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Aggie
Aggie was aware of Zeke’s pacing well into the night, though he had to be as exhausted as she was. It went on for a while before she heard him go into the bathroom. The quick shower he took was a testament to his self-discipline. She’d lingered for much longer. Once she’d gotten under the therapeutic massage showerheads, she hadn’t wanted to leave.
Of course, she knew why he’d made it such a quickie. He was afraid she was going to ditch him again. Her theory was confirmed when the first thing he did after emerging was make his way over to the bed and confirm she was still present and accounted for.
She smiled into her pillow when he grunted softly. He did that a lot. He was somehow able to manipulate the muscles in and around his throat to produce this soft, subtle, and wholly masculine sound that, in one short burst, spoke entire sentences. She interpreted this last one to convey something like, Well, damn, she really is still here.
Regardless, he needn’t have worried. She hadn’t been kidding about not going anywhere for a while. The trick was going to be getting him to stick around long enough for her to get the information she’d come for.
She heard him moving around the kitchen and breathed easier. She was glad he’d decided to unclench a little and get himself something to eat. The cupboards were well stocked with nonperishables, and the Sub-Zero had enough protein to last several months at least. The poor guy had to be hungry. Maintaining a physique that lean and muscular probably required ten thousand calories a day.
As tired as she was, sleep remained elusive. She audibly tracked his movements through the chalet. Knew that after he satisfied his immediate need for food, he would scope out all the possible entry and exit points. He might even fashion warning devices in case she tried to sneak out in the middle of the night.
Eventually, he returned to the room. He did so silently, but she didn’t need sound to know he was there. She felt his presence in her very core, like a heavy static charge that hung in the air right before a powerful thunderstorm. Building. Imminent.
She could feel his intense stare, too, as he stood there in silence beside the bed, the soft pop and hiss of the gas fireplace creating soothing background noise. He was probably carefully weighing his options, deciding what to do next. There was only one bed in the suite, and she was in it. He needed rest, but he wanted to stay close, so crashing in one of the other bedrooms was a no-go.
Would he lay himself out on the floor at the foot of the bed or in front of the door? Or would the allure of a mattress and a down comforter prove too tempting to resist?
Then, she heard him grunt softly—she was really becoming absurdly fond of the sound—and felt the bed shift under his weight.
Her smile widened. The bed was big enough to hold them both comfortably. They could both lie there all night and never touch, which was no doubt what he had in mind. But the opportunity was simply too good to pass up. The hotel rooms they’d stayed in had two queens, but here, there was only one California king.
After several minutes passed, she rolled over in her feigned sleep, closer to him. Close enough to feel his body heat and fill her lungs with the scented soap from his recent shower.
She pressed against him lightly and sighed. His body stiffened, then eventually relaxed. Then, and only then, did she give in to the heavy pull of slumber.
* * *
He snored. As his heavy, powerful arm held her tightly against him, the low rumbles vibrated through her entire body. It wasn’t unpleasant.
She took a few minutes to appreciate the sensation. Relished the feel of smooth skin and coarse hair beneath her cheek and thigh. The steady, strong beat of his heart and the rhythmic rise and fall of a sculpted chest.
And why shouldn’t she? It had been a long time since she’d allowed herself to get close to anyone, and it probably would be an even longer period before she allowed it to happen again. She might as well enjoy it while she could.
Eventually, the call of nature grew too strong to resist, and she had no choice but to relinquish her living body pillow and heed the call. She managed to extricate herself without waking him. After taking care of personal business, she donned her robe and padded out to the kitchen in search of the two-thousand-dollar coffee machine there.
Worth every penny, she thought a short while later, sipping her first cup at the highly polished granite breakfast bar.
She fired up her laptop, unsurprised to see an urgent message from her brother.
She tapped the icon and took another heavenly sip while the secure signal ricocheted and bounced among a network of private towers and satellites across the globe, making it impossible to trace.
She hadn’t yet lowered her cup when his concerned face appeared on the screen.
“What’s wrong?” he asked by way of greeting.
Her chest loosened at the sight of him, even as intense amber eyes lasered into her. Everything would be all right because her brother would make sure of it. They’d been looking out for each other for as long as she could remember. He was as protective of her as she was of him, though neither of them ever admitted it.
“What makes you think anything’s wrong?” she asked easily.
