“Oh, we’ll get answers. Whoever is behind this can’t hide for long.” Cannon glanced at Ellis then back to Colt. “You want some company watching over her?”
“Nah, I’m good. Ice gave her something to help her sleep. I doubt even her new skills will rouse her ass out of the bed before morning.”
Six took a step closer. “I’ll bring you some coffee. Check in later, in case you need a break. I know you’ve got a…special connection with her, but you’re not alone in this. She helped all of us out in the field. And I’m always happy to give a bit ofpayback.” He smiled. “Besides, she’s your girl, right? We take that seriously.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know if I need a break. But if she hears you calling hermy girl, she might use some of her new moves on you.”
“I’ll risk it.”
“You didn’t see the way she was holding that belt.”
Six laughed then headed out, followed by the others. In the span of five seconds, Colt was alone in the room with Ellis, nothing but her whispered breath to ease the tension bunching his shoulders.
He reran everything Six and Rigs had said, willing his pulse to ease as it kicked up. He never got anxious. Had his body react negatively to stress. Couldn’t have made Delta Force if he had. In fact, part of the selection involved studying a soldier’s physiological responses to combat. Most Spec Op guys had their pulse and blood pressure either stay fixed or go down during a gunfight. Experienced an almost inhuman ability to control the flight or fight response when bullets started flying. And he’d been no exception.
But here he was, sitting in a chair across from Ellis, and his pulse was tapping triple time. Fluttering away beneath his skin as if he’d just finished one of the timed marches during selection.
She did this to him. Had always had a confusing effect on him. He’d initially brushed it off as sexual anticipation. General excitement. But—sex wasn’t on the table, now. And it wasn’t excitement coursing through his veins.
He inched forward, gently sandwiching one of her hands between his. Her skin was cold. That deathly white shade. Slightly clammy. Everything Ice had said it would be, but it still sparked concern in the pit of his stomach. Made him shift the chair closer—place their joined hands in his lap. If he leaned injust a bit more, he could hear her steady breathing better—see her chest rising. Her pulse flutter at the base of her neck.
She really was stunning. Long brown hair—chestnut, he’d once heard someone call it—soft, dainty features. Smooth skin. She was leaner than he remembered. Had a hard edge to her that hadn’t been there before. Both most likely from endless training. But regardless, the woman was beyond beautiful. And he couldn’t stop from tracing his fingertip down her cheek—brushing away a smear of dirt on her jaw.
He couldn’t imagine what she’d discovered to get her in this much trouble. Why her company—her damn boss—hadn’t been scrounging the area searching for her. Surely, they’d noticed she was missing? Jericho had been right. Ice had confirmed Ellis had been held for at least three days based on the ligature marks. The extent of dehydration. Possibly five. Hadn’t her colleagues noticed her missing? Had they tried to contact her? And what had they done when they hadn’t been able to reach her? When the messages had gone unanswered?
Well, she had people who’d watch her back, now. Who wouldn’t let five minutes go by without ensuring she was okay, let alone five days. And with Bishop and his resources from Timberline Tactical joining in, they’d uncover whoever had hurt her. Wanted her dead.
And they’d turn the tables on the bastards. Take the war to them. These people might have trained to fight, to kill, but they hadn’t trained for war. Not the way he and his team had. And this was one battle Colt wasn’t going to lose.
CHAPTER SIX
“Hey, sunshine. Think you could open your eyes for me?”
Ellis blinked, the low voice chasing away the darkness as she allowed her eyes to focus—settle on the face hovering above her. Blue eyes. Brilliant blue that gleamed in the sun—lit up his face. Had they always been that bright? That damn clear? Or had she had blinders on, before?
She definitely hadn’t fully appreciated what she’d had—how lucky she’d been to have Brett in her life. A fact she’d discovered with painful clarity once it had been ripped away. Losing friends and family had hurt.
Losing Brett had been life-altering.
Brett, or did he go strictly by Colt, now? Because she wasn’t sure she’d heard any of the other men say his real name. Not that she remembered much. More like ghostly whispers whenever they’d roused her to check on her condition before letting her fade, again. She’d have to pay attention—get it right because she’d lost the privilege of calling him anything special.
Either way, he smiled, and her stomach fluttered. “Ice was just in here. He thought you should try to eat something. And he has some more meds you need to take before you head backto bed. Think you could sit up? Maybe eat some soup or some bread?”
She frowned. “Ice?” Why did that name sound so familiar?
“Ice. Russel Foster. Air Force PJ, or at least, he was. He works for Cannon, now. You met him a few times?—”
“Right. Ice. Sorry, things are a bit…fuzzy. I didn’t make the connection to back…” She cleared her throat. Talking about the past wasnotthe road she wanted to go down. “Anyway, I assume he’s the one who stitched me up? Saved my life? Other than you and Cannon. If you hadn’t opened the door…”
She’d be dead. Lying in a pool of blood on the doorstep. Had there been a mat? Something to help contain the spillage? Or would they have had to clean it all up? Wash it away just like her past had been washed away.
Brett shrugged, though his eyes narrowed. Darkened. And a slash of red crept along his cheeks. “I’ll be honest. I don’t know how Ice does it. Looking at you…” He swallowed, and she could have sworn it had taken strength. Concentration just to get his throat to work. “Let’s just say it’s a good thing the man works miracles. So, some soup?”
He actually expected her to eat when simply sitting there, breathing in his scent, his very presence, tied her stomach into a thousand knots? Made the thought of eating seem as hard as escaping had been?
He didn’t seem the least bit…off. Was the same calm, cool, soldier she’d fallen in love with. And she’d done her best to become just like him over the past few years, only without the compassion. She’d heard her colleagues describe her as hardened. Cold. And that’s the way she preferred it.
Except here. With Brett—Colt. Damn, she hated not knowing how to interact without crossing lines she couldn’t see. Her intelligence—her ability to communicate—had always been her strongest asset. The reason she’d joined the service—had goneinto Military Intelligence. And now, she was left floundering. Relying only on the physical skills she’d honed over the past few years.
