Short Fuse: Elite Operators, Book 2

by Rebecca Crowley

  Her lids dropped and the smile curving her lips was drowsy. In five minutes she’d be asleep—and he’d never be able to pry himself away from her supple, dozing figure.

  “I should go.”

  “Why?”

  He said the first thing that came to his mind. “Uh, I snore.”

  “Liar. These walls are paper-thin. I can hear you fluff your pillow. Well, I would if you didn’t toss it on the ground every night before you got into bed.”

  He gaped, hastily trying to recollect anything compromising she might’ve heard through the wall.

  “Why do you do that? Don’t you love these five-star-quality linens?” She indicated one of the lumpy, deflated pillows on the narrow bed.

  “In the selection process for the Special Task Force we spent a lot of time outside, sleeping on the ground. I guess I got used to it.”

  “Was it hard to get in?”

  “Hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

  “I read a bit about it online last night. It sounds like you guys are SWAT and the SAS and Navy SEALs all rolled into one underfunded police division.”

  “That’s a good way of putting it.”

  “Tell me about this.” She propped herself up on her elbows and reached around to trace the swooping falcon tattooed on his left shoulder blade.

  “It’s a bird of prey, landing to intervene in mortal danger. It’s from my badge—the Special Task Force operator’s badge.”

  “I wouldn’t have figured you for the tattoo type.”

  “My job’s the most important thing in my life,” he replied simply.

  “So what does it take to—” Another yawn broke up her sentence, and he decided it really was time to go. He stood and retrieved his shirt from the floor, shaking it to dispel any insect invaders before pulling it over his arms.

  “Warren.”

  He turned to find Nicola sitting upright on the bed, unabashedly topless, her expression devoid of all the humor that had softened it only seconds earlier. “You know I can handle myself, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m not a fearful person. The explosion in the shed, the crowd at the settlement—I kept my cool, didn’t I?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then I hope you won’t judge me when I say that not only would I enjoy the pleasure of your company, I would feel a whole lot safer if you spent the night.”

  He froze mid-button, frowning across the room at her. Had he heard her correctly? That if he stayed with her tonight, she’d feel safer?

  He thought of all the dates that had gone sour when he revealed his profession, the way women’s voices flattened as they recounted tales of being pulled over and asked for bribes by corrupt cops, the number of times he’d had to explain he wasn’t at Marikana and had nothing to do with the brutal massacre that occurred there. He remembered the graduate student who found an ammo clip in his bedside table and stormed out of the house, the marketing manager he never saw again after he was called to examine a suspect device in the middle of the night, and the schoolteacher who begged him to wear his uniform to bed and was inconsolably disappointed when she realized it was camouflage, not patrolman blue. More often than not his job was the ultimate deal-breaker when it came to his love life—until now.

  Until Nicola.

  “I’m not trying to flatter you into staying, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she added, evidently unnerved by his silence. “It’s just, we don’t know who’s out there these days, and even though you’re only a wall away, I’d sleep better if you were by my side.”

  “Then I’ll stay.”

  Her grin could’ve powered Hambani for a week. “Really?”

  “Sure. And you can have both pillows.”

  Ten minutes later Nicola was dressed in a camisole and cotton shorts, he’d stripped down to his boxers, and he’d left a gap in the mosquito net just big enough for her to reach through and turn off the bedside lamp.

  “Ready?” she asked. He nodded. She flicked the switch and the cabin plunged into darkness, silent but for the slight rustle as she drew the mosquito net into place.

  The narrow mattress seemed even smaller when he tried to occupy only half of it, but after a second of repositioning she rolled over and flung her wrist across his chest, suggesting she didn’t mind sharing the space. He slid his arm around her waist and tugged her close, enjoying the warm, soft weight of her body.

  “Thank you for an enjoyable and diverting evening, Sergeant,” she murmured, her voice already thick with drowsiness.

  “Thank you for your gracious hospitality.”

