by Elle Kennedy
With that, the blonde sauntered out of the living room, leaving Isabel alone with her thoughts.
Yet again, Noelle was right. The second Isabel had stepped off the plane this morning, her first instinct had been to pick up the phone and apologize to Trevor for the way she’d left things. The way she’d left him.
But he deserved more than a half-assed phone call. He deserved a real apology, and no matter how badly she wanted to put distance between them, she wasn’t the kind of woman who cowered in the face of conflict. She’d always intended to see him again. To explain why they couldn’t be together. Running away from him in Manhattan had really just been about giving herself some time to regroup before they had that inevitable conversation.
You think if he sees the real you, he’ll realize how flawed you are and run in the opposite direction.
Was she actually that transparent, or was Noelle too freaking insightful for her own good?
Swallowing her mounting apprehension, Isabel set her glass on the table, dug her cell phone out of her purse, and called Noelle’s pilot.
• • •
“Holy shit, Holden’s wife is hot.” Ethan Hayes spoke in a low murmur, his hazel eyes glimmering with appreciation.
Trevor Callaghan shifted his attention from the pool table to the raven-haired woman taking up residence on the other side of the game room. This was the first time any of the team had met Holden McCall’s wife, and Trevor had no idea why Holden had hid the woman from them for so long. With her wavy black hair and dark eyes, Beth McCall was drop-dead gorgeous. She was also shy, soft-spoken, and completely oblivious to the sex appeal radiating from her tall, curvaceous frame.
“She’s really nice too,” Ethan added. “She offered to give me some cooking lessons.”
Trevor furrowed his brow. “Why would she do that?”
“Because she’s a chef, dumb-ass.”
“She is?”
“Yup.”
Somehow it didn’t surprise Trevor that Beth had so easily opened up to Ethan when she’d barely uttered ten words to anyone else at the compound since she and Holden had arrived earlier this morning. With his preppy good looks and unassuming demeanor, Ethan came off as the least threatening man on the planet. But the rookie was far deadlier than he let on, a marine with razor-sharp instincts and honed skills that made him a real asset to the team.
Make that teams. As of three months ago, Jim Morgan had expanded his operation. Apparently soldiers for hire were in greater demand these days, and since Trevor’s boss was as business-savvy as he was lethal, he’d recruited a second team of operatives. Headed by a fellow mercenary named Castle, B-Team—as Trevor and some of the others mockingly referred to it—was currently in the field working an extraction, while the self-proclaimed A-Team indulged in some R&R at Morgan’s compound near Tijuana.
Trevor still found it disorienting to wake up, peer out the window, and not see the Rocky Mountains looming in the distance. He’d lived in Colorado his whole life, calling it home even when his stint in the army had taken him far away and for long periods of time. But even though he got homesick every now and then, longing for the crisp mountain air and the four distinct seasons Mexico seemed to lack, he knew that relocating to the compound had been a smart decision. He’d needed to leave that empty Aspen condo. He and Gina had purchased it together. They’d turned it into a home. Their home.
But Gina was gone, dead for more than two years now. It had been time for him to move on, which was why he’d sold the condo to Luke Dubois. The former SEAL was currently off rotation while he got settled in the new place.
It brought a bittersweet pang to Trevor’s gut, knowing that Luke and his girlfriend, Olivia, were building a life together in Aspen. The life that had been stolen from him and Gina.
He was happy for his teammate, though. And living on the compound wasn’t bad. He was surrounded by friends, he had a top-notch training facility at his fingertips, the weather was nice year-round, and their housekeeper, Lloyd, was actually a damn good cook.
Oh, and whenever irritating thoughts of Isabel Roma crept into his head, he could easily vanquish them by challenging one of the boys to a Mexican-rum-drinking contest.
Fuck. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t think about Isabel today.
The woman was definitely messing with his head. Big-time.
“You taking your shot or what?” Kane Woodland inquired in a dry voice.
