by Kris Norris
Brett kept one arm around her as he turned them toward the spray, running a soapy hand across her body. He didn’t draw it out. Try to excite her. Just a no-nonsense wash before twisting off the taps and stepping out. He grabbed the towels, wrapping one around her, the other around his waist. He took a moment to use a smaller towel on her hair—soak up the worst of the water. Then, he was bending, lifting her—carrying her to the bed. He placed her on the edge, running his fingers through her hair. Combing it out. He seemed content just to sit there, staring at her. Fingers massaging her scalp. Bodies so close she couldn’t see anything other than him.
He smiled one of those killer smiles. The ones that tumbled her stomach. Made her damn toes tingle. “I know I’m just sitting here, staring, but you’re just so fucking beautiful.”
She laughed. “I stand corrected. I quite like this new version of you. And in case you were still wondering…” She leaned in close. “Haven’t faked it for a second.”
“Hell, no, you haven’t.”
He leaned in, mouth seeking hers, when the door bounced open. Ellis jumped. Christ, she hadn’t heard anyone coming down the hall. Not a freaking footstep before the door was banging against the wall, a shadow moving along the side.
Brett had already turned—grabbed a spare pistol he must have tucked under the bed the previous night because it materialized in his hand. Nothing but skin then cold sleek metal filling his palm. Muzzle pointed toward the door.
A grunt and a huff, then Cannon stepping sideways. Palms up. He winced at how they were positioned on the bed. Nothing but towels. Both with wet hair. Drops still beading parts of their skin. There was no hiding they’d been in the shower together. No missing the clothes strewn across the floor, Evidence they’d practically ripped them off each other.
“Shit. Sorry. I…” He carded his hand through his hair. “You two need to get out here. Now.”
Brett’s muscles tensed as the other man turned then left, closing the door behind him. Brett gave her a sideways glance, then he was standing. Darting around the room, gathering his clothes. Hopping on one leg as he tugged them on still moving. He detoured into the bathroom while she retrieved her pants and panties, looking up when he walked back through.
He handed her the rest of her stuff, waiting for her at the door until she’d dressed. He opened it, extending his hand to her in invitation. She stared at it, fully aware that if they walked out hand-in-hand, there would be no hiding their relationship. That his entire team—not just Cannon—would know they weren’t simply sleeping in the room. That there was more. The kind of complications that could alter judgment. Maybe put his buddies at risk if either of them started thinking with their hearts and not their heads.
She didn’t miss the way her fingers shook as she slid her palm over his. It was dangerous. She knew it. Exposing what they shared. Making it all very real. Shit, she knew his team already suspected Brett hadn’t spent the night in the chair. That there had always been something more between them. Though, at first, it had been a toss between wanting to strangle him and wanting to kiss him. But this would crush any doubts. Put them in the spotlight.
Brett gave her hands a squeeze. “It’s going to be okay. Promise. Whatever it is… We’ll face it.”
We. He said it as if it was easy. Didn’t make his heart rate skyrocket, a cold sweat break out along his skin. Because she was sweating. Despite the releases, the shower, there was no denying the icy, nervous sweat chilling her flesh. Or the way her heart thrashed against her ribs. Like a bird struggling to break out of its cage. It was ridiculous. His team had been nothing but supportive. Had risked their lives for her without question. Showing them Brett meant more to her than an ex-lover shouldn’t freak her out.
That’s when she realized, it wasn’t them knowing that had her adrenaline pumping. It was this. The sudden meeting. Cannon bursting through the door. Cannon never lost control. Never reacted impulsively. Knowing he’d stormed down the hallway and walked in because he hadn’t been thinking things through—that terrified her.
Brett gave her hand a tug as he started for the living room, walking into the open space then stopping cold. The other members of his team were back, but fuck… While she’d been climbing Brett like a damn tree in the room, in the shower, his buddies had been battling their way here. There was blood. Soaked into clothes, staining shirts, some puddled on the floor.
