Force rubbed his chin. “They all make their own rules, and they are in control of the situation. It probably suits her mathematical mind.”
Amusement ticked through Raider. “Control?” He’d been told by people who actually cared about him that he was a control freak, so that characteristic might be perfect for this assignment. Yet he thought through what he’d just read. “Maybe these guys were in control of certain aspects of their criminal acts, but not one of them controlled her. She hates having a handler.”
“She craves stability, Raider,” Force said evenly. “Her world was turned on its head when her mother died, and she was left with an absentee father who she’s estranged from. She wouldn’t be the first person to fall for the illusion of strength in a jackass.” He leaned forward. “If I let you continue with this op, her safety is on you.”
The pretty redhead’s safety had been on him since the second he’d agreed to become her handler. “She won’t be harmed.”
“I’m not talking physical harm,” Force retorted.
Raider looked at a man he truly respected. Oh, Force had problems, but he was a good agent. An obsessed one. “I’ll use anybody and anything to take the Coonans down, and you know it. But I’ll do my best to protect her.” He opened the first folder again to take out a picture of a seventeen-year-old Brigid. Her big green eyes filled her entire face, and at that age, she looked even more fragile than she had after he’d picked her up from prison in her orange jumpsuit. Heat flashed through his chest with the need to protect and shield. A sense he’d only felt for his foster family before now.
A barely there smile crossed Force’s face. As if he knew a secret. “Fair enough.”
Raider shoved down irritation. “Her falling for the wrong guy—repeatedly—isn’t an excuse for breaking the law,” he murmured.
“Didn’t say it was,” Force said, his voice cheerful again. “But you need to turn into a badass criminal with an attitude. The reason I’m telling you this is that when we turn you into her type, she may fall for you, and I don’t want personnel problems here.”
“What a line of malarkey,” came from the door.
Raider winced and looked over his shoulder to find Brigid standing there, her pale skin flushed a very pretty pink. “I do not have a type, and no way on God’s green earth would I fall for Raider Tanaka.” Her Irish brogue came out stronger than usual.
If that wasn’t a challenge, Raider didn’t know what was. “Don’t push it, sweetheart.”
Her chin snapped up. “Bite me, Tanaka.”
Force coughed in the lamest attempt to cover a chuckle ever. “Apparently we’d better get started tomorrow with you two falling in love.”
Chapter Three
How freaking unbelievable. The nerve and the ego. Brigid stomped ahead of Raider. “You’re such a jerk.”
He paused at his desk and drew out his gun, then jammed it at the back of his waist. The weapon was a SIG DAK, and she knew that because Raider and Wolfe had gotten into a mild disagreement the other day about DAK and DA/SA triggers, and she’d had to drown them out to work on her computer. Guns made her itchy.
She swallowed and shrugged off the unease, reminding herself that she now worked for the Homeland Defense Department. Then she turned and maneuvered around the dingy desks to the small foyer, saying a quick prayer before striding into the crappy elevator, which was probably a death trap.
The Fed followed her calmly, his body warm behind her. His weight rocked the car before he pressed the button for the main floor. Then he took up all the space in the delapidated elevator as it ascended and faltered alarmingly every once in a while. He stole all the oxygen as well. Brigid studied the six-foot-two government agent from beneath her lashes. “I am not drawn to controlling individuals,” she said with as much force as she could muster.
He moved then, faster than a whip training a new colt. His big body bracketed her into a corner. “Let’s test that theory.” When he leaned down, the scent of woodsy musk washed over her like a warning. “And the word ‘individuals’ wasn’t what you meant.” His voice went low and hard. “What word did you really mean?”
She blinked twice, up into his incredibly dark eyes. A shiver ticked from her shoulders down her spine, licking each vertebra on the way. This was not the same man she’d been dealing with for the last couple of months. “Step back.”
His face lowered, his eyes blazing. “No.”
Holy crap. She tried to meet his gaze, but her stomach had gone all mushy and her head fuzzy. What in the world was happening? He was like a code that didn’t add up. Unfortunately, she was drawn to a mystery like that as much as to a seriously sexy man. This one she shouldsonot find sexy. He wasn’t even close to her type. “Raider,” she breathed.
He watched her more closely than anybody ever had, his gaze running from her widened eyes down her heated face to her throat as she convulsively swallowed. His chin lifted. “Interesting. Score one for the profilers.”
Panic melded with anger, and she let both loose. She shoved him with hands set on either side of his perfect tie.
He didn’t move. Hard muscle, cut and warm, lurked beneath the pristinely pressed shirt. His head cocked to the side. “I asked you a question, Brigid.” The commanding tone alone would’ve caught her attention, but a thread beneath, a hint of something new, stilled her. Was that a Southern accent?
She needed more words from him. “Men. Man. Males,” she muttered. “I don’t like controlling men.”
“Of course, you don’t,” he agreed, stepping back just enough to let her breathe. “But you do like men who are in control.” The accent was gone.
“There’s no difference,” she snapped.
“Oh, sugar. There’s definitely a difference.” There it was again.
