by Anna Edwards
Like that would ever happen.
I apologized to no one.
Not even my boss.
“Yes, of course,” he continued. “Thank you.” He hung up and clasped his hands over the bland oak desk before him. Dawson didn’t do personal details, hence the bare white walls and sterile office equipment surrounding him. “Would you like to sit down, Chase?” he asked, his tone mild.
“I’d like an explanation.” I pointed at the papers his assistant handed me five minutes ago. “What the hell is that?”
“You asked for a field assignment. I granted one. You’re welcome.”
I snorted. “A technology conference? Where you want me to look after an analyst? That’s a punishment, not a mission.”
Dawson didn’t flinch. He never did. “Would you prefer to be her handler for the case? Coach her over the comms? Because we can take that approach, too.”
I almost growled, my fingers itching to tug on my too-short hair. “If I have to spend another day in this office, I will lose my goddamn mind, D.”
“I know. That’s why I gave you the case. You know I can’t clear you for anything higher level, not until the physicians sign off on your health.”
My blood simmered with a barely restrained fire. The aftermath of the explosion—the burns—were fully healed. It was the scars holding me back. While my mobility had drastically improved over the last six months with therapy, I wasn’t up to active-duty status yet.
Hence, my doctors refused to complete the paperwork.
“This assignment is a joke,” I muttered, collapsing into the chair across from Dawson. “At least pair me with Whiskey. He’s field trained and savvy with technology. He’s a better fit than Jillian.” The curvy brunette should stay behind her computer. It kept her away from danger, and, more importantly, me.
“Agent Carmichael is field trained, too,” Dawson pointed out. “She also possesses the same set of technical skills, and this is her case. You’re the one who requested a break from the desk, Chase. As this assignment is surveillance only, it seemed like a good opportunity to grant your wish. Easy as that.”
Yeah… “We both know you brought me on to mentor her. She’s barely out of training school, her techie personality doesn’t translate well to missions, and you need someone who will loosen her up.” I raised my eyebrows, daring him to refute it.
He didn’t.
“I’m not your guy, D. I can barely stand the woman.” A complete lie. But I couldn’t tell my boss the real reason I didn’t want to work with her. “So either give me Whiskey for the op or send her in with someone else.”
Like London, her coach. The thought didn’t leave my mouth, the words bitter in my mind. Of all the agents Dawson could have assigned to her training, he’d chosen the flirty linguist. At least the man had skill.
“What about Kincaid?” I suggested. “Is he still tied up in that Mershano case?” I didn’t know a lot about it, other than Dawson’s sister was involved as well.
“He’s unavailable,” Dawson confirmed, his voice flat. Clearly still a sore subject. “And how about you, Carmichael? Do you have a preference?”
I frowned. Ah, hell. How long has she been standing there?
“I’d prefer to go alone,” Jillian announced as she sauntered in wearing her trademark black pants and white blouse.
Never any color.
No skirts.
No dresses.
Just the same style.
Every. Day.
I knew because I’d been trapped in this fucking office for months now and I’d never seen her in anything other than slacks and a button-down. Not that I minded. She could wear whatever she wanted. My issue was that I noticed.
I couldn’t even remember what Dawson wore to lunch yesterday, but I could picture Jillian perfectly. Her curvy assets. Her long, athletic legs. Her ponytail that brushed the nape of her slender neck. And those forest-green eyes that were narrowed at me right now.
“Unfortunately,” she said, her pert nose flaring, “it’ll look strange to attend the conference without a business partner. And there are too many seminars for me to cover alone.”
Yeah, I’d pissed her off. My bad.
“Here are the travel documents you requested.” She handed an envelope to Dawson and lowered her glasses with one polished finger to gaze at our boss over the black rims. “And for the record, I’d prefer someone else, too. Agent Gideon’s personality doesn’t translate well to partnership.” She pushed the glasses back up and left without a glance in my direction.
Well, hell.
“You two should have fun,” Dawson murmured. The smile in his voice didn’t display on his face, but the devious shine in his navy gaze said it all. “I wonder if Whiskey or London will take bets with me on who will survive the week.”
I rubbed my good hand—the one without scars—down my face. “How long was she standing there?”
My asshole boss smirked. “Long enough.”
Which meant she’d been there nearly the entire time. “You could have warned me, jackass. Way to make me look like a dick.”
“Pretty sure you didn’t need my help in achieving that, Gideon.” He said my first name slowly, his amusement palpable.
I nearly growled. Jillian always called me Gideon. Never Chase. And Dawson knew it drove me crazy. “Do you want me to accept this mission or not?”
“You already have,” he replied, slipping the envelope she’d handed him into the file and sliding it across the table. “Try not to kill each other, yeah?”
I snatched the contents and stood. “No promises.”
His chuckle followed me as I left, causing my jaw to tighten.
Jillian Carmichael had a way of getting under my skin. It’d been that way since she started working here six months ago, since the morning she stole my coffee mug in the break room—on her first day—without apology. Her sexy little ass in those black tailored pants was on full display as she leaned her elbows on the counter, sipping her freshly brewed drink. When I asked her why she’d chosen my cup, she’d shrugged and said the colors appealed to her.
