by Em Petrova
She ignored his long, muscled legs as he walked half a step in front of her. One thing she despised about a lot of men she worked with was how they treated her like a child because of her size. She may be little, but so was the bomb that did all this damage.
Of all men to lose her grip over, why did it have to be Broshears? The man was one of the cockiest and more irritating of all the Xtreme Ops team, who were on a level above all other police and special units she worked with.
He sent her a glance over his beefy shoulder. The very shoulder she’d dug her fingers into in the darkness of that closet.
He walked up to Special Operative Lipton and asked about the bags containing the package wrappings. When Lipton pointed to a box, Broshears retrieved it and brought it back to her.
Vivian’s insides jittered. She’d caught a glimpse of the bags while passing with Zack, and she couldn’t shake the urge to get a closer look.
Broshears cradled the box in his arm, and she peeked over the top. Realizing he stood much taller, he lowered it so she could see in. Irritation rolled through her, but she chucked it aside as she spotted the charred paper.
The scrap of handwriting addressed to the victim had a very distinct style to it. She was no handwriting expert, but she did know that not everybody formed their letter Ms like this.
The M in the name Mark consisted of what resembled three number sevens connected at the top.
A funny feeling took up residence in her stomach. She’d seen writing like that before, but where?
Broshears’ heavy gaze drilled into her.
“Thanks for showing me.” Without meeting his eyes, she turned to leave.
On the way to her truck parked on the street, she saw the M imprinted on her mind, as if she’d stared at the letter too long. She knew that wasn’t the case, though.
As she reached the door, Captain Penn Sullivan stopped her to talk. To her annoyance, Broshears butted into the conversation, standing with arms folded and his attention trained on her. She hoped none of their encounter in the closet showed on her face.
A police siren whooped and a firetruck geared up to pull away from the curb, drowning out their words for the moment. She flicked her attention to Broshears’ face. He wore a strange expression, lips almost twisted in a sneer…or a smile? He’d pushed his protective mask up to sit on the top of his head, and damn if the gear didn’t give him a hotter appearance.
“Do you have time to scope out the local post office?” Penn asked her.
She nodded. “Of course. Zack and I are ready to work.”
“I’ll go with you.”
At Broshears’ offer, she opened her mouth to say no, but Penn overrode her wishes. “Good idea. Report back with everything you gather, Broshears.”
She caught the man’s smug expression. Great—she was stuck with him. But she wouldn’t ride with him.
Quickly, she strode to her truck. After checking that Zack was still all right, she climbed behind the wheel. She started the engine and put the truck into gear, when the passenger door opened and Broshears jumped in beside her.
She stifled a groan. “Did I offer you a ride?”
“You did now.” Without so much as a ‘sorry,’ he fastened his seatbelt.
Being in such a cramped space with the big man resurrected visions of them in that closet. The night she lost her sanity and had made a fool of herself by drinking on an empty stomach. He better not bring it up, or she’d stop the truck and leave him on the side of the road.
“Have you ever worked a bomb scene like that before?” Why did his deep voice have to unbury that night and trickle through her insides?
“No.”
“How ’bout a post office?”
“Once, up north.”
“Have you ever had sex in a closet before that day in the airport?”
She cranked her neck so fast to glare at him that her muscles locked. “We’re not discussing that.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
“Why the hell not?”
She shot him a look from the corner of her eye. He sounded like somebody peed in the bowl of nuts and bolts he must grind up for breakfast every morning instead of breakfast cereal.
Drawing from her inner reserve, she tried for a calm tone. “Because you and I both know that it was a mistake. We’re not supposed to fraternize.”
“Nobody’s around to overhear.”
“I still don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine. Have you slept with any mops lately?”
She battled to control the involuntary twitch at the corner of her mouth. Must. Not. Smile. Must. Not. React. Broshears already knew he was good-looking in that irresistible chicks-love-me way. And she never slept with men like him.
“No, but one did take me out to dinner last week,” she told him.
He laughed. The rumbling chuckle brought her head up, because even if she didn’t want to react to him, her body had a mind of its own. And it wanted a front-row seat to the sight of the hot special operative in a full-blown smile.
God, he looked hotter than ever, the creases playing at the sides of his mouth and…was that a dimple? The man usually wore a grim glare that would send monsters running back into their closets, so she never suspected he sported such a thing as that divot.
She wanted to press her thumb into it. And kiss it. Maybe dip her tongue in.
Oh God, she’d lost her mind.
“You’re not so bad, Valentine.”
His statement caught her off guard. She wasn’t supposed to like him. In fact, she didn’t.
“Let’s just get to the post office and do our jobs.”
He sobered. The rest of the ride, he remained silent.
And the dimple disappeared as he firmed his jaw once more.
After they arrived at the postal facility, Broshears leaped out and headed straight for the entrance. Of course he needed to be the big man in charge.
Stuffing down her annoyance, she walked to the back and talked to Zack. Her dog looked into her eyes in his soulful way, and for a minute she wondered if he sensed how prickly she was when it came to Broshears. Zack was, after all, her best friend.