  Within seconds her breathing was deep and regular, her form limp against his side. He squeezed her gently, tucked his other arm behind his head and stared at the netting above the bed.

  All things considered, being suspended wasn’t half bad.

  The shrill beep of the alarm on Nicola’s phone was so jarringly unfamiliar that Warren’s hand was on his gun before he realized he was awake.

  “Take it easy, Rambo.” She leaned across him to shove aside the mosquito net and turn off the alarm, then flopped back onto the mattress.

  “Sorry.” He replaced the weapon and rolled over, gathering her into his arms. The first streaks of reddish dawn penetrated the thin curtains, lighting a fiery collection of coppers and oranges and golds in her hair.

  “Are you always so high-strung first thing in the morning?”

  “Only when I wake up in a strange place.”

  “How did you sleep?”

  “Better than I have in months,” he answered honestly.

  She smiled, smoothing the pad of her thumb over his lower lip. “I woke up in the middle of the night. You were sleeping on your side, with such a serious expression on this handsome face. I considered ravishing you there and then, but decided I’d prefer you to be conscious when that moment arrives.”

  “Smart, sexy and generous, too.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, then pulled her against him so she could feel the effect of her words.

  “Would you say that moment is imminent?”

  “Could be on its way,” she purred, trailing her forefinger down the side of his jaw.

  Then she was gone, abruptly standing up from the bed and ducking under the mosquito net to shove her feet in a pair of flip-flops and pad toward the door.

  “One of the ladies from the canteen has started leaving fresh milk by my door, for my coffee. Let me grab it before the ants have a field day.”

  He stretched languidly, watching the tempting twitch of her butt in those tight shorts. “Well, aren’t you special? No one leaves me anything. How do I sign up for the five-star treatment?”

  “Try smiling once in a while.” She threw the bolt on the door.

  “Hilarious. Now if you said—”

  Nicola’s piercing scream had him out of the bed and at her side in seconds, Glock armed and raised in his hand.

  “Warren,” she pleaded, pressing her face into his bare chest and squeezing her eyes shut. “What the hell is going on?”

  He surveyed the dim horizon—nothing. No retreating footsteps, no leaves rustling in the wake of someone’s departure, just a few early-rising birds and the distant rumble of mining equipment. Whoever had been here was long gone.

  Assured they were alone, he finally let his eyes drop to the object in front of the cabin door. Already coated with fat, buzzing flies, it took him a second to register exactly what he saw.

  The eyes had been gouged out, the patchy fur exposed swaths of stinking flesh and part of the cheek was ripped away, revealing a row of yellowed teeth and what remained of a distended tongue.

  It was a reeking, mangled, half-rotted goat’s head.

  Chapter Nine

  “Absolutely, I completely agree. I’ll raise it now and let you know. Speak
soon.”

  Nicola hung up with her boss and shoved her phone in her jeans pocket. This edict from corporate headquarters wasn’t going to be taken well, but that was tough. There was a serious problem at Hambani, and it couldn’t be ignored any longer.

  She sagged against the desk in Roger’s office, where she’d retreated to make her call in private. It was barely eight o’clock in the morning yet she felt like she’d been running at top speed for ten hours. Thank God she’d gotten plenty of rest last night, having found a great antidote to insomnia in Warren, otherwise—

  Warren. Just the thought of him took her breath away. He was quite possibly the most attractive man she’d ever had the privilege to touch. When he’d removed his shirt to reveal that lean, combat-chiseled torso she was genuinely concerned she might pass out. And those graphite-gray eyes leveled on hers, their intensity undermined by that glint of playfulness…

  She shivered despite the stuffy room.

  “Head in the game,” she reminded herself, grimly recalling the task at hand. This was not the time for schoolgirl fantasizing. She had a job to do.

  She squared her shoulders as she crossed the office unit to the canteen, where Roger, Cedric, Alex, Dan and Warren were waiting. They’d gathered there an hour earlier, their expressions transitioning from mild irritation to outright alarm as she’d relayed the story of her dawn discovery.

