by Kris Norris
“And where, exactly, are these files?”
“That’s the tricky part.”
“Tricky? What does that mean?”
“Before I tell you, answer me one thing.”
He arched his brow.
“You asked if I trusted you. And while I’m not proud I hesitated—made you question my answer—it’s yes. Which is crazy, considering I haven’t trusted anyone in a long time. But if we’re going to work as a team, then the question isn’t just whether I trust you, but if you trust me?”
Cannon’s jaw tensed. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all. And yeah, Ellis, I trust you.”
She took a deep breath, knowing that this was it—the point of no return. They’d be all in. “I stored the files on the CIA mainframe.”
“What?” He stood, again, pushed both hands through his hair, looking as if he wanted to pull it out. “You have to get through the CIA’s firewall, through all their security, in order to download files that could cripple that very organization? Jesus, honey, you’re either suicidal or fucking brilliant.”
“It’s a backdoor, outside their top-secret stuff. Lower security, but compared to anywhere else… I needed somewhere no one inside the CIA would ever think to look. I’ll give you everything you need to access it covertly, but if through some shit luck they notice—trace it back to any of us…”
“Game over. We’re familiar with the notion.”
“I can go to an internet café. Retrieve it myself—”
“And get highjacked on the spot when McCormick picks you up on some traffic cam? Sneaking around the warehouse district is one thing. Going downtown—”
“I’ll do it.” Kam held her head high. Smiled. “And no one will trace it. Guaranteed.” She motioned to the men gathered around the table. “Besides, if you entrust this to any of these knuckleheads, they’re liable to bring back porn, instead.”
Cannon shook his head, sighing. “And they call women the gentler sex. Obviously, they’ve never met any of the ladies at this table.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay, we’ll deal with that tomorrow. In the meantime, is there anything else you need to tell us, Ellis? Secretly working for the NSA, too? Maybe doing a bit of work for MI6 on the side? Recruiting for the Secret Service?”
“Did you seriously just make a joke?” She shook her head in mock amusement. “Who knew all you needed was the right woman to unclench your ass.”
Jericho laughed, cutting off when Cannon looked over at her.
He muttered something under his breath, losing the hint of a smile. “You do realize that at some point, we’re going to need outside help on this. We can’t go around offing CIA officers and think it won’t come back to bite us in the ass. Not that we won’t do what’s necessary. We said we’d have your back, and we will.”
“I was at Colt’s for four days. I knew you’d start investigating me, that warehouse, as soon as you were convinced I wasn’t going to die. Which means, you’ve already talked to one or two key people. Maybe someone inside the Marshal Service you trust. Old military connections. Am I close?”
“Were you always this annoying? I seem to recall you being much sweeter back in MI.” He grunted but nodded. “And yeah, we may have asked some ‘theoretical’ questions about you. How this would all play out if our assumptions were right and you were being hunted by your own agency.”
“I assume since I didn’t wake up handcuffed to a gurney in a hospital, they’re on board with helping out. Or, at least, willing to give me a short leash to strangle myself on before turning me over to the Agency. Assuming, as well, that I can give them proof.”
“No one’s turning you over to the Agency. And yeah, we’ll need proof. Which means killing McCormick won’t solve your problems. We’re going to have to figure out what he wants, what he’s hiding, and catch the bastard with his hands in the cookie jar.”
“Then, what are we waiting for? Let’s fry his ass.”
Chapter 12
She was just so fucking beautiful. And if she didn’t get her ass into a bed and get some rest, now, Colt was going to strangle her.
Two more hours they’d been sitting at the table, going over maps. Discussing motivations and possible outcomes. What they’d do if none of their leads panned out. How Kameron was going to access the files Ellis needed. While Colt knew it was necessary. That they had limited time to come up with a viable plan—execute it. Saving Ellis’ life wouldn’t do her much good if she killed herself in the process. Worked herself to death.
