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And just like that, the glacier was a waterfall. A flood of burning, blazing awakening…
Of realization…
Of hope…
For what, she had no damn idea. She only knew that if she didn’t dive into the water, she’d never forgive herself.
Even if she ended up on a rock somewhere downstream, drowned by her own stupidity…
The jump was everything.
The jump was now.
“You didn’t know you’d what, John?”
A hard breath entered then left him. He closed his eyes…and when he opened the sienna depths to her again, the honesty in them was more stark, raw, and real than she’d ever seen or felt from him before. He was bared to her, far beyond the bronze magnificence of his body. His soul was naked now.
And his heart…
For one exquisite, perfect moment.
Right before the door back to the club was nearly pounded off its hinges.
Alarm crashed over Franz’s face. He pushed up, instantly throwing his body in front of hers. “What the hell?”
“Franz!” The voice, deep and booming, wasn’t Zeke’s. Max? No. Not enough snark. Even after knowing the guy for all of a minute, Tracy knew Max Brickham had been born with a taunt in his eyes and a sneer on his lips. “Are you in here? Franz!”
Tracy’s hands, now on his shoulders as she crouched behind him, were suddenly filled with rigid muscle—for the two seconds he stayed on the bed. As he cleared three strides to the door, one word spilled from him, just as urgent and ferocious.
“Shit.”
Some versions of the word were easier to hear than others. This wasn’t one of them. The waterfall gained new ice floes as Tracy scrambled, throwing a pillow around her middle, before John flung open the door. It was the best she could do, since the man had obviously changed gears. The last time she’d seen him like this was five days ago, in the back of a speeding Escalade, with smoke billowing in the sky behind them. The same heat roared through his body now. Defined every terse move he made.
He was back in full battle mode.
Without repeating the word, he unlocked then jerked open the door. At once a man stalked in, dressed in similar black cargo pants—though from the waist up, his look was radically different. A sand-colored T-shirt was mostly covered by a bulletproof vest, two loaded gun harnesses, and a small backpack with other paraphernalia worthy of a GI Joe plot. Looks-wise, the man was also Franz’s polar opposite. With hay-colored hair, summer sky eyes, and even a few light freckles across his nose, the guy was an older, hunkier Tom Sawyer. In special ops gear. With a bad-ass swagger.
“Nessa Rose and the fucking red shoes.” Every word dripped with John’s shock.
Tom Sawyer smirked. “Great to see you too, Dragon.”
“You’re not supposed to be here, fucker. Thailand—”
“Shock of shocks, the op went easier than we anticipated. And maybe, I—errmm—texted Z to let him know.”
“And maybe he texted back that we might be having some fun of our own up here,” Franz growled.
“Maybe.”
“Hell.”
“Shit.” That one blurted from Tracy. Dots finally connected in her brain. “Hawk,” she stammered, when the two men snapped their attention over. “For Hawkins, right? Garrett Hawkins? It took me a second to recognize you.” But now she sure as hell had. Hawkins was the dashing SOF soldier the media couldn’t get enough of a few years back, rocketing to fame when rescuing white slavery victims in an East Asia jungle, only to discover one of them was the fiancée he’d presumed dead. They’d planned a gorgeous wedding only to have it become the scene of more drama, if she remembered right. Something about twin bad guys and a quest for revenge taking ugly turns…
Not worth going into, especially as Hawkins returned her interested stare with riveted intensity. “Holy fuck. It’s really—I mean, Zeke told me you and she were really—” He colored then composed himself. “I mean—holy shit—it’s, errr, really nice to meet you, Madame Vice President, and I’m sorry about this, but—”
“Hawkins.”
It was the only charge John needed to issue. The younger man snapped back to attention for the man who’d been his commanding officer for so long, reverting to all-business focus. With a nod of his own, all but confirming this wasn’t the first time he’d seen the inside of this club, the soldier gave an answer that served as the second iceberg her bloodstream hit tonight.