Hank had one hip braced against the kitchen counter, a wad of gauze pressed against his arm. The sleeve of his tee was drenched, though it appeared as if he’d only been grazed—maybe had a smaller caliber bullet go right through. Rigs looked about the same. Two spots on his shirt. One on his arm, another by his shoulder. High. Mostly like a groove across his flesh, but bleeding.
She turned to search for Ice, see if he needed help, then froze. Again. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. All she could do was stare. Six was propped in a chair, skin reminiscent of that eerie gray color he’d had in the Jeep the last time she’d seen him—the night he’d saved her life. Taken a bullet meant for her. The skin on his forehead was creased, and there were bruised looking circles under his eyes. His torso was bare, highlighting strong, plated muscles across his chest and abdomen, more than a few scars marring the smooth surface.
But it was his shoulder. The one he’d apparently gotten fixed. That he’d gone to the clinic for—it was open, again. Blood oozing out. Torn black thread resting against his pale skin.
His gaze rose from somewhere on the floor and met hers—as if he’d felt her staring. A tight smile lifted his lips slightly, and he managed to wink before clenching his jaw as Ice dumped some powder on the wound then pressed down—hard.
Brett’s hand left hers as he darted to Ice’s side, nodding then moving off to get more of…something. She hadn’t heard the word. Didn’t hear anything other than her pulse throbbing in her ears. Drowning everything else out.
All her training. Years of going undercover. Knowing that she could be outed at any second. Executed on the spot or worse—tortured for information she probably didn’t have. That her life could end in a blink of an eye. And she’d accepted it. Hadn’t felt much of anything when she’d been forced to alter her plans. Eliminate an asset, or adapt her schedule. Move before she was truly ready. She’d done it all with the same cold indifference.
But standing there. Seeing the men she’d once pledged to keep safe. Brett’s friends. The only family he had left. Hurt. Bleeding. Because of her. Because they wanted to give her the same unwavering devotion they gave Brett, broke down the defenses she’d gathered around her. Reduced her to those raw emotions she’d experienced with Brett.
Made her human.
Ellis closed her eyes, willing it all away. She couldn’t function this way. Couldn’t ask the questions she needed answered. Couldn’t make the tough decisions with her heart bleeding on her sleeve.
So, she took a deep breath. Then, another. Over and over until the chaos in her mind stilled. The tremors shaking her fingers lessened. She didn’t rush it. Aware that, once she opened her eyes, she needed to be strong. To have her feelings locked down. Tucked in a box and buried somewhere deep inside her.
Took a full minute to calm the pounding in her head. To gain control of her breath. To remove her feelings from the equation—except where Brett was concerned. She wouldn’t allow him to sacrifice himself for her. Even if it meant truly going rogue. She’d end this fight with McCormick.
The scene had changed a bit when she opened her eyes. Harlequin was patching up Hank. Bandaging his arm all the while smiling. Apparently, Ice had been giving the woman lessons because the way she handled herself wasn’t the product of a few first aid lessons. She moved like Ice did. Efficient. Calculated.
Addison was helping with Rigs. Had pressure on the gouge in his shoulder. He seemed fairly indifferent, not that it surprised Ellis. Based on the scars crisscrossing his body, he wasn’t a stranger to pain. To getting caught in the crossfire. Which only left Six.
She took a step then paused, her mind finally sorting out what still felt out of place. Kameron wasn’t there. Ellis scanned the room, but the other woman wasn’t in the kitchen. Wasn’t tucked in a chair by the couch. Ellis turned to look down the hall, but even after a minute had passed, no one had exited the other bathroom. And there wasn’t a chance in hell Kameron was resting in one of the bedrooms. Not when her friends were hurt. Still bleeding in the living room.
A wave of fear hovered at the edge of Ellis’ consciousness. Close but still under control. A reminder that she was only a breath away from returning to the person she used to be. The one who wouldn’t be much use in this situation.
She cleared her throat, noting the gazes that darted her way then took a step forward. “Where’s Kameron?”