  She swallowed a surge of nausea as the image of the goat’s head reared in her mind. She blinked hard to dispel it, quickening her pace toward the door.

  The canteen was silent when she stepped inside. Dan, Cedric and Alex hunched over steaming mugs of coffee at the table. Warren leaned against the counter, arms crossed. Roger paced back and forth at the end of the room, halting in his tracks the instant he realized she had arrived.

  “Well?” he demanded. “What did he say?”

  “We had a long conversation.” She pulled out a chair at the head of the table. “Is there any more coffee?”

  Roger huffed in exasperation. “And? What’s the plan?”

  Alex stood up. “Milk and sugar?”

  “Just milk, thanks.”

  “We’re under attack and she’s hosting a tea party.” Roger resumed pacing, shaking his head.

  Cedric and Dan stared at the tabletop as Alex took his time pouring the coffee. Warren was watching Roger, but when she glanced his way he met her gaze.

  Less than a second’s eye contact, but it was everything she needed. That one look assured her she was in control, she could handle this and he was right behind her.

  She’d never been the type to need external validation and encouragement, but when she looked away again her spine was straighter, her heart rate calmer.

  She thought about his decisive strength that morning, his methodical, almost eerie composure as he led her away from the cabin door and back to the bed, pressing her phone into her hand and telling her to call security. By the time she’d done that, and then called Roger to have him assemble the team, Warren had washed and dressed and sat down beside her.

  “Is it—”

  “Bagged and moved. You won’t have to see it again.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “No idea.”

  She’d swallowed a sob, a hiccupping burst of fear and helplessness that she fought to conceal. Warren slung his arm across her back and squeezed her tightly, and for five indulgent seconds she let her eyes fall shut and gave herself over to his heat and solidity. Everything would be fine. He would protect her—he would keep her safe.

  Alex took the chair beside her, sliding the full mug in her direction. She accepted it with a smile, then turned to the team.

  “I’ve spoken to my supervisor in London, who will share the situation with the CEO later today. In the meantime he’s asked me to prepare everyone for the possibility that we may need to shut down production at Hambani and evacuate the site until a full risk-and-safety assessment is completed.”

  “You want to close the mine?” Roger resumed pacing with renewed intensity, shaking his head so violently that she briefly entertained the fantasy it might roll right off his shoulders.

  “We may have to temporarily suspend production,” she clarified. “Nothing’s been decided, so let’s not panic yet.”

  “I was thinking,” Cedric volunteered in his accented English. “The animal this morning—it was a goat?”

  Nicola nodded. Roger exhaled impatiently.

  “Sometimes, the Matsulus, they follow the old ways. There is the lion, the gorilla, the jackal—”

  “Oh God, here we go with the Latadi mumbo-jumbo.” Roger rolled his eyes. “Get to the point, Cedric.”

  Flustered, Cedric frowned as he tried to articulate his thoughts. “The goat, it’s not—the jackal—”

  “It’s okay,” she encouraged him. “Take your time.”

  Roger whirled to face her. “Are you in charge of everything now? Who speaks and for how long? I’ll tell you right now, sweetheart, I’m done with you and your little voices on the phone. This is my site, and I’m sick of your meddling.”

  “It’s Garraway Gold’s site, Roger, not yours. And that voice on the phone is your boss.”

  His eyes bulged with fury as he took halting steps in her direction. “Who the hell do you think you are, telling me how to do my job? I don’t know who you slept with to get where you are, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re just a pampered princess who fills a quota and makes a nice photo in the annual report. I’ve had it with your worthless opinions, sauntering around this site like you own it, and if you think for one minute I’m going to let these black bastards—”

  “That’s enough.” Warren stepped into Roger’s path.

