by Kris Norris
There had been people rushing around. Direct transfusions and trips to get more blood. An organized effort to keep Gibson breathing until his other buddy had arrived—Dr. Coen Brady. Brady had taken one look at Gibson then ushered him into his mobile trauma center. Ice had disappeared with the man, returning a few hours later to announce that Gibson would pull through. But Brady wasn’t taking any chances. Had apparently handcuffed his friend to the gurney with the intentions of “keeping his ass there for the foreseeable future”. Brady’s words.
Cannon had put the entire crew on lockdown after that, rotating his teammates through sentry duty and reconnaissance missions. Devlyn didn’t know where the men were going—who they were checking out—but for the past thirty-six hours she hadn’t been able to use the bathroom without someone inspecting the shower, first. Crow had gone so far as to stand at the door, waiting for her to finish, until she’d threatened to kick his ass.
The situation hadn’t gotten any better since then. As if they’d all forgotten she was a field agent. Had battled her way through a dozen years’ worth of missions for the NSA. Was capable of watching her own ass. A fact she’d stated—several times—only to have them nod then go right back to guarding her. They’d muttered something about war and this being their wheelhouse, but it all circled back to the same conclusion—she was trapped until they caught another break. Which seemed highly unlikely with her and Crow locked in Gibson’s safehouse.
She paused at the back of the sofa, allowing her frustration to manifest by punching the top of the cushions. The material scratched at her knuckles, the slight sting easing the tight feeling clenching her muscles. What the hell was she doing? And why had she even agreed to work this case when she’d known old memories would resurface?
She hissed out a curse, staring at the ceiling as she strove to control the frantic beating of her heart. God help her, but she still loved Crow. A fact the other night had made painfully obvious. It didn’t matter that a part of her wanted to claw at his chest and rip out his heart—a larger part wanted to love him. Hear him whisper her name as he held her close, making her feel whole when she rarely felt anything at all.
“You goddamn, son of a bitch!”
“I hope it’s Crow you’re referring to, and not me.”
Devlyn spun, reaching for her gun, despite knowing it wasn’t there, before pressing her hand against her chest as she stared at Ice standing in the kitchen. Dark circles smudged the skin beneath his eyes, a healthy dose of scruff shadowing his jaw.
She huffed out her next breath, ignoring the tinge of pain in her ribs. “Damn it, Ice, don’t scare me like that. Make some noise before you appear in a room.”
He merely shrugged. “Old habits.”
“All you guys keep saying that, and I keep thinking you’re lucky I haven’t capped any of you in the ass, yet.”
He chuckled. “I checked for your holster, first.”
“Next time, check the back of my pants, too, because I don’t always use a damn holster.”
“And have Crow deck me when he hears I looked at your ass? I like having the guy as my buddy, not my enemy.”
“Please, the only guy in here who might be able to knock you down is Cannon. And, after all I’ve heard, maybe not even him.”
“Every teammate has their strengths. And they could all knock me on my ass with the right motivation.” He winked at her, the jerk. “You just happen to be Crow’s.”
“If by motivation you mean the one person in the group who wants to stab him in the heart, then, yeah.”
“Hell have no fury, and all that.”
She sighed, tilting her head to one side. “You look exhausted. When’s the last time you slept?”
“I can go days without sleep.”
“Which you already have. And what about Harlequin? Isn’t she getting antsy to have you back?”
Ice placed his hand over his heart. “Are you trying to get rid of me already? That hurts, Devlyn. And, for the record, Harlequin is on a photo shoot. It’s her annual charity event for veterans, so, she couldn’t pass on it. Midnight and Rigs are backing her up.”
“There a reason she needs your brand of backup?” She grinned. “Other than the extreme paranoia all you boys seemed to have inherited?”
“We’re not paranoid. We’re careful. As for Harlequin, it’s a long story. Let’s just say her family heritage might come back to bite her in the ass.”
