man who looked too good to be true. That story was going to be hard to tell, to let him into that secret, into the inner circle of her heart where no one knew her anymore.
Certainly not him. Everyone who had been involved was back in Arizona, and two lives had been lost and buried, but never forgotten.
Mak would never forget. She couldn’t, no matter how many years passed.
She pulled away from him and was so disappointed by the effort it took. She was usually smarter. He was an unnecessary complication, the man to guard her body but not get into it, protect her but not get under her skin.
“That was
a mistake,” she said. Reckless, dangerous mistake.
“Okay.”
“We have a job to do.” She had to work this out, ignore the panic from another time and place where she was searching for two people who were as dear to her as her own life.
She was the right person to track Chris and Paige down. She was the retribution to be faced.
It was what kept her going. The fact that she hadn’t forgiven herself for what she had lost. The last thing she needed was two more black marks on her soul when there were already two weighing heavily on it.
Damn, sometimes she wondered if she was going to live long enough to make up for her failings and wash away her sins.
“We should get back before we’re missed.”
She nodded and pushed away from him and the wall. They left the alley and walked at a brisk pace back to the building, then took the elevator back up to the command center.
She walked over to the small desk and sat down. She ate all the food on the plate while Pitbull did the same. Then she stood and said, “Get some rest. I won’t be taking any more jaunts into the city alone.”
“Good to hear. I thought I was the one who needed a leash.”
“Ha, maybe you do,” she murmured.
“I’ll walk you back to your room,” he said, rising.
She wanted to refuse but decided it would be easier to just let him be her bodyguard.
They took the stairs up to the rooms designated as bedrooms. She stopped in front of her door.
“Sleep well,” she said.
His gaze was locked on hers, so intent, so focused. So trustworthy and steady. He took both of her arms, then pulled her closer. “I’m concerned about you. I can take on almost anything, but I can’t protect you without your cooperation.”
“Guarding me and taking care of me are two different things.”
“I see that. It might not be what you want, maybe you need me to be there for you too. Maybe you need someone to listen. I can do that too.” He gentled his hold, tugging her another inch closer. “Accepting help is tough. Trust me, I know. Especially from someone you don’t know well. I don’t make a habit of getting involved with someone I’m working with. Too many problems. But here we are.”
“You’re making this hard,” she said without meaning to, intensifying a look that was already intense enough.
“Your unrelenting courage in the face of great odds, your strength, your confidence, your ease with yourself and with others knocks my socks off. I’m interested in you and it’s not your intent.”
She tried to dismiss his words, but he was adept at getting her to lower her defenses. He was more than charming. Standing this close, looking into his eyes, she saw no sign of deception, no wavering. He was being completely honest.
“I have my own problems and my own demons. My life is…complicated.”
“You barely know me,” she whispered, melting all over again from just standing here with him.
“I have a visceral, gut feeling about you.” He reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then very lightly ran his fingertip along her cheekbone and down along her chin.
The brief contact made her shiver, but in a good way. He was simply riveting.
The corners of his mouth curved. “You have to admit the strength of the attraction between us isn’t easy to dismiss.”
“I tend to keep my cards close to the vest,” she said.
He laughed softly. “Keep me guessing.”
“I don’t think there is much guessing where I stand in this attraction thing you’re going on about.”
“It’s relevant and requires dialogue.”
“Does it? That’s your professional and personal opinion?”
“It is. One hundred percent.”
“Decisive. I like that about you.”
“I like that nothing gets by you, not even me. Especially not me. You pull no punches and take no bullshit.”
She fought the urge to smile then. Her carefully neutral life was falling apart…and he was making her smile. Like she had nothing better to do than stand here and play. Only this wasn’t about playing. This was heading toward the relationship thing. Definitely a big, terrible mistake.
He bent down and kissed her on the cheek. “You sleep well too.”
She slipped into her room as he disappeared around the corner.
Sleep was long in coming even though she was spent as her past swallowed her whole, taking her back to grief and loss from which she hadn’t ever truly recovered. She closed her eyes and tried to find her way through the morass of emotions she had only shunted aside. Pain could only get you if you gave yourself over to it.
Dismissing everything was harder this time. But with the urgency of Chris and Paige’s kidnapping and their lives hanging in the balance, she muscled through it.
Maybe it was time to turn to the director.
