by Juno Rushdan
7:45 a.m. EDT
Kit snapped awake, gasping for air.
“Another nightmare?” Castle asked, resting a warm hand on her thigh.
His touch grounded her in reality. The dark chill of the gruesome dream receded.
She looked around Castle’s Hummer, orienting herself. The seats in the other SUV had been soaking wet and they’d had to take his.
In the back, Alistair lay stretched out in an alcohol-induced coma. They’d swung by Rocky’s Bar and picked him up. They had a nine-hour trek ahead of them and Castle had assured her that after some shuteye, Alistair would be sound as a bell.
She prayed he was right and, on a deeper level, hoped they wouldn’t need him as backup.
“Yeah,” Kit said, trying to clear her mind of the horrible images. She’d dozed in fits during the ride, solid sleep eluding her, and chatted with Castle when she was awake about everything from their childhoods to favorite songs and movies.
It was daylight now and the commuter traffic on the road had grown dense.
Castle took exit 18 toward Cambridge and, beyond the off-ramp, pulled into a gas station.
“Are you okay?” He stopped beside a pump and threw the gear into park.
She tried to push the images back, but they kept creeping into her head. What she wouldn’t give to have some distance from the horror and trauma of it all. “Every time I close my eyes, I relive it. The fear in their faces. That low pop echoing inside me. Watching them die and being powerless to stop it.” Her throat thickened. “Whenever someone I love seems to need me the most, I’m utterly useless. I thought by forming the Outliers, I’d save them. Tim, Marty, Lincoln.” A strong, supportive family unit was supposed to be the difference between life and death. “There’s safety in numbers and we had each other. But the reality is they’re dead because of me.”
Castle unbuckled his seat belt, glanced back at Alistair who was knocked out cold, and turned toward her. “That’s not true, Kit.”
“If I’d never created the Outliers, Jasper never would’ve been interested in me, the guys wouldn’t have taken that job, and they’d still be alive. Don’t you see? Even with my brother. I got accepted to Boston University. Just across the river from MIT. I would’ve been able to check up on him, make sure he was taking his meds and kept his appointments. But instead of going to BU, I stayed in New York. Because of a guy, who turned out to be more in love with my money than with me.” The admission bled from her soul, pain seeped from those still-festering wounds, and the ache rippled through her.
Maybe it might’ve been better not to air it out. Safer to keep her pain bandaged and covered in darkness.
“You can’t blame yourself,” he said, keeping his voice just above a whisper.
Then he took her hand in his, entangled her trembling fingers in his warm, strong grip, giving her the much-needed comfort to continue.
“My mother blamed me. She said that I had cared more about my libido than my brother. If I had been there for him the way I was supposed to, he wouldn’t have killed himself.”
“It was a shitty thing for your mother to dump your brother’s death on you.”
“He was more than my brother. He was my twin. We shared a womb together. He was my best friend. I took it for granted that we’d always have each other. The transition from high school to college and into adulthood is stressful. How could I have abandoned him at such a critical time?”
“You didn’t. You made a different choice for yourself. Your mom projected her own guilt onto you. You don’t have the power to control life and death.”
He snaked his hand up the base of her neck and slid his thumb across her jaw. The gentle touch had her emotions in total upheaval, realigning in a direction she hadn’t expected.
“Take it from me,” he said. “My god complex was stripped away in Afghanistan when Mitchell White died. No man left behind, that’s our motto. No SEAL captured or deserted. Until me. I couldn’t even do right by his family and bring his body home for military burial. That failure humbled me, took me to my lowest point. Eventually, I realized I was just a man. One who had trained to be elite, had become one of the best, but still only human. I don’t get to decide who lives and who dies any more than you do.”
“Then why do I feel so responsible?” It hurt so much to think about it she could barely breathe.
“Because you’re loyal and protective and loved them with everything that you had. But you’re the lucky one.”
She shook her head, holding back tears. How could he say such a thing? This was a curse, not some blessing. Pure fucking luck was the reason she was alive, but not the good kind. She’d witnessed so much horror, endured so much loss, a small part of her wished she hadn’t survived.
“Look at me.” The firm, low words came out as a command, lifting her gaze to his. He leaned in. His eyes were the color of the Caribbean Sea after a turbulent storm and held her spellbound. “You are the lucky one. You still get to make a difference, to honor their memory with your actions.”
If only she knew the right way to do that.
Having the ultimate commando show her the man behind the warrior’s stone façade mattered. She sensed it was no small thing for him, and it only made her want to know more.
He brushed hair away from her face, the gesture so gentle that everything inside her sighed. “You spent years taking care of the people around you, giving them a place to live, starting the Outliers, finding clients, cooking, cleaning. But who took care of you?”
Her throat tightened. No one. “I was fine. I’ve always taken care of myself,” she said out of instinct.
“Right.” He nodded, his face unreadable. “You know, most days, I’m numb inside.”
She stayed silent, her gaze locked with his, fearing her self-destructive tongue might ruin the moment and stop him from sharing.