She frowned, then inhaled. “Wait. Harlequin. Her last name isn’t James, is it? As in the once presumed dead heiress to the James drug empire? The one that toppled not that long ago? Old man turned state’s evidence? Is part of Wit Sec?”
Ice merely smiled.
Devlyn shook her head. “Damn, Ice. I’m surprised you let her out of your sight. Not when you’re this protective of me and Crow.”
“I’m needed here. Besides, my buddies will have her back if anything comes her way. Same as I’d have theirs.”
“Right. The whole brotherhood.”
“You say it as if it’s a bad thing.”
“Not bad. It’s just…hard when you’re not part of it. When you’re on the outside looking in.”
Ice nodded. “I suppose it would be.” He reached for a mug then poured her some coffee. “Crow says you like it black.”
She took the cup, appreciating the warmth. Talking about Crow always left her feeling empty. Cold. “Thanks. And you really should get some rest. My ribs are fine. Crow’s ornery as ever, so he’s obviously fine, too.”
“You two are quite the pair.” He grabbed a cup, then headed for the hallway, pausing at the threshold. “And Devlyn…”
She looked up from her coffee. “Yeah?”
“Crow hasn’t said too much about what happened between you two. Guess it’s a guy thing. Not talking. But he did make one thing crystal clear. Keeping you alive is all he cares about. The mission? Catching Slader? He’ll burn it all if it means jeopardizing your safety. And that includes the brotherhood. Whatever it takes. Whatever the price, including breaking ranks. That’s also a guy thing. Sacrificing everything and everyone for the woman you love. You’re not on the outside, honey. You’re just too angry with Crow to see you’re right here in the center, and you always have been.”
Devlyn stared at Ice, mouth hanging open but unable to form any words, because he was serious.
He smiled. “I think I’ll get some rest. Six and Kam are on sentry, and Colt and Ellis are scouting the area while Cannon and Jericho discretely search for leads at the marshal office. Thinking you and Crow will have a few hours of uninterrupted time… In case you need to talk. Or, whatever.”
“Ice, I don’t…”
But he was already walking down the hall, closing the door to one of the bedrooms. Leaving her standing there, replaying his words...
Sacrificing everything and everyone for the woman you love...
That’s what he’d said. Implied that Crow loved her. And not in a partner, brotherhood kind of way. The sweaty, no-holds-barred, seeing red kind of love. The way she felt about him.
The thoughts had her moving. Coffee cup forgotten on the counter. Nothing but the soft press of her feet as she headed for Crow’s room—the one she’d been sharing with him. That she’d been avoiding as much as possible because just being around him made her antsy. Brought feelings to the surface that were better left buried.
Not anymore.
He’d claimed there would come a time she’d have to listen, and he’d been right. Whether it crushed the last slivers of her heart or not, she needed to know. Had to face him when he admitted that she’d been part of the mission. That what they’d shared had been a mirage—beautiful from a distance, but nothing solid. Concrete.
Devlyn paused at the door, readying herself. She could do this. She was strong. And maybe she’d finally get that closure everyone talked about. Be able to move forward. Imagine spending her life with someone else, because god knew she didn’t have any of that, now. Couldn’t think abou
t loving another man when the asshole she was still in love with was within her reach.
A few deep breaths, and she eased open the door—stared at the empty room. Took her a moment to recognize the splashing sound in the background. Realize he was in the adjoining washroom. Not the best place for a confrontation, but if she backed out now, she’d lose her nerve. And they’d be back to dancing around the truth.
Instead, she squared her shoulders then headed for the door on the opposite wall, trying to figure out what to say. How to phrase it. The last thing she needed was Crow gloating over the fact she was asking him to explain. Not after shutting that line of talking down a dozen times, already.
