Page 10 of Witness Security Breach

Sure, they faced danger on a regular basis, and heck, the job was more fun when bullets were flying and they were kicking in doors together and slapping on handcuffs.

But today was different.

Today, hit men had got the drop on them.

Today, Aiden had fallen off a roof where his neck could’ve been the one broken. If the contract killer’s blade had found its mark—Aiden’s jugular instead of his arm...

She pressed a palm to his cheek, caressed his chiseled jawline.

The intimate gesture sent an electric charge up her arm, making her nerve endings stand at attention. His expression, his piercing stare that bored straight to her soul, was just as intimate.

Perhaps more so because she knew he saw the fissures in her carefully constructed walls. When they were together, it was the only time she didn’t feel alone in the world.

“I wasn’t worried.” She blurted out the defensive comment, having no idea where it came from.

She dropped her hand, clenching it into a fist in her lap, and forced a pretense of indifference.

Way to go, Killinger, stepping over the professional line.

But Aiden had a way of obscuring the line until she forgot it existed.

The intensity of his focus didn’t waver, making the car cabin seem too small, with not enough space between them.

He covered her fist with his hand, his fingers engulfing hers. The scorching touch of his palm was hot as a brand on her skin.

“Biyooch’idi,” he said. Liar in Navajo. The low, sensual rumble of his voice sent unbidden heat rushing to her cheeks.

She’d wanted to learn the language after going home with him, surrounded by his large family in the heart of the Navajo reservation—a sovereign territory roughly the size of West Virginia—to bury his mother. It’d been a strange trip for her, considering she no longer spoke to her own mother, but if their roles had been reversed, he would’ve been at her side. Aiden was eager to teach her, to share himself like turning on a faucet and letting her drink until she slaked her thirst, but Charlie was more of the sipping kind. From a disposable bottle.

What passed between them now, unspoken, reflected their bond.

One of the things she admired about Aiden was that he never called Charlie out on her BS or razzed her in front of the others, at least not in a language they understood. He’d never divulge her secrets, never betray her trust.

That was just between them, only for them—the real intimacy she treasured. And the only kind she needed. The depth of their friendship ran deeper than blood ties and she’d never do anything to jeopardize it, especially something as reckless as date him.

“Prove it.” She cocked her head to the side in challenge.

“Trust me, I intend to.” He gifted her with a devastating smile, flashing his annoyingly attractive dimples.

It was a punch to the gut...to her heart and, unfortunately, to her libido.

Pull yourself together. She averted her gaze and moved her hand from his, tossing the bloody gauze in a disposable motion-sickness bag.

“Did you find anything on the cell phone?” Charlie threw a glance at the device in his hand.

“Looks like a burner. With texts from only one number. Apparently, Eugene is worth two million dollars, if he’s killed. An extra four million if he’s brought in breathing so he can be tortured.”

“Jesus, Bill,” Eugene muttered low, but Charlie caught it.

He knew who was after him all right.

“That’s a first,” she said. “You’re worth more alive than dead.”

“And if any sensitive information in his possession is recovered...it’s worth another four million,” Aiden said.

Torres let out a low whistle. “Wow. Ten million. There’s a whopper of a bull’s-eye painted on your forehead,” he said to Eugene. “Let’s hope it’s smooth sailing picking up Mrs. Potter and getting them to the SSPC.”

Eugene’s eyes bulged from his head as he clutched his stomach.