by Elle Kennedy
Frustration clogged his throat as the two women stalked off. Their stiff body language hinted there would be nothing polite or civilized about their impending confrontation.
Trevor understood Abby’s disapproval. Isabel wasn’t a killer. She protected people, saved them. She didn’t take lives unless it was absolutely necessary—or at least that’s what she’d insisted both times they’d worked together.
His blood boiled as he remembered all those annoying phone calls with Noelle. Why hadn’t the woman told him she’d sent Isabel on a contract job?
“Why did your lovely bride rush off with Isabel?” Holden asked Kane as he rejoined the group.
Beyond the terrace doors, Beth and Ethan were bustling around in the kitchen, while Lloyd placed a huge chocolate cake on a glass cake dish.
“Girl talk,” Kane said lightly. “And you don’t have to call Abby lovely on my account. We both know she’s almost as scary as this guy.” He hooked a thumb at D.
Trevor tuned everyone out, wishing he could be a fly on the wall for Isabel’s conversation with Abby.
Fuck. Something was definitely up with the woman. He’d thought the only issue they had to contend with was the way she’d fled Manhattan after failing to help a drug-addicted stripper, but to hop a plane to Nigeria and get tangled up with an African warlord? To put a bullet in the guy’s head?
Clearly there was a helluva lot more going on with Isabel than he’d thought.
• • •
Trevor didn’t get another chance to speak to Isabel that night. She and Abby had disappeared into Morgan’s study, and when the two women finally reappeared hours later, Isabel pleaded exhaustion and asked if they could talk tomorrow. Like the gentleman he was, Trevor had shown her to one of the upstairs guestrooms and bidden her good night.
He, on the other hand, couldn’t grab a second of shut-eye. He was too wired, and knowing that Isabel was right down the hall pretty much guaranteed he wouldn’t be getting any sleep. He didn’t know why he was so drawn to her. Why he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since the day they’d met.
You were falling for me.
As the accusation he’d lobbed at Isabel buzzed in his head, Trevor stifled a groan and slid out of bed. It was three in the morning, but sleep was clearly determined to elude him.
Wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs, he approached the window and gazed out at the darkness-bathed landscape. Dense forest, rolling hills, the dusty trail that led to the outdoor shooting range beyond the trees.
Funny how easy it was to tell Isabel what she’d been feeling, yet he couldn’t put a label on his own emotions. What exactly did he want from her? Sex? Well, that was a given—he was so attracted to her he couldn’t think straight. But what else? Did he want a relationship? To build a life with her?
He had no clear answers for those questions. If anything, each question only raised a new one. But he did know that he liked her. A lot. And that he wanted—no, he needed—to explore this thing between them, whatever it was and wherever it took them.
He raked both hands through his hair, suddenly craving a good stiff drink. Insomnia was nothing new to him; he’d had bouts of it ever since he’d joined the army at eighteen. Most women would go crazy dealing with a man who paced the bedroom floor half the night, or who lay on the living room couch at four in the morning blankly staring at a television screen—but not Gina. That stubborn woman would stay up with him, even when she had an early shift at the bank the next morning. They’d sit in the kitchen with their respective glasses of warm milk—or whiskey, when the milk didn’t achieve the desired effect. Sometimes she’d curl up against his chest and watch TV with him.
Agony burned in his throat. Ten years. He’d loved Gina for ten years, lived with her for eight, and after her death, not a day had gone by when he hadn’t thought of the woman he loved. Now, his thoughts of Gina were no longer as frequent, but when they came . . . Christ, when they came, they made him feel ravaged.
Swallowing the lump of pain, he yanked on a pair of cargo pants and left the bedroom.
Shafts of moonlight from the skylights in the front parlor cast a silvery glow on the off-white walls and the mahogany banister of the wide staircase. When he neared the living room, he instantly noticed the light spilling from beneath the closed oak doors. Looked like he wasn’t the only one suffering from insomnia tonight.
