“For what? You’re the one who saved both Wyatt and me, and that guy can never hurt anyone else again, because of you.”
“I meant… after all that.”
She swallowed hard. He referred to the rage episode where he destroyed her furniture. Not a topic she expected him to bring up again. But that was obviously the moment where something shifted between them. “You, uh…kind of broke my patio.”
“I’m sorry. I thought I was stronger than that.”
“You were pretty strong. I didn’t know metal could bend like that without extreme heat.”
“No, I meant…” He growled and shook his head. Several seconds passed before he began again, his brow furrowed. “I felt helpless watching that asshole manhandle you. I’ve never been more scared in my life. Then Wyatt, and all the blood on your clothes… It’s like a vile rampage bubbled up inside. It was worse when I was a teen, but I guess it never really went away.” He rubbed the backs of her hands with his thumbs. “You know I would never hurt you, right?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I was more worried about you than me.”
He gave her a small smile, then pulled her close. His arms wrapped around her, the warmth soothing her frazzled nerves.
“Let’s get you in the shower.”
As he turned on the hot water, she stripped out of her jeans and sweater. The robe and PJ’s she’d worn during the attack still sat in the corner of the bathroom from when she’d changed out of them earlier. Bloodstained most of the fabric. She might just burn all that.
The hot stream cascaded down Lynée’s body, the water normally a soothing balm for her soul. But not today. Tears streamed from her eyes, carried away by the water.
The thoughts replayed over and over in her mind—the gun at her head, the vicious words, the sound of gunshots—and it ripped her heart. She buried her face in her hands, trying to stem the flow of tears.
The shower curtain pulled back a little. Jace stepped in behind her, instantly enveloping her in his arms once again.
“Bell.” The one word was so soothing, equally tormented, with so much passion and empathy and concern in one syllable.
She turned and gazed into his gruff face. The lines around his eyes had deepened, and somehow a few hairs at his temples in this light almost looked gray.
He stroked her back. She rested her head on his shoulder and squeezed him around the middle. Only then when his cock brushed against her stomach did she realize he was naked. Not that it mattered in the least.
Her muscles slowly started to relax, fiber by fiber. All she wanted to do was stand here like this, safe in his arms for the rest of her life. Not think about this morning, the horrors she’d seen or the sound of that man’s voice, or the taste of his skin when she bit into his wrist.
She desperately wanted to forget it all. And just be with Jace.
“What can I do?” he asked after a long moment of silence. “How can I make this better?”
“You’re doing it.”
“And then what?”
She lifted her head and caressed his chest just over his heart. She also desperately didn’t want to think about what happened after. How she would go on after Jace left.
“Then we go to bed.”
He opened his mouth to ask another question, but he stopped.
She could practically see the words forming on his lips. What about tomorrow? Somehow, he knew not to ask. Not to voice the possibility.
For the first time in her life, she didn’t want to know what happened tomorrow.
Between his thumb and forefinger, he lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
She opened her mouth.
I’m thinking I want you to stay. I’m thinking all this time before you arrived, I haven’t really been alive. Now that I know what it feels like to really live, I can’t bear to lose you. I’ll crumble if you leave.
His gaze was so pleading, the beautiful irises nearly glossy. “Just say the words, Lynée.”
I’m thinking I love you.
Her heart cinched in on itself. It took all she had not to cry when the realization hit her full on. The fear of losing him was just as strong as her love.
“I’m tired,” she finally replied. “Just…hold me while I sleep.”
I’ll hold you forever.
Last night, those words had threatened to come out of his mouth. Dammit, he’d wanted to say them so badly. He could tell Lynée was about to say something similar in the shower, the thoughts swarming in her mind, but for some reason, she didn’t say anything.
The whole night, he lay in her bed, spooning her precious body and breathing in her scent. So grateful she was still there, alive and warm. They hadn’t said a word to each other.
Not even a ‘good morning’ when they woke.
Now, he sat in her living room, perusing more files like he had the last week, the tension between them so thick he could barely breathe.
He had no idea what to say to her. But he couldn’t leave her side. He had to be in the same room as her, every second.
Is this just a protective thing? He’d nearly lost her, and now he was going overboard with paranoia.
Or was this more?
His fist crumpled the paper in his hand. He didn’t realize he’d been holding it that hard. Fuck. He smoothed the paper out against the side of the coffee table.
How the hell could he focus after yesterday?
His boss had chewed him out over the phone for not keeping him updated about the change in his case. For having found Monroe and not bringing him in yet. For having the audacity of allowing the cartel to catch up with him and endanger the life of a civilian and injuring the local sheriff. The longer he’d ranted, the more the self-doubt bubbled up inside of Jace. Those same feelings of inadequacy from his teenage years churned inside. He knew better. He knew to follow procedure. This was career-ending crap, and the boulder in his gut reminded him of just that. He might have just worked himself out of the DEA.
And all because he had blinders on.
The woman on the other side of the room glued to the computer screen was infinitely more important. He was just having a harder time accepting this new reality.