“No happiness, no anger, no grief. Nothing. The only time I feel anything substantial is when I’m high off the adrenaline rush of the job, staring death in the eye. Or when…” He stroked her cheek once more, then lowered his hand. “It’s a gift to feel anything at all. Keep fighting, Kit, and one day, you’ll get to that place where you recognize how lucky you are. I promise. And God knows, if anyone can put up a good fight, it’s your stubborn ass.”
Her bum heart squeezed, frenetic tension draining as the rest of the world receded. He saw her. Truly saw her. But did he really give a damn about her beyond the hard drives?
Last night in his garage, he’d been furious. Common sense dictated fear would have been the proper reaction, but the provocative edge of danger to him was impossible to resist. Even his don’t-fuck-with-me expression had been a turn-on.
She hadn’t been afraid of him. Ticked off, remorseful, aroused, but not afraid.
All the chemistry simmering in every look, every argument, had boiled to the surface. His expression had shifted from angry to something else entirely. Then he’d kissed her.
A wild, heady kiss.
Being wet and cold from the pool wasn’t romantic, but when Castle had put his hungry mouth on hers, pulling her against the hard, thick length of him, that was all she could focus on. He always hid his emotions unless he was angry, but his body betrayed him, telling her the only thing that mattered. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.
With that intoxicating knowledge, an ache blossomed between her thighs. Her whole body weakened in need as she held onto him like a lifeline.
The uncontrollable thrill had steered her mind to thoughts of him being deep inside her. Shameless. Recalling it had her heartbeats tumbling like knocked-over dominoes. She’d never gone from hating a man one minute to wanting him with every breath in her body the next.
Not just wanting either. Lust she was well-versed in. This was far more consequential.
Oh boy. She was falling for Castle Kinkade.
Trusting him with her safety, sure, but could she trust him with her heart?
How stupid was she?
She slid a hand across the scruff on his cheek—obviously beyond-all-hope stupid.
He shifted closer, drawing his mouth toward hers. Breathless anticipation had her rising from her seat to meet his lips, unable to wait for the spark of friction, no air between them, when a throat cleared in the rear of the vehicle.
Castle shot back away from her so fast you would’ve thought they’d been caught on the verge of committing a felony.
Embarrassment burned her cheeks as she settled in her seat and remembered: she was a POI, this was his job, and his colleague was in the back seat.
“Are we going to grab a little brekkie?” Alistair asked, looking peaked. Bloodshot eyes, complexion somewhat on the green side, he was still rather handsome. In the way gritty bad boys always were. He sat up, groaning. His dirty-blond hair flopped in his face, and he raked it back into his hipster mohawk. “I’m famished.”
“No time,” Castle said, avoiding eye contact with her. “Ms. Westcott said that Professor Mendoza swims on campus every morning, Monday through Friday at eight. If we hurry, we can catch him as he’s leaving the pool.”
“But we have time for this?” Alistair waved a finger between her and Castle. “Pit stop?”
Kit’s face was on fire. She rolled down her window, letting in cool, fresh air.
“We need gas.” Castle cut the engine, hopped out, and slammed the door.
Alistair followed him. “Backup isn’t my primary directive,” he said, his voice carrying easily through her open window.
“What do you mean?” Castle asked.
“The chief assigned me to run interference.”
Interference from what? she wondered.
Both men looked over at her through the driver’s side window. Flames spread down her throat to her breasts.
“I guess the chief was right to be worried about you cozying up to her. Dad must have a crystal ball. If I had known you were going to work at warp speed, I wouldn’t have drowned my sorrows in a bucket of booze last night. Instead, I would’ve been superglued to your arse.”
Castle folded his arms across his broad chest. “This isn’t a problem unless you make it one.”
“What I heard and saw is a problem. It’s not like you to mix business with pleasure.”
“Fuck off, Allie.”
“Aha, see.” Alistair pointed an accusatory finger at Castle. “I knew you had fucking on your brain. But you can’t dip your stick in that pond. Don’t go catching feelings—they’re worse than bloody herpes. Remember, you’re the heartless Beast. Hooking up with that princess isn’t going to turn you into a Disney-crooning prince.”
Castle slapped his hand away. “Worry about where you dip your stick and I’ll worry about mine. I’m in no danger of catching anything. I have always been and will continue to be a professional.” He didn’t sound the least bit conflicted, like this was a little, harmless flirtation and nothing more, but she’d never wanted to be wrong about something as much as she did now. “We’re here to do a job. Let’s get it done. Okay?”
“Big boy, I’m on your side. I’ve got your back.”
“Really? What are you going to report to the chief?”
Her breath hitched. No one had ever risked anything for her before. Not to help her or even for her money. Castle’s job seemed a part of him, gave him the same sense of purpose that taking care of her team had given to her.
Had she jeopardized that for him?
“There’s nothing to report. Right?” Alistair said, sarcasm thick as clotted cream.
“Right,” Castle shot back.
“Once we get the package, as far as I’m concerned, there’s no longer any potential conflict of interest. Let’s gas up, grab some nibbles, and go get it. Then you two consenting adults can do as you please. Who am I to judge when 007 shagged every twat in sight?” Alistair glanced at her through the window again and winked. “Did you catch all that, luv?” He flashed a wicked grin that felt like payback for calling him out as a Scouser.