She was still healing for Christ’s sake. Had been lucky she hadn’t torn out all her stitches tonight. Needed another blood transfusion. Yet, there she was, stubbornly sitting at the table. Skin deathly pale. Eyes half-mast. Even her hands were shaking from fatigue, despite the way she tried to hide it. Kept them laced together or in her lap.
His buddies meant well. Cannon. Hank. Midnight. They were men of action. Solved problems by attacking them head on. If one route didn’t work, they changed tactics. A different angle. A new perspective. Whatever it took until they punched through. And they were in prime Delta Force mode.
Colt wasn’t arguing—was on the same damn page—except when it came to Ellis’ well-being. She put up a good front, but she wasn’t fooling him. Five years apart hadn’t made him less attuned to her. If anything, he read her better than ever, because now, she didn’t function solely on her wits. Becoming an operative had broadened her abilities. Taught her to rely on all her skills, and the physical side of her was bleeding through. It was only a matter of time before she smashed her face on the table when she passed out.
Not happening. His brothers would understand. Would be insisting she rest, themselves, if they weren’t so focused on keeping her safe. If the threat wasn’t riding them hard, their adrenaline still slightly elevated from the chase. Bullets flying. Having to carry Six into the mobile clinic.
Damn good job that Brady guy was as good as Ice had claimed. Brady hadn’t even blinked when they’d brought Six in, blood everywhere. Obvious gunshot wound to his upper shoulder. Brady had taken it all in stride. Told them to clear out. That he’d have Six fixed up and back on his feet in a couple of days, despite the fact he should be out for a week. But, the good doctor seemed to understand them. That the situation was critical, and that Six would be out the door whether approved or not.
It might have had something to do with the woman standing next to Brady. The one that had the same look as Ellis. The kind of trouble wrought from steel hard determination and more honor than sense, at times. One glance, and it was obvious she and Brady were a couple. That she tested the other man’s patience whenever their ideas of what was reasonable clashed. Just like Ellis did to Colt.
Brady did mention something about Six being on light duty. That if he had to stitch the wound, again, he’d send his buddy Gibson after them. Colt didn’t know what the Brit had done in the service, but there was no doubt the guy was lethal. Stone cold with the kind of air about him that spoke of rough missions that had ended bloody. A man they could count on if shit went sideways.
Colt had taken an instant shine to the guy. Would gladly help him out whenever. Whatever. All Gibson or Brady would have to do is ask.
Ellis rolled her shoulders, head jerking a bit as she fought to stay awake. Colt smiled. He couldn’t help but admire her determination. Her stamina. And he knew she’d sit there for another two hours if he didn’t intervene. Wasn’t the voice of reason.
She wasn’t going to like it. Had that look about her that told him she’d fight him like a damn badger. But he could be just as stubborn, just as single-minded. And there was the fact that he wasn’t taking no for an answer. The woman was going to get some sleep even if he had to pin her to the damn bed until she passed out from sheer exhaustion beneath him.
Dangerous territory for his brain to stray, especially when he still remembered how she’d felt pressed against him. Her silky hair wrapped around his fingers, those perfectly full lips molding under h
is—opening on a raspy moan as he tasted every inch of her mouth.
He wanted her. Her hands gripping his back, her legs wrapped around his hips. He wanted soft skin sliding beneath his palms, her body writhing against his. He wanted to kiss every inch of her flesh, drink in her gasping breath—hear her cry his name as she fell apart in his arms. It seemed so simple. And he didn’t have a clue how to even begin.
He took a deep breath. “El.”
She stopped mid-sentence, turning to look at him, blinking as if needing to clear her vision. She furrowed her brow, scrunching her nose in that adorable way she did when she was puzzling out a problem. “Something wrong?”
“Yeah. You’re about to pass out. Come on, sweetheart…” He waved his fingers at her—pushed to his feet as he shoved his chair out of the way. “Time for bed.”
Her eyes widened, and he cursed when he realized how it had sounded.
