For the first time since the Kiss—yes, it deserved to be capitalized—he allowed himself to look into her eyes. Shock and confusion and something more registered on her face.
Please don’t let it be pity.He could handle anger. He could even handle disgust. But not pity. Never pity.
“Z,” she said again, and he noted with no small measure of disappointment that she was back to using his nickname. “I—”
“Save it for later, Chels.” He skirted around to her back, pulling his tanto folding knife from the case attached to his belt. With a flick, the razor-sharp blade sprang free, and he easily sliced through the duct tape binding her wrists.
She turned to him then. She obviously had more she wanted to say, but she simply frowned, gnawing her plump lower lip.
That sensually innocent move sent a shock wave of lust down his spine. Chelsea had absolutely no idea what she did to him, what she’dbeendoing to him for years now.
“Besides the thumb drive, this is all the wanker had on him,” Christian said, nudging Morrison’s unconscious head of security with the toe of his boot and holding out a black Android and Chelsea’s iPhone.
Dagan knew the latter was Chelsea’s phone by the purple waterproof case. The woman was enamored with the color. Half her clothes were some shade of it.
“Am I the only one tempted to hoist this motherfucker over my shoulder, take him with us, and tie him up in some dark, damp place?” Ace asked, looking down at Spider’s unconscious body with a lip curl of distaste.
“Not our mission.” Dagan shook his head. “Our mission is to find the proof that ties him to his underworld operations and then turn that proof over to the proper authorities. They’ll be the ones to tear apart every sorry thing he’s built and then light a match and burn the rubble to the ground.”
“So for us, it’s all guts and no glory.”
“As you Yanks are so fond of saying”—Christian made a face—“what else is new?”
“Workin’ nine to five!”Dolly Parton’s voice suddenly blared through the room. Christian wasted no time pocketing the thumb drive and crushing the Android beneath his heel. It wasn’t much, but taking out even one of the enemy’s forms of communication was better than nothing. Then Christian tossed the purple cell to Chelsea.
They all recognized that ringtone. They’d heard it every day, twice a day, for more than a month. Chelsea’s mother was calling. And even if hellfire was raining down on their heads, Chelsea would answer.
There were a lot of things that Dagan admired about Chelsea. Her commitment to family was a big one. And he got it. After all, it was his commitment to his brother that had forced him to put in for a transfer from Afghanistan back to the States all those years ago.
“Momma!” she hissed into the phone, her Southern accent coming to the forefront and stirring Dagan’s heart—andotherparts of him located decidedly south. “I told you not to call me ’til after six p.m. London time. I’m on the job.”
“The job you took because of the money.” The eerie quiet of the penthouse meant Dagan had no trouble hearing the other side of Chelsea’s conversation. “But, honey, I’ll say it again. I don’t want you wastin’ your God-given talents just so—”
“I can’t go through that with you right now,” Chelsea whispered, nodding her head that she was ready to go. Ace and Christian led the way. Dagan motioned for Chelsea to follow, then took his place at the rear of the pack, unholstering the dart gun.
Just in case.
As they made their way from the office, Chelsea’s mother said something Dagan couldn’t quite make out. Chelsea’s response, however, was crystal clear. “It’s not what you think, Momma! I’ll explain everything once I’m home.”
“Home?” He heard Grace Duvall’s squawk.
“Yup. I’m coming home soon, Momma. Maybe today.”
There was silence on the other end of the line. Then Grace demanded, “Chelsea Lynn Duvall, what haven’t you told me?”
Chelsea had kept the true reason behind her quitting the “Department of Land Management” and moving to London a secret from her mother. Given Grace’s propensity forgetting all up in Chelsea’s business—that wording was Chelsea’s, not Dagan’s—and given the lengths to which they had suspected Morrison might go to vet Chelsea, it had been decided that Chelsea’s cover story should remain entirely intact. Only the president of the United States, the Black Knights, and the director of the CIA knew the whole truth about her undercover operation in London.
“Well, this one time in the twelfth grade when you thought I was at a sleepover at Lori Jackson’s house, I was really on a coed camping trip with fifteen members of the senior class,” Chelsea whispered into the phone as they passed the kitchen. Her eyes widened when she saw the cook lying on the floor, but she breathed a sigh of relief when she spied the dart sticking from the woman’s thigh before Christian removed it and pocketed it.Leave no evidence behind.It was a tenet they lived by.
“Don’t sass me, child!” Grace’s bellow rang through the phone’s speaker.
Despite himself, Dagan grinned.
Chelsea narrowed her eyes at him, shaking her head. “Momma, I have to go. I’ll call you later. Love you. Bye.”
Grace was still sputtering on the other end of the line when Chelsea thumbed off her phone and slid it into the breast pocket of her blazer. “Not a word,” she warned Dagan before turning back to the duo in front.
Not a word?Good. Since words became impossible when he had an unencumbered view of her ass in that tight pencil skirt.