And just like that, every sound in the room cut off. Absolute silence. No breathing, no murmuring. Nothing but stern faces with grim smiles.
Ellis wouldn’t lose it. Wouldn’t let that fear overrun her. She closed some of the distance, stopping Brett from moving over to her with a fierce glare. “I’m only going to ask this one more time. Where the hell is Kameron?”
Hank gently waved Harlequin back then straightened. “She was taken.”
Getting punched in the stomach hurt. Ellis knew. She’d been hit more times than she could count. Granted, a lot had been during training. So she knew how to overcome pain and keep moving. She’d been hurt in the field, too. But nothing—nothing felt like the raw blow of agony through her chest. Stealing her breath. If it hadn’t been for the table on her right side to brace her hand—steady her weight—she would have doubled over. Maybe continued down to the floor.
Brett was at her side before she could snap out of it. Force the brutal roil of her stomach down. He took her head in both of his hands, making her look him directly in the eyes. “Breathe, sweetheart.”
She frowned, managed a wheezing gasp, then moved out of his reach. She couldn’t think, couldn’t be the version of herself she needed to be with him touching her. Comforting her. She didn’t want comfort. The pain grounded her. Reminded her she had so much more to lose than her own life.
Brett frowned but nodded. He understood. Obviously didn’t like it, but he knew she wasn’t pushing him away. That she needed the distance in order to settle her emotions. Double lock that damn box they were supposed to be hidden in.
Ellis turned to Hank. “This is the part where you all start talking, and you don’t stop until I know exactly what happened.”
Cannon sighed. “Ellis. We’ll—”
“No. I do not want to hear how we’re going to figure it out. Rally. Make this all work out. I want to know what the fuck happened. Step by step. No leaving shit out to spare my precious feelings. The last thing I remember is Kam leaving with Hank to collect the others.”
Hank nodded. “Everything was fine. We got to the clinic, went inside. Hadn’t spotted any tails. Nothing suspicious at all. That guy, Brady, was just putting a new dressing on Six’s shoulder. Reading us the riot act about how Six needed to take it easy. That he’d send his buddy Gibson our way if he heard Six was pushing it.”
Hank looked at the man in question, shaking his head. “I don’t know how Six knew something was wrong. Kameron had volunteered to go grab a few supplies from Ice’s truck so Brady could make sure Ice had everything he needed to keep Six’s wound clean. None of us heard a damn sound, until Six jumped off the fucking table. No shirt. Just his pants and socks as he raced to the door. Yelling that Kameron was in trouble. We all followed out behind him in time to see some bastards dragging her into a black Suburban. She was fighting…”
Hank wiped his hand down his face. “Christ, I didn’t know she had that many moves. She must have gotten some martial arts training because one guy was picking himself up off the gravel, blood dripping from his nose and mouth, while two more wrestled her inside. I think they drugged her because she just went limp.
“Was hard to see much else because Six was running after them like a fucking banshee. No weapons. Nothing. Bearing down on them. We all pursued. Exchanged more than a few bullets, but they just had too much of a lead on us.”
Hank pointed a finger at Six. “You’re insane, you know that?”
Six’s eyes narrowed. “Damn cold day in hell when I let a teammate get hijacked without doing something about it.”
“I’m not questioning your honor. Or your conviction. I’m questioning you pulling out half your damn stitches when you had a MARSOC and a bloody SEAL standing right beside you.”
“I didn’t want to waste time explaining.” Six huffed out a breath, looked down at the floor. “I was too late. If I’d just been a couple of seconds faster…”
“I don’t know what it is you have going on inside your head, buddy. And honestly, I think I’d rather remain in the dark, because it’s some scary shit. What I do know is you’re one stubborn SOB. And a hell of a soldier.”
Ellis forced herself to swallow. To let it all just roll off while she figured everything out. Though, she pretty much knew how this had to play out. The way she’d always known it would play out.
Six sighed. “If it was as good as I thought it was, Kam wouldn’t have gotten taken. I would have known, sooner.”
