His statement infuriated her. Every time he made that argument she wanted to scream in frustration.
“I was twelve when Dad put me in self-defense and firearms courses,” she reminded him, her voice low but furious. “At fourteen Claire’s brother, Lincoln, who was in Special Forces at the time, took over my training whenever he was home. At eighteen I was considered well qualified to work with the Breed Underground. Two weeks ago I did something well-trained agents would have had a hard time doing, and you think I’m not qualified to even oversee operations with you in the command van. All you wanted me to do was file your damned paperwork.”
A grimace pulled at his expression, but he knew he couldn’t argue her qualifications. He had never been able to argue them. In the past he’d shut her down by walking out of the office or simply staring back at her silently no matter what she said.
He turned his head away from her then, staring back at the house, tension radiating from him though he maintained the appearance of casual relaxation. He wasn’t relaxed in the least. She knew him, knew the signs of his tension—
Then he growled again. A low, dangerous sound that had her rolling her eyes in exasperation.
“The growl isn’t going to change anything, Cullen. I trained my ass off to be a part of the Agency. I trained after I came into the Agency. Everyone there knew I had the qualifications to join Ops or Command, and you refused to hear it.” She gave a weary shake of her head. “And now it doesn’t matter. This is my life; you can’t order me out of it no matter how much you might want to.”
He turned back to her slowly, the gleam of his eyes more intense now, the shadows filling the truck actually giving him the appearance of stripes across his face.
“Tell me what you’re doing and who you’re working for. I’ll take care of it, finish the job, and then I’ll bring you into Command at the Agency,” he offered. “You’ll work directly with me.”
At first she was certain she couldn’t have heard him correctly.
“Are you serious?” He couldn’t have meant it. Even Cullen wouldn’t go that far to get what he wanted.
“I’ll train you to take over Ranger’s position within two years. He wants to step into admin.” He continued with the promise. “You’ll be my second, Chelsea. You’ll oversee all ops with me and be an integral part of the planning. That was what you wanted. You can have it.”
She turned away from him; she had to.
“I’ll finish this job for you personally,” he continued. “You’ll go straight to Ops and begin training while I do it.”
He was that desperate to close her in, to put her in a box and join her family in keeping her locked away from the life she wanted to live.
Her father had seen to her training in the interests of self-protection, he always argued. His beloved sister had been kidnapped by the Genetics Council when she was only sixteen. He’d been terrified of losing one of his daughters.
He hadn’t intended for her to use the training as a career. It had been to keep her safe, and he complained often that he would have less gray hair if he’d just hired bodyguards.
“You need to go home, Cullen.” God, it hurt. He was dangling a carrot in front of her that she had worked toward for years.
She would have enjoyed Ops, but Command would have suited her so much better. Being in on each operation from planning to completion, overseeing it, working with each agent and coordinating their reports after they went undercover. Working with Cullen on a daily basis, sharing every phase of the work they both loved.
The price he was demanding was far too high, though.
“I have a job now.” She forced the words out, forced the denial past her lips. “What I’m doing and who I’m doing it for is none of your business. Just as the operations that went through the Agency weren’t considered my business. Just go home and stop trying to protect me. It was never your protection that I wanted.”
At the last moment, Cullen pulled back the harsh, brutal growl that would have escaped his chest. The scent of her pain was like wildfire racing out of control, and what it was doing to his self-control was shocking.
Flexing his fingers, he stared at them for a moment, wondering at the ache he could feel in them and the anger rising inside him.
“You’re important to me, Chelsea.” He’d tried to make sense of why his Breed genetics were suddenly rearing their sullen heads and making his life hell since Chelsea had left the Agency.
“We’re friends,” she agreed, and he wanted to latch onto that excuse so bad he couldn’t stand it. “I get that. But friends don’t get to tell friends how to live their lives.”
Cullen breathed out heavily as that scent of pain increased. And determination. Damn, she had to be the most stubborn woman he’d ever known. She even had Breed females beat.
“We’re more than friends,” he acknowledged, silencing her, surprising her. “Letting you leave the Agency was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. This is the right thing to do, you know it is.”
She was shaking her head the whole time he was talking, with her hands latched onto the steering wheel like a lifeline. He could feel the denial racing through her, sense it moving on the air around him.
“It’s my job,” she whispered, the scent of tears raking over his senses now, almost pulling a snarl from his lips. “And it’s just not realistic to assume that I can do it on my own or aid in any op you could come up with, is it?” Scorn filled her voice. “God, Cullen, I already have one overprotective father, I don’t
need another one.”
Father? He’d be damned if he felt anything fatherly toward her.