“I meant, you need to sleep. In a bed. Alone.” He grunted at the circle of smug smiles. “Just, let’s go. We can continue after you’ve rested. When you don’t look like a freaking ghost.”
She arched one brow, giving him a long slow sweep. “Thanks, Mom. But I think I know when I need to sleep.”
“If that were true, you’d have gone to bed two hours, ago.”
Her defiant chin lifted, and he knew she was going to make a scene—the one that had been brewing between them since the start. That they’d begun in his loft before getting cut short—having to bug out. Which he assumed had only added fuel to the fire. Everyone reacted to a firefight differently, and Ellis looked as if she was primed for a fight. Needed to expend the nervous energy that had nothing to do with her physical exhaustion. That was the product of guilt and stress. But if she thought he’d back down…
“I don’t need a keeper, Colt.”
“No, you need a set of restraints. Bed. Now.”
Her cheeks flamed, those beautiful blue eyes narrowing before she was on him. A double hit to his chest shoved him back—knocked some of the wind out of him from the force. He caught the next punch in the cross of his arms, deflecting the knee aimed at his groin with a raise of his.
She shifted, landing a kick on his hip before he managed to grab her wrists, halting her next strike while gaining a bit of distance.
Ellis breathed heavily, hands at the ready, weight on the balls of her feet. He had to hand it to her. If she wasn’t halfway unconscious already, she might have knocked him on his ass. Gotten in a few good hits before he’d been able to subdue her.
He waited to see if she’d come at him, again, relaxing a bit when she held her ground. Ready but still. “Are we done?”
“Are you going to keep acting like an ass?”
“If that’s what it takes to knock some common sense into you, then yes.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Then, prove it. Look at you. Ignoring the fact you’re still healing, you’re about to fall over.” He dropped his hands, fully expecting her to actually trip him onto his ass, this time. “You asked me before, where I was. Why I didn’t help you. And I hate that I don’t have an answer. But, I’m trying to help you, now. Not because you’re weak. But because you’re too damn close to see the situation without five years of shit coloring it.”
He closed the distance—pushed his torso into her clenched fists. “If you need to kick my ass to make me giving a damn okay with you, then do it. Either way, you’re getting some sleep.”
Ellis huffed, banging both fists on his chest before dropping her arms—relaxing her muscles. “Which room?”
Cannon cleared his throat—grinned when they looked over at him. “Last one on the right. There’s an en suite, in case you want to consider shimmying out the window, again.”
“Men.”
She stormed past Colt, tripping against the wall before stumbling her way down the hallway. Colt glanced at his buddies, flipped them all off when they made kissing faces at him, then followed after Ellis. She’d managed to make it to the bed by the time he walked into the room.
He stopped next to her, sinking down beside her, wondering if she’d shove him off the edge. “You pack quite a punch for someone who’s barely conscious. Not to mention half my size.”
Her shoulders drooped as she exhaled. “I’m sorry. It’s been so long since I’ve been around people…” She glanced at him. “And no, those SOG boys don’t count. I halfway wonder if I’m even fit to carry on a normal conversation.” She looked up at him. “The fact you’re right didn’t help my disposition, either. I don’t like being bullied, even if your intentions were good.”
“I know it’s hard to step away, even for a few hours of sleep, especially when you’re worried about letting us down. But that’s the benefit of being part of a team. We get to spell each other off.” He couldn’t resist leaning closer—tucking a bouncy curl of hair behind her ear. “As for being fit company… If anyone’s at fault here, sweetheart, it’s me. But in my defense, you’ve always known how to push my buttons from the start, and not just the alpha ones. You…”
He smiled, letting it lift his mouth, crinkle his eyes. “I’ll grab you a shirt. And I promise I won’t let you sleep too late.”
She stared at him, eyes clearly assessing everything. Just drinking him in. Then, she nodded. She was still sitting there when he returned a minute later, accepting the tee with a quiet, “Thanks.”