Running water echoed through the door, the pattern clearly indicating Crow was in the shower. Slivering open the door and seeing a shadowy outline amidst steam made her heart race. Increased the jumpy feeling in her stomach. As if her insides couldn’t decide whether to settle or empty onto the floor. Christ, she hadn’t been this nervous since her first day as an NSA agent. Excitement mixed with underlying dread. That she’d screw things up. Fail. Spend the rest of her life in limbo—unable to move forward with no way to return to the past. Only, this felt a thousand times worse.
She considered leaving. Just turning and running for the door. She could hot-wire a car and be back at her office in under an hour. Surely Smithers would listen to reason, now? Would give her an out? Offer her a transfer?
Why she decided to step inside mystified her. Had her questioning her own sanity, because that couple of feet changed everything. Refocused her thoughts onto Crow’s body moving behind the glass. Too blurred to see any definition, but she already knew every intimate inch of him. Remembered the smooth glide of his skin. The strength of his muscles. The hint of cottonwood that seemed to be part of his natural scent. Or, maybe she’d just been around him so much, his aroma was fused into her senses. Came to life whenever she got close.
The shower turning off and the door opening, jerked her back into the moment. Into Crow stepping onto the mat, a white towel hanging in a fisted mess down his body. Hiding half his torso, but it didn’t matter. Seeing any part of him took her breath away. Had her leaning against the wall for strength as his gaze locked on hers.
He froze. Actually froze. One hand on his chest. The towel dangling lengthways down the center. Water making his hair nearly black. Christ, he was gorgeous.
He took a breath. A noticeable one that had his massive chest moving. Sending some of the drops cascading down his body. Then, he was in front of her. As if he’d simply appeared, instead of walking the five feet of space separating them. Though, she’d probably been too mesmerized by him—his sheer presence—to register anything other than those neon blue eyes. The ones laser-focused on hers. How she had to tilt her head way back to maintain eye contact.
He frowned, staring at her as if he’d never seen her before. Had no idea why she was standing there. Apparently oblivious to the fact that he was only wearing that towel. Then, he lifted one hand—gently brushed his knuckles along her jaw. “Hey? Are you okay?”
God, his voice. Still as effective as ever at getting her primed. And she had to force herself to concentrate on making her tongue work. To have it form the right words when all she really wanted to do was kiss him.
Those lines on his forehead deepened. “Dev? Are you hurt? Should I get Ice?”
He was going to leave. She knew it. The way his muscles shifted, his gaze darting to the door. All it took to stop him was her hand on his chest. Right in the center where the towel had been when he’d first caught her gaze. A light dusting of hair pressed against her palm with every beat of his heart. Far slower than hers.
She followed the bands of muscle lower—inhaled at the mass of purple on his ribs. Larger than the one on hers. Several shades darker.
Crow chuckled, placing his hand over hers. “It’s just a bruise. Yours is worse.”
It wasn’t, but he always downplayed his injuries. Which had her looking up. Forcing a damn word past the lump in her throat. “Why?”
Crow tilted his head—gave her a slow once-over. “Why is your bruise worse? That’s definitely a conversation I’ve been itching to have.”
“Why didn’t you come back?”
If she’d thought he’d frozen getting out of the shower, then this was sub-zero, because he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t freaking blink for what felt like hours. Just stood there. Staring. Mouth slightly gaped open, his hand still lightly brushing her face. Or, maybe she was the one who’d been stuck, because a second later he was pressing her against the wall. One hand beside her head. The other near her waist. He didn’t lean in. Didn’t need to because she was already trapped. Already wondering if he’d sucked all the air out of the room.
A slow exhale, and his eyes narrowing. “You are asking about that night several months ago, right? When everything went for shit? Just so we don’t have any misconceptions.”
“I don’t care about that night. Obviously, Slader waylaid you, unless that new scar on your shoulder is from another crazy guy with a gun?”
When he merely shook his head, she nodded. But just seeing the puckered white mark on his skin sickened her stomach. Brought back the fear she’d felt when she’d realized he wasn’t at the platform. That Slader might have killed him, and based on the size of the damn wound, it had been a forty-five. Meant Crow was lucky to be alive.