Trevor looked at the sandy-haired man on the other side of the pool table, then at the three lone balls sitting on the green felt. “Eight ball, corner pocket,” he said absently.
“Good fucking luck. No way you’re sinking that.” Kane held up his palm to the redhead by his side. “High-five me, sweetheart. He’s about to scratch on the eight ball.”
Abby Sinclair narrowed her honey-colored eyes, assessed the table, and shook her head. “He’ll sink it. Won’t you, Callaghan?”
He met the redhead’s astute gaze. “Wouldn’t have called it if I thought otherwise.”
And then he bent forward, lined up his cue, and snapped the eight right into its designated pocket—without scratching.
Kane cursed under his breath. “Damn it. Double or nothing.”
“No way,” Abby interjected. “You’re already out five hundred bucks and two nut shots.”
“Nut shots?” Beth McCall’s curious voice sounded from behind the group. The black-haired beauty approached the table.
Her husband was rolling his eyes as he came up beside her. “Instead of money, they bet each other a kick in the nuts,” Holden explained.
“Or a punch,” Ethan said helpfully. “It’s the loser’s choice.”
“And my loser husband will be getting kicked or punched in the balls today. Twice,” Abby muttered.
Ethan snickered. “You’re just mad because you won’t be the one doing it.”
Trevor wasn’t used to hearing the word “husband” come out of the redhead’s mouth. A few days ago, Abby and Kane had stunned everyone by nonchalantly letting it slip that they’d secretly tied the knot last week. No wedding, no reception, not even a heads-up—the couple had simply driven to the justice of the peace in town and gotten hitched without telling a single soul.
The covert ceremony didn’t exactly come as a surprise, though, since Abby Sinclair loathed being the center of attention. The woman avoided fuss and fanfare like the plague.
Also not surprising was how she began to edge away from the pool table the second Beth McCall got close. Abby had been living on the compound for more than a year now, but the former contract killer still didn’t seem comfortable being part of the group. Or being around other women. The only females Trevor had seen her drop her guard around were her ex-boss, Noelle, and her fellow chameleon, Isabel.
That’s two.
Grinding his teeth, he pushed aside the latest thought of Isabel and handed his pool cue to Ethan.
“I’ll collect my reward later,” he told Kane. “First I need a word with your wife.”
“Hands off, Trev.” Kane’s green eyes twinkled playfully, but the note of menace in his voice didn’t go unnoticed.
Yeah, right. Trevor had no intention of putting the moves on Abby Sinclair. She was beautiful, sure, but he didn’t have a thing for ruthless redheads.
Only cowardly blondes, apparently.
A sigh lodged in his throat. No, that wasn’t true. Isabel Roma was the strongest woman he’d ever met. He’d dropped that nasty C-word during his last phone call with Noelle only because he’d hoped that being accused of cowardice would spur Isabel into finally returning his calls. Hadn’t worked, though. She was still “deep cover” and couldn’t be reached.
Bull fucking shit.
“What do you need, Callaghan?” Abby asked as she followed him out of the game room.
“What do you think I need, Sinclair?”
They stepped into the spacious hallway and headed toward the set of tall oak doors that opened into the great room. The huge
chalet-style space was Trevor’s favorite room in the house, probably because it reminded him of the ski lodges his family had vacationed at when he was a kid. Crisscrossed wooden beams made up the high ceiling and the floor beneath their feet was a shiny, dark-stained parquet. L-shaped leather couches took up half the room, while the other side offered a stone fireplace, endless bookcases, and cozy leather armchairs.
Trevor walked over to the large bay window and stared at the reddish brown dirt that made up the front courtyard. Outside, the sun was setting, the sky a fiery shade of burnished copper, nearly the same color as Abby’s hair.
“Well?” he prompted when she didn’t say a word.
She joined him at the window. “Izzy is in Paris,” she admitted.
His heart did an involuntary leap of joy, but the joy faded to anger once the implication settled in. Isabel had wrapped up her job. Which meant she’d undoubtedly received every single one of his messages—and decided to ignore them.