Colt moved over to the large chair, relaxing back in it as she used the washroom, leaving the door partially open as proof she wasn’t going to try and ditch him. Then, she stumbled over to the bed—the shirt hanging down to her knees. She barely got the covers pulled over her before she was asleep. Just gone. Her breath evening out. Long lashes resting against her pale skin.
Watching her shouldn’t hurt the way it did. Right over his heart. The one he’d given to her. That still belonged to her. It made him restless. Always feeling on the edge of control. Waiting to see which way he’d fall.
He needed to make a move. Not, now. After. When the threat was over. When she had options. Surely, he could wait. Hell, he’d been waiting five years. A few more days, maybe a week, should be easy. Nothing compared to making it through Delta selection. A decade of covert missions. Hiking his ass through jungles and deserts.
Then, why was he sweating? Sweating and shaking and breathing hard. He’d compared her physical state to a junkie the other day, but he was the one who looked as if he were coming down off a high. Jonesing. And all because of the woman softly snoring ten feet away. The one that held more power over him than his team. His brothers.
No doubt about it. He was fucked. Good and royally fucked. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. Couldn’t make a move. Cursed to just bide his time in the wasteland between the past and the future. Whoever had called it the present hadn’t experienced this kind of torment because the way he felt wasn’t a gift.
Pale squares moved across the floor, the rain giving way to patchy moonlight. He watched the patterns slowly shift as his eyes drifted shut. Not quite sleeping but not fully awake. Floating. When he roused a bit later, she was sitting on the bed. Knees pulled into her chest. Head resting on her folded arms. She wasn’t making a sound, just staring into the darkness, the stark white of the tee standing out against the shadows.
Ellis must have felt him staring. She tensed, inhaled, then looked over at him. Her hair falling across her arms to form a curtain around her. It was slightly lighter than the blackness of the room, the occasional splash of moonlight shimmering along the length.
She stared directly at him. Expression fixed. Not happy, not sad. Just…indifferent. As if she couldn’t quite figure out how to smile.
Colt slipped out of the chair, silently making his way to the bed. She tracked his movement. The indifference vanished, replaced by what he could only describe as hunger. Raw, unfettered lust.
He tamped down the urge to wrap his arms around her and take her back on the bed. Shove his pants over his hips and sink inside. It
took all his focus. Had him tensing every muscle, but he managed to lower his ass to the edge—give her a smile without pouncing on her. “Can’t sleep?”
He glanced at his watch. Three hours. Not nearly long enough for her body to reap any benefits.
Ellis continued to stare at him. Eyes wide. Her breathing slightly quickened.
“El? Sweetheart, are you okay?”
Her bottom lip quivered. If he hadn’t been staring directly at her—wondering what it would be like to claim her mouth. Taste it—he would have missed it. Put it off to a play of the shadows.
She released a shaky breath, reaching out to touch his jaw—brush her thumb over the thick stubble. “I like the scruff. It suits you.”
Fuck. It sounded as if she was on the verge of tears, her voice thick. Wavering. Had he done something? Said something? Had she had a nightmare? He went to question her—to assure her she could tell him anything. That he was there for her—when one dainty finger settled over his mouth. Barely there but silencing him just the same.
She smiled. It lifted the corners of her mouth but didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Come to bed.”
He inhaled. Had she seriously just asked him to share the bed? To make love to her, because he was pretty damn sure it hadn’t been a hold-me-all-night kind of request. No, her eyes were dilated, her breathing escalated. It was dark but not so much he couldn’t see her skin was flushed. Not the angry kind like before, but the shade of pink that screamed arousal. And if that wasn’t enough her nipples, so hard and tight, like tiny beads, were poking against her shirt. Just stabbing at the cloth. Begging to be touched.
He forced himself to swallow, considered it a freaking miracle he didn’t cough, spit saliva at her, as he reached up—gently grasped her wrist.