“Sweet words from the man caught fondling his phone in the middle of the night.”
Parker rolled to his side, propping himself up on an elbow to mirror her pose. This close, even in the scant light sliding past the curtains, Georgia could see every detail of his face. Commit to memory the glint of stubble, the curve of his lower lip.
“Ethan made contact.”
Stunned, Georgia took a moment to catch up. “What?”
“Yeah. He’s set a meet for tomorrow—well, later today, I guess.” Parker grinned. “I’ve been testing new levels of the app—everyone with the CWU has a test version on their phones. It’s encrypted and still in beta—and it has a messaging feature we use to trade insults, smack talk, and the very rare game-related feedback. I’d hoped Ethan would remember we’d once joked it would make an excellent covert communication tool.”
“And he did,” Georgia said.
“He did.” Parker nodded. “He wouldn’t say much, not over a device, but he has answers.”
Georgia rolled to her back and stared up at the ceiling. “Good.” It was good news, she told herself. Great, even. She hated being in the dark, let alone in the dark and on the run, but . . . But she’d allowed herself to fall into a lull, a sexy, surprising, laughter-filled lull, with Parker. For a few precious hours, the outside world had ceased to exist. In this shitty motel, with threadbare sheets and too little heat, Georgia had allowed everything to fade away, allowed herself the rare luxury of true indulgence. She and Parker had created their own private, wonderful snow globe. The minute they met with Ethan, hell, the minute they set out, their glass bubble would shatter.
Swallowing around her disappointment and refusing the temptation to dwell on just what that meant, Georgia said, “That’s great. If Ethan has answers, he’ll have a path forward.” Which, she had to admit, was a relief. Because as much as she wanted to fall into Parker, exist only in the tiny winter holiday they’d created for themselves, she didn’t want to be responsible for his safety—not now that there was more than professional responsibility binding them together.
“Ready to get rid of me already?”
Yes.
No.
“You have no idea,” she responded with a grin.
Truth was, there wasn’t a clean answer to that. Did she want to stay wrapped up in Parker, enjoying his tactile attention and the easy chemistry between them? Revel in the way he looked at her, touched her, drew her so completely out of her reservations she forgot to be anything less than genuine with him? Hell yes. But that wasn’t practical. They couldn’t just pretend the last twelve hours hadn’t happened. That there wasn’t a dead guy in Parker’s loft. That someone didn’t want Parker eliminated.
So for the foreseeable future, Parker’s safety had to be the priority. Which complicated things. Protecting a client in the moment was one thing—stepping in front of the knife, taking the bullet or the punch—all of those were easy, ingrained split-second decisions. But keeping someone alive while on the run with no idea who wanted them dead or how they’d earned the death warrant in the first place? No. No, that she wasn’t equipped to handle. Especially not now that she’d come to know Parker. Know the kindness of his heart or the depth of his touch. Taking a bullet would be easy, but keeping him alive, constantly wondering if she would be smart enough, fast enough, strong enough? No.
“Your heart’s racing,” Parker said, sliding his warm palm against the soft skin at her breast. “It’s because of me, isn’t it?” he asked, his mouth transforming into something cocky she both wanted to punch and plunder.
Shoving the tumultuous thoughts aside, Georgia pushed his hand away. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Undeterred, Parker drew his fingers down her torso, sliding between her breasts and dipping across her belly button. “Think of something else I can flatter?”
As his fingers dipped low, sliding into her as easily as if he’d done it a thousand times, Georgia decided she could stand the smug grin on his face—for a little while, at least—and live in the moment.
Regrets, reliable as the morning sun, would be there when she woke.
CHAPTER SIX
Georgia shot a dirty look at the guy in line next to her when he bumped into her again. Decked out head to toe in Redskins gear and clearly a six-pack or two of cheap beer into his day, he wouldn’t stop shouting, “Cowboys suck!” into the crowd of fans lined up to get into FedExField.
“Yeah, yeah, Cowboys suck,” she grumbled under her breath. “Though they at least have a state-of-the-art stadium with a roof.”
