“Yes,” she said.
“Which leaves you here for a long time.”
She crossed her arms and regarded him. “So you said.”
“I’m not sure that’s good for either of us.”
She tilted her head and studied him again. No doubt adding more human behavior details into that collection of hers. “You act like I’m going to demand a ring or something.”
He tilted his head and cracked his neck, first to the left, then right before meeting her intense stare once again. “Don’t most women?”
“There’s a story there. I don’t suppose you’ll spill?”
“No.”
She sighed. “Desperate women demand rings. Do I look desperate to you?”
“No. You look like recklessness and sin. I bet you’re shit at following directions.” The words tumbled out before he could really think about how they sounded. What they implied. The sexual tension sizzled. Or maybe that was him. He really should get laid more often, and then maybe this wouldn’t happen. All work and no play had been hell on his extracurricular activities.
She smiled. “You’re probably right.”
“You take too many risks.”
She shrugged. “Maybe, but had I not taken risks I wouldn’t have found my story.”
He leaned back against the counter and curled his fingers over the edge, drumming them along the underside of the wood block. “What if you don’t get to break it? We don’t know how this is going to go down.”
She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. Her stance thrust her breasts out.
He swallowed hard.
“It’s my story,” she said, a hard edge to that smooth voice of hers. For such a petite package something fierce in her shone through from time to time, giving him a glimpse of just how formidable she could be.
“But if it breaks while you’re still under protection?”
“I’m a part of the story now—I should have the right to break it.”
Part of the story.
Shit.
Ordinarily, other than a few special instances he’d work with those he protected to get the information to the authorities. Once the crime was solved, those in his charge would return to their lives. In this case, though, with the scope potentially being much wider, it might not be so easy.
But if there was an illegal escorting ring, or human trafficking going on… he looked her up and down. Average height, trim, the kind of curves that looked good in a bikini or in a designer dress on a politician’s arm. Instead of waiting for the authorities, they could draw out the culprits… if they could identify them.
Putting Brynn in harm’s way.
Part of the story.
The idea twisted in his gut. They’d done this before, when they had no other choice. But this was Brynn, and putting her in the path of potential sexual predators who wouldn’t hesitate to use her body brutally, slit her throat, and toss her into a ditch fueled a primal part of him that needed to protect—not just someone in need, but to protect someone who was his.
He had to think on this. He needed to talk to his team. And he needed to do all of it out of earshot of Brynn, or she would have them all on board with offering her up, sexy bits on full display, on a silver platter.
“Part of the story… interesting,” he said, at a loss for something better.
Footsteps sounded from down the hall and Brynn turned. “Good morning, buddy. Did you sleep okay?” she asked
Saved by the boy.
