two guns, a knife and a bulletproof vest. He had to have expected bullets would fly and people would be hurt. “What are we doing now?” They couldn’t wait on the street long. People were looking for them.
“We’re close to the safe house. Someone will explain more then.”
“You can’t explain now?” she asked.
“No.”
He was infuriating with his uninformative responses.
“I need to call in that I have you.”
Call in to whom? “What if I run?” she asked.
“You don’t want to do that,” he said.
Yes, she did.
“If you run, I will catch you. You are in danger, and it’s my job to take you somewhere safe. The sooner you accept that you need my help, the easier this will go.”
* * *
As a retrieval specialist for the West Company and as a former member of the Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta, Griffin Brooks knew not every extraction went well. During his time with Delta Force and then with the West Company, he could count on one hand the number that had.
This case was especially problematic. He was part of a team locating the group that had worked on a secret government project. Those individuals were being hunted by an extremist organization, and when the scientists didn’t comply with the terrorists’ demands, they were killed and their bodies dumped in various locations around the United States. The West Company had kept the murders, and any connection between them, quiet and out of the media. As the bodies piled up, the United States government became more nervous. They wanted this handled quickly and effectively.
The international terrorist group known as Incognito had started out as a cyber-only terrorist organization. In recent months, they had allied themselves with several mercenary groups and had shifted their focus to collecting the scientists who had worked on the Locker. Their means were no longer isolated to the computer. Kidnappings and murders were frequently tied to them. Griffin didn’t know what the Locker was, but it was important to keep it, and by extension the scientists who had contributed to it, safe. He knew the code names for three team members who were considered most at risk: Kit, who had gone by the name Lotus, Arsenic, and Stargazer. Arsenic and Stargazer had left the project before it had ended and were proving harder to trace.
Incognito was hunting the three lead scientists, and they wouldn’t stop. The United States had connected the dead bodies to the secret military project, and they’d called in the West Company to assist. Details were closely guarded, and every item was need-to-know.
Connor West, owner of the West Company, had deployed other specialists to retrieve the remaining members of the project, beyond the three leads. Some were deep in hiding. Griffin had been assigned the task to locate and bring in Kit Walker. He had studied her file, but she was more than a techie with a PhD and a love of computers. He had expected her to be smart, but he hadn’t expected her spunk or the red minidress and sky-high bedroom heels.
Dress and shoes aside, she wasn’t his type. Since his wife had died, he went for women who had looks over brains and were more submissive than bold. Griffin enjoyed the company of women, and he liked for them to play along with his desires. Being in control in the bedroom was a turn-on for him. Nothing wrong with that if the woman was willing. He was lucky that plenty were. He wasn’t lonely for company when he wanted it. Given what he did for a living, he wasn’t looking for long-term. He’d had that with Beth, and though it had been amazing, he wouldn’t find it twice in one lifetime.
Griffin dialed Connor on his secure line. While he spoke, Kit rubbed her arms and looked around. Was she thinking of running? He would catch her. If he had to bring her in wounded, it was better than bringing her in dead. She wouldn’t get far on her injured foot. He’d bandaged it, but any pressure and it would resume bleeding.
She shivered again, and he removed the sweatshirt from his motorcycle trunk and tossed it to her. She smiled at him gratefully and pulled it over her dress. The shirt was long on her, falling below the hemline of her dress. He was momentarily fixated on her pair of slim, toned legs.
Her legs weren’t her best feature, though. Her best feature was her eyes. He could get lost in their depths. He could see so much going on behind them. He liked that. He liked it a lot.
“Get her to the safe house. I’ll send a computer as soon as I can,” Connor said.
“Right. A computer.” Connor’s wife Kate, also known as Shade, had reasoned that Kit would be more comfortable and possibly of use to them in the immediate future with a computer in her hands.
Kit drew the hood of his sweatshirt up, and Griffin smiled. It worked on her. She had a sexy nerd look, her hair wild around her shoulders and her lips twisted in annoyance.
He wrapped up his call and disconnected. “Ready?” he asked her.
She glared at him from under the hood. “If I run, you’d have to chase me.”
“That’s right.”
“But you don’t want to hurt me.”
He didn’t want to hurt her. But if he had to tackle her, he would. “I will do what I need to bring you in.”
She was going to run. Her muscles clenched. Her history with the Locker hadn’t indicated that she’d had deception training. In his line of work, Griffin expected liars. Kit was a refreshing change of pace.
Kit made it two steps before he caught her and pushed her against the brick wall of a nearby building. He exercised control as he held her wrists in his. He wasn’t looking to break her arms.
“You’re hurting me.” He loosened his grip. She pulled her arm free and punched him in the face.
It barely registered. He’d been struck harder—much harder—before. Tonight, even. “We need to work on your self-defense skills.”
Her mouth trembled. Her eyes welled with tears. Was she going to cry? He shouldn’t care if she did.
“Let me go, brute.”
Brute? He had been called a lot of names, but never that. “Will you run?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I know you’ll catch me. But I won’t stop trying to get away from you.”
“You won’t have to deal with me for much longer. After I drop you off, you’re someone else’s headache.” Maybe someone else could get through to her that she was in danger and needed protecting.
They walked back to his motorcycle, and she kicked it over. He looked at her in surprise. “Don’t like the bike?”
“Look at me. How do you think I feel right now?”
“I have no idea how you feel.” Angry, clearly. He righted the bike.
She folded her arms over her chest. “So that part of you is broken. You kill people and you manhandle me. You don’t care how I feel.”