Just admit it to yourself, you chicken shit. You love her.
* * *
“I found it!” She stood from her chair.
He jolted upright and was at her side in seconds. “Found what?”
She sat down again and pointed at the file she opened. “Joe’s unfiled reports. He named it Christmas List. I can’t believe I missed it. I skipped over this days ago, but got distracted with something else.” She scrolled through the file, reading the lines out loud.
“October 2: First contact referenced an ‘inside man’ protecting them from law enforcement. New contact shut him up with a gut punch. Did not specify which law enforcement, Federale, US Border & Customs, or DEA. No name given. Didn’t give a new drop point/time. Said they’d see me on the game. Report filed.”
“That’s the Dark Inferno game Monroe talked about.” Jace gripped the back of her chair.
Lynée nodded and kept reading.
“October 9: My previous reports on internal systems have disappeared. Intel is missing. Concerned someone inside DEA is tampering with our investigation. Could be the ‘inside man’ they referenced before. Did not file report in case the system is compromised. Will watch my partner more closely since he’s the closest one with access to my files. Do not suspect he knows of my secondary location.
October 12: Suspect referenced ‘Slugger.’ New lead. May be ‘inside man.’ Setup test to rule out my partner as mole. Nothing back yet.”
Jace froze. The word magnified in his gaze and the rest of the screen blurred.
Slugger.
His throat started to close in on itself. “Read that last one again,” he rasped.
She did.
Suddenly, all the pieces fit together in his brain. Sliding into place like they were magnets sn
apping together in a horrible image, followed by a surge of rage. How the hell had he not known all along…
“Slugger…Son of a fucking bitch!”
He whirled and rummaged through a box for a thumb drive.
“What?” she asked, eyes wide.
He held it out to her. “Put that file on this drive. Please.” His whole body shook with fury; he had to remind himself to soften his tone toward her. It wasn’t her fault the shit had hit the industrial-sized fan.
She took the drive. “You know who Slugger is?”
He ground his teeth together, hard. To keep from spouting off more obscenities. “Please. Right now.”
She scowled and did as he asked as he searched around for his leather jacket and keys.
A minute later, he barreled out the front door, his boots thunking down the patio steps and the thumb drive safe in his pocket. Lynée followed, slipping on the oversized sweater she’d grabbed from the coat hanger by the door.
“Where are you going?” she asked with a hint of fear in her voice. She stopped at the top of the stairs. The ground was wet from a cold rain overnight, and she was only in slippers.
Just before he reached his motorcycle, he turned and went back. Halting at the bottom step. He gave her a hard look. “Don’t say anything. To anyone. Not yet. Keep all that stuff safe.”
She swallowed hard and drew her lips together in that adorable Tinkerbell look that drove him wild. She took a few steps down, no doubt soaking her slippers.
“Just tell me what’s going on. Let me help.”
Dammit, he couldn’t help himself. His hand reached out, wrapped around the back of her head, and pulled her close. He locked his lips against hers, tasting the sweet honey from her tea. The kiss was needy, rushed, and a bit harsh.
He pulled away and didn’t look back. Just hopped onto his bike, fired it to life, and sped off as fast as the tread would allow.
Three Days Later
Lynée carried a tray of fresh blueberry muffins into Sheriff Wyatt’s hospital room. Bouquets, balloons, and even a few small teddy bears canvassed the space with barely any free counter room for her gift. She knocked on the open door. “Can I come in?”
The man looked up from a stack of papers on a tray poised over the bed. He smiled wide and took off his reading glasses. “You, Miss Clark, are always welcome.”
She stepped in and found the open chair on the other side of the bed. The television displayed the news on a soft volume. The man’s hair had almost gone completely gray, something she didn’t want to focus on. Before the altercation outside her house, he possessed an equal serving of salt and pepper. Perhaps the physical stress of his injury sped up the aging process, making her feel guiltier than she already was.
She set the tray in front of him. “Fresh out of the oven. Your wife told me you love blueberries.”
“You didn’t have to do this.”
“It’s the least I could do. After…everything. I never got a chance to thank you.”
He waved his hand as if dismissing the thought. “It was my job.”
“Job or not, you saved my life.”
“I believe the more appropriate person for that designation is Agent Ivy.”
Hearing his name made her heartache. In that painful, soul-shredding way. She swallowed her agony. “Well, he couldn't have done it without you. Or so I choose to believe.”
“My informants tell me he left town.”
She raised a brow at him. “What informants?”
The corner of his bushy mouth lifted. “My deputies. In fact, they told me they were pulled off your security detail just this morning.”
Her throat turned dry. “True.” According to the last officer outside her house, Jace Ivy had called and said they were no longer needed. Nice to know he was still in contact with someone. Just not her. She must not be as important to him. Something that grated along her heart as well as her pride.
