Chapter 29
After the initial shock ricochets through me, I fist my hands and shove them into my eye sockets. “No! No! I can’t lose this job.”
I grab the door handle, hell bent on confronting this situation head on.
“Hold it, hotshot.” Lucas’s enormous hand flattens on the door, once again, pressed above my head, stopping me from pulling it open.
“What job is that, Camile?”
I seethe at him. “The team leader job with FamFind.”
He’s bristly behind me. Judging me. I can feel his glare hitting the top of my head.
“I need to talk to this guy. Maybe there’s a mistake. Ralph has no reason to fire me. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Lucas spins me around before I can evade him. Now I can’t avoid his penetrating inspection.
Voice tense and low, he asks, “How long have you worked for the company?”
“For about six months.”
“Undercover.”
My brain shorts out. For a few seconds, I don’t know what to do. In the meantime, I almost choke on the dustbowl in my mouth.
Lucas is dangerously perceptive.
An awful weight sinks into the bottom of my stomach. With it comes a stark reality check. I’m caught. If it was anyone besides Lucas, someone with different intentions, I could be killed…
A cold flush washes over me. PCI forbids relationships for this very reason.
When I can finally speak, I sound like I’m about to lose it. “Lucas… I’m sorry…”
His hand slides into my hair, gently fists, and he tilts my neck back. “Is Camile even your name?”
This hurts to admit, but he deserves this much. “No.”
His exhale is ragged and slow as he looks down at me. Something surfaces in his gaze, but he doesn’t allow it to linger. Then his mouth compresses into a harsh line.
Outside the window, someone calls his name. “Beast, yo!”
“Goddamn it,” Lucas mutters as he drops his hand from my hair.
I step aside, and he jerks open the door.
Truck is standing there with a weirdly cold expression on his face. I don’t know him well, but I’m guessing this is some kind of SEAL masking technique they learn for covert work. He glances at me with unnerving indifference. “A word with you, Beast.”
Behind me, Lucas grunts. He steps around me. “This won’t be long.”
He has the nerve to close the door, shutting me inside the house.
I glare at the door. Steam is coming out of my ears. I’m so angry at the helpless feeling of the world coming apart around me.
The door swings open, and I jump back.
Truck says, “Come with me, Camile. You can wait with me while Beast takes care of… business.”
My stomach flips over.
Then the man that was buried inside of me hours ago shifts his hard brown eyes back to me. “Hopefully, this won’t be long. Afterwards, we have a lot to talk about.”
From my periphery, I watch as Truck tilts his head and his brows go up. The two of them exchange a glance.
Truck motions for me to walk out the door.
I follow the former SEAL, sick to my stomach, my mind reeling. I can’t stop myself from looking back over my shoulder. Beast is standing in the door with a fierce scowl on his angular face and a dangerous sheen to his eyes.
I really look at him. The strong warrior. The uncompromising protector. A man with a whole boatload of ghosts in his eyes, secrets he’ll never share, and a heart scarred by pain.
I’ve never encountered a person like him. The combination of hard and battered makes him dangerous to me.
Irresistible, almost. I shouldn’t have let him close…
I blink back the odd feeling in my eyes.
God, why am I so emotional? It’s like the waterworks got turned on the minute the man walked into my life.
“Truck,” Beast shouts. “Don’t let her out of your sight.”
That’s so Beast. Lucas, I correct myself.
I know his command is partly because he wants to keep me safe, the other reason is because my world is unraveling and Lucas is smart enough to see that playing out before his eyes.
I probably look like the cornered animal that I feel like.
Truck guides me to his bungalow, opens the door for me, and follows me inside. It’s almost a copy of the other house. Much like Lucas’s bungalow, the colors are bright, it’s tidy, and well built.
The owner has gone to an effort to make it comfortable with pretty, but functional things.
He motions toward the small dining table. “Help yourself to anything you want.”
When I glance at the plate of fruit and pastries, my stomach clenches. “I don’t think I can eat right now.”
He swings his head my way and looks me over. “You want to talk?”
That’s a hell no.
I drop my eyes to the floor and hang my head. Causing my hair to spill around me. I breathe for a few seconds. “I can’t.”
Truck’s tone turns gruff. “Sit down. Beast might be a while.”
The knot in my stomach turns over as my insides seem to twist around. “Will Lucas hurt…” I cringe. “Will he hurt that guy?”