“Not a sports fan?” Parker asked as they shuffled toward security.
“I like sports just fine,” she said, scanning the faces surrounding them. “I don’t like frat-boy wannabes, public intoxication, freezing weather, or capacity crowds.” While all true, it was the eighty thousand fans streaming into the stadium that had her teeth on edge. Sure, there was safety in numbers, and such a crowded venue would make it almost impossible to stand out, but there were also far too many unknowns. Too many ways to approach, unseen until far too late. The sooner they got in, found Ethan, and got out, the sooner Georgia could relax.
“And why are you so chipper, anyway? It’s freezing, and you don’t strike me as the type of guy who enjoys sports played by the men who probably shoved you into lockers as a kid.”
“You know, considering I had to put up with the swill that gas station referred to as coffee, I’m the one who should be cranky,” Parker said, nudging her with his elbow. Finally at the front of the line, Georgia handed over their tickets—Ethan had left them in her name at Will Call—and shuffled through the metal detectors. “And yes,” Parker continued, “I’m a fan.”
“You’re serious?” Georgia asked as the crowd thinned, people streaming in different directions.
“Hell yeah, sports are awesome.”
Sports are awesome? Was he kidding?
“You look a little disappointed,” Parker said as they headed up a ramp toward the second tier of the stadium.
“Just didn’t take you for the ball-scratching, chest-beating, ass-slapping sort of guy.”
Parker laughed as Georgia scrutinized the crowd, glaring when anyone pressed too close. How the hell was she supposed to perform threat assessment in this sort of environment?
“Well, I’ve never been the chest-pounding type, but when they itch, I scratch. And while I’m not typically inclined to smack someone’s ass for a job well done, I can think of a few exceptions.” His palm landed against her jean-covered butt and lingered as he leaned toward her. “Nice job last night.”
She glared at him. She’d been trying not to think about that all morning. “Hand. Off. Ass.”
Parker shrugged, a grin tilting his mouth. “You liked it last night.”
Georgia scowled. “I will hurt you.”
“Pretty sure I liked it last night.” His eyes went from sparkle to smolder in a heartbeat.
Georgia grabbed him by the arm and dragged him up the ramp, fighting the warm flush that tried to crawl across her body, igniting memories she had no business reliving in public. Or ever again. It really wasn’t fair. Since the moment she’d opened her eyes, Parker’s heat surrounding her, she’d been aware of him in all the wrong ways. This, Georgia realized, was one of the reasons why it was so damn dangerous to sleep with a client. One night of blistering-hot sex and all her tactical awareness, all her carefully honed training, had fallen away until the only thing her body registered was Parker’s proximity. His heat. His laugh. His smell. Parker filled her senses to the point everything else felt distant, unimportant, and trivial. Which made her nervous as hell.
Worse yet, for a split second, as Parker had frowned at the crappy selection of gas-station coffee, mumbling about enhanced interrogation techniques and cruel and unusual punishment, she’d been amused.
One night of unprotected sex and Georgia had gone and caught feelings. She should have known better.
Emerging onto the se
cond level, Georgia pulled Parker around a curve and past dozens of concession lines—the scents of grilled meat, garlic fries, and stale popcorn creating a cornerstone of the ballpark experience. The sooner she got Parker to Ethan, the better.
“So, Mr. Sports Are Awesome, you a Redskins fan? Because you didn’t strike me as the type to celebrate mediocrity, but hey, whatever does it for you.” Georgia shrugged, hoping like hell a little mindless chitchat would keep her thoughts in the here and now and out of the bedroom.
Parker blinked. “Yeah, the Redskins are mediocre, but that also means consistent, and consistency is key.”
“To what? Subpar ticket sales?” Georgia laughed.
“Oh yeah, no. I’m not that kind of fan,” Parker said, as if the very idea he’d be so common as to follow a particular player insulted him.
“What kind?”
“You know, the jersey-wearing, high-fiving, trash-talking kind.”
Georgia rolled her eyes. “I’m so relieved.”