She averted her gaze, hating the compromising position she’d put Castle in. Why couldn’t one thing in her life be simple?
Castle was turning out to be a genuine white hat, despite his chosen profession. They certainly needed more of them. Castle was trying to stop terrorists, keep the world safe, and had made the harder, ethical choice of not railroading her to do it.
She respected and admired him for that. Maybe she’d developed a hero complex, since he’d saved her more than once.
Glancing back at Alistair, she saw blatant concern etched on his face. Or it might’ve been the hangover. If Alistair was worried, maybe this thing between her and Castle was real, proof that she affected him as much as he affected her.
Alistair stalked off to the mini-mart, throwing her one more cutting look before going inside as she heard Castle put the pump in the tank and started fueling up.
She took her morning meds, washing the pills down with water, and felt Castle’s gaze on her, burning a hole through her head. If she went out there and talked to him about all this, simply faced the issue head-on, what would he say?
Another eloquent speech about not shitting where he eats? Another rejection?
She could take it. She wasn’t a coward.
Kit hopped out of the car, her feet carrying her to Castle as fast as possible without running. She had no clue what the right words were, but she was determined to tell him the truth. He was stealing her heart one argument, one life-saving act, one gentle caress at a time. She wasn’t sorry that they’d kissed last night or had been about to do it again in the car. She wasn’t sorry that she didn’t have the slightest hope of ignoring her attraction to him or holding her growing feelings at bay.
But she regretted that they’d been caught by his coworker. That she had potentially sidelined his career. That she worried about Alistair poisoning him against her.
She got around to Castle’s side of the vehicle, where Alistair couldn’t see them from the convenience store, and opened her mouth. Castle’s large hand took hers, bringing her flush against his hard body.
He stared at her for a long moment, his other hand cupping her face, his thumb brushing her cheek with such tenderness. As if she was precious.
Neither of them said anything. Words weren’t necessary.
That undeniable zing between them flared hotter, brighter, and he kissed her.
Seeing Castle in the park that first time had been like being struck by lightning. The same electric resonance stirred in her belly now and she understood what it meant.
He had not only saved her life but had the power to change it irrevocably.
This was real, a force of nature brewing something beautiful. Dangerous.
But what would it cost him? And her?
23
Cambridge, Massachusetts
8:05 a.m.
“Mendoza isn’t here,” Echo said, finishing his sweep of the upper level of the small cottage-style house.
Bravo holstered his weapon and walked to the French doors that overlooked the Mystic River. “The professor must be on campus already.” He stifled a sigh.
This circus kept getting more complicated, his choices constrained by rules that grated on his nerves. After losing the girl and a nine-hour car ride that compounded his frustration, what he wouldn’t give to smash in a nose or put a bullet in someone.
“Looks like this shitty gamble of yours didn’t pay off,” Charlie said, niggling the thorn in Bravo’s side. “Now we’re way behind the power curve because of your bright idea.”
Bravo spun on his heel and slapped Charlie backhanded. The stinging blow was delivered precisely and with such quickness, the man stood stunned and red-faced.
“Oh shit.” Echo cac
kled. “He bitch-slapped you.”
“If I hear another insubordinate word from your mouth,” Bravo said, his tone cool, his composure collected, “you will swallow teeth.”
Charlie reared up and took a step forward.
“Please make my morning worthwhile.” Bravo beckoned Charlie to test him, give him an outlet for the rage percolating inside him.
Echo jumped in front of Charlie and held him back. “You don’t know who you’re messing with, bro.”
“Neither do you,” Charlie said.
They had never worked with each other before, brought together and kept anonymous by Bravo’s current boss.
“Look in his eyes,” Echo said. “You’ll see nothing staring back. Bravo will grease you and not think twice about it afterward. We’re already short one dude. Just shake it off.”
Charlie yanked away from Echo, swallowed his pride, and tucked his tail between his legs. Like a good little foot soldier.
Bravo turned and stared at the calming water, refusing to let his temper rise an undignified notch further. Leaders needed to represent strength and inspire confidence. He was failing in the latter.
“This didn’t play out as I had hoped,” Bravo admitted, “but whoever is going after that package is using a large team that’ll stand out on the campus. We won’t be able to get to the drives first, but that doesn’t mean we’re out of the game.”
“What’s the plan?” Echo asked.
“For starters, we raid Mendoza’s closet for the preppiest shit we can find.”
* * *
8:30 a.m.
“Lenny.” Kit stood up from the bench in the lobby of the MIT Alumni Pool and Wang Fitness Center and crossed the tile floor to reach him.
The thirtysomething professor broke out in a huge grin and hitched his gym bag higher on his shoulder. “Kit? What on earth are you doing here?”
He scooped her up in a big hug, lifting her feet from the floor, his arm wrapped low around her waist. So low his hand rested on her buttock. An intimate gesture.
Beyond saying Mendoza and her brother had been friends, Kit had neglected to mention how familiar she was with the professor, and Castle had been too distracted by her to ask.