Her father helped her train Zack from when he was one week old, teaching him not to be distracted and slowly working up to where the dog was today. In many ways, her bond with her late father was tangled up with how she felt about her dog.
“I’m not letting that man distract me anymore. C’mon, boy.” She opened his cage and the dog waited for her to clasp his leash in place.
Seconds later, they entered the post office. A glance at the space showed her Broshears’ broad back. She knew he wore bulletproof armor beneath his clothing, but she also knew firsthand how huge he was.
She led Zack forward, she noted how the postal worker Broshears spoke with had one of those swoony cartoon expressions on her face.
Vivian barged into the conversation. “Where’s the head of the line?”
“Valentine, this is Brandi.”
“Hi, Brandi. Zack and I will be walking through your facility today. Just continue working as usual, okay?”
“That’s fine, hon.”
As Vivian walked away, she heard the woman giggle. She refused to look back. What did she care if Broshears charmed the literal pants off every woman who came into his orbit, her included? She had work to do.
After a minute or two, Broshears joined her.
“You weren’t very friendly to Brandi.”
“I don’t really have time for that. There’s a lunatic out there mailing bombs to people. Do I need to remind you?” She focused her full attention on Zack as she led him through several feet of the counter area, big plastic shipping containers and through every mail slot in the place.
He did pause at one mail slot and indicate he found a substance he recognized. She and Broshears exchanged a glance, and then he peered into the small cubicle.
“Two letters.”
She bent to look. “The
y’re too flat to contain explosive.”
He shook his head. “Some substances are—”
She snatched them from his hand and held them under Zack’s nose, who indicated drugs by putting his ears far forward.
“It’s weed. Somebody mailed their buddy a doobie.” She passed the letters back to Broshears.
He eyed her. “How can you be sure?”
She rolled her eyes. “Zack has different responses to different substances. Blood and human DNA are one thing, drugs such as weed, heroin, crack, smack—”
“Okay, I get the point.” He continued to hold the letters, though.
“Do you want me to prove it to you?” Before he answered, she ripped the seal of one letter open. Inside was a folded paper, which she removed too. As she unfolded it, a joint rolled out into her palm.
Zack made a circle in place.
“You opened that piece of mail! That’s a crime, Valentine.” He gaped at her.
She thrust her shoulders back. “Are you seriously so by the book that you’re concerned about me cracking open a letter containing a blunt? I never guessed that stick up your ass extended all the way to your brain, Broshears.”
She walked away…aware for the second time in her life that Alix Broshears was staring at her ass.
Chapter Two
Anchorage’s database was nowhere near as sophisticated as DC when it came to hunting for information, but it would do.
Broshears enjoyed working in crime labs, and even though this one lacked the more comfortable chairs where a person could spend hours on his behind working, it did remind him of the old libraries in London where he’d done a stint with the Army.
No dusty tomes filled the lab, but the lighting was the same, a faint glow coming from the high windows.
He rolled his stiff shoulders as he read the information pulled up on his screen.
“Broshears.”
He pivoted to see Penn standing from his own computer desk. He stretched, and Broshears heard his spine pop. “I’m gonna call it a night and return to our quarters. I suggest you do too. You’re gonna have an early day tomorrow.”
He arched a brow. “Captain?”
“You’ll be heading out with Valentine first thing to inspect the mail processing center. We already alerted the facility they’re shut down until we’re finished searching the building as well as their trucks.” He leaned on the table Broshears worked at, and something else popped.
“Damn, you should see a chiropractor,” Broshears joked to conceal his irritation over the command that he’d be spending more time with Valentine. His balls wouldn’t survive seeing her bend over one more time. And her snarky comments… Well, they turned him on almost as much as thinking about how sweet her lips were as he plundered her mouth.
“Sir, I request that another operative takes this assignment.”
Penn straightened. “Denied. You were with her today, and it’s good follow-through on our end.”
He swallowed the heavy sigh that burned in his chest. “I’ll head out first thing in the morning, Captain,” he agreed with resignation.
“You should leave and get some rest.”
He checked the hour on his military-issue watch. “I will in a little while. I’d like to do a bit more searching.”
Penn pushed away from the table. “The postal facility expects you at O-five hundred.”
He barely stifled the groan. Only thing worse than an early assignment was seeing Vivian at that time of day. Hell, he rarely got rid of his morning wood until seven.
After the door closed and he checked that he was alone, he turned back to this monitor. He opened his personal email and blinked at the dozens of emails sitting in his inbox. He hadn’t checked it in a couple of days, but surely this was a bit on the ridiculous side.
His story couldn’t be that interesting. Yet half a dozen publishers who wanted to write an accounting of his secret mission in North Korea—hardly secret since other officers had talked—asked him for interviews and call-backs. He had no need for a New York Times best seller, as they assured him he’d have after giving his accounting to their writing team. He didn’t give a damn about the money or getting his story out there.