  “Of course, I nearly forgot about the wannabe bodyguard,” Roger sneered, pushing into Warren’s space. “What’s the matter, rich boy? Didn’t they teach you enough at those fancy schools to get a real job? Or are you so stupid even Daddy had to fire you? I finally meet a real-life Copley, and it’s the one who became an overpaid bouncer.”

  Roger smirked at her over Warren’s shoulder. “What is it you like about him so much, huh? You think he’ll help you get in good with Copley Ventures? You think you can seduce him into signing over his shares? Or is it just the size of his gun?”

  Warren decked him.

  The whole room seemed to freeze in time, the sickening thud of Warren’s fist landing in the middle of Roger’s face echoing into eternity. Then the clock sped up as Roger toppled over backward, Dan leaned over the table for a better view and Alex and Cedric leapt to their feet.

  Warren was on his knees at Roger’s side, one hand fisted in the man’s shirtfront, the other one fisted in preparation for another blow.

  “Warren,” she called hoarsely, shooting to her feet. “Leave him.”

  He paused, but when he glanced at her over his shoulder she could see the wildness in his eyes and the rage tightening his jaw. She staggered forward and put her hand on the arm that held Roger angled up off the floor. She felt his rock-hard muscles, flexed and taut through the cloth of his shirt.

  “Witnesses,” she whispered, ignoring Roger’s dazed stare. Warren let out a frustrated growl but released his hold, and the site manager slumped to the ground.

  Warren straightened and looked around the room, taking in his colleagues’ shocked faces as if he’d only just remembered they were there. The silence was heavy and uncomfortable—everyone seemed to be watching someone else for a cue, unsure what to say or how to react.

  Nicola watched as his expression changed from sheepish to rueful to glowering, defensive anger. He swore under his breath and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Roger grunted as he pushed himself to a sitting position, shaking his head and blinking repeatedly. Attentive gazes turned toward him. Still no one had spoken.

  Alex started
it. The barest hint of a smile making him look even younger than he was, followed by a low, almost guilty chuckle.

  She looked at him in disbelief. He was laughing.

  And after a second, so was Dan. They were sniggering, hissing as they tried to conceal their smiles behind their hands, then giving up as the laughter overcame them both. Roger’s scowl deepened as their humor became infectious, until Dan was bent over supporting himself with a hand on his knee, Alex was wiping tears from behind his glasses and even Cedric cracked a tentative smile.

  “He nailed you,” Alex managed with wheezing breaths. “Oh man, Roger, he laid you out.”

  “You went down like a sack of potatoes,” Dan spluttered, red-faced and grinning.

  Roger glared at her from his place on the floor. “Are you just going to stand there and let these morons make a joke out of this?”

  “It was pretty funny,” she admitted, giving in to a totally unprofessional smile.

  “A blatant assault in front of your eyes and you think it’s hilarious!” Roger hauled himself to his feet, dabbing at the blood pooling beneath his nose. “We’ll see who’s laughing when Copley is fired and I drag him through the Latadi court system.”

  She watched as Roger stomped in the direction of his office, muttering under his breath as he went. He had a point—Warren had crossed a line. He’d been wrong to hit Roger, and if she hadn’t stopped him he would’ve done it again. He should have controlled his temper and tried to neutralize the situation without the use of force, as would be expected of any police officer.

  His impulsivity should make her wary. His capacity for violence should scare and offend her. His hair-trigger assault on Roger should make her seriously reconsider her feelings for this dangerous man.

  She knew it. And she couldn’t care less.

  “They won’t actually fire Warren, will they?” Alex had recovered most of his composure, though his eyes were still bright with humor.

  “I’d say Roger’s job is in a lot more jeopardy than Warren’s at this stage. But it’s not up to me.” She took a deep breath and brought her hands together, like a schoolteacher trying to rein in the class after recess. “I know we’ve had a lot of excitement this morning, but this is still an operating gold mine and we all have jobs to do. Get on with your day as normal, and I’ll be in touch as soon as there are any updates.”