Some of the tension bled out of the air, and she managed to breathe without physically expanding her lungs. “I knew you’d gotten out, but she didn’t tell me that you…”
“Yeah, Savvy works in a world of need-to-know, and she rarely thinks anyone ever needs-to-know.”
He dropped his shoulders, tilted his head, then extended his hand. “McGuire LaSalle. Former-Navy SEAL, and the guy whose team you pulled out of the fire.”
Riven stared at his hand, then slowly slid hers against his. “Riven Ashburn…” She smiled. “Special Agent Riven Ashburn, Drug Enforcement Agency, and the girl who just brought that entire cartel mess to your front door.”
CHAPTER FOUR
McGuire held Riven’s hand, palm calloused, her grip firm, but warm. As if she’d found some comfort in the brief contact, too. He squeezed her fingers reassuringly, then let go, already missing the easy weight of her hand in his.
She shifted on her feet, tucking some hair behind one ear as if she couldn’t quite stay still. What he suspected was all the leftover adrenaline from the fight — the chase down the bayou. Her eyelids drooped, each blink a bit longer than normal before she shook off the fatigue, drew herself up.
But despite the fire raging in the blue depths, he saw the exhaustion. Not from the firefight. This went soul deep. The kind of weariness that spoke of long nights spent listening for footsteps. Of never being able to truly shut down.
McGuire felt that too, only he’d always had his team. While they didn’t live together, he knew, if he ever truly needed a break, Patch or Cross or Stone would have his back. Would hunker down on his ratty couch, guard his six while he fully disengaged. They hadn’t done it often, but they’d managed to have the odd night where they’d drank a bit too much, camped out in one of their shacks, each taking a turn walking the perimeter.
Who had Riven leaned on?
No one.
Not if Savvy had plunked her down with nothing more than anoh-shitphone and a secure connection.
He blew out a slow breath. “Riven…”
She tensed, as if bracing for impact. “I know you have a thousand questions…”
He sighed. “I was going to say is, you look exhausted. Why don’t we put a pin in all this for a few hours? Let you get some sleep.”
She tilted her head, gazed at him like she had in the bar. As if she wanted to puzzle him out. “I promise, I’ll tell you everything in the morning.”
“That wasn’t really up for debate, but thanks.” He motioned to the last door on the right. “C’mon. I’ll grab you a shirt and some sweats. If you’re cool giving me your key, I’ll have Cross and Stone drop by your place in a few hours. They can give it a once-over — grab a few things. I’d just rather not risk you going anywhere familiar for a while.”
She shoved her hand in her back pocket, then placed the key in his palm. “Fine, but I swear, if I find my underwear drawer all messed up, I’ll shoot them both in the ass, myself.”
“I’ll relay the message.”
He dropped the key in Patch’s hand, signaled for his buddy to make the call, then walked into the spare room. The hinges groaned as he shoved open the door, the moon casting a silver glow over the interior.
Riven edged past him, stood in the doorway while he darted into his room, grabbed her some clothes. She accepted them with a smile, looking oddly lost in the dated bedroom.
He scrubbed his hand along the back of his neck, knowing he needed to let her go but finding it hard. “You can put your Glockin the nightstand, and the door locks if you’re worried, but we’ll take shifts. No one’s getting close tonight.
She nodded, closed the door once he’d backed up. The latch clicked into place, the tumble of the interior lock noticeably absent.
He smiled, her apparent trust in him easing something inside his chest. A fluttery feeling that hadn’t subsided since his sister had uttered those few words.
Cinder.
He still couldn’t believe she’d been the voice on the radio. If tonight’s brawl was any indication, she’d obviously risked far more than he’d imagined to get them clear. Just thinking she’d faced a camp full of men like that alone…
He shuffled over to the couch, gaze still lingering on her door as he sank onto the cushion next to Patch. The ever-present chirp of crickets and bats played in the background, the odd frog calling in the dark.
Patch followed his gaze as he eased back on the sofa, feet crossed at the ankles before chuckling. “So… Cinder, huh? Can’t say I saw that coming. Though, it seems almost poetic that the ghost who saved our asses in Colombia is the same smoking hot bartender you’ve been trying not to have a relationship with for the past five months.”
McGuire shook his head, ran both hands through his hair before bracing his elbows on his knees. “I think you’re enjoying the irony of the situation a bit too much.”
“All I’m saying is that you should have asked the girl out before everything turned into aMichael Baymontage.”