“Are you sure?” he said gruffly.
Abby nodded. “She got in this morning.”
He was slightly appeased. All right. She’d gotten in only this morning. She probably had other shit to deal with at the moment. Unpacking, briefing her boss, finding a new place to live . . .
The memory of Isabel’s old place, the Manhattan walk-up she’d abandoned him in, brought a bitter taste to his mouth. He’d waited all day and night. Sat around like a chump while Isabel went out to help a friend, and as the hours ticked by and her cell phone kept bumping over to voice mail, he’d made excuses for her. She’d lost track of time. Her cell was dead. She was on her way home.
Until finally he’d been forced to face the cold, hard truth—Isabel wasn’t coming back.
Of course, his misplaced faith in humankind had led him to think she was in trouble—a pathetic assumption that initiated a frantic, weeklong search that nearly sent him spiraling back into the black hole of depression that Gina’s death had banished him to.
Eventually, he’d reached Isabel’s boss, who put an end to his needless panic by uttering four very short, very destructive sentences.
Isabel’s on assignment. She bailed on you. Deal with it. Stop calling me.
He’d responded with only one sentence of his own: “I won’t stop until I find her.”
Yeah, maybe it made him a candidate for the most pathetic dude on the planet, but he refused to let this go until he heard from Isabel’s own lips why she’d ditched him without a word.
Trevor locked his gaze with Abby’s. “Ask her to come to the compound.”
Those yellow eyes flickered with discomfort. “I don’t want to get in the middle of . . . of whatever the hell is going on with you two.”
“You won’t be in the middle.” His tone became persistent. “I need to see her, Abby.”
The redhead didn’t answer.
“Pick up the phone and tell her that you and Kane got married. You know she’ll be on the first plane out.”
A fresh dose of bitterness surged through him. Yep, he had no doubt that Isabel would drop everything to come and offer her best wishes to Abby and Kane. Isabel Roma was loyal to a fault. Not only was she fiercely protective of the people she loved, but she also went out of her way to help total strangers. The woman was a bleeding heart, an unwavering crusader for the innocent.
A total fucking hypocrite.
Because for all her bullshit about helping others, about saving others, she refused to help the one person who needed it the most—herself.
And where had her frickin’ loyalty been when she’d left him waiting in an empty apartment in New York City?
Abby made a frustrated sound. “Can’t I just tell her there’s an emergency or something? I’m tired of everyone making such a huge deal over this marriage thing.”
“This ‘marriage thing’?” Trevor had to laugh. “You don’t have a romantic bone in your body, do you, Sinclair?”
“Nope.” She shifted in visible discomfort. “Look, I’m sick of the attention and the gifts and the congratulations, okay? Holden and his wife flew all the way here from Montana just to give Kane and me that china set. What the hell are we gonna do with a china set?”
Trevor snorted. “Well, not everyone is as thoughtful as D when it comes to gift giving.”
Abby’s entire face lit up. “It took almost a year and a half,” she announced, “but I finally like that son of a bitch.”
Yeah, because apparently Derek “D” Pratt was the only person who knew Abby well. As a wedding gift, he’d bestowed a set of razor-sharp hunting knives upon the redhead and they’d brought honest-to-God tears to her eyes.
“Anyway,” she said, “I’ll call Isabel, but—”
“Thank you.”
“—but,” she emphasized, “I’m not lying to her. I’ll tell her about the wedding and suggest she come for a visit, but if she asks me whether you put me up to it, I’ll say yes.”
“Fair enough.”
They were interrupted by a loud crash from the hallway. A moment later, three chocolate brown Labrador puppies bounded into the room and flew to their mistress’s feet.
For the second time in less than a minute, Abby’s expression brightened. “Hey, boys. What’s got you all rattled?”
She knelt down and proceeded to lavish attention on the dogs in the form of loving petting and vigorous scratching. The little brown bodies wiggled around happily, while Trevor watched with a grin.
