Rowan crossed his arms and scowled at the man on the screen. “And you’re just so altruistic you had to step in?”
Next time I see Tiberius, I’m buying him a bottle of top-shelf stuff. It had to suck growing up with this dickhead.
“Hardly.” Mercier’s grin turned razor-sharp. “Let’s just say I’ve got a vested interest in keeping certain cartels from expanding their growing fields portfolio into the Middle East. Wilsonknows things, useful things, and I’d prefer those things stay out of the wrong hands.”
Rowan’s gaze didn’t flicker. “You’re holding out on me.”
“Perhaps.” Mercier took another drag from his cigar. “But you don’t need the why to do the what. Get Wilson, bring him to me, and I’ll handle the rest.”
“And if we don’t like the rest?”
Mercier’s laughter was a low, velvet rumble. “Then you’re welcome to walk away. But we both know you won’t.” He pinned Rowan with a hard stare through the screen. “You’ve got a soft spot for lost causes, Seahorse, you all do. That’s why you take the jobs you do, and we both know it.”
He wasn’t wrong. Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out an annoyed breath. “Talk to me about our window.”
“Forty-eight hours. After that, he’s gone…and so is your window.”
Fucking awesome.
The screen went dark before Rowan could respond, leaving the war-room bathed in the cold glow of the monitors.
Theo let out a low whistle. “Well. That was informative.”
Rowan pushed away from the table, his chair scraping against the floor. “Yeah. Real fucking helpful.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, the weight of the op pressing down on him like a physical force. But beneath that, deeper and more insistent, was the pull of the woman in the kitchen waiting for him.
Theo stopped fiddling with his keyboards and scooted back his chair. “Go. Talk to Enya. We’ll handle the rest. I’ll have Gael call you if we need you for shit.”
Rowan didn’t argue. He didn’t have it in him. Not when the thought of her, waiting and wondering what was going on, carved a path straight through his usual focus and discipline. He moved toward the door, each step heavier than the last. How the hell was he supposed to handle having someone waiting for him to come home?
Don’t fuck it up!
Awesome plan. Go with that one.
For now, just for these next few hours, he’d have to let himself pretend the world outside this ranch didn’t exist. He could do that… he hoped.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
TWO HOURS EARLIER
Enya watchedRowan as he walked down the hall toward the war-room to meet with the other men about their mission. If her hands hadn’t been full of the box of pies, she’d have fanned her face, because dang, it was getting hot in here. If she told the girls that a ranch existed where the cowboys were warriors who were off-the-charts sexy, there would be a stampede that she didn’t think even the Stronghold gates could withstand.
Might be good for business.
Think of all the horses they’d sell.
Smoking-hot cowboy soldiers on display…
Twenty-dollar entry fee, but drool buckets and towels are provided for free.
“Ma’am?”
“Wha—” She jumped and glanced over her shoulder. “Sorry, Calloway, I didn’t see you there.”
“I see that, ma’am.” As soon as she stepped out of the way, he slid past her. “You were occupied by the view.”
She spluttered, but by the time she thought of a snarky comeback, he’d also disappeared in the same direction Rowan had taken. “Damn it.” Muttering to herself, she went into the kitchen and placed the pie box on the table.
What am I going to make?