It was black.
There were no fucking colors.
Just like her damn wardrobe.
And when I calmly pointed out that the engraved initials on the handle were mine, she merely shrugged and walked out of the room. With my damn mug clutched in her slender, elegant fingers.
The infuriating woman hadn’t even introduced herself. Not that she’d needed to. Alliance of Black Ops Operatives—ABS Operatives for short—wasn’t exactly a big company. But the principle of an introduction still applied, especially when faced with a superior operative. Yet, Jillian clearly considered herself above such formalities, something she proved at every given opportunity.
Such as now.
She stood outside my office, waiting for me with her bow-shaped lips pinched in disapproval. Her fruity scent washed over me as she stepped into my personal space, not at all hindered by our close proximity. Her head barely cleared my chin, but damn did I feel the burn in her gaze as she narrowed those gorgeous eyes up at me.
“This is my op, Gideon. I’ll send you some notes to review prior to the flight, and I expect you to read all of them. You will follow my lead. Understood?” She attempted to walk around me, but I stepped into her path.
“Are you sure it’s my personality that’s unfit for partnership? Because it certainly feels like you’re trying to dictate to me rather than work with me.” I cocked my head to the side. “And the last time I checked, I have seniority here.”
“Not on my case, you don’t.” She folded her arms. “This is my op.”
“You’re repeating yourself,” I pointed out.
She ignored me. “What I say goes.”
“I see.” I leaned my hip against the wall beside my office, hands tucked into my jeans. “Then, by all means, Ms. Carmichael. Tell me how to do the job that I’ve been doing for a decade longer than you. Please.”
Jillia
n’s lips actually curled into a snarl. “You’re impossible.”
“I’ve literally done nothing other than agree.” Which was far more than I gave most people.
“In the most condescending way possible.”
I smiled. “One could argue you approached me with that attitude first by demanding I follow your lead.”
“One could also argue that you’re an ass,” she retorted, causing me to chuckle.
“I most certainly am,” I agreed. “Anything else to discuss, agent? Or should you get to typing up those notes?”
Her cheeks darkened to a reddish shade. “I expect you to read them.”
“I never said I wouldn’t,” I replied, straightening. “Just do me a favor and make them interesting, Carmichael. Because the last thing I want to do is review rookie documentation.” I stepped into my office, grabbed my jacket, and shrugged it on. “If you need me before our flight, call me. Otherwise, I’ll see you tonight.”
The documents I reviewed from Dawson’s assistant said we needed to catch an evening flight, which gave me the afternoon to do whatever the fuck I wanted. And I intended to do just that.
Jillian’s glower followed me down the hall, burning a hole into my back as I stepped into the elevator, the case file still in my hand.
A week together should be sufficiently unbearable. Maybe I could take one side of the conference while she surveyed the other.
I met her smoldering green eyes as the door closed, the urge to test Agent Carmichael’s boundaries warming my blood.
In my experience, the females who exuded the most strength were the sweetest to dominate.
Which was why I’d avoided Jillian Carmichael since the day we met. She provided a distraction I didn’t need in my current state. Nor did I ever mix business with pleasure. But if she kept pushing me? I would have no choice but to indulge us both. Then little Ms. Carmichael would be in for a world of hurt because I was not a hero.
No.
I was the villain.
The one Dawson sent when he needed someone taken care of in the worst ways.
And as soon as my mobility returned to full functioning, I’d become the executioner again. I’d kill without batting an eye. Even if it meant leaving her behind.
Because that was my identity.
Not Gideon.
Not Chase.
But the Enforcer.
Chapter Two
Jillian
I can barely stand the woman.
Gideon’s callous words repeated in my head all afternoon, following me into the airport terminal and through the security lines to our flight. Over and over and over again. It shouldn’t bother me. I didn’t like him, either.
Except I did.
That was the problem.
Every time I saw him, my stomach tightened and my damn heart beat a mile a minute in my chest. It all started that first day, when he’d cornered me in the break room. I couldn’t even remember what I’d said, too focused on pulling in enough air to breath.
Because wow.
The man had the most amazing blue eyes. Like the deepest depths of the ocean, swirling dangerously and threatening to swallow me whole. And those lips, so plump and perfect, and made to kiss a woman. Ugh, I couldn’t stop dreaming about the wicked things they would do to my body.
So yeah, when Dawson assigned him to my case? I lost it. How the hell was I supposed to focus with the delectable Gideon Chase by my side, observing my every move? It was my first op and I wanted to get it right, to prove my worth as an agent. And now, well, I might as well quit. Because there was no way Gideon would let me lead. The man oozed dominance, which only made me want to fight him more.
And fuck him.
My lips flattened, my teeth gnawing together in frustration. Men never flustered me. Ever. I spent the last six years proving my worth in a male-dominated field without pause.
Yes, I was young and less experienced compared to Gideon, but I grew up faster than most people. I had to put one hundred and fifty percent into everything I’ve ever done to make it this far, and I’d be damned if a little work crush would bring me down now.
