She frowned harder. “The difference between mercenaries and soldiers comes down to who’s cutting the checks. It’s a small but important distinction. Also, when it comes to us running afoul of the feds…it won’t be the first time. We’ve already done it once this year.”
Fisher had been out on assignment when Hunter had brought Agent Grace Beacham back to BKI after she’d been accused of killing her partner. But he’d been home for the sit-rep after the fact. He knew Hunter and Sam had kept Grace safe not only from the FBI but also from the infamous Russian assassin who’d been hot on her trail.
And now look at us. About to houseanotherfugitive.
Fisher arched an eyebrow. “I can’t help noticin’ ya didn’t answer my question.”
Damn him!He liked to pretend he was nothing but a big, dumb grunt. An army bullet-sponge good for nothing but taking orders and spraying lead. But there was a reason he could quote John Keats and Sylvia Plath. He had a mind as sharp as a sword. Nothing escaped him.
“What?” She planted a hand on her cocked hip. “You think I should wait to let Dad know what’s going on untilafterwe get Hannah here?”
“Hey. Don’t ask for my advice. I’ve fucked up just about every decision I’ve ever made in life.” He lifted both hands in a shrug before resuming his grip on the doorframe.
I will not look at his love trail. I will not look at his love trail. Shit! I looked at his love trail.
Her mouth was watering again. As for her nipples? Yep. They were doing their thing, broadcasting loud and clear that she wanted to make him her Superman-sized lollipop and lick him from head to toe…payingparticularattention to what was halfway between.
When she ripped her eyes away from the lovely line of hair delineating his stomach, she saw a strange expression in his eyes. It was…sad, maybe? Or…regretful?
Veryun-Fisher-like considering he was the King of Cool, always with that laid-back air of amused indifference.
“You want to expand on that?” she prompted.
“Not really.” He hitched a shoulder and she didnotnotice that it caused his shirt to inch higher. No, she didnot. “Just makin’ the point that ya should never ask me what ya should or shouldn’t do. Because if devils are made from bad decisions, bad deeds, then I am, unquestionably, the devil incarnate.”
The lust she’d experienced moments before morphed into concern. “I feel like there’s something you’re trying to tell me, Fish.” His gaze caught and held hers until she found herself taking a step toward him. She was careful to keep the stinging sarcasm she usually reserved for him out of her tone when she asked, “Am I right?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. If she hadn’t been watching closely, she would’ve missed the subtle dip of his chin.
“Okay then.” She nodded. “I’m all ears.”
His voice, usually so low and smooth, turned rough. “I did somethin’ on our last mission I’m not particularly proud of. Somethin’ that’s been eatin’at me ever since. But if I tell ya, I’m afraid it’ll go into the next report ya send your pops. And I’d just as soon keep this particular clusterfuck off my record.”
“Your record is sealed. Not even the Joint Chiefs can access it,” she assured him.
“Even so.” He hitched his shoulder again and dropped his gaze to the tile floor in front of him.
She liked it better when they were bickering.Thenshe knew what to do. What to say.
“Does this…uh…thing you did have any bearing on the outcome of the mission?” she asked hesitantly.
He shook his head.
She let loose with a sigh of relief. “Then there’s no reason I’d need to report it to my father.”
When he glanced up, the look of sadness in his hazel eyes nearly had her falling to her knees. It made all her softer feelings rise to the surface. Made her want to walk over, wrap her arms around his trim waist, and hug him.
Of course, the instant she was that close to him she knew she’d be tempted to take things beyond a hug. She’d be tempted to go up on tiptoe and see if his lips tasted as delicious as they looked.
She’d never seen a more beautiful mouth on a man. His lips were plump and pink, with the top one sporting a perfect Cupid’s bow and the bottom one looking like a little pillow meant for nibbling.
The better angels of her nature kept her rooted in place. And as she waited for him to elaborate, the silence grew in the large kitchen until it seemed to take on mass, to press in on her from all sides. It was only broken by the distant notes of music—Ozzie’s playlist had moved on to Mötley Crüe’s “Kickstart My Heart”—and the gentle hum of the coffee maker as the hot water filtered over the grounds and filled the carafe.
Her voice was purposefully soft when she finally ventured, “I don’t have any accreditation or anything. But I had plenty of practice playing the part of amateur counselor in boarding school. I mean”—she grinned at him encouragingly—“you get that many teenage girls together in one place and inevitably you end up having a big group therapy session.”
The muscle twitching in his jaw began working double-time. He’d dropped his hands from the doorframe to shove them deep inside the front pockets of his jeans.
“I let a man be killed in cold blood the night of the raid.” This was said through gritted teeth.