No way of knowing who was behind those doors either. He hadn’t heard a single footstep when he’d been lying awake in bed—every last person who lived on the compound moved like a ghost. Silent, invisible, deadly.
Opening the double doors, Trevor stepped into the great room and found Isabel curled up in one of the armchairs.
Her blond head snapped up at his entrance, blue eyes filling with wariness. “Hey,” she said. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Nope. I had no idea you were even up.”
He lingered in the doorway, noticing that her gaze was now focused on his bare chest.
Damned if her appreciative look didn’t send a bolt of pure male satisfaction through him. After Gina died, he’d let himself go, totally unconcerned about his growing beer gut because the last thing a man felt like doing after losing the woman he loved was hitting the gym, for fuck’s sake. He’d also quit the team and become a hermit, and who could forget all the time he’d spent trying to figure out how he could kill himself without making his mom and sister suffer?
Christ, he’d been a pathetic mess.
It had taken more than a year to kick his ass into gear. He’d gone back to work, reconnected with his family, his men, and, yeah, he’d definitely been working out more.
The appreciation flickering in Isabel’s eyes made every last push-up, barbell curl, and brutal sparring session with D absolutely fucking worth it.
“Can’t sleep?” he said lightly.
She sighed. “Jet lag. My body has no sense of time right now.”
His bare feet padded on the hardwood floor as he made his way to the wet bar by the fireplace. He felt Isabel’s gaze on him as he poured himself a glass of single-malt whiskey.
“Expensive taste in liquor, I see.”
He set down the Bushmills bottle and turned to face her. “It’s the Irish in me. I can only drink fine Irish whiskey.”
A smile curved her lips. “You never mentioned your Irish roots before.”
“That’s because my family is as American as baseball and apple pie. My great-great-great-grandfather came over from Ireland, but other than a taste for their whiskey, I don’t have much of a connection to the culture.”
He flopped down in the chair opposite hers. Isabel started playing with the edge of the thin afghan she’d drawn up over her legs. There was a mystery novel in her lap, but she made no move to open it.
“I can’t believe Abby is married.” Her expression was indecipherable. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m happy for her. I’m really happy, but it’s just kind of . . . jolting, I guess. She’s always been the most emotionally detached person I know.”
“People change.” He shrugged. “People grow.”
“Clearly.” Her voice took on a faraway note. “It gives the rest of us hope, no? If someone like Abby can lower her guard and let another person in, then maybe . . .”
Trevor’s fingers tightened over his glass. “Then maybe what?”
He held his breath as he waited for her to finish that thought. If Abby could let down her guard, then maybe Isabel could? If Abby could let Kane in, then maybe Isabel could open her heart to him?
Her silence dragged on. He could see her pulse throbbing in the hollow of her throat. She was nervous. It drove him nuts that they couldn’t be more open with each other, that they were always skirting around certain subjects, hiding certain emotions.
Would two people with so much baggage ever be able to make a relationship work? He’d been wondering that ever since Isabel ditched him in New York, and the same question arose now, giving him pause, making him
uneasy.
Isabel still hadn’t spoken. Her beautiful face creased with reluctance, as if she wanted to confide in him but couldn’t lower her shield, not even a fraction of an inch.
He found it ironic that she thought Abby was the emotionally distant one.
Leaning forward to set his glass on the table, Trevor cleared his throat and searched her troubled gaze. “Isabel—”
An explosion rocked the house.
Before he even had time to register it, a wooden beam broke apart from the rafters and came crashing to the floor, two feet behind Isabel. She cried out in shock and flew off the chair, as the walls rattled and the entire house seemed to vibrate. Chunks of wood and plaster rained down on their heads, the ceiling beams cracking and splintering like thin ice on a frozen pond, about to break open.
“What the hell is going on?” Isabel shouted.
Trevor had no answer for that, nor did he have a chance to give it any real thought, because another beam had separated from the rafters, falling so fast he almost didn’t reach her in time.
Fueled by the adrenaline sizzling in his blood, he threw himself on top of Isabel and shielded her with his body as the ceiling caved in on them.