“I just like all the statistics. Football, despite what the die-hards will tell you, is just a numbers game.”
Oh God, not a fan at all. A nerd.
“Am I about to be bored out of my mind?” Georgia asked as she ignored the siren song of bratwurst and onions.
“Bored? Are you kidding? Sports analysis was one of the first subjects I tackled—pun intended—when I was developing my predictive analysis program.”
“If the next words out of your mouth include ‘fantasy football league,’ I’m going to need a beer.” A really big one.
“Relax, I’m not allowed to play.”
“Not allowed?” she asked as their section finally came into view.
“Yeah, banned from all three of the major sites for life.” So proud. And this coming from the man who’d created one of the most sophisticated computer programs in the world. “Top-earning member three years running.”
“Enough to keep you in coffee and candy for decades, I’m sure.”
“Fifty-eight million over three years.”
Georgia missed a step as she descended toward their seats. Was he kidding?
“Stick with me, babe,” he said, his voice rife with self-satisfaction. “There’s more here than just puzzles, programs, and pelvic perfection.”
As her brain was still tripping over the words fifty-eight million, she had no response to that. Later, she decided, she’d find a way to bring Parker’s ego down to mere mortal levels.
Or maybe not. Turning down the row to their seats, Georgia spotted Ethan, beanie low on his brow, phone in his hand. He glanced up as they approached, the lines around his mouth loosening a fraction.
“Georgia.” He nodded, sliding his gaze over first her, then Parker, his worried frown easing but not disappearing entirely.
On a slow sigh, tension Georgia hadn’t been aware of slid from her shoulders. She wasn’t used to doubt plaguing her or insecurity dogging every step she took. It had been too easy to put aside the worry, the very real threat against Parker while they’d been tucked away in a motel room. But as she’d suspected, reality had been there to slap her in the face, bitter as the cold wind. Finally laying eyes on Ethan, knowing answers were coming, no matter how dire, helped calm her nerves. Besides, Georgia was a lot of things, but too proud to acknowledge the expertise of someone more skilled than herself wasn’t one of them. Ethan would know what was going on, and he’d have a plan, she was sure of it.
“What?” Georgia shouted, the roar of the crowd accompanying kickoff drowning out Ethan’s words.
“I said, you’re late!” he shouted. “I expected you a half hour before game time.”
“Getting here wasn’t exactly easy.” She’d insisted on the Metro, which took forever and dropped off nearly a mile from the stadium. God forbid ownership lose out on prime parking fees.
Ethan stood. “Let’s head to the main concourse, meet up with the rest of the team.”
Parker sighed and rose from the seat he’d just dropped into, shuffling out toward the center aisle.
“You two all right?” Ethan asked as they made their way, single file, back up the stairs they’d just descended.
“Yeah,” Parker said, the energy he’d carried with him since they’d woken, tangled and sweaty, leaving him in a rush. “We’re good.”
Ethan clasped the back of his neck, squeezing gently. “You sure?”
Parker nodded, shrugged out of Ethan’s grip, but didn’t say anything. Their dynamic was . . . interesting. And not at all what Georgia had expected. Ethan had told her Parker was important to him, and she’d assumed their relationship was built on mutual, professional respect, but this was different. Ethan treated Parker more like a kid brother who needed looking after, which, frankly, annoyed the crap out of her. Parker was many things, but incompetent wasn’t one of them. He may not be the skilled operator Ethan was, but he was far from helpless. She wondered if Ethan had any idea what Parker was capable of when push came to shove.
A shiver had her stuffing her hands into her pockets as they made the climb. She certainly knew exactly what Parker was capable of when backed into a corner. His actions had saved her life yesterday. A debt she hoped he’d never need her to repay.
They emerged into a thinned-out concourse. There were still plenty of people milling about, standing in lines, and watching the game on monitors, but far fewer than there’d been even ten minutes prior.
