Colt leaned against the wall, eyeing Cannon as the man’s face hardened. Grew a few shades darker. Since getting involved with Jericho, his buddy had lost some of his cold edge—wasn’t quite as skilled at hiding his emotions. Not that Colt needed the red cheeks or the hint of a frown to know Cannon was fuming. Had been since Colt and Ellis had stumbled through the door, well past dark. And Colt knew he’d had the look…
The one that screamed they’d had tangoes on their asses. That he was in prime soldier mode—strung tight. Adrenaline still coursing through his veins. His senses drinking in every sound. Every smell. Anything that might pose a threat. Shutting all that down…
It had been difficult when he’d been in Delta. Coming back from an op. Surrounded by men fighting with the same sensory overload. But looking over and seeing Ellis’ slightly pale skin—at the mild tremor in her hands that screamed she was riding the same razor’s edge he was—it jacked-up his protective instincts. Tinged his damn vision red. If she hadn’t grabbed that EMP. If he hadn’t trained for years how to overcome the effects of flashbangs. To operate on muscle memory while his brain wasstill scattered. Reeling from the light and noise. If they hadn’t been able to lose those two Suburbans…
Endless string of ‘ifs’ that would have left them both dead. Buried and forgotten. Or maybe weighed down at the bottom of the Pacific.
Cannon scrubbed his hand across his face, glancing over at Jericho in what looked like an effort to calm himself, before pinning his gaze on Colt. “Good thing we’re not still in Delta, buddy, because I would have busted your reckless ass down to private for pulling a stunt like that.”
So much for that calming effect.
Colt held his ground. “It’s not like McCormick’s going to give us information to take him down. We have to seize the moments that offer the best return for the risk.”
Cannon stared at him, mouth slightly open, eyes rounded before tipping back his head and laughing. “Best return for the risk? Christ, now I’m starting to thinkyouwere a CIA plant all this time.” He shook his head, glancing over at Ellis. “I gotta admit. I’m a bit disappointed I didn’t get to see you in action, Ellis. Did you seriously vault onto a guy’s shoulders and wrestle him to the ground?”
Ellis shrugged still focused on the screen. She’d been trying to break McCormick’s encryption since they’d arrived, despite the tension suffocating the room. “I’m not build like a damn tank like you gentlemen. And I don’t go into my ops armed for bear. So yeah, I get creative at times. Take advantage of the fact most men don’t see me as a threat—even the ones who know I’m an operative. That works to my advantage…” She looked up for a second. “Every. Damn. Time.”
“I just hope whatever’s on there was worth it. These kinds of transgressions have a tendency to force otherwise organized men into extreme action.”
She snorted. “Didn’t sound like he was far from switching tactics, anyway. Trying something rash to get me out in the open. Thinking we should have some ammunition before that happens.” She looked directly at him. “Something to trade if it comes to that.”
Other than me.
She didn’t say it, but it hung in the air, regardless.
Cannon glanced at Colt. Face grim at the underlying meaning. “Then, hurry up and crack that damn code, Baker.”
Ellis shook her head, tapping on the keyboard before inhaling. “Whoa. Got it.”
Colt moved over to her, giving the others room to see the screen. She was clicking open files—scrolling through strings of numbers and what looked like invoicing.
He palmed her shoulder. “Well? Was it worth nearly getting our asses capped?”
“Hell, yeah. He’s got manifests. Ledger sheets. Copies of which operative was assigned to each mission. What their stats showed. What he sent on to his contact inside the pentagon. Christ, this goes way up the chain, boys.”
“Does it say who?”
“McCormick’s not quite that giving. But, I’m sure someone could follow the breadcrumbs. Trace it back.” She looked up at Jericho. “I bet the Marshal Service has the resources for that.”
Jericho leaned over Ellis’ shoulder. “Damn straight we do.”
Bridgette cleared her throat, worming her way in beside Ellis. “Maybe you should let the lawyer take a look? I might not know what he’s trading, but after years in organized crime, I know my way around ledgers. Mafia or government, they all end up looking the same.”
Ellis waved at the laptop, sliding sideways as she stood. “I’ll leave you to it. I could use a break.”
Colt cupped her elbow, directed her toward the bedroom. “A shower, food, and some rest.”
Ellis smiled, then glanced back at the computer. The people gathered around it. And the smile faded. Left her looking lost. “The first two I won’t argue about. But we don’t have time?—”
“We have enough. Bishop just left with Kameron to go be Six’s shotgun crew for their convoy back here. By the time Bishop insists on circling the damn city, it’ll be a good couple of hours. Come on.”
An arch of her brow and a rise of that beautiful stubborn chin.
Colt chuckled, leaning in close. “So, it’s picking up from last night, then?”
If he hadn’t been hovering a few inches from her face, he might have believed she had every intention of dumping him on his ass. Maybe a variation of her ninja move from earlier. The red hue that colored her skin. The increased breath. How her muscles tensed, fluttering the pulse point at the base of her neck.
All indicators she was preparing for a fight. Except her eyes. They widened slightly, the blue color darkening. More like stormy waves than crystal water. Her pupils expanded, the intense black slowly eating away at all that navy until only a thin rim shone around the edge.
