Cool air hit her bare skin.
The remains of the shirt hung in tatters from her shoulders and arms, exposing her torso. Only her black lace bra, the nice one she'd worn without thinking this morning, back when the world was normal and she was just planning to work on files, provided any coverage at all.
Langley chuckled, the sound low and mocking. "Well, well." His gaze raked over her exposed skin with open appreciation. "Seems our little journalist has a taste for the finer things."
Heat flooded Rachel's face. Humiliation warred with fury, pure rage at being stripped, violated, made into an object for this man's entertainment.
But she didn't look away. Wouldn't give him that.
"Didn't take you for the type who needed an audience to play tough," Rachel said, forcing her voice to stay steady. She even managed a smirk, though it felt like her face might crack from the effort. "Still compensating for something?"
Langley's smile didn't waver, but his eyes went flat. Cold. Predatory.
He turned his head slightly toward Carver, who'd gone absolutely rigid. "You want in on this?" Langley asked, his tone still pleasant. Conversational. "Or are you just going to stand there pretending this bothers you?"
Carver didn't answer.
Didn't move.
Just stood there with his fists clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white, his whole body vibrating with barely-contained violence. The fury in his eyes was undiluted rage, one breath away from exploding.
Rachel saw it clearly now. Whatever role Carver had been playing, whatever cover he'd been maintaining, he was done. Finished.
But he couldn't move. Not yet. Not without compromising whatever plan Ghost had put in motion.
Langley turned back to Rachel, dismissing Carver entirely.
His fingers brushed the torn edges of her shirt, trailing lazily over the fabric still hanging from her shoulders, then his hand moved to the center of her chest, to the small clasp between the cups of her bra.
Two fingers hooked under the band. “Guess I’ll get the pleasure of starting first.” Langley said.
Rachel's breath stopped.
Then Ghost's voice exploded through the warehouse speakers, rough and seething and absolutely deadly.
"Get your fucking hands off her."
Everything stopped.
Langley froze, his fingers still touching her bra. The guards' heads snapped toward the speakers, searching for the source. Carver didn't breathe.
And Rachel—
Rachel's entire body responded to that voice. Heat spread across her skin. Her heart slammed against her ribs hard enough to hurt. Relief hit her first, then fear, then hope, desperate and raw.
Ghost.
He was here. Close enough to see through Carver's wire. Close enough to have watched Langley tear her shirt off. Close enough to breach.
Close enough to save her.
Langley's smirk faltered. His mouth twitched as he slowly turned toward Carver, his hand finally dropping away from Rachel's body. "They must be close," he said, and despite his attempt at sounding calm, his voice had gone brittle. Thin. "Listening in through your wire."
Carver said nothing. The muscle in his jaw flexed, his fists still clenched.
Langley rolled his shoulders, trying to project casual confidence even as tension bled into his posture. He turned his attention back to Rachel, and when he spoke again, his voice had lost all pretense of warmth.
"Well then," he said, cold and detached. "I guess we'd better wrap this up."
