“Sure. I’ll show you where the mess is, but if you want to get something more exotic, you’ll have to leave the safe house. There’s a coffee shop just across the street.”
“Mess will do. I don’t want to walk that far.”
They got into the elevator and he pushed the button for the second floor.
“Tired, huh?”
“Yeah, no matter how many of these dirtbags we put away, there are always more.”
Her response was mechanical, as if she’d said the same thing so often it no longer had meaning for her. He wondered how many times she’d responded with the same words and phrases. Her answer was rote. The kind of answer that always hid something—sometimes something interesting, sometimes not. But in his experience, it always hid something the other person didn’t want him to know, and for that reason alone, her answer became irresistible to him.
She should have waited out the silence, he thought, but she rushed into repeating herself. “We’re on the front line. We do what we have to do to get these international thugs out of circulation. That’s all.”
“Is it?” On the prowl, Saint stepped out of the elevator in spite of his fatigue and attraction overwhelming him. “You trying to convince me or yourself? Or are you a poster child for the ATF?” He looked down at the heavy thickness of her hair.
“What I said is true. But Darko sounds like he’s in a league of his own.”
He held back a smile. She was a tough one. Not giving an inch. As she took a step toward the mess, Saint blocked her, no longer certain what the hell he wanted from her, knowing only that she intrigued him beyond any woman he’d ever met. She stopped and eyed him as he gripped her shoulders. The light threw their shadows onto the floor, merging them into one, his shadow engulfing her form. Pain pierced him in an exquisite ache.
“What we do is tough enough. It’s better to have a strong purpose in mind in this job.” He touched threads of her hair that had slipped against her cheek. The strands were warm and satin-smooth, curling against his fingers. Its softness surprised him, and he rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. “Anything heavy on your soul, Aella?” In spite of himself, his voice was scratchy with his own weaknesses. He wanted to make sure she wasn’t a loose cannon. His LT didn’t like lone wolves. He just wasn’t sure her need to catch Darko overrode her promise to work with them.
She grimaced. The strand of hair slipped free of his outstretched finger and curled back against her face.
Irritation quickened her speech. “Five dead agents who shouldn’t have died, Saint. Men and women with families and lives. What about you?” She pushed against his chest.
He caught her hand and closed his fist around it. So much heat and energy in that one feminine hand radiating into him. “A young woman and small boy who should be alive right now.” The fall of her dark hair beckoned his hands, lips.
She lifted her chin. “Sounds like we’re in agreement and our purpose is the same. Get that scum behind bars where he belongs.”
“Or six feet under,” Saint said, the words coming out of him without much effort.
Her brows rose. “Okay, maybe we do think alike.” She peeked around him to the mess. “I could really use that coffee.”
He moved out of her way and waited while she got herself the hot beverage. Once back in the hall, she took a sighing sip.
“Better?
“Much,” she murmured. They got back in the elevator and he pushed the button for the sixth floor where all the accommodations were. “You’ll have a nice bed. We get the cots, but when you get this tired, it doesn’t seem to matter.”
“I could handle a cold floor right now.”
When the elevator dinged, he stepped off with her and escorted her to her assigned room. “I’ll fill you in on how we operate tomorrow, if it’s all right with you.”
“That’s fine. I don’t think I can put two thoughts together right now.” She turned toward the door, her voice halting him in the hall. “So, what exactly do you do on the team?”
“I’m the corpsman and whatever else my LT needs.” The fragrance from her hair lingered in the air around him with her every movement. He didn’t think he could bear the kind of wanting that flowed in with the haunting perfume of her scent.
“Medic, huh?” She was too close to him, but he couldn’t seem to care. “How do you handle that doctor slash warrior thing? Seems like there would be a war going on inside you.”
“There’s no battle for me, Aella. I understand my oaths. When I focus medical attention on my teammates, doesn’t mean I have no compunction about blowing away some sucker who’s trying to injure them further. Same goes for innocents in the line of fire. My loyalties and my life are dedicated to them first and foremost. Secondly, when it becomes necessary, I will treat the enemy in a humane and ethical way as dictated by the other oath I serve.”
“So, you’re a doc first with your team and a warrior second?”
“I’m a warrior, period. I have medical knowledge beyond my teammates that allows me to be more proficient in delivering those treatments, but make no mistake, all my teammates have medical knowledge and perform the same functions. I just went to school longer than they did.”
“I have no dual morality, but there’s another thing we have in common.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“Justice. We serve those who have been harmed and cannot protect themselves.” She lifted her coffee and toasted him, then leaned over and kissed his cheek. But unlike any other affectionate kiss he’d received there, this felt nothing short of sexual. He touched her shoulders again.
Then she whispered, “Is that nickname you have indicative of your pure nature?”
He shook his head. “It’s the exact opposite.”
“That’s good. Who wants a saint? I prefer my angels fallen.” Under his cupped palms, she shrugged, her movement sending his hands down the curves of her arms. He couldn’t get over how warm she was. Her skin had an inner glow that seduced him, made him want to pull her close and bury himself in the warmth until he dissolved the cold knot inside him. He slid his palms upward, her warmth drawing him closer and closer.
She retreated back to her closed door, and his hands fell to his sides. Turning back, the drift of her gaze across his skin had him growing heavy and hot. He jammed his clenched fists into the pockets of his now snug jeans.
“Good night, Petty Officer Zach Bartholomew.” The door opened and closed, and he was alone in the hall with a raging hard-on.
The next morning, he was still semi-hard. Damn, he needed to find a ready and willing woman that wasn’t a core piece of his upcoming mission. He really needed to get his head on straight. Walking into the ready room, his eyes went erringly to her. She looked fresh and rested, dressed in a dark T-shirt and a pair of black tactical pants tucked into military style boots, her hair pulled to the side and braided.
She smiled and nodded to him as Anna started to lay out the mission for the evening. When she was done, they all rose as one like a wolfpack that had scented their prey.
They were on the hunt.
3