“Depends. If he’s a threat to you, then Lucas is going to do what it takes to protect you.”
My heart lurches. An uncomfortable tension builds behind my sternum. “Why is he so protective over me?”
He looks down at the floor, staring at his combat boot. Seconds tick by. My mind runs wild with ideas about what he’s thinking.
When he finally speaks, his expression is conflicted. “Did Beast talk to you?”
I’m not sure how to answer his question. “What do you mean?”
“Did he talk with you about anything personal?”
For some reason, this question makes me incredibly uncomfortable. I shift in my seat. My neck starts to feel hot. “Sure, we talked. I mean, not a lot…”
“Did he talk about his past?”
I was uncomfortable before—now it feels like I’m in a frying pan.
“No.” I press my lips together and rub my sweaty palms over my legs. “I saw his scars. Is that what you’re talking about?”
I instantly feel like I’ve said too much. Admitting I saw his scars clearly means we were unclothed. Or Lucas was shirtless at the very least.
He stares at me, unblinking, with intensity I’m beginning to wonder about. Are all SEALs like this?
The tension thickens. I blurt, “He didn’t really talk about his scars, if that’s what you’re trying to ferret out.”
Truck’s expression darkens, and something passes behind his gaze like a glimpse of some locked door that you wouldn’t dare open. His tone is low and rough. “Not all scars are on the outside.”
A shiver runs through me. My heart is galloping. My mind is reeling. I have to take a couple of seconds to recover.
What has happened to Lucas?
I whisper, “I know that. Most of my scars aren’t visible.”
“Did he talk about his past?” Truck repeats his question.
“No. Lucas did not talk about his past. But he asked about mine. And I think this conversation is over. I’m not comfortable talking about what happened between Lucas and me. That’s private, and it feels like you’re bullying me right now.”
Truck pulls out a chair and flips it around backwards. After straddling the seat, he folds his arms on the curved, wooden back. It’s impossible to read his expression, no matter how hard I try.
I’m reminded of CSI and how interrogators put the heat on their suspects.
My suspicion is confirmed when he changes the tone of his questions. “Did you lie to him?”
I jolt and try to hide my sudden need to swallow hard. “No, I didn’t lie to Lucas.”
Truck tips his chin toward the chair at the table. “Why don’t you take a seat and relax?”
Now my mouth hinges open. “You’re kidding, right? I can’t relax. You’re drilling me. A man who tried to drag me away from a disaster zone in the middle of a horrifying extraction is in a house next door, being interrogated, by the man who insists he’s going to look out for me. Before that, I find out that some random whack job rolled into town to tell me I’ve been fired. Oh, and yesterday, armed rebels were about to—” I shudder. “I’m not okay, Truck. My life is…”
My composure evaporates. There is a war of emotions tearing me limb from limb. I’m hurt. I’m mad and confused. Last—and definitely not least—I’m scared that my entire career is going up in smoke as I sit here helplessly.
The urge to punch a pillow, to burst into tears, to kick something all at the same time is almost more than I can take.
I fist my hair with one hand and mutter, “My life is coming apart. Now I need to make some calls. Private calls.”
He motions to the chair with the flick of his index finger. “Sit. Down. Camile.”
I clench the strap of my backpack. “No, really. I need to make some calls.”
“It can wait.”
Grrr. I am a millimeter away from yelling the roof off of the place. “All of you are so freaking bossy.”
“Only when we need to be.”
Whatever that means.
I shrug off my backpack and place it on the floor. With a frustrated huff, I sit on the chair and cross one leg over the other so I can swing my foot furiously. If I don’t, I’m going to bite not only my fingernails, but my entire fingers off.
“Better?” I ask grumpily.
“Much. Thank you. Why don’t you tell me why you’re lying about who you are?”
Uh. My foot stops swinging. That’s not the only thing that stops. It feels like all bodily functions inside me have gone on furlough.
Truck angles his head. This man looks like he could watch paint dry until some answer he’s seeking is given.
Damn it. Lucas isn’t the only one doing an interrogation. It seems that I’ve found myself in another hot seat.
“Start at the beginning.”
Oh no. No. Period. No. I’m not telling Truck anything.
He just looks at me. Those eyes of his are like calm, deep blue lakes. The kind of places where the Loch Ness monster might choose to lurk.
