“I’m so sorry.”
“Me too.” She cleared her throat and gently moved the snoring mutt off her lap, slipping her feet into her pumps. “I assume you have a go-bag ready?”
“No.” He glared at the dog. “Get off the couch, Heisenberg.”
Ellie stood, hiding a smile when the pooch totally ignored his master. “Cute name.” She looked around. “You’re also welcome to bring a significant other with you. If you have one.”
He stood and towered over her so suddenly she stopped breathing. “Are you asking me if I’m available, Ellie Mae?”
Warmth from his body, his veryclosebody, washed over her. She tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “Don’t call me that.” It was his little nickname for her in college, and her heart used to stutter every time he used it. Something special just between the two of them.
“Why not?” He stepped in until their feet touched.
She blinked. Sparks flew between her nerves. “Wh-what are you doing?”
“Exploring.” His gaze ran over her face, curiosity clearly gleaming in those deep eyes. “I liked you. Back then. Big eyes, sweet smile, huge brain.” He reached out and brushed a curl away from her cheek, his touch warm.
Her throat closed. Heat flashed from his touch, down her torso, to zing along her erogenous zones. “Yet the one time I made a move, you rejected me.” It still hurt. When he was down and out—injured and in pain—she’d tried to give comfort.
“I wasn’t lookin’ for forever, and you’re a forever type of gal,” he murmured, standing way too close. “That offer you made nearly killed me sayin’ no. But even though I was hurtin’ and wanted to stop the pain, I couldn’t hurt you. Ever.” As if he couldn’t help himself, he brushed his knuckles along her jawline. “But I wanted you, Ell. Just knew you’d be a mistake I’d never recover from.”
Her lungs released quickly, and she took a step sideways along the coffee table. “Agreed.”
Amusement tilted his lips. “I ain’t a college kid no more, Ellie.”
“I’m well aware of that.” She needed to go by him to get to the door, and he wasn’t moving out of the way. How in the world did he still affect her like this? It had been years, for goodness’ sake. “We’re both eons out of college.”
“I’m no longer hurtin’ or whorin’ around,” he continued, looking big and broad in the small room.
“Your point?” she snapped, trying to get her libido under some semblance of control. Why did his country-boy act turn her on? She needed a shrink. Bad.
“My point? Well now.” His smile was more wolf than sheepdog. “This time, when you make the offer? I’m gonna say yes.”
Chapter Two
Day 1. I don’t write in a diary, and this is stupid but is apparently part of the job. The Brigade is an odd group. There. That should do it for the day.
—Hugh Johnson, Brigade Notes
Hugh stepped out of the chauffeured vehicle and reached a hand in to assist Ellie after a two-hour flight to Springfield. Litter tumbled down the cracked sidewalk, mixing with dried leaves. “Somebody had better explain what is going on,” he said, shutting the vehicle door, not surprised when it zoomed down the quiet street and away from them. They’d reminisced about college for the entire plane ride because she wouldn’t answer any of his questions during the trip.
“I told you I’m not authorized to detail mission parameters to you.” Ellie turned and looked down the deserted street. “You used to be more patient.”
He glanced at the quiet stone building in front of them. A cool wind washed down the street located at the edge of the city complete with several abandoned buildings. “You’ve never kidnapped me and brought me to Missouri before.” This was all getting weird. Really weird. Rumor had it that Scorpius survivors, some of them, went completely serial-killer nuts. He glanced down at the petite woman to his right.
She snorted. “I’m not planning on caging you, buddy.” Setting her shoulders, she marched on fairly high heels up the crumbling steps to push open the front door.
He kicked himself into gear and rushed after her, holding the door for her to enter. She had to brush by him, and his skin sensitized.
Why had he let her out of his sight so long ago?
Shaking himself out of the past, he grasped her arm and pulled her to a halt. Scratched and thin oak made up the floor, and dingy paint covered the walls. Several real wooden doors, old and dented, took up residence every few yards, proclaiming businesses. Henry O’Toole, attorney at law. Mildren Kremis, accountant. And so on. “Where the hell are we?” he asked.
She sighed and tugged him over to an old-fashioned elevator. “Just get in.”
The thing wobbled from his weight as he stepped inside. “Um—” he muttered as the door closed.
She pressed the button for the second floor, then the first, then the third, second, first, second, and then the close-door button.
