She’d thought about fighting for them. Begging him to work through the demons. Part of her believed he’d come back to her… eventually. But missions happened. Work overtook both their lives.
Then Hannah died—gunned down in a senseless death. To this day, that left an emptiness in Savvy’s soul. His sister had been ten years older, and she’d basically raised Patch after their parents died. Hannah had been his everything. Losing her meant losing a part of himself. She’d understood that. She’d been away when the funeral happened, but she’d planned onvisiting him. Planned on making things right between them when her brother called.
Savvy closed her eyes—tight—blinking out a tear. That had been one of the worst days of her life. Not only did she have to make her brother and his entire team disappear, but the man she’d loved. She’d erased their entire existence. Made them ghosts. Not even her own government knew where they were.
Most still didn’t.
But in doing so, she’d destroyed any chance she’d had in repairing hers and Patch’s relationship.
She flipped over on her back. The hum of the fan rotating the humid air mixed with the noises of the swamp. A croak of a frog. The songs of the crickets. The rustles of tails in the water looking for a midnight snack. It was both peaceful and scary at the same time.
However, the only dangerous thing in the bayou right now… was her feelings for Patch. They were stronger than ever, and she couldn’t stand it a second longer.
She pushed back the covers and threw her legs to the side of the bed. The wood floor was warm under her bare feet. She tugged her shirt down, not caring that it barely covered her ass peeking out of the back as she padded toward the door. She pulled it open and gasped.
Patch stood near the screen door wearing only his boxers. His back muscles flexed as he brought a small whiskey tumbler to his lips and sipped while he stared out into the dark swamp, only lit up by small LED lighting on the walkway heading toward the dock. He’d always loved the water. But not this kind. He’d been more of an ocean dweller with his big fishing boat that he’d loved. He’d also loved the finer things in life. He might be a simple man, but he liked to be comfortable. He used to tell her he had to suffer on missions and out in the field.
Why do it at home?
Probably why he lugged some big-ass king-sized mattress that felt like a five-star hotel out to this ugly patch of land.
He glanced over his shoulder. The glow from the small lamp on the table by the sofa showed off his strong profile. He smiled. “What are you doing up?”
“I couldn’t sleep knowing that you were suffering out here on that thing.” She pointed to the couch.
“Seriously?” He chuckled. “You had your pretty little ass on that sofa. It looks beat up, but the leather is soft and the cushions underneath are brand new. I might look like I live like Bigfoot, and while I know how to rough it, I don’t bother unless I have to.”
“Of course not.” She waved her hand. “What’s in the glass?”
“Tequila. Want some?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
He shuffled across the room like he wasn’t half-naked. He stood in front of a makeshift bar on the wall between his bedroom and the family room, pulled down another glass, and poured her a drink, topping off his own. He handed it to her. “I’m honestly surprised you’re not snoring like a drunken sailor in that bed.”
“My body’s exhausted, but my brain’s going a mile a minute.” She eased onto the sofa, staring at his taut physique, noting a few more scars than the last time she’d seen him in his skivvies. He stood about six foot three. He wasn’t overly broad, but he did have well-defined muscles—and that hadn’t changed. About the only thing that had, besides a deeper sadness and void in his eyes, was his hair being long and he now sported a bit of a beard.
She liked that—he wore it well.
He joined her on the couch, resting his sexy feet on the small ottoman. He leaned back and took a long draw of his drink. “Finish your tequila and then get some sleep. You need it. Then we’ll map everything out before your brother shows uptomorrow. Thinking about it tonight, or replaying it all, isn’t going to do you any good. You need to be fresh.”
“To be honest, that’s not why I couldn’t sleep.” She took two big gulps. It was hard to believe she’d let five years go by without talking to him. She’d been a coward. And she’d been selfish, always telling herself that once she got to a certain point in her career, she’d make sure she and Patch got their chance.
That never happened, and then it became too late.
Once again, everything flipped upside down.
“But since we’re on the subject,” she started, wanting to get one thing out of the way, before she made an ass out of herself and possibly got rejected.
He turned, arching his brow. “Let it go for now. We’re both running on fumes.”
“I will, but I need to make something clear because I will need your help with my brother.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.” He tipped his head back and downed his drink. “I’ve been between you and him before and it’s never fun.”
“Just hear me out.” She shifted, tucking one of her feet under her butt. “McGuire is running on the idea that in a couple of days or weeks, I can go back to my life. But I can’t. There are things I haven’t told either one of you.”
“We both figured that.” Patch nodded.