As he scrolled through the emails, he shook his head.
A movie deal? Christ, they’d lost their damn minds. He sure as fuck never wanted a movie made about him. Where would this end?
He shot off a hasty reply saying he had no desire to be their next blockbuster hit movie and moved on. The next email contained very few questions, and for some reason the simplicity and lack of nagging prompted him to answer.
Yes, he was a special agent. No, he had not talked like his buddies did. No, he wasn’t going to give her an accounting of events that led to freeing hostages, American militia and a doctor that night.
With the remainder of the emails deleted, he returned to his previous work searching for information on the package bomb. The lab had new results listing the source of the explosives and criminals with priors on possession of said substances. Suddenly engrossed in his work, his exhaustion lifted.
He flipped through several more pages and lit on something. It seemed the explosive material held trace amounts of a substance created in a lab about two hours north, in the middle of nowhere like most things in Alaska. He made a mental note to check out the lab and committed the name and location to memory.
A click of the door opening had him turning in his seat. He half expected to see Penn or another of his teammates. Instead, the curvy backside that’d been tormenting him all day pushed through the opening first.
Thinking he must be hallucinating and maybe he was more tired than he thought, he blinked.
The rest of the woman backed into the lab, the fall of black hair swishing on Valentine’s spine as she wrangled with a big box.
A gentleman would stand up and help her with the heavy box. But knowing her, she’d bite his head off and make him regret trying.
He remained seated, watching her struggle to get the box through the door. She twisted with it in her arms, and the door banged shut as she looked up and met his gaze.
“What are you doing here?”
“Working. You want a hand with that box?” He broke. Call him stupid.
Raising her chin a notch, she replied in a haughty voice, “No.”
He swung back to his computer as if finished with her, when he couldn’t make sense of the words jumbled on the screen or remember anything but the ripe curve of her backside pushing through that door…pushing against his groin.
He groaned and skittered his fingers through his hair. She groaned too, and he twisted at the sound.
She hefted the box onto a table at the far side of the room and let it drop with a thunk.
“What’s in there anyway? Bricks?”
“No.” She sniffed.
“Puppies?”
That got a rise out of her. “No! I’d never be so careless with puppies.”
“So what is it?”
She waved a hand. “Focus on your own work, Broshears.”
Drawing a big breath, he faced his screen once more. Words jumped at him, but he couldn’t remember a single one as he scrolled down the results. Across the room, she took some magazines from the box and noisily flipped through them. When she typed, she pressed hard on the keys so they clacked.
He whipped around. “Could you make any more noise?”
Her fingers stilled and she refused to look his direction, though he was aware of how quick she was breathing. Years in the service and the special ops division known as Operation Freedom Flag Alaska Tundra trained him to notice every minute detail about a person.
And he noted the way her lashes flicked down over her cheeks and how her lips parted as though she couldn’t draw enough air.
He circled his table and headed toward her.
“Ohhh, don’t come over here! Ugh, he’s coming over here,” she muttered the last to herself and slammed her magazine shut.
; “What’s in the magazines?” He stopped in front of her table and peered into the box.
She set her jaw in a cute little tilt that made him think of cupping her face and drawing her lips toward the head of his cock.
Fuck—now he was fully hard and ready to roll.
When she failed to respond, he reached into the box and plucked one off the stack. What he saw surprised him. “Forensics?”
“You got a problem with it?” As she lifted her gaze and met his, a spark lit between them—un-fucking-deniable animal attraction.
She wanted him too. The knowledge blazed through him like a flame set to TNT.
Leaning on the desk, he eyed her.
“Oh, don’t lean there. Go away please!”
“Why? Do I make you nervous?” He leaned closer.
Her lashes swept down again. The pulse in her throat flickered fast.
“I do, don’t I?”
“You’re such a cocky ass, Broshears. Not every woman in the world wants you.”
“But you do.”
“Not.”
“You went into that closet with me. You begged me—”
“Shhh!” She shot to her feet, all five-foot-nothing of her glaring up at him. “Can’t you ever shut up?”
He’d goaded her enough for one night. Besides, he had all day tomorrow too.
“I think I’m finished here for the night. You gonna be okay alone?”
“Yes,” she ground out, eyes flashing not unlike that moment in the closet when she came.
He stared at her for a long moment and then walked back to his computer. He cleared his history and headed for the door. Pausing, he glanced over his shoulder at her. She sat as rigid as a telephone pole, head bowed over one of the forensic magazines.
“See ya tomorrow, Valentine.”
She jerked toward him. “What?”
“Didn’t you hear? We’re meeting at the postal facility at five. I’ll bring coffee. What do you like?”
“Can’t one of your other teammates come instead?”
He wasn’t about to tell her he’d asked Penn the same thing. Instead, he grinned. “I’ll guess at what kind of coffee you like. See if I’m right, shall I?”
“Whatever!” She spun forward again, ignoring him as he walked out, chuckling all the way to his vehicle.