Page 9 of Taylor’s Warrior

Without letting his expression betray his mental meanderings, Rhys took a closer look at Taylor. She seemed more on edge than usual, compared to other times they’d been physically close enough for him to read the signs, and for once, it appeared to have little to do with his presence. Since his arrival and immersion in the local culture, one thing he’d quickly become aware of was the natural ebullience and confidence of the Texan women he’d encountered. They were traits he found appealing, and normally, Taylor had them in spades, but the woman whose reflection he now studied a little more closely appeared to have neither.

“Stop staring at me.”

Now that was the Taylor he knew and… knew. Rhys corralled his errant concentration and returned the scowl through the mirror. “Don’t flatter yourself, fy nghariad.”

Her eyes narrowed even more to go with the now-pinched lips. Result. Getting under her skin like that was a petty schoolboy thing to do, but there was nothing in company policy that banned acting like a petty schoolboy. Besides, it was so, so satisfying. Of course, Lowri in particular would give him hell if she were aware he was getting so much pleasure from rubbing Taylor the wrong way, but he’d stopped being scared of his sister a long time ago.

Not that his pride as a former SAS trooper would allow him to admit he’d ever been scared of his sister—any of his sisters—especially since they were all younger than him. Lowri was the real spitfire among them, and Rhys had a theory her temper had more to do with her having long, red hair. When he’d let that slip, he’d been on the receiving end of a lecture, in explosively indignant Welsh, about the danger of subscribing to stereotypes—thus proving, at least in her case, that stereotypes existed for a reason.

He’d stopped short of pointing out the irony. After all, it wasn’t as if he’d had a death wish.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

From the way she was looking daggers at him, Taylor was not a happy woman. And now she’d gone and folded her arms. He tried to ignore the effect the action had on what he’d always thought were a very nice-looking pair of breasts, the kind he usually liked to get intimately acquainted with. To combat the consequences—the downward trajectory of his blood supply, currently accelerating toward his crotch at breakneck speed—he consulted his watch. “It’s Welsh, and if I tell you what it means, I’ll have to kill you. Do you have any idea what’s keeping Nick?”

Nick Blackmore, the big boss and the source of the summons, was running late. The meeting should have started ten minutes ago, and unless it started soon, Rhys was likely going to be late for the latest of the hand-to-hand combat practice sessions he’d arranged to take place in the company gym.

Interestingly, Taylor didn’t react the way he’d expected. He’d anticipated a scathing retort about her not being Nick’s secretary, but instead she remained silent, while her face appeared to lose a little color. He was pretty sure it wasn’t a trick of the light, either. Before he could follow up his question, however, the man himself appeared at the entrance of the passageway that led to the office suite.

“Rhys, thanks for coming over. Apologies for keeping you waiting—making the arrangements has proved to be a little problematic, but I think everything’s in place now, more or less.” He turned his attention to Taylor. “Tay, how are you doing?”

She approached slowly, coming to stand just a few feet away from Rhys. Something about the way Nick spoke to her and the way she responded put Rhys on high alert. Whatever was going on, it was more serious than he might have thought. His sixth sense was starting to prickle on the wavelength usually reserved for situations he wasn’t going to like.

“I’m okay, thanks.” She gave a slow shake of her head. “I hate all the trouble this is causing⁠—”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Nick admonished. “We’ve already been over this. We’re friends, you need help, and we’re in a position to do something about that. Come with me to the office, both of you—we have a lot to discuss.”

As Taylor followed Nick along the corridor to the office suite, Rhys fell into step behind them.

Charity was waiting for them in Nick’s office, her expression unusually serious. Rhys watched the two women hug, while Nick moved behind the big desk. The thick atmosphere in the room was laden with a heavy sense of foreboding. He’d attended briefings like this many times during his special forces career, when they’d usually been a precursor to being dropped into a shit situation.

Nick called the meeting to order, and once they were all seated on the chairs clustered around his desk, he was the first to speak.

“Thanks for coming. Rhys, you’re the only one here who doesn’t know what this is about. You were probably expecting a start date for the Mesa Grande job, but something’s come up that takes priority over everything else, and in effect, is operational as of—” he checked his watch “—ten-ten today.”

He was on the clock already? His response was automatic. “Yes, sir.”

Nick shot him a look. “I told you—you can drop the ‘sir’, we’re not in the Army now.”

He turned his attention to Taylor. “Right now, we’re in the process of finalizing some details, so I want you to be ready to leave within the next twenty-four hours. Be prepared for an initial absence of ten to fourteen days. I’m sorry, Tay. We’ll do our best to bring you home earlier, but until we make some more progress with the investigation, it’s best for you to remain well away from any potential trouble that might turn up here. We’ll let you know as soon as it’s safe for you to come back.”

Taylor’s gaze snapped to Nick. “Whoa. Wait a minute. What are you saying?”

As irritating as Rhys might find her, he also knew Taylor wasn’t stupid. She knew damn straight what Nick was saying—she was asking a question about what he hadn’t said.

Nick regarded her with gentle patience. “Tay, we both know you don’t need me to spell it out for you, but I’m going to anyway so there’s no doubt. In order to protect you from any threat that might arise from your father sending you the package—and while we find out exactly what the hell is going on—I’m arranging for you to take a trip away from here, while still ensuring your safety. No arguments.”

Her apparent lack of reaction spoke volumes. She’d shut down, and Rhys didn’t like it. Considering they sniped at each other on a regular basis, it was a little disturbing to discover how much he disliked it.

And hot on the heels of that revelation came another—his natural protective instincts swung into action, generating an unexpected urge to offer comfort. However, instead of acting on that impulse, he watched Charity scoot her chair closer to her friend and wrap an arm around her.

It was for the best. Any effort on his part to reach for her would have been rebuffed in no uncertain terms by Taylor herself, in a manner that would have done any of his sisters proud. She might possibly even have gone all the way and emasculated him.

Taylor raised her head, her forehead creased in yet another frown as she cast a withering glance in his direction before switching her attention back to Nick. “Hold on a minute. You said something about him being operational as of ten-ten. What’s this got to do with him?”

Nick cleared his throat. Unless Rhys missed his guess, his boss looked distinctly uncomfortable. Rhys had a feeling neither he nor Taylor was going to like what Nick was about to say.

“Tay, I don’t know where you’re going, but wherever it is, you’re not going there alone. Ghost’s contact⁠—”