Another fate they shared.
She pushed those thoughts aside. There would be time to delve into old memories later. After she’d finished this.
“Slader screwed us all over. I get that. I can see that, now. And, after everything that’s happened—you nearly dying because you wanted to keep me safe—I realize it was never about that night. About you not showing up at the platform.” She released the breath she’d been holding. “I think I always knew something bad had happened. But, it was easier to be angry than to dig into other feelings. So…”
Devlyn braced for the truth. For the pain she’d feel when he admitted she hadn’t been worth coming back for. That he’d had fun, but the mission had come first. Then, looked him in the eyes. “Whatever Slader did, wherever you were, you’ve been back. For months. So…where were you? And why the hell didn’t you ever come back to me?”
Chapter Twelve
Well, shit.
Crow stood there, staring down at Devlyn and realized he was fucked. Not only had she caught him off-guard—a rarity—but she’d bypassed the part of the conversation where he hadn’t been a bastard and focused right on where he had been. Because looking at her, now—eyes slightly glassy, body braced for the worst kind of outcome, for him to break whatever she’d kept whole after Slader had left her for dead—he understood the truth.
He’d been a coward. So afraid of losing her—of having to face the realization that she held his heart and always would, that she would never forgive him for not having her back that night—that he’d taken the easy way out. Had simply stayed gone.
A huge mistake. One he was sure would haunt him for the rest of his miserable life. And it would be miserable without her in it, something these past few weeks had made painfully clear.
He took a breath, held it, then sighed. “Devlyn, I—”
“Just say it.”
He frowned. “Say what?”
Her chin quivered. Not much, but he noticed. Then, she was pushing past him, pacing the length of the small room before turning. She crossed her arms over her chest as she visibly drew herself up. Distanced herself, despite the fact she was only four feet away.
She pursued her lips, took what looked like a fortifying breath, then looked him in the eyes. “I know we never really talked about…well, us. Where we were going. If we planned on having a future beyond the JSOG team, but…”
Another quiver of her chin, and it damn near took him to his knees. Had him taking two steps toward her before she stopped him with a shake of her head. He managed to keep his hands at his side instead of reaching for
her and pulling her against him. Barely. Took all his damn resolve, but he managed it.
Devlyn waited until he thought he’d have to physically nail his feet to the floor if he had any hopes of not closing that last two feet, before walking past him—taking up her position beside the door, again. The one where he’d been pressed against her just moments earlier. Where he’d caught the scent of floral soap on her skin. The coconut fragrance from the shampoo on her hair. Where he’d only had to dip down to take her perfect lips in his.
“But I thought…” She snorted. “I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought, because you obviously didn’t share it. So, just tell me it was fun. That you had a good time, but in the end, the mission was more important. That I was a pleasurable distraction—a bonus—and you thought I’d get the message, which I clearly didn’t because I’ve spent these past six months obsessing over why you never called. Never fucking texted.”
Her voice cracked as it rose, and she paused, pushing out a rough breath. “Tell me this wasn’t anything close to love, and, maybe I can finally move on.”
He moved. No calculated tactics, no plan, just his feet shuffling, and he had Devlyn pinned against the wall, again. Some of her hair caught up in his left hand. Not much, just enough to anchor him. Keep him grounded as he stared into her eyes, so fucking beautiful he knew he’d never look at another woman like this. That if Devlyn decided he wasn’t worth another shot—if she’d been the one who hadn’t been in love with him, despite her confession to the contrary that first night—that he’d be screwed. Because this kind of love never died. Never stopped hurting. Would most likely follow him into the damn grave.
And it would all be his fault.
Devlyn gasped, as if she hadn’t considered he’d react physically. Had assumed he’d stand there, watching her fight back tears, as if it meant nothing.
As if she meant nothing.