Chapter 11
Though it shamed him to admit it, Jordan hid in the bedroom for as long as possible. He might be an elite operative, but he wasn’t capable of dealing with Daisy right now. Not after what had happened.
The sound of voices drew him out with about thirty-five minutes before landing.
The co-pilot sat opposite Daisy, elbows on knees, leaning forward, hanging on her every word.
Her laugh tinkled, free and easy—a laugh he didn’t think he’d ever heard before.
Jealousy reared its ugly head, and he forced it back down into its box.
What did he care who she flirted with?
Except, he was pretty sure she was doing it deliberately to annoy him, and for the next few days, she was supposed to be his. It wasn’t in his nature to share.
He pushed his bag back into the luggage compartment and sat next to Daisy, reaching for her hand.
He didn’t miss the subtle flattening of the other man’s too-white smile.
“Where are we landing?”
The co-pilot named a small municipal airport south of Quantico.
“I know it.” Cas Demarco and Delilah Quinn had gone up against a cartel member there last month, and the bastard had murdered a couple of innocents and burned down one of the hangars. “Any issues?”
The co-pilot shook his head. “Smooth flight so far.”
“It’s a nice jet.” Jordan turned to smile at Daisy. “Especially the bedroom.”
Daisy’s cheeks stained pink.
So Ms. “Advanced Consent” could actually blush? That was news. “Need any help landing this thing?”
The co-pilot’s cool gaze met his. Pilots were generally possessive about their aircraft. Jordan was feeling pretty damned possessive himself right now.
“We’ve got it.” That smooth smile again. “I was telling Ms. Montana if she ever needs a tour guide in DC to let me know. I know my way around pretty well. I’d be happy to show her the sights.”
I bet you would.
“That’s kind of you.” Was he a plant? Sent undercover to determine the true nature of Jordan and Daisy’s relationship? “Pretty sure I can handle any services Daisy requires.”
He brought her fingers to his lips while holding the other man’s gaze. He was staking his claim, however short the duration of this fake relationship. She was his, and this guy should know better than to sniff around like a horn dog.
A smile tweaked the man’s lips as he climbed to his feet. “Just being friendly.”
“Well, you never know, Carl.” Daisy watched the man from under her lashes. “If Krychek is ever too busy to entertain me, then I may take you up on that kind offer.”
Over my dead body.
Carl grinned at her and shot Jordan a victorious look before swaggering into the cockpit.
Jordan leaned close to her ear and tried to ignore that scent of hers that always sent his brain into a tailspin. “What part of ‘madly in love with me’ flirts with the goddamned copilot?”
She put her mouth to his ear in turn, her breath warm on his skin. “It was an innocent conversation.”
Nothing about Daisy was innocent. “He was salivating like a dog with a bone.”
“I’m not responsible for the effect I have on men.”
Was she referring to what had happened in the bedroom earlier?
Maybe.
He leaned back and stared at her, perplexed.
She was right. She couldn’t help the sweetheart good looks that made people underestimate her and want her—including him.
She tied him in knots. Or maybe it was the gravity of their situation that was getting to him.
He hadn’t spelled it out clearly because he hadn’t wanted to freak her out—yet.
He cleared his throat. “Listen up. Apparently, there’s quite the furor been stirred up in the media over this.”
He suspected Russian bots were out there amplifying conspiracy theories to take the pressure off Bocharov and put it onto the FBI instead. And on Daisy.
Her brow furrowed. “What sort of furor?”
“Conspiracy theories abound that the US had a part in the Frenchman’s death.
Your face is all over the internet.” So was his, which seriously pissed him off.
“You need to be prepared when we land. I’d lock down your social media accounts if I were you as soon as you get the opportunity. FBI Director is on the warpath.”
Her chest rose as she sucked in a deep breath. “Do I need an attorney?”
They spoke in quiet whispers, faces close together.
“That would be the wisest course of action.”
“Are you getting an attorney?”
He shook his head. “Not unless I figure they’re trying to frame us for something. It’ll look too suspicious if that’s my start position. But you’re not in the Bureau, and lying to an FBI agent is a federal offense.”
“So my father reminded me whenever he thought I was up to something.” She pressed her lips together. “I’ll let them interview me without one to start—I know they’ll want to talk to me without you being present. If I feel like I’m being railroaded, I’ll call for an attorney.”
He was hopeful the Bureau would believe a man who’d dedicated the last decade of his life—not to mention everyone he loved—to its service. And that they’d give Daisy, Kurt’s daughter, the benefit of the doubt.
“Remember what we talked about. No one’s going to pin Tremblay’s death on you. I won’t let them.”
Her eyes were wide and dark now, somber with the understanding that playtime was over. This was serious.
About damned time.
The seat belt sign beeped, and he belatedly let go of her hand, then closed his eyes as they descended.
He could do this. Keep Daisy safe from anyone suggesting she was involved in Tremblay’s death, sound the alarm about his suspicions that Konrad Bocharov was still alive, and at the same time, protect her from that monster.
He wished there was some way for him to contact Kurt and tell him the truth.
Except for the fact he’d had his hand down Daisy’s pants.
He wasn’t planning on telling him that. He wasn’t sure how he was ever going to face his old friend again.
The man had asked him to protect Daisy, not finger fuck her.
He couldn’t even think about it without shame and desire churning inside him in a tangled mess. The sight of her was a bright, shiny temptation to a man who had a weakness for sex, even though his code of honor refused to give in—at least not while he was conscious.
He was such an asshole.
And none of that mattered.
All that mattered was protecting Daisy and proving Bocharov was alive, then finding him before the bastard hurt anyone else. Plus, exacting revenge for the murder of his family, of Ana, of Micky, of the four cops who’d been slaughtered while on stakeout duty that night.
The FBI needed to investigate his old task force buddies to discover how the arms dealer could have faked his own death and where he’d been in the intervening decade. Bocharov couldn’t have managed this disappearing act alone.
Had the Kremlin been involved? Or had Bocharov used the explosion to get away from his Russian masters and start over somewhere else with a clean slate?
Jordan didn’t know, but he planned to do everything in his power to find out.