He scowled. It was like a punch of emotion right to her stomach, and she had to fight not to lift her hand—smooth the lines creasing his face.
That would be a strategic mistake. Like waving a white flag in the air. Surrendering her will to his. Couldn’t happen. Not with CIA bastards on their tail. With the horizon an empty slate. The true course of her mission unknown. She needed to maintain some semblance of distance, if for no other reason than to keep him safe. Hopefully removed enough that if she went down, he didn’t burn right alongside of her.
So, she made a point of rolling her eyes, hoping it might ease the tension. “When did you become this giant mother hen? Yeah, I’m a bit tired. Like I told Bishop before, it’s been a long freaking five years, but I can push through.”
Brett’s eye twitched a bit, then he was leaning in. Invading her space. “We can pick up from last night if you need to.”
For one split second, Ellis froze. Just froze, because the look in his eyes. Having him so close, his heat warming her skin. She thought he was talking about the sex. About taking her back to the bedroom, stripping them both down, then plunging inside her. Just like that. No foreplay needed. Just him looking at her was enough.
Then, her brain clicked over. Started working, again, and she realized he meant their fight. Not that it had been much of one. She’d thrown a couple of moves at him to ease the restless edge that wouldn’t dissipate—other than when she’d been in his arms. Safe. Loved. But he was standing there, looming over her, looking more than ready to go a few rounds.
Talk about a train wreck.
She was caught up in the fray. Unable to steer clear. Not that it mattered. If she stood her ground, she’d have to be willing to spar with him. Not an option she wanted to explore. Not after last night. After the way he’d touched her. As if she’d break. Was more precious to him than life. But if she acquiesced, he’d gain valuable footing. Would expect her to cave to his wishes at every turn. Not a smart move, and a double-edged sword guaranteed to cut her whatever her decision.
Which left only one route—the truth.
God, she hated resorting to that.
Ellis met Colt’s fierce gaze, shaking her head as she gave him what she hoped was a genuine smile. “You’re right. I am tired. Bone deep. Most of my time is spent trudging through some shithole of a country, lying to men who are just looking for anexcuse to blow my head off. Stealing what I can’t bargain for, then racing for some extraction site, only to end up somewhere else. Different op. Different target. Same damn results. When I do get time off, I rarely sleep. Never more than a few hours at a time, just to be safe. I don’t have friends. Don’t go out. Don’t have a life beyond the next mission.”
She leaned one elbow on the table. “So yeah. I’m tired. And if the man who’s been pulling my strings for the past five years wasn’t actively trying to kill me—kill your team—I’d go curl up in that bed for the next week. But he is. And time isn’t a luxury we have, right now.”
She lifted the mug. “So, I’ll keep downing coffee. Keep pushing through until I’m not liable to get you all killed by letting my guard down. Does that work for you?”
Nothing. Not a word. He hadn’t been expecting that. She doubted any of them had. Then, a chuckle, and the kind of gut-wrenching smile that made her want to tell him more. Anything to keep that smile lifting his lips. Crinkling his eyes. Lighting him up like a spotlight.
He palmed her jaw, catching her chin between his thumb and finger. “Just when I think I have you all figured out, you resort to the truth. You don’t fight fair.”
God, he was so close. His fingers so warm against her skin. It was only her chin and yet, it sent waves of heat down her body. Making it hard to breathe. To sit there and not run her fingers along his neck and behind his head—drag him the few scant inches forward so she could taste his mouth. Feel all that soft flesh—the only part of him that was soft—slide over her lips. Delve inside…
She blinked. Gave herself a mental shake, praying the others hadn’t noticed. Someone cleared their throat.
Damn. Busted. Again.
Ellis wet her lips, bit back a moan when Brett followed the path of her tongue, looking as if he was going to dip down, capture it, then shrugged. “Every now and then, I have to pull a secret weapon out of the arsenal. We good?”
She could see his response.Hell yeah, we’re good.
He nodded, released her, then slid into the chair beside her. He didn’t speak, just shifted until his thigh was touching hers. Just a light pressure against her leg, but it meant much more.
Bishop raised a brow, glancing between them before sighing. “Okay, so Kameron and I have our plans. Midnight and Bridgette will stay here. Rigs and Addy are heading back to the clinic, just to be safe. Cannon and Jericho said they’d check-in from the Marshal’s office. She’s mapping out more safehouses. Figured you’d insist on moving every few days. They’ll be back tonight. Cannon thought it might be wise to attempt to make it appear as if you were gone, and they were continuing on as normal.”
Ellis froze, again. Cannon and Jericho had…left? Gone into work? Just the two of them? She thought they’d taken the morning rotation. Were catching up on some sleep. It was bad enough Rigs and Addison had made a quick trip over from the clinic at the crack of dawn—checked-in. But, at least, they weren’t putting themselves in the crosshairs by heading somewhere familiar. Somewhere McCormick had to know about.
Colt’s hand landed on hers. Heavy. Strong. Twice the size. “Sweetheart? Talk to us because you just turned five shades whiter.”
She swallowed, didn’t fair that well when it stuck in her throat, but managed to make her tongue work. Form words. “It’s just… While a part of me agrees with Cannon’s thinking. Selling the ruse. Being out there means he’s not afraid of being spotted. That suggests I’m gone. In the wind. But another part of me—theCIA part—just went to whatever is past DEFCON one because all I can think about is how McCormick will hunt them down. Use them to get to me. God, if he hurts them?—”
“Not happening.”
She blew out a harsh breath. “The man’s a monster. He’s capable of anything.”
“I don’t doubt that, but Jericho’s a Deputy U.S. Marshal. Cannon a Special Deputy. And Jericho’s uncle is an admiral. Targeting them would put a giant spotlight on McCormick. No way he could attack or kill either of them and not get the Marshal Service—hell, the entire DoD—involved.”
He squeezed her fingers. “You keep telling us how resourceful McCormick is. That he’ll learn everything about us. Once he sees our names, he’ll put it together with you—why you were recruited. He knows we’d die before giving up information. Selling you out. Killing federal officers with the kind of ties Jericho and Cannon have… It’s not worth it to get nothing.”
“I hope you’re right.”
