Page 66 of Every Last Breath

With eyes narrowed, Maddox evaluated the situation. Cole waited. He had the perfect skill set to assist, and a man like him was worth two extra bodies. A smart boss would make the right call.

Finally, she took the helmet. Attagirl.

“We’re burning daylight,” she said. “Reaper, follow Harper’s lead on the helicopter, and locate Van Helden. Castle, Reece, news station. See how our Ghost got clearance to enter the building. Lover Boy and I will follow the lead at the taxi company.”

They nodded and headed for their vehicles.

Buttoning her jacket, she stepped closer to him. “Give me your phone. I’ll load the team’s personal numbers and a couple of Gray Box lines in case you need them. Don’t discuss anything classified on an open line.”

Her bossy pants were hot.

He handed her his cell. “You left your place rather early. I’d hoped you’d get more sleep.”

“Never went home.” She loaded numbers in his phone. “I keep spare clothes here. Showered in the locker room. Grabbed some winks on the break room sofa.”

She stiffened.

Her brows drew together and eyes snapped up. “You went to my place this morning?” His silence must’ve been confirmation. “Why?”

Hell if he knew. To talk? To fuck? The woman had him tangled in a tizzy.

“What lead at the taxi company?” He pulled his spare half-shell helmet from his backpack and put it on, buckling the strap under his chin. He was a safe driver, one of the best, but in the unlikely event of an accident, he’d rather Maddox have the full helmet—better protection.

“We got a facial recognition hit on a public surveillance feed. Novak got in a taxi on Massachusetts and Van Ness last night. Alone. We have a partial plate of a Yellow Cab and need to track down the driver, see where Novak was dropped.”

Cole swung his leg over his bike and sat. “As you said, we’re burning daylight.”

She climbed on behind him, put on the helmet, and gave him back his phone. He fired up the engine, and she clutched his waist. Her hands on his chest had untimely desire humming through his body stronger than the full throttle of the bike.

He missed the carefree days when they’d ridden for pleasure. Took long walks through the Dulles terminal, eating pizza. Instead of thinking him crazy or cheap, she’d understood and appreciated that the airport was one of America’s greatest works of modern architecture. Eero Saarinen’s greatest design. He could go on for hours about the beauty and chaos in the story of a structure, and she’d listened without boredom, no complaints.

Maybe it’d been the same reason he didn’t groan and roll his eyes whenever she wanted to watch some black-and-white flick. Or how she’d sit beside him when a boxing match came on, make a bowl of popcorn, and spout off stats she’d learned. Everything between them had been easy. No fight they hadn’t been able to overcome. The two of them in sync. A lifetime ago.

Now, despite the fact that they’d reconnected in the biblical sense, she didn’t scoot her pelvis up against his ass, didn’t nestle her legs tight along his hips the way she once had.

Things between them were complicated. Tainted. Broken.

And it wasn’t all her fault.

Any path forward was murky as smog and littered with land mines. He still harbored deep-seated resentment for her betrayal. She was pissed at how he’d handled the fallout and left her behind. And there was her chosen profession to consider.

A real shit sundae with a spy cherry on top.

* * *

Torture.

Maddox sat on Cole’s bike, doing her best to maintain a healthy distance from his body, knees splayed. Then he started taking hard turns, forcing her to press against him, wrap her arms tighter around his waist, legs hugging his. Her pulse revved along with his engine, stirring her mind, bringing up images and sensations from last night. Like this was a game.

A distracting game of torture.

Cole sped into the lot alongside the little Yellow Cab Company across from the National Arboretum and parked. There wasn’t a single yellow taxi, despite the name. For some unearthly reason, they were orange and black or red and white.

Before the kickstand was in place, she hopped off the bike, desperate for space away from him. And longing to have all of him at the same twisted time.

Stuffing the tangled emotions into a save for later compartment, she removed the helmet and steeled herself. She walked around the squat mud-pie building with its faded orange accents and distinct adobe-clay facade.

Cole was on her heels when she opened the front door. A ding from a bell announced their entrance.