“Does that mean big Mr. DEA agent solved his case?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I still haven’t heard from him. Or Skye.” The last detail of how he’d left her house practically sprinting for the hills after he learned something about “Slugger,” she chose to keep quiet. She’d promised not to tell anyone. As damaged as her pride was, she wouldn’t compromise his case. But at some point, the vast amount of evidence cluttering up her house had to be returned to the DEA. “Maybe that means whatever threat associated with the case is over. I’m relieved for your officers.”
His smile turned sympathetic. “I’m sure you’re relieved for yourself as well. That situation was most unfortunate. I shouldn’t admit this, but my men enjoyed the work. We’re a sleepy town out here, and it was a break from the norm.”
“That’s an understatement.” She faked a chuckle. “Skye was always the one who wanted more thrilling adventures and dramatic flairs in life. Not me. This is too much for my tastes.”
He collected the papers on the tray into a neat pile. “It’s important for us to push ourselves a little out of our comfort zones every now and then. My wife says it’s better for our hearts.”
“Really? What would she say about near-death experiences?”
It was a long moment before he finally replied with a little strain behind his voice. “Those make everything after it that much brighter and more precious.”
Her heart caved a little at that. Tears welled behind her eyes, and she struggled to hold them back. They’d both faced it together in different ways. He now had permanent scars to thank for it. She reached out and held his hand. He gripped back tightly, his own eyes a little glossy.
A loud alert sounded from the television, with the Breaking News banner a glaring red at the bottom of the screen. A man’s picture was superimposed over live footage of some large compound in a rural area swarming with armed military personnel, covered in bullet-proof gear and blast shields. The man’s face is what drew her attention.
Carlos Cabello. After all that research, she’d recognize that man anywhere.
The sheriff turned up the volume on the bed’s attached remote.
“Mexican national and international drug lord Carlos Cabello was shot and killed this morning at his residence in northern Mexico in a coordinated raid with the Mexican Army and the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency. Witnesses claim the early morning incursion involved a heavy firefight that lasted more than an hour, with at least twenty conspirators dead on the compound. The cartel boss was indicted on over a dozen charges, including murder, drug trafficking, and money laundering. He had successfully eluded efforts to arrest him until a last-minute, highly confidential coordinated raid with U.S. law enforcement was carried out due to a recent tip on his whereabouts. No word as to what that tip was or from which agency. This culminates several cases against the Cabello cartel that had been ongoing for nearly a decade. The latest one involving the murder of a highly decorated DEA agent, Joseph Padilla, a year ago in El Paso, Texas.”
A picture of Joe flashed on the screen in his official DEA uniform.
“Wow,” she breathed. Before her eyes was the end of the mess in which she had been neck-deep over the last ten days.
Does this mean Skye and Reed can come home?
“I wonder if your Harley-riding agent was involved in that.” The sheriff gave her a curious look.
She continued to watch, hoping for more information, or perhaps even a picture of Jace standing around in the aftermath. But the news helicopters didn’t get close enough for face shots. For all she knew, he was down there in that chaos. Which would explain why he’d run out so quickly. Did he have to coordinate this? Though she doubted it. Something this big probably took much more than three days to arrange.
She made her goodbyes to Wyatt and promised to check in on him often.
When she made it home, four black sedans sat parked outside her house. As she pulled into her driveway, more than a dozen agents piled out of the cars and met her at the door. Every one of them wore navy blue blazers with DEA emblazon
ed on the back, and had official gold badges dangling from chains around their necks.
Her heart leapt, thinking perhaps Jace was among them. Which meant he wasn’t down in that dangerous fiasco in a Mexican drug compound. But with every face she saw, none of them were his.
“Miss Clark?”
She smiled politely, hiding her disappointment, and pulled her coat more tightly under her chin. “Are you here for Agent Ivy’s evidence?”
“Yes. Thank you for your assistance. We’ll collect everything so you can get back to your life.”
She pressed her lips together and unlocked the door for them. Everything was still up on the walls and organized into various piles, just the way it was when Jace had left. She had no idea if he was going to return or not, and needed to continue where they left off. A small part of her heart hoped for that. Okay, fine, a large part of her heart.
“I didn’t pack up anything yet. Would you like me to show you what I have and how it’s organized?”
“No, thank you,” the man replied. “We can take care of that.”
All the agents brushed past her and started taking down all the photos and colored strings. Some of them a bit too quickly, and a few tacks flew off the corkboard. With robotic faces void of emotion and without any organization, they tossed the papers and files in open boxes.
She scowled, trying hard not to voice her displeasure at them dismantling all her hard work. “Um…coffee or tea?”
“No, thank you.” He pointed to her kitchen table. “Is this all the computer equipment Ivy confiscated?”
She nodded.
“Any thumb drives?”
“They’re all in that box.” She pointed to the one stacked on top of the chair.
In an amazingly fast time frame, they removed all the evidence from her home and stowed it in the multiple vehicles out front. The agents were thorough, systematic, and clinical in removing all traces of Jace Ivy. Her house looked barren—more Spartan-design—compared to the last few weeks.
“Miss Clark?” the agent called. “The paper with Monroe’s passwords.”
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