“Careful, Jill,” a warm voice murmured in my ear. “I hear if you frown hard enough, your face will stay that way for life.”
Goose bumps pebbled down my arms, his breath hot on my ear. I fought the sensation and whirled around to face Gideon. How had he snuck up on me? Because I’d not been paying attention at all. Right. This was our gate, but I’d barely even noticed the approach, too consumed with my… crush… to focus on anything else. Like the operation at hand.
He arched a dark brow. “No witty comeback? No reminder to read my notes?”
As he’d called me Jill, he clearly had read some of it. I’d chosen aliases for them that were close enough to their real names to remember. “We don’t have to socialize, Chaz,” I told him, using his new alias. “In fact, I’d prefer we don’t.” It would help with my concentration, something I definitely needed to work on.
He tsked. “Again with the lack of partnership. I’m disappointed.”
“Considering you can barely stand me, I’m surprised you care,” I tossed back, not thinking about the words.
A hint of emotion darkened his eyes, his smile dying. He palmed the back of his neck. “Right, yeah, about that—”
“I don’t want your pretend excuse,” I cut in. “I don’t like you, either. It’s fine.” A complete lie because I couldn’t stop dreaming about him.
Or thinking about him when I went to bed at night.
Or finding reasons to look at him in the office. All irrelevant to the case.
“Did you review the files?” I asked, relying on work as a distraction.
He leaned in close, his peppermint breath slithering over my senses as he lowered his lips to my ear. “Lesson number one—there are ears everywhere. We’re standing in a public airport, Jill. Lighten up on the work chat.”
I shivered, his nearness warming me in the most inappropriate way.
He slowly stood upright, his over-six-foot-tall body dwarfing my five-foot-five height.
Solid muscle.
I could tell by the way his blue shirt hugged his lean torso and how his jeans seemed painted onto his thick thighs and slender hips.
Oh, I should not be looking there—at his groin.
Jesus.
I glanced away from him, my face heating.
He made a noise I couldn’t decipher, and I refused to meet his gaze again. This man undid all my training, all my goals, setting me in some sort of warped reality where my IQ took a steady turn for the worse. It was like he made me inarticulate. Me. Jillian Carmichael. I did not feel this way about men. Even good-looking ones.
“Yeah, that’s not any better,” he said. “Look, I realize this isn’t ideal, but we have to attend the conference together. Cal wants us to bring back as much information as possible from the seminars. I have some ideas, if you want to run through them on the plane.”
I almost asked, Who’s Cal? Then I remembered I’d nicknamed our fake boss Cal, short for Caleb Dawson.
Gideon really did read my suggestions.
I warily met his gaze and found nothing but innocent intrigue in his eyes. He was trying to pull us into our aliases, reminding me that we could still discuss the case in code.
“Sure,” I said, unable to comment further.
Stealing a deep breath, I settled my shoulders. I’d be better on the plane once I acclimated to his nearness. This would all be fine.
I can do this.
It was not better on the plane.
No, it was much, much worse.
His long legs seemed to take up three-quarters of our space, and his lean torso? Not so lean. His solid-muscle upper body seemed to encroach on my much smaller one, making every one of my inhales taste like Gideon Chase.
And damn, he tasted good.
Like peppermint mingled with bourbon. An intoxicating combination that caused my belly to flutter with excitement ev
ery time I took a breath.
“Are you listening to me?” he asked, his arm taking up our shared armrest. At least he gave me the window seat. Not that it helped much.
“Uh-huh,” I said, lying.
He’d been saying something about one of the conference tracks. I knew them forward and backward already, having studied the schematics and itinerary for the better part of the last week.
After Dawson assigned me the case of finding a company mole within Owlburn Industries, I came up with the idea of attending this convention. All the major technology companies in the world were going to be there, making it an optimal location for our unidentified culprit to meet his or her contact.
Our client—the CEO of Owlburn—gave me a list of keywords to search for; all I had to do was skim the attendees’ electronic devices for those terms and I’d have our source. Then I would report—
“Jillian.” The sharp voice came from my right. Gideon’s blue eyes were a midnight shade, his full lips curled down in disapproval. “I get that you don’t like me, but ignoring me is just childish.”
“I’m not ignoring you.”
Both of his eyebrows rose in disbelief. “I’ve been talking to you for the last thirty minutes with barely a few nods in reply. You told me to review the week’s agenda and I have and now you’re behaving like a brat.”
My lips parted. “Excuse me?” Yeah, not paying attention to him was rude, but… “Did you just call me a brat?”
“Yes.” Flat. No regrets.
“You’re un-fucking-believable. I can’t—”
“Can I get you a refreshment?” a flight attendant asked pleasantly, completely unaware of my impending set-down of the man beside me. When her eyes landed on Gideon’s face, her gaze brightened with feminine appreciation.
He smiled. “Yes, I could use a stiff drink. My coworker here lacks a sense of humor, and it’s giving me a complex.”
I gasped while the flight attendant giggled. “I understand.” She listed the available brands and asked for his credit card after he selected a bourbon. “Anything for you?” she asked, not even glancing at me.