Now I really feel like not only am I unraveling, but I’m shredding into tiny fibers that will soon be a pile of dust bunnies on the floor.
All while he watches.
I try to steady my breathing.
Please let someone show up and save me from whatever disaster is lurking—whatever chaos is about to unfold next. Because it’s coming. My barometer is falling, a sure sign of an incoming hurricane.
SEALs are experienced interrogators.
Truck has the look of a man who won’t stop until he squeezes blood out of a rock.
The slope I’m on feels dangerous and slick, like I’m hurtling toward saying one wrong thing that will drag Lucas and his men even farther into something that I cannot talk about.
Truck watches me suffer, until he calmly says, “Take a few deep breaths.”
I blink at him and frown. “Why do I feel like I’m being hypnotized?”
He chuckles mirthlessly. “I’m just trying to keep you from popping an aneurysm. Beast wouldn’t be too happy with me if that happened. I’m responsible for your well-being while you’re with me.”
“Accusing me of lying isn’t a good way to do that.”
Doing everything I can to avoid his eyes, I look down at my hands. That feels safer. Like he’s not reading my mind.
Lord, the man is the master of long, painful silences. Actually, he and Lucas must have contests to see who’s better at torture without saying anything.
When I can’t take it any longer, a stream of words tumble out of me. “Look, Truck, I’m sorry that you guys have all gotten caught up in this. It’s a mess that you should not have to deal with. I know you have a job to do and babysitting me isn’t part of that.”
Truck studies me. Does the man ever blink? God, he must buy Visine by the case.
“What are you caught up in?”
I shrug stiffly because my cells are quitting one by one. Yep, dying inside. “I don’t even know.”
I suspect.
But I don’t know. I can feel his eyes punching holes in me as I sit here twisting my hands together.
After another loaded silence where I start to sweat between my breasts, he finally speaks. “I’ve known Beast a long time.”
Now I look at him, unsure of where he’s going with this. I don’t even mean to, but I hinge forward, waiting.
Truck—I don’t know his real name—steeples his fingers and looks at me over the top of them. “He’s a very good friend. A brother, really.”
The fierceness in his voice rolls through me.
I study him and try to force my lungs to work, but it feels like I’m squeezed in a vice.
“I’m glad he has your friendship,” I reply softly, unable to raise my voice.
“I expect you to treat him with the respect he deserves. He’s a man of honor.”
Truck unnerves me, drilling me with his fathomless, cold eyes.
My tongue feels thick, my palms are clammy. The wavering nausea is pushing up into my throat.
When all I do is sit, frozen, he stands up, towering over me. “I’ve got to do some work. You should eat. It’s going to be a long day.”
“I need some water.” My voice squeezes out as a raspy whisper.
“There are some bottles on the shelf in the bathroom. Help yourself. Mi casa es su casa.”
I shoot to my feet, desperate to get away from his observation. On legs that feel like they belong to someone else, I stumble across the room on my bare feet.
I didn’t even grab my boots when I left Lucas’s bungalow. How stupid was that?
My hands are shaking when I reach for one of the small bottles on the shelf. My lips tremble when I put it to my mouth.
God.What am I going to do?
I can’t be fired… I can’t tell these men what they want to know.
From the other room, I hear Truck answer a phone call. I ease the bathroom door shut. I pace the small room. Two steps one way. Two steps the other.
Get it together, girl. You have to keep your act together.
I’ve never felt so rattled. I shouldn’t have gotten involved—as in slept with Lucas, let him hold me all night, let myself feel something…
I inhale sharply in the wake of a painful memory of how good he felt protecting me.
I was so stupid. What got into me?
I had a job to do.
Now Lucas and his men are tangled up in something they shouldn’t have been involved in.
And now I’ve got to deal with a double-decker problem. I might be fired. The ripple from that isn’t a ripple. There’s a tsunami following in its wake.
I take another drink of water and wait as the liquid squeezes down through my clenched esophagus to a stomach that’s probably never going to work right again.
Why would Ralph fire me?
It doesn’t make sense. Unless he busted my cover…
No. I was so careful.
My head begins to throb.
I didn’t work so hard for all these years to have this all crumble around me.
I lean my forehead against the window casing as the curtain stirs on a gust of wind. The breeze takes some heat away from my tense face.
I need to get to the bottom of what’s going on. And do it fast.