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If Clay had any powers of persuasion, he’d have a solid team of four by week’s end.
He tossed another glance at Lark, a self-proclaimed member of Sentry. And god, the way she’d stepped up to the line, prepared to accept the challenge—theresponsibility—touched the hell out of him and cast her in yet another color of the rainbow that made up her personality.
So many layers to the woman, and they all left him far more intrigued than he ever had been with other women. Not even his ex had held his interest like this. Oh, he believed she was everything at the time, but after she screwed his best buddy, he saw the truth of their relationship.
Hell, in two days with Lark, he felt closer than he had in months with his ex.
Lark frustrated him and made him laugh. She drove him up a wall and had him begging for more of her charm. She touched him with her deepest inner thoughts and a belief system built on her childhood. And her sense of loyalty and obligation went far beyond anything he’d witnessed, even from soldiers he fought in battle with.
The woman was a treasure.
Headlights flashed across his rearview mirror.
Seeing the glare, Lark straightened in her seat and set the candy in the cup holder. “Is that Livingston?”
“Yes.”
She knitted her fingers in her lap, the first sign he’d seen from her that her nerves might be kicking in.
Reaching over, he placed a hand on her arm. “Stay in the truck a minute, okay?”
“Don’t you think I need to know the plan too?”
“Just give me a minute.” His voice sounded more strained than he hoped.
“Okay, you sound weird. What’s really going on?”
He climbed out of the truck.
So did Lark.
Ofcourseshe’d picked up on his tone of voice. Hell, the woman had great instincts—maybe better than his. She probably deserved to be on Sentry.
The headlights cut and the driver parked a short distance away. Since Lark was already outside the vehicle, Clay moved to her, a hand lingering near his side where his weapon was tucked.
Two men exited the dark SUV and crossed the distance between them.
As soon as he saw Quaide, his anxiety dropped a notch. “Livingston.”
“Lexis. Good to see your ugly face.”
They extended fists and bumped knuckles.
Quaide waved toward the man dressed in black street clothes at his side. “This is Desantis. He’ll be—”
Clay cut him off before he spilled the news to Lark. “Excuse us a minute.” He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her several feet away.
She dug her feet in because she had a guess what was about to go down.
When he stopped, he swung to face her. “That guy—Desantis. You’re going with him.”
She was already shaking her head. “You think you can just pawn me off while you go into that warehouse—” she hissed.
He broke over her. “Yes, I do. You’re not coming with us. You’re not going in there. At all.”
“I am. I’m not leaving your side.”
“Lark, you’re not prepared for this. You can’t fight. You can’t shoot. You’re not going with me.”