“Besides the fact that you look like you went ten rounds with a UFC fighter?”
“It’s not that bad. You should see the other guy.”
“Seriously, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. It looks worse than it is.”
He snorted.
“I’m fine. Listen, T, I need a favor.”
“Anything.”
“I need you to find out what you can about a woman who goes by the code name Charley.”
He raised a perfect eyebrow, but otherwise, he didn’t seem surprised by the request. “Isn’t cyberstalking your thing?”
She shook her head. “Under normal circumstances, yes, but this is different. I’m pretty sure she’s associated with a secret society. Way, way off the books. That’s more your area of expertise than mine.”
His eyes practically glowed. “Why are you asking about an operative?”
“She sent a mercenary to find me and bring me in for a chat.”
His lips quirked. “No one finds you unless you allow it.”
“Usually, that’s true, but not in this case.”
“Do you know why she wants you?”
“Probably for my mad skills,” Aggie replied without a trace of arrogance. Her brother knew exactly how good she was. “Want to hear the weirdest thing?”
“Hit me.”
“She knew where I was, and she somehow connected enough dots to associate me with prior, seemingly unrelated, socially-fortuitous events.”
“That is weird.”
Seconds ticked by in silence.
“Is Charley one of yours, T?”
“No.”
“Is she a friend of yours?”
“You know I don’t have any friends.”
His eyes held amusement, and that was when she knew. Her brother had been keeping tabs on her.
“Why?” she asked. “Not that I’m not appreciative, but I thought we had an agreement not to stick our noses in each other’s business unless warranted.”
“We do, but this was warranted. You inadvertently stumbled into a work in progress and ended up on the radar.”
“How so?”
“The mill’s union leaders recently appeared on the FBI’s organized crime watch list. A task force was working with a source on the inside.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Apparently, the source was a friend of yours. They were watching you and everyone else he associated with. Mostly you, because Aggie Mays was the wildcard they couldn’t quite explain.”
No wonder Sam had seemed nervous. Being a narc for the FBI was enough to make anyone tense. “Is Sam okay?”
“He went missing around the same time you did,” T said. “No one’s seen hide nor hair of him since. Either the FBI has him in protective custody or ...” He let the sentence hang. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
She nodded.
“What about the guy they sent to get you? Is he behaving himself or do I need to send a cleanup crew?”
Aggie smiled at that. “No, I can handle him. He’s an honorable merc.”
Her brother snorted. “He’s there with you now?”
“He’s very easy on the eyes.”
“Seriously?”
“I know, I know,” she sighed. “But he’s one of the good guys, I can tell.”
Her brother’s eyes went from concerned to interested, just as she’d known they would. She’d inherited the same sixth sense about people as he had. He’d no sooner disparage her instincts than he would his own.
“How good?”
“Good enough to warrant further study. He fits the profile. Thirty-something. Loner, chip on his shoulder, highly skilled. Prefers working from the shadows but definite white knight tendencies.”
T hummed in interest. “Got a name?”
“Zeke, no last name given. My guess is, he’s ex–special forces. SEALs, maybe Delta. I’m sending you an image now.”
She tapped a few buttons and sent the picture of Zeke she’d surreptitiously captured into the ether. A soft ding sounded on her brother’s end a few seconds later. He looked at it and frowned.
“Do you know him?” she asked.
“Maybe,” he said noncommittally. “Let me see what I can find out and I’ll get back to you. Until then, be careful.”
“I will. Love you, T.”
“Love you too.”
* * *
Aggie didn’t need to look up from her laptop to know that Zeke was staring at her from the archway. His eyes zeroed in on her like lasers, as tangible as a physical touch.
“Good morning,” she said cheerfully.
“Morning,” he answered roughly.
Her eyes flicked up briefly. He wore leg-hugging blue jeans and a button-down shirt that hung open, exposing ink on a lovely canvas of tight abs and tawny skin. His long hair hung loose, kissing his broad shoulders. He looked at once fierce and beautiful, rugged and comfortable in his own skin.
“The coffee’s hot and strong, but if you want something other than fruit and granola for breakfast, you’re going to have to make it yourself. I don’t cook.”
He didn’t seem at all bothered by that, which was a pleasant surprise. Alpha types like him tended to have antiquated ideas of what a woman should and shouldn’t do, and given the chivalry he’d exhibited thus far, she’d have put him firmly in the women can and should know how to cook category.
