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Ben’s arm tightened around her. “You heard her. She gave you her name.”
But Ben had to know what this meant. He was a smart man. The idea of him backing her up helped her spine stiffen again. She’d been through so much. She could get through this, too.
Faced with a wall of support against him, the detective’s hubris dimmed a bit. “The woman you are so keen on protecting has some secrets. My guess is those secrets followed her to Annapolis. That makes them relevant to my case.”
“That’s not true.” She refused to let that be true. Ethan Reynolds was in prison. He wasn’t out and she knew because she checked every week.
“Then tell me who you really are.”
She didn’t move. “Jocelyn Raine.”
Chapter Eight
Ben sat on the edge of the bed, the one in the second-floor guest room of the Corcoran Team building, also known as Connor’s house. Ben had showered and changed into an extra pair of jeans and one of Connor’s tees. Not his bedroom. Ben had slept here earlier, right after the NCIS scandal broke. He’d only recently moved into his own place when he moved from Quantico to Annapolis, but Connor’s house provided security and Ben knew how vital that could be when everything blew apart.
Between rounds of questioning by Willoughby and a status report from Joel, it had taken hours to get everyone moved around and settled in.
The bottom story of the brick Federal-style building housing the Corcoran offices had closed down for the night. The second floor was alive with activity, or at least three adults sitting in three separate rooms.
Ben stayed in his assigned space, stewing and fighting back the urge to storm across the hall and knock on the door. He’d wasted precious time tonight getting fussed over by Jocelyn...or whatever her name was. She changed his bandages and re-stitched his stomach, all while Joel watched over them. Hard to get privacy with everyone milling around.
By the time Connor shut the lights off and declared work off-limits, Ben was itching to grab her. Being close to her for hours, while she wore an overly sunny smile and pretended the conversation with the detective hadn’t happened, had worn down Ben’s defenses. He fought back a nasty adrenaline rush and struggled to hold on to his temper.
In the past, when he raised his voice, she had shut down. He needed her listening and talking.
Whoever she really was.
He rubbed a hand over his face and groaned. Not that he cared if she’d made a name change. He understood if something in her past required it, but she knew they were facing down danger and to not share a piece of information endangered them all. He had no idea how he could protect her if she refused to trust him.
And that was what really ticked him off. She held back. Maybe fear no longer dulled the sheen to her eyes, but she kept him at a distance. He wanted in.
He was so lost in his thoughts he almost missed the light knock on the door. When it opened before he could call out, he stretched out and reached for the knife under the pillow. A new habit he’d picked up thanks to hanging around Davis. The man was an expert knife thrower, with Pax a close second.
But Ben wasn’t thinking about either of them now. Jocelyn stood in the small space. The dark hallway cast her in shadows but Ben could make out the tiny T-shirt that didn’t even reach the top of her shorts. A sliver of smoking-hot skin peeked out, giving him a look at her stomach. Vibrant red hair fell over those breasts.
He was a dead man.
“Can I come in?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.
He couldn’t find his voice, so he nodded as he sat up again. He’d been thinking about her, letting his anger fester, only seconds ago. Now he saw her standing there, curling her bare toes into the carpet as she waited for permission to walk in.
His brain misfired. Every intelligent argument raced out of his head and took most of the blood up there with them.
She walked over and didn’t stop until her knees tapped against his jeans. She stood so close he had to lean back to see her face when he looked up.
She smoothed a hand over his cheek and scratched her thumb over his stubble. “I wanted company.”
No way was he going to survive this. The urge to wrap his arms around her legs and drag her down to the mattress swamped him.
He had to swallow twice before any words came out. “Now is probably not a good time to talk.”
Hell, he couldn’t even think. Seeing her, smelling her, having her so close he could touch her made his lower half pound with need.
That thumb skimmed over his bottom lip and she gave him a small smile. “Good.”
Before he could mentally recite the alphabet or come up with mundane conversation, she lowered her head and her hair cascaded around her. It brushed over his cheek as she dipped in close and captured his mouth with hers.