Chapter 3
Sudden chaos.
Deafening explosions, falling debris, and thick gray smoke wreaked havoc on the house, the pandemonium so instant and the situation so dire that Isabel felt as though she’d been thrust into an alternate universe without warning.
To make matters worse, she couldn’t seem to draw a single breath into her lungs, but that was probably because she’d just had the wind knocked out of her. One second she’d been vertical, the next she was flat on her back, being crushed by a heavy male body.
Trevor.
He’d thrown himself on top of her, his body absorbing the impact of the beam that had plummeted from the ceiling.
Something started to ring. Her ears? No, those were actual sirens. Where the hell were they coming from?
“You all right?” Trevor’s urgent voice fanned over her. His hard chest blanketed her torso, powerful thighs straddling her legs.
“I’m fine,” she said breathlessly. “What the hell is going on?”
“I have no fucking idea.”
His shoulders and pecs strained as he struggled to get the two of them out from under the fallen beam. A moment later, they stumbled to their feet just as another ground-shaking blast reverberated from the back of the house.
“Jesus! This is a full-blown assault. You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said again.
“Good.” The concern in his eyes transformed into intense focus, and then he was no longer in front of her, but jumping over pieces of wood and overturned furniture. He moved with military precision toward the bookcases spanning the far wall of the living room. He touched one of the shelves, and a second later, the unit popped open to reveal the hidden cabinet built into the wall behind it.
“In case we can’t make it to the armory,” he said when he caught her staring.
She didn’t even recognize him—in the blink of an eye he’d gone from the Trevor she knew to a hard-core soldier, and for some strange reason seeing him in total control like this sent a thrill shooting through her.
He leaned into the deep space and emerged with two nine-millimeter SIG Sauers, one of which he tossed her way.
Isabel caught the weapon and checked the clip. Fully loaded. The sense of urgency in the air didn’t dissipate, but only intensified as alarms wailed and muffled explosions continued to go off, most of them sounding like they were coming from above.
Trevor quickly grabbed more weapons from the gun cabinet. An assault rifle he slung over his shoulder. Knives and sheaths went in his pockets. A couple of grenades he clipped to the belt loops of his cargo pants. Spare ammo he shoved into the numerous pockets.
Isabel stood guard in the doorway, peeking out into the front parlor, which was enveloped in smoke. The acrid scent filled her nostrils and made her eyes water, so she ducked back into the living room. She looked up, noting that the ceiling didn’t look at all stable. Plaster and splinters floated down like snowflakes, and one of the larger support beams was sagging in the middle, perilously close to snapping in two.
“Trev, we need to get out of here,” she said sharply, gesturing north.
He followed her gaze and grimaced, then popped an earpiece in and clicked it on. “Hank, come in. What the hell is going on?”
Hank was one of the techs who ran the security booth—he’d buzzed her in at the gate when she’d arrived at the compound earlier. She didn’t know what Hank was saying, but from the expression on Trevor’s face, it couldn’t be good.
Wood chips showered down on them as the center of that ceiling beam continued to bend from the pressure.
Crack.
“Trevor!” she shouted.
He raced toward her and the two of them dove through the living room doors just as the rafter crashed to the floor like a towering oak tree succumbing to a lumberjack’s ax.
In the parlor, Isabel glimpsed bodies emerging from the haze of smoke shrouding the staircase. She automatically raised her gun, then lowered it when she made out Kane’s face. Abby and D trailed after him.
All three were armed to the teeth and wearing identical looks of unadulterated fury. The compound’s canine residents scampered at Abby’s feet, eyes alert, body language aggressive, acting like those squeaky puppy barks could actually ward off potential attackers.
“Did you get Hank’s report?” Kane demanded when he spotted Trevor.
Trevor’s face was grim. “Two military Jeeps bearing down on us. Almost at the gate.”
Another explosion shook the house. The walls around them shuddered, and suddenly the mechanical whir of rotors could be heard through the din. Sure enough, a helicopter flew directly over the skylights, its blades slicing rapidly through the early-morning air.
