“I was at Colt’s for four days. I knew you’d start investigating me, that warehouse, as soon as you were convinced I wasn’t going to die. Which means, you’ve already talked to one or two key people. Maybe someone inside the Marshal Service you trust. Old military connections. Am I close?”
“Were you always this annoying? I seem to recall you being much sweeter back in MI.” He grunted but nodded. “And yeah, we may have asked some ‘theoretical’ questions about you. How this would all play out if our assumptions were right and you were being hunted by your own agency.”
“I assume since I didn’t wake up handcuffed to a gurney in a hospital, they’re on board with helping out. Or, at least, willing to give me a short leash to strangle myself on before turning me over to the Agency. Assuming, as well, that I can give them proof.”
“No one’s turning you over to the Agency. And yeah, we’ll need proof. Which means killing McCormick won’t solve your problems. We’re going to have to figure out what he wants, what he’s hiding, and catch the bastard with his hands in the cookie jar.”
“Then, what are we waiting for? Let’s fry his ass.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
She was just so damn beautiful. And if she didn’t get her ass into a bed and get some rest, now, Colt was going to strangle her.
Two more hours they’d been sitting at the table, going over maps. Discussing motivations and possible outcomes. What they’d do if none of their leads panned out. How Kameron was going to access the files Ellis needed. While Colt knew it was necessary. That they had limited time to come up with a viable plan—execute it. Saving Ellis’ life wouldn’t do her much good if she killed herself in the process. Worked herself to death.
She was still healing for Christ’s sake. Had been lucky she hadn’t torn out all her stitches tonight. Needed another blood transfusion. Yet, there she was, stubbornly sitting at the table. Skin deathly pale. Eyes half-mast. Even her hands were shaking from fatigue, despite the way she tried to hide it. Kept them laced together or in her lap.
His buddies meant well. Cannon. Bishop. Midnight. They were men of action. Solved problems by attacking them head on. If one route didn’t work, they changed tactics. A different angle. A new perspective. Whatever it took until they punched through. And they were in prime Delta Force mode.
Colt wasn’t arguing—was on the same damn page—except when it came to Ellis’ well-being. She put up a good front, but she wasn’t fooling him. Five years apart hadn’t made him less attuned to her. If anything, he read her better than ever, because now, she didn’t function solely on her wits. Becoming an operative had broadened her abilities. Taught her to rely on all her skills, and the physical side of her was bleeding through. It was only a matter of time before she smashed her face on the table when she passed out.
Not happening. His brothers would understand. Would be insisting she rest, themselves, if they weren’t so focused on keeping her safe. If the threat wasn’t riding them hard, their adrenaline still slightly elevated from the chase. Bullets flying. Having to carry Six into the mobile clinic.
Damn good job that Brady guy was as good as Ice had claimed. Brady hadn’t even blinked when they’d brought Six in, blood everywhere. Obvious gunshot wound to his upper shoulder. Brady had taken it all in stride. Told them to clear out. That he’d have Six fixed up and back on his feet in a couple of days, despite the fact he should be out for a week. But, the good doctor seemed to understand them. That the situation was critical, and that Six would be out the door whether approved or not.
It might have had something to do with the woman standing next to Brady. The one that had the same look as Ellis. The kind of trouble wrought from steel hard determination and more honor than sense, at times. One glance, and it was obvious she and Brady were a couple. That she tested the other man’s patience whenever their ideas of what was reasonable clashed. Just like Ellis did to Colt.
Brady did mention something about Six being on light duty. That if he had to stitch the wound, again, he’d send his buddy Gibson after them. Colt didn’t know what the Brit had done inthe service, but there was no doubt the guy was lethal. Stone cold with the kind of air about him that spoke of rough missions that had ended bloody. A man they could count on if shit went sideways.
Colt had taken an instant shine to the guy. Would gladly help him out whenever. Whatever. All Gibson or Brady would have to do is ask.
Ellis rolled her shoulders, head jerking a bit as she fought to stay awake. Colt smiled. He couldn’t help but admire her determination. Her stamina. And he knew she’d sit there for another two hours if he didn’t intervene. Wasn’t the voice of reason.
She wasn’t going to like it. Had that look about her that told him she’d fight him like a damn badger. But he could be just as stubborn, just as single-minded. And there was the fact that he wasn’t taking no for an answer. The woman was going to get some sleep even if he had to pin her to the damn bed until she passed out from sheer exhaustion beneath him.
Dangerous territory for his brain to stray, especially when he still remembered how she’d felt pressed against him. Her silky hair wrapped around his fingers, those perfectly full lips molding under his—opening on a raspy moan as he tasted every inch of her mouth.
He wanted her. Her hands gripping his back, her legs wrapped around his hips. He wanted soft skin sliding beneath his palms, her body writhing against his. He wanted to kiss every inch of her flesh, drink in her gasping breath—hear her cry his name as she fell apart in his arms. It seemed so simple. And he didn’t have a clue how to even begin.
He took a deep breath. “El.”
She stopped mid-sentence, turning to look at him, blinking as if needing to clear her vision. She furrowed her brow,scrunching her nose in that adorable way she did when she was puzzling out a problem. “Something wrong?”
“Yeah. You’re about to pass out. Come on, sweetheart…” He waved his fingers at her—pushed to his feet as he shoved his chair out of the way. “Time for bed.”
Her eyes widened, and he cursed when he realized how it had sounded.
“I meant, you need to sleep. In a bed. Alone.” He grunted at the circle of smug smiles. “Just, let’s go. We can continue after you’ve rested. When you don’t look like a freaking ghost.”
She arched one brow, giving him a long slow sweep. “Thanks, Mom. But I think I know when I need to sleep.”
“If that were true, you’d have gone to bed two hours, ago.”
Her defiant chin lifted, and he knew she was going to make a scene—the one that had been brewing between them since the start. That they’d begun in his loft before getting cut short—having to bug out. Which he assumed had only added fuel to the fire. Everyone reacted to a firefight differently, and Ellis looked as if she was primed for a fight. Needed to expend the nervous energy that had nothing to do with her physical exhaustion. That was the product of guilt and stress. But if she thought he’d back down…
“I don’t need a keeper, Colt.”
“No, you need a set of restraints. Bed. Now.”
