“Angus. You have to stop this,” she whispered.
He didn’t flinch, no doubt having heard the elevator arrive. “Go home, Nari.”
She wanted to go home, but she had a duty to the team, and it was time she finally did it. “I had the power to take you out of this position for the last year,” she murmured, leaning against the doorjamb. “I haven’t exercised it because I think the team works. But you’re killing yourself, and I can’t let that happen.”
His chair swung around and his boots hit the floor as he turned to face her. The force of his gaze almost had her stepping back. His eyes were a clear green, deep and tortured. Her body took the hit from that look with a slow roll and shiver that had nothing to do with fear, and she could only study him in return, her nipples peaking like little traitors. Thick, dark hair curled around his ears and matched the scruff covering his stubborn jawline. In his ripped jeans and faded black T-shirt, he all but bellowed wounded bad boy who needed saving.
She snorted. “You’re a cliché at this point.” That didn’t mean she couldn’t save him. Yeah, she was as dumb as the rest of the women who were drawn to Angus Force, wanting to ease his pain. Oh, most of the team didn’t know about the women who flocked to him, but she’d been watching him for months. Long, torturous months during which she’d tried to figure out the right thing to do for everyone while dealing with dreams nearly every night starring his hard body and firm mouth.
His lips turned down. “You’re back early tonight. Another bad date?”
“No. It was lovely,” she said, straightening.
He rolled those desperate green eyes. “Right. Either you’re choosing the wrong guys to go out with or there’s a demon from your past still chasing you.”
Sometimes she forgot that he’d been one of the FBI’s best profilers before his life had disintegrated—yet another intriguing facet to him. “Maybe both,” she acknowledged, willing to give him that much. “At least I haven’t stopped trying to live.”
“Neither have I.” He turned back to his murder board in a clear act of dismissal. “You ever wonder why we don’t like each other?”
The continuation of conversation surprised her more than the pang in her heart at the words. “Because you’re an asshole?” she burst out.
His chuckle was low and dark. “That’s only part of it. The other part, my pretty shrink, is that we see right through each other. To the soul.”
She cocked her head, rising instantly to the unspoken challenge only she could hear while ignoring the possessive tone with nice compliment. “You don’t like what you see? Somehow I don’t think that’s your problem with me.”
“That’s irrelevant,” he murmured, the atmosphere relaxing slightly as he turned his focus from her to his obsession. “You’re gonna want to stay off my radar and out of the way for now. Trust me.”
Awareness ticked down her spine. She’d tried that tactic, and it hadn’t worked. “No.”
He stiffened, and the atmosphere in the room changed. Slowly, deliberately, he swiveled his chair once again. “Nari.”
Her body went on full alert and she lowered her chin. “Such a reaction from a simple no. Don’t tell me the entire team is so scared of you that they never defy you.” Her voice emerged breathy and she cleared her throat.
He snorted, his expression not relenting in the least. “Are you nuts? Our team is full of hotheads who do nothing but defy me. Sometimes Wolfe defies the laws of physics.”
True. The team was both ragtag and dangerous. She narrowed her focus to his clear eyes. “You haven’t been drinking.”
“No.” He sat back, watching her.
This was new. He was using the bottle as a paper weight. “Why not?”
One of his dark eyebrows rose, the look oddly threatening. “I’d take offense at that, but I have been in a bottle lately. I stopped drinking an hour ago—at least for a while.”
“Why?”
He sighed. “Because we just found the first body.”
* * *
Angus Force had been around dangerous people his entire life and nobody compared to the woman reading him with midnight-dark eyes. For yet another failed date, she’d worn black slacks, shiny boots, a pink, silky-looking shirt, and a leather jacket that probably cost more than his apartment. Yet the clothing was nothing compared to the beauty of the woman herself. Long black hair, delicate features, compact body that was trained to fight. Her intelligence was enhanced by an almost mystical empathy for others.
It was too bad she was a complete pain in the ass, terrible at choosing men, and stubborn to the point that it was a huge character flaw. Worse yet, she was a fucking shrink.
He hated shrinks.
Worst of all, he didn’t trust HDD operatives, and she worked for the agency, not for him. A fact he repeatedly forced himself to remember. If everything went to shit, and it always did, her loyalty wasn’t to him, or even to the team. She could pull the plug on his one and only mission, and he couldn’t let that happen.
Lassiter had to die this time. For certain.