The pups had been deposited on the team’s doorstep courtesy of Luke, whose love for his girlfriend, Olivia, was rivaled only by his love for his German shepherd. The happy couple had taken the mutt to Colorado with them, but not without making sure there’d still be a few canines running around the compound. And for some reason, anything with fur, four legs, and a tail was obsessed with Abby, though Trevor never would have pegged her as an animal person.
“I swear, these fucking dogs will be the death of me.” An annoyed Kane appeared in the doorway. “Every time Hank tells me someone’s at the gate, they destroy the house on their way to save you.” He glared at the puppies. “I can take care of my own wife, assholes.”
Abby lifted her head and leveled him with a toxic look. “Call them assholes again and you’re sleeping on the floor tonight.”
“It’d probably be more comfortable than the bed, seeing as someone lets her three bodyguards sleep with us.”
Trevor watched the exchange in amusement, then grew serious when he realized what Kane had said. “Someone’s at the gate?”
The other man nodded. “Yeah, Isabel just pulled up. Hank’s buzzing her in.”
It took a second for the words to register. When they did, Trevor’s pulse promptly sped up. “Isabel’s here?”
“Yeah, she came straight from the—”
Without waiting for Kane to finish, Trevor marched out of the room.
Chapter 2
He was waiting on the porch for her.
And he looked good. He looked really good.
Isabel’s heart was beating fast as she killed the engine of the SUV she’d arranged to have ready for her at the private airstrip outside Tijuana. Although the sun had set and the sky was an inky black, the front courtyard of the main house was lit up like Fort Knox. Floodlights affixed to the high concrete fence surrounding the compound illuminated every inch of the yard, but the porch lighting was softer, a pale glow that cast a yellow halo around Trevor Callaghan’s head.
She’d never been attracted to anyone the way she was attracted to Trevor. Everything about him spoke to something hot and primal inside her. His short dark hair. His eyes, the color of rich whiskey with flecks of gold around the pupils. His tall, muscular body and chiseled features.
His compassion, his strength, his loyalty . . .
Yes, it was more than his handsome good looks that drew Isabel to him. Trevor was the kind of man she’d dreamed about when she was a little girl. The kind of man you married and lived happily ever after with.
He wa
s flawed, sure. Slightly damaged, yes. And yet that made her like him all the more.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t a little girl anymore. She no longer believed in fairy tales. Some people were fortunate enough to get their happily-ever-after, but she knew she wasn’t destined to be one of them.
Isabel’s nerves were getting the best of her as she slid out of the SUV. Palms damp, knees wobbly, pulse racing.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to control the atypical burst of anxiety and headed for the sprawling two-story house.
A set of steps led to the pillared entrance, where Trevor stood on the covered porch. His gaze fixed on her as she approached with confidence that she certainly did not feel.
Isabel ran a hand through her hair, and was slightly flustered when her fingers encountered air once they reached her shoulders. She’d forgotten that she’d cut her hair for the Nigeria job.
And wait. Had she removed the violet contacts before she’d left Noelle’s penthouse?
She couldn’t remember.
God, what color were her eyes?
Her heart beat faster, her throat suddenly tight. She was a bona fide mess—that was for sure. What kind of woman didn’t even know what color her own eyes were?
“Isabel.”
Trevor’s deep voice broke through her panicked thoughts. He didn’t move as she ascended the front steps. Didn’t blink as their gazes met again.
“Hi, Trevor.” Did her voice sound squeaky or had she imagined it?
“You look good,” he said gruffly.
“Thanks. So do you.”
“Noelle said you were undercover for the last five months.”
“I was.”
“And the job went well?”
“It did, yes.”
So freaking polite. She couldn’t believe they were standing around talking like a pair of acquaintances who’d run into each other at a party. At the same time, she couldn’t bring herself to put an end to the silly pretense.
“What about you? Has Morgan sent you on any crazy missions?” she asked.
“Nothing too crazy. Security detail for a politician in Argentina. A couple of extractions.”