“This way,” Ethan said, motioning them toward the right. They rounded a bend; then Ethan led them toward a small cluster of tabletops between one of the ramps leading down to seats and some concession stands. Four men stood huddled around a single table, cups of coffee steaming between gloved hands. Though she couldn’t claim to be on a first-name basis with any of them, Georgia recognized a couple of faces. Truth was, this could have been the first time she’d seen any of them, and it wouldn’t have mattered. Georgia had spent too much time in the military, spent too many years around men like her brother and Ethan not to recognize warriors when she saw them. Though they varied widely in features and build, could even pass for average and unremarkable in the heavy winter clothing they wore, the tell was in the way they stood, feet apart, weight shifted ever so slightly forward, their limbs loose and ready. Relaxed but alert.
As they approached, a gust of wind cut through Georgia’s coat, slicing to the bone and informing her in the bluntest way possible why these particular tables had been abandoned by the crowds. Perched between a stadium opening and a gap in the structure that overlooked the parking lot, the wind barreled through the engineered tunnel, making already-frigid temperatures damn near unbearable.
“Finally,” one of the men in the middle grumbled. “My balls fell off half an hour ago, Ethan.”
“Like you had any balls to begin with, Ortiz,” snorted the tall redhead standing at the right end of the group. His face split into a wide grin when he spotted Parker. “What’s up, Peanut?”
Georgia watched, fascinated, as the tips of Parker’s ears turned red.
“Peanut?” she wondered aloud, then let her gaze drop to his waistband before slowly making the climb back up to his face. Her lips twitched; she couldn’t help it. He scowled.
“What, you thought I didn’t notice you take that Snickers bar last night? Figured you got one over on me, huh?” Parker asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets and bumping her with his hip. “I have a minor allergy.”
Georgia rolled her eyes. Of course nothing caffeine or sugar related got past Parker. She should have known he’d let her take the Snickers.
“Minor!” Ortiz barked out a laugh. “Gave the guy one tiny protein bar, ten minutes later we’re shoving epinephrine in his ass and carting him off to the hospital. Looked like he’d stuck his head in a wasp’s nest, the poor bastard.” He clapped Parker on the back. “I’m Miguel, by the way,” he said, holding a hand out for Georgia. “This is Liam,” he said, nodding to the redhead. “Jones,” he said, pointing to the tall brunet standing next to h
im. “And Ryan.” Georgia greeted each of them. Liam and Ryan were both familiar; she’d seen them more than once around the Somerton Security headquarters. Ryan, who she recalled had been Ethan’s first choice of bodyguard for Parker, had apparently managed to make his way back from New York after all. Was she about to be replaced?
Did she want to be?
Yes, she thought on a rough sigh. Just for once, she wanted to take the easy way out. To let someone else step in, take over. And it would probably be for the best, since the longer she stood near Parker, soaked in his heat, breathed in his scent, the harder it would be to leave him behind. And she should—leave him behind. Before things got any more complicated, any more dangerous—to her life and to her heart.
Parker’s face, ashen and stunned as his killing shot echoed down the hall, seared through her brain. No. No, she didn’t want to see him hurt or scared, not ever again. The mere memory was potent enough to have her reaching for him, yearning to slip her hand in his and squeeze, just to remind them both he was still there.
She fought the urge and won, though not before her own needs reminded her just how dangerous Parker could be. And how much she needed to step away before one night’s mistake became something much, much worse.
Ethan cleared his throat, and all laughter and taunts evaporated faster than spit on desert rock. “I’m glad you’re all here. I wasn’t sure you’d get the message—or get out in time,” he said, nodding toward Parker and Georgia.
Parker ducked his head, dragging his index finger along the cuticle at his thumb, scratching until he caught a ragged edge.
Had he not told Ethan what had happened? Georgia sighed. She’d just assumed Parker had filled him in the night before.
“We didn’t,” she said when Parker didn’t speak up.
Ethan’s gaze snapped to hers. “What?”
“We didn’t get your message in time.”
Everyone went preternaturally still. The roar of the crowd faded to a distant hum.
Defenseless (Somerton Security #1) Page 10