Griff balls his hand into a fist and shoves it into his pocket. “If you want that contract terminated tomorrow, say the word. It’s so far outside the mission parameters, it won’t be easy, but dammit, Sloane. No one should have to hide who they are from the whole world.”
“I do,” I whisper and start to close the door. If we continue this conversation any longer, I’ll say something I can’t take back. Like admitting my real name.
“Wait.” He blocks the door with his left arm, the metal making a solidthunkagainst the wood, and holds out his other hand, a small device no bigger than a quarter in his palm. “Keep this with you at all times. It’s linked to my watch, my phone, and a device I put under my pillow at night. Ifanythinghappens, if someone threatens you or tries to break in or if you’re just alone in this room and need me, I can’t hear you if you call my name. But if you press this, I’ll come for you. Wherever you are.”
It’s solid and warm, and I run my fingers over the small depression in the center.
“Try it now.” Griff’s stare is so intense, I shift from foot to foot, but press down on the device. A second later, a subtle buzz comes from his wrist, and he shows me his watch face.
Sloane 911
“Get some sleep,” he says. “Marina took the adjoining room, and she has her own panic button. I’ll be on the couch.”
“The couch? There’s a perfectly good bed—”
“Can’t use the Murphy bed without making it damn near impossible for me to get to Marina if anyone tries to break in. Just…don’t lock this door, okay? I have to be able to get to you.”
The idea that someone would break in while I sleep—here, so far from home—makes me shudder, and I glance at the curtained balcony doors.
“Hey.” His warm fingers wrap around my elbow, and then I’m shaking against him, his arms around me. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Sloane. I know I’m not…what you expected. The idea of a guy as messed up as I am keeping you safe is…ridiculous. I asked Austin to send someone else, and I still hope he will. But until then…”
“I don’t want anyone else.” The words escape before I can figure out why I feel this way, and since my chin is resting on his right shoulder, he can’t hear me. But it’s the truth.
“Get some sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.” Griff smooths a hand over my hair, and the gesture is so tender, I can’t manage a response until he’s heading for the couch, and by then, it’s too late.
* * *
Griff
I wait until Sloane shuts her door before closing myself in the second bathroom and pulling off my t-shirt. I wasn’t thinking when I knocked. Hell, I’m not sure I’ve had a clear thought since seeing her manager’s dead body—and her reaction to it. But I didn’t remember the panic buttons until I told Marina to take the bed in the adjoining room. And then realized I couldn’t hear either woman if they screamed.
Thank fuck Austin and Dax are used to this sort of shit.
But now that I’m alone, I can let my arm breathe and lessen the strain on my shoulder.
Rolling down the sleeve that runs from just above my elbow to my shoulder, I blow out a breath. The cool air feels like heaven, even though I still have the arm and the liner in place.
“You’re lucky, Griff. You have enough of your upper arm that you don’t need to worry about a harness unless you’re planning on carrying heavy loads.”
JoAnn’s overly perky face flashes behind my eyelids with each blink. Going into an unknown situation, I couldn’t be certain what I’d have to deal with, so I snapped the harness into place before I dressed for the party tonight. It’s not all that different than the harness I wore for my Sig, except it attaches to my arm socket with industrial-strength snaps.
Suction and friction—along with the sleeve—keep the socket in place, and I tug on the liner to break the seal, then remove the arm and set it in its case.
My arm throbs, and I run the water as cold as it’ll go before thrusting the residual limb under the faucet. Hissing out a breath as I let the icy flow soothe the aches and pains, I rest my head against the mirror and close my eyes.
Every time I get close to Sloane, there’s a spark unlike any I’ve ever felt before. Does she feel it too? Or am I so desperate for human connection that I’m imagining the whole damn thing?
Jet lag—along with my racing mind—conspire against me when I lie down and try to sleep, so I prop my tablet on my bent knees and review her file yet again.
It’s perfect. On paper. Elementary and high school records, a few community college classes, summer jobs at a beauty salon, then waiting tables. But one of the first lessons I learned at the Farm—a CIA training facility for elite undercover agents—is that anything that looks perfect is suspect.
She’s so young in the first headshots and the press release the Ulstrum Agency sent out when they signed her. Twenty years old, thin as a rail. Only the barest hint of curves. Her eyes though…those deep blue eyes full of pain give her away.
Bringing up my email, I message the rest of the team back in the States hoping for some word on Dimitri Volkov’s location.
In under five minutes, a chat window pops up.
Wren: Got a couple of minutes?