Isabel caught a blur of motion, a male figure hunched in the open cabin of the chopper, but she’d barely absorbed the sight when the figure raised a hand and—
“Grenade! Get down!” Kane shouted.
It was all the warning they had. Isabel flattened herself on the floor just as the skylights above them shattered into a million pieces. Glass fell from the ceiling like sparkling diamonds. Deadly diamonds. Protecting her head with her arms and hands, she felt the sting of pain as shards of glass pierced her skin. The little nicks wouldn’t kill her, though.
No, the real threat came from whoever had launched this unforeseen assault in the first place.
This time her ears did ring from the explosion. She heard the muffled barks of the Labrador puppies as they continued to voice their outrage. Several muted blasts, coming from somewhere far away. And then someone was shouting her name.
“Isabel, answer me, damn it! Are you okay?”
Blinking wildly, she staggered to her feet and met Trevor’s frantic gaze. “I’m fine. Just a little cut up.” She noticed the blood dripping down his left arm. “You’re hurt!”
“Got sliced in the arm. It’s no big deal.” His dark head shot up as the helicopter made another pass. He touched his earpiece. “Hank, what’s the gate situation?”
Trevor, Kane, D, and Abby were all wired in to the security booth, and a moment later, all four let out the same simultaneous expletive.
“Shit.”
“What is it?” Isabel demanded.
“They blew up the gate.” Kane took a step toward his wife. “You and Isabel need to head for the tunnel. Now.”
The redhead protested. “No way. I’m not leaving you. We don’t know what we’re dealing with.”
“The boys and I can handle it. Isabel can’t get out alone—she doesn’t know the exit protocol. I need you down in the tunnel, damn it.” When the dogs started to bark again, Kane’s expression pained. “And take the fucking pups with you.”
“Incoming!” D barked.
In the blink of an eye, Trevor pushed
Isabel toward the hall closet behind them as the chopper flew by and unleashed a spray of machine-gun rounds at the empty space where the skylights used to be. Bullets pounded the debris-covered floor, sending chunks of hardwood and glass spitting in all directions.
“We need to take care of that motherfucking bird,” Trevor growled.
“On it,” D said. He hurried off and disappeared in the smoke.
Loud footsteps thudded on the stairs. Every weapon in the room snapped up, then lowered when Ethan arrived on the scene. His handsome face was covered in soot, his T-shirt soaked with sweat, and his jeans were unbuttoned, as if he’d yanked them on in a hurry.
“I can’t get to Holden and Beth,” the rookie reported, looking both upset and exhausted. “Goddamn ceiling caved in and the rubble is blocking the hallway.”
“They in Morgan’s suite?” Kane asked. At Ethan’s nod, he gave one of his own. “Holden’ll use the balcony to get them out. I need you with Abby and Isabel. Gather the gear. Head for the rendezvous zone.”
Ethan didn’t question the orders. “Yes, sir.”
The screech of tires penetrated the commotion, bringing a jolt of confusion to Isabel’s chest. The soldiers at the gate were approaching. God, what the hell was going on?
Dazed, she met Trevor’s brown eyes, which reflected nothing but calm. “It’ll be fine,” he said gruffly. “You’ll be safe in the tunnel.”
Two feet away, Kane grasped Abby by the chin and gave her a hard kiss. “Love you, sweetheart. See you on the other side, okay?”
Isabel opened her mouth to answer Trevor, but the next thing she knew, Abby was dragging her toward the corridor. There was no time to look back, no time to tell Trevor good-bye, or plead with him to stay safe. With Abby in the lead and Ethan bringing up the rear, Isabel found herself being herded to the back of the house.
When they neared the kitchen, Abby stumbled abruptly, then halted, causing Isabel to slam into her.
“Keep moving,” Ethan ordered.
But Abby didn’t budge. She pointed at the dogs, uttered a sharp “Boys, stay” and then darted into the kitchen.