“This isn’t on you. I shouldn’t have sent her out there alone.” Hank moved over to the table, took a seat. “Brady wanted to stitch him up, again. Hell, come here to ensure Six didn’t do something crazy like that, again, but we agreed it was better for him to keep his distance. In case we need to call on him, again.” He snorted. “And we all know we’ll be calling on him, again. Besides, it wasn’t anything Ice couldn’t handle. Hasn’t handled a thousand times over.”
Ellis nodded, though, that was the least of her worries. She knew McCormick. Knew what his endgame was. And he didn’t care about a mobile clinic. Hell, even about Brett’s team. McCormick knew if he eliminated the proof, there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do to touch him. Which meant he was only after one thing.
Cannon was talking. Describing steps they’d take to get Kameron back. Staking out the facility Ellis had taken Brett to. Calling in favors to unearth whatever safehouses McCormick might have in the area. Something about asking Jericho’s uncle to acquisition a predator drone for them. And they were all nodding. Making more suggestions—locking it down. Tightening it up. One well-oiled machine that just jumped in and attacked the problem. There was just one fatal flaw in their thinking…
“I know how to get Kameron back.”
Ellis hadn’t raised her voice. Had barely talked above a whisper, but they all stopped. Voices cutting out mid-sentence as everyone turned and focused on her.
She leaned against the table, looking at Brett for one long, agonizing moment. He’d hate this. Would fight against it. But, she knew it was the only way. And damn it, she wasn’t losing another life to the CIA. Besides, she had a few tricks left up her sleeve. And with the caliber of men standing around her, she still had a decent shot at walking out of this alive.
She wet her lips, and all the doubts, the fear that had plagued her since waking up in that warehouse tied to a chair, just faded away. Vanished because it had finally come full circle.
Cannon nodded at her. “You have something to add, Ellis?”
“The plan is simple. We just give McCormick what he wants.” She looked directly at Brett. “Me.”
Chapter 21
Five minutes until the exchange...
Ellis Baker was killing him. Second by second. Minute by minute. Slowly carving away at what made Colt whole. Poking holes in his armor, until she reached the soft flesh underneath. Then, she’d grabbed a knife and just shoved it through the opening. And all his life had started spilling out.
That’s how he felt. Sittin
g in front of her in the Jeep. Staring at the empty expanse of pavement stretching out in front of him—a deserted section of the wharf south of the city that had been demolished but was awaiting approval to be rebuilt. Waiting for the man who’d been trying to kill the woman Colt loved to arrive—make the trade.
Ellis for Kameron.
Colt still couldn’t believe he’d let Ellis talk him into this. Belay that. Talk his entire team into this. Because they’d discussed it—all night. Laid out their concerns—every way this could go horribly wrong. How she’d end up dead. Colt wasn’t ashamed to say he’d yelled. Not just at Ellis. At his buddies, too, for even entertaining the thought.
Delta Force didn’t trade lives. Period.
No negotiating with terrorists, and no trading one life another.
Yet, here they were, prepared to do just that. Sure, they had a plan. Not a terrible one, if Colt was being honest. But it wasn’t foolproof. Not even close. The fact it hinged on a few key elements actually working—at McCormick wanting Ellis and the information she’d stolen more than he wanted to have a damn predator drone just fly overhead and blast them all to bits. That the GPS tracker scam she claimed would work, actually did. That Colt and his team would arrive in time. That this meeting wouldn’t just turn into a modern version of the OK Corral—all made this another string of ‘ifs’ with even deadlier consequences. Because if they were wrong about McCormick’s motivations…
Technically, they had some of their issues covered. When it had become evident they were going to have to go ahead with Ellis’ idea, Jericho had called in her boss. Colt had to give Supervisory Deputy U.S. Marshal Art Collins credit. He’d sat quietly listening. Adding a few suggestions—not once looking at Ellis as if she’d completely lost her mind. Had a death wish—then offered to help. Whatever the Marshal Service could do. Whatever resources were needed to catch McCormick in the act and bring him in.