“You were my only lover for five years, Sachi. I’ve never been married.”
“So for the last three years you’ve been celibate?” Was that skepticism in her voice?
“Unless a job needed it done,” he replied. “Just like you, until him.”
“We have a lot of discussion here, but with the limited timeframe, I suggest we push past the emotional IEDs and get straight to the heart of the matter. What are we doing when we land? The directions I have are for a safe house outside of Billings.”
“Billings?” Sachi made a face. “They must really want us off the map.”
“We’ll pick up whomever they assigned to be our tail, bring them up to speed on what we’re doing so they’ll be on board.” He was pretty certain who they’d send to cover them. Brad knew he’d be on board with ending this issue as quickly and as efficiently as possible.
“And if they don’t go along with it?” Gabriel had his phone and skimmed the information on the screen without looking at either of them.
“He will.” Sachi and Brad spoke at the same time, and for a split-second, she grinned at him. The smile vanished, but for that one second, he’d enjoyed the way her eyes lit with humor.
Gabriel glanced from Brad to Sachi, then back again. Another point to the spook—he didn’t miss much. “You’re both assuming it will be John.”
“You really think John would stay behind?” She blew out a breath. “He was gone before we boarded, which means he probably went ahead on a different route. If anyone targeting Brad reallyknew me, they’d know John would protect me.” She frowned. “How the hell did they get that picture?”
“I don’t know. We were there seven years ago. That’s a lot of water under the bridge and a lot of hunting on their part.” The photo was the one piece of evidence that made him uneasy. To track where he and Sachi had gone was one thing, but they’d taken that vacation under different identities—specifically to avoid notice by their superiors. While on leave, they had to file where they were going and be available for recall. They’d put in for leave separately and both named the Caribbean, but different parts. Tropical beach vacations for Marines on Elite Recon weren’t that unusual and didn’t muster much notice.
In retrospect, Chrome had likely known they were hooking up and just didn’t give a damn as long as they did their jobs. When it came to the work, they were both focused and disciplined. More than once, Brad had sent Sachi off to seduce a target, and only once had he had to sit and listen to her go through with it. At the end of the day, it had been a job. She used the assets on hand to accomplish the needed tasks—in that case, her body—and he’d had the rest of her. Or at least, as much as she’d been willing to give.
If the target had been a woman, he or one of the guys had done the same damn things. Though, at one point, he’d noticed it became his task less and less, and they—like him—avoided putting Copper in that position if it could be helped. So yeah, they’d known.Still…At the time of the photograph, they’d escaped to explore the depth of their feelings, and he’d fallen in love with her on that island. Head fucking over heels, so was that photo a message?
“You’re bleeding.” The low pitch of her voice drew him to the present.
“What?”
“You’re bleeding,” she said, gesturing to his shoulder. Sparing his shirt a glance, he found blood spreading against the fabric. He shrugged, ignoring the sting.
“Probably pulled a stitch. I’ve had worse. It’ll get better.” What he needed was another drink. The photo was a clue—becauseBradhadn’t taken any photos on that trip. They were both too careful about not keeping memento shots around, because they never knew when the next mission would come in. He had exactly one picture of Sachi, and it was a private photo taken in their apartment. So, who’d taken the one on the beach?
Rising, he paced over to the bar.
“If you pulled a stitch, you’re going to get blood on everything. Take your shirt off.” The order rolled over him, and he paused to face her.
“You want me out of my clothes, babe, all you have to do is ask.”
With a roll of her eyes, she slid off Gabriel’s lap and went to one of the front compartments.First aid kit,he surmised while stripping his shirt. Gabriel sat forward, elbows on his knees, still scrolling through the photographed info on Brad’s phone. The shirt stuck to the blood, and he felt another stitch give as he tugged the shirt off. Another wound to add to the myriad of scars he’d accumulated through the years.
Unflinching, Sachi pointed him to a chair. Her expression didn’t change, but he felt the stroke of her gaze. She studied him with the same kind of hunger he experienced every time he looked at her. Or she seemed to be memorizing the grillwork crisscrossing his left, lower side.
“Phoenix,” he told her, not making her ask. “I got thrown into one of the trucks.” Turning slightly, he showed her the emblem buried into his flesh near his back. Saying nothing, she touched the sigil with her fingertips and traced it. Above the mark was a fat, puckered scar. When she reached it, he added, “Rebar punctured my lung. Most of these were closed and healing by the time I woke up.”
The light stroke of her nails brushed the edge of his scapula. “This is new.” The words were faintly accusatory, and he resisted the urge the shrug. The last gesture pulled a stitch, not that he felt an ounce of pain. She had her hands on him.
“Knife.” It was a long, clean slice, but the blade had bitten a bit too deep.
“These are shitty stitches.” Pain accompanied the bliss of her exploring the length of the wound—“Jesus, Brad, did you use a stapler?”
“It was handy. Tin did the rest on the evac. Just clean it up or tape it. It’ll heal.” Even expecting it, the sharp sting of her slap relaxed the ache in his soul.
“Shut up. Sit down.” Crisp orders he was more than happy to follow. She snapped on a pair of surgical gloves then began to clean the slice. It wasn’t pleasant, but she kept touching him. He’d endure any amount of torture—even her dealing with his scratch—to have her hands on him again.
“Where did you attend college, Peck?” Gabriel’s voice intruded on his moment, so Brad slanted a sideways look at the spook.
Knowing eyes met his, and he gave him a half-smile. “You don’t already have a dossier on me? I’m impressed.” Not getting a rise out of him, Brad inclined his head slightly. “Princeton.”