He wasted no time stalking across the space, owning it like a big, predatory cat, and then he stopped and stared at the plate of fresh fruit she’d been snacking on.
“Where did that come from?”
“Special delivery.”
“How?”
“Internet. It’s the latest rage. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”
He snorted. “Do you think that’s smart? Letting people know you’re squatting?”
“Who says I’m squatting? Maybe this is my place.”
“Is it?”
She smiled at him benignly and blinked her eyes rapidly.
He grunted, just as she’d hoped he would. Then, he went to the fridge and foraged, pulling out a carton of fresh eggs, a sweet onion, a bell pepper, and a plate of sliced, baked ham—all recent purchases by a service paid extremely well to provide upon request.
Soon, the air filled with the delicious scents of a hearty omelet and toasted bread as he prepared his own breakfast. There was something incredibly sexy about a man who knew how to cook.
He sat down at the counter next to her. The massive omelet hung over both sides of the plate and smelled fantastic.
She clicked out of the report she’d been looking at and gave him her full attention. It could take hours for T to respond, and curiosity was eroding her patience
“That’s your secret, isn’t it? You’re a world-renowned chef by day and get your thrills by playing badass mercenary on the side.”
He scowled at her. “Playing mercenary?”
“I know it’s not your day job.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do. So, are you going to tell me? Or shall I keep guessing?”
He chewed thoughtfully, as if considering whether or not to answer. Then he swallowed, drank half the coffee in one go, and said, “I’m a tattoo artist.”
Her eyes roamed over the bits of ink visible on his forearms and chest, filling in the rest from the brief glimpses she’d had when he was shirtless. The pieces were breathtaking, fitted perfectly to the shape of his body. She wondered if he’d designed the tattoos himself.
“Are you any good?”
“Depends on who you ask,” he said with the ghost of a smile.
“I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo.”
“Yeah? Why haven’t you?”
“Too permanent. Too recognizable,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “Especially on a woman. It’s different for guys like you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Guys like me?”
She nodded. “You’d stand out more if you didn’t have tats. You have that whole bad-boy vibe going on, which works for what you do. Hiding in plain sight, if you will. But me? I need to blend in. Working in the bar, yeah, I could get away with a few. But as a library story-time reader, not so much.”
His lips quirked. “Library story-time reader?”
“You’d be surprised by the things I’ve done to stay under the radar,” she said.
He polished off his omelet, then pushed the plate to the side. “Not all tattoos are readily visible,” he said, his eyes dipping suggestively to the parts of her currently covered.
“I suppose not,” she agreed.
“If you did get one, what would you get?”
“I have no idea.”
He laughed softly and called her out. “Everyone who is serious about getting ink has something in mind. Something they want.”
He wasn’t wrong. She had given it a lot of thought. She wanted something feminine. Something delicate yet strong that flowed with the natural curves of her body. Something that was unique and meaningful to her. But a specific image had remained elusive. Her creativity didn’t extend to artistic things, only mathematical things, like patterns and alternate pathways.
“What would you suggest?”
He sat back and eyed her critically, like an artist eyeing a blank canvas.
“With your size and coloring, I’d go with fine line black and gray,” he said finally.
“Subject matter?”
“That depends on what’s important to you. It should mean something. Express who you are.”
Her eyes dipped to the intricate design on his chest. Celtic and Nordic symbols, woven seamlessly into battle scenes. Bold strokes, expert shading, powerful imagery. It fit him perfectly.
“Did you design yours?” she asked, her finger reaching out to touch.
“Yes.” He caught her hand, stopping her before she made contact. A jolt of energy raced up her arm and she snatched it back.
“Would you design one for me?”
“No.” The answer was immediate.
“Why not?”
He didn’t answer. His eyes flashed with heat before they shuttered. Then, he rose from the counter abruptly and took his dishes to the sink.
“Your little disappearing act has put us behind schedule,” he said, keeping his back to her. “We should go. The sooner, the better.”
“Still on about that, are you?”
“I was hired to do a job.”
Aggie ignored the pang of disappointment that speared through her at the reminder. “What’s wrong with sticking around for another day or two?”
He shook his head. “Not a good idea.”
“Why not? We’re safe here. We’ve got plenty of food and amenities. The view is spectacular. What’s the hurry? Are you that anxious to be rid of me, Zeke?”