She pushed away the covers, feeling as if she couldn’t rest until she talked to him. She went back to the command center alone. People were resting, but even though her eyes were gritty, and she was wrung out, the caffeine she’d pumped into her system was helping to keep her on her feet.
When the director’s face appeared on the screen, despair welled up in her, but she masked it. It wouldn’t help to give in to negative thoughts. “Good morning, sir.”
“Mak. How goes it?”
“Not very good, I’m afraid. There were no usable forensic leads from what we gathered at the rental parking lot. Nothing to go on but a sighting of a white van and some paint that was left behind at the crime scene. We’ve narrowed it down to a Mercedes-Benz Sprinter, but there are thousands of them in the tri-border area and it’s basically a dead end.”
“I see. That is disappointing.”
“I think we need to reach out for some asset help, like through the CIA. I’ve tried to work the locals and some leads that we got from COT, but no one knows anything. Even with financial incentives, there have been no takers. Without any leads to go on, this is going to be like finding two needles in a haystack.”
“Let me see what I can do.”
“Thank you, Director.”
She clicked off just as someone entered the command center. She turned to find a tall, red-headed woman, someone Mak didn’t recognize.
“Hi,” she said moving into the room. “I’m Katherine Cross. I’m married to Orion Cross—Wicked is his call name. He’s part of the teams. I heard some disturbing news from Jo Moretti, Dragon’s fiancée. It’s my understanding that Paige Wilder has been missing since Sunday.”
“Yes, that’s correct. But how are you here? This is a classified op and location.”
“Oh, sorry. I’m with the CIA out of San Diego. I’m here to help in any way I can.”
“Talk about a coincidence, Katherine. I just asked for your help.”
“Call me Kat. What do you have so far?”
7
As Pitbull walked back to the command center, his thoughts drifted back to Mak, the woman who had been on his mind for the last few hours, except for the few hours of sleep he managed to get once his dick decided to stop pulsating and remain as hard as a rock.
Despite being distracted by his ongoing negotiations with Helen, and the fact that he had a daughter he had no intentions of denying or abandoning, Mak had slipped through his mind more than once. She was nothing like the straphangers, frog hogs, or provocative women at the All In Bar and Grille who were interested in bagging themselves a SEAL, romanticizing them into these larger-than-life warriors with hard bodies to romp on.
He’d spent a lot of time there and had never been against getting some soft woman against him, but he was looking for substance. Mak was so different, outside the box. She was tough as nails and dedicated, but she could be vulnerable, like when she lost it with that white florist van.
There was so much substance there, he felt he would need a lifetime to get through it all.
Mak’s sensuality was subtle which made her all
the more appealing than the flaunt-in-your-face bold approaches of twenty-somethings who had a lot of growing up to do. Pitbull was a mature-ass man and he recognized it in Mak—intellectually and physically.
His mistakes in his past stemmed from his immaturity and his inability to see past Helen’s machinations. She always seemed to have an agenda. But when it came to Samantha, he wasn’t going to give in. Ever.
He noticed Kat as soon as he walked into the room, jarring him because he had no idea she was going to be here. She was the only one that didn’t look like she’d had too much coffee and too little sleep in the last couple of days. He deliberately focused his attention on her and off his thoughts of delectable Mak. Pitbull was thankful for his connections through the teams and that the newcomer was a known resource. Unknowns set him on his guard, and Paige and Chris didn’t have time for them to get acquainted with a new person. He knew Orion “Wicked” Cross—big, tough team member from Ruckus’s top-notch operators. Kat was now a station chief for the CIA.
“This is a surprise. What are you doing here?”
Kat told him that she was here on her own after Jo Moretti filled her in on the situation. Hemingway, Atticus Sinclair, had asked Jo Moretti to take care of Kid and Paige’s daughter, Chloe. He didn’t say why. The kid was scheduled to attend BUD/S in a few weeks. Maybe his training schedule was heavy? “I have read every report and shred of evidence you guys have collected and made some calls to feel things out with my contacts.”
“Where’s Mak?”
Apparently, Mak had briefed Kat on everything they had, including the inspection of the rental parking lot and the mysterious white van, then had finally gone to sleep while Kat absorbed all the information.
After she explained all of that to Pitbull, she excused herself to take an incoming call. The conversation was brief and a bit heated. When she hung up, she had a triumphant look on her face.
