SIX
Big brother energy, his ass.
Even if Jolie’s claim was true, that did not extend to Stina.
Especially Rome’s dreams.
As usual, he was up before the base fully came alive, and he knew the only way to escape his dreams about her was by putting himself through a grueling workout.
He spent the next hour trying not to think about her hot body in various stages of undress. And especially not the way she’d reached for him in the interview room.
She had sought comfort, and for a few minutes, he’d been fool enough to give it to her.
If he hadn’t stepped back when he did, he would’ve done something far more dangerous.
Like kiss her.
He spent another twenty minutes pushing his body to the limits before he gave up and went in search of coffee.
He couldn’t even do that without an edge of force. He shoved the pot into the machine with more force than necessary, causing several of his teammates to look up from their breakfast.
Rome carried his mug to a seat and brooded into his coffee, trying not to notice every little noise echoing through base. But when he heard footsteps coming toward the kitchen, he swung his head up to look at the door.
Townie shot him a look as he entered. “That’s my seat.”
“If we’re playing musical bedrooms, we can play musical chairs too.”
A slow grin spread over Townie’s face. “You’ve got a nice view of the door from there.”
Rome buried his groan in a sip of coffee. But in his effort to look anywhere but at his teammates, he spotted the whiteboard mounted near the refrigerator.
On one side, someone had written the week’s menu and who’d been assigned cooking duty. Any day with Younger’s name next to it meant they could look forward to any meal that could be microwaved. And if it was Rorke’s name, they could expect a tub of protein powder and an order to fix it themselves.
The only good meals they got were thanks to Jolie, but she was busy taking online college courses and didn’t get a lot of extra time to cook for a crowd.
But Rome didn’t care about the week’s menu. What caught his attention more was the other side of the whiteboard where a list of running bets were scribbled, as if Cannon’s ban on gambling never existed.
Rome stared at the first line.
Who gets someone pregnant first: Rome or Monk?
“Who the fuck wrote that?” he snarled.
The guys followed his gaze, and O’s lips twitched. “So you saw the list.”
“I see assholes who think they’re funny, Orvis.”
O chuckled at one of the many stabs they all took at finding out his real name. But he wasn’t saying, and so far none of them had located his file.
Rome skimmed over the rest of the list. There were odds placed on Younger ending up with a brunette on his next leave and odds on Cannon having twins.
“The one about Cannon seems like you’re just trying to give your money away. He’s never going to break Blackout protocol,” Rome said.
A couple guys chuckled. Before he could address the next bet on the list, voices trickled through the door. Despite every effort not to look…
He looked.
Stina walked in with Jolie wearing fresh clothes, probably scavenged from the ski resort’s lost and found or one of the abandoned suitcases left behind upstairs.
The friends’ styles couldn’t have been more different. Jolie once fished out a pair of bellbottom jeans that she wore on repeat, but Stina had chosen a pair of men’s track pants and a thick sweatshirt. Her curls were pulled off her face, and tiny sprigs sprouted from the knot.
Before he could recover from the way the pants hugged her hips, she caught him looking, and her chin tipped up in that imperious little way he’d seen over and over again.
He didn’t know any longer if the gesture irritated him or made him want to see more of it.
Without a word, she and Jolie crossed the kitchen. They poured bowls of cereal and chose a spot at the table, far away from him.
That should have helped break his fixation on the woman.
It didn’t.
He noticed how she held her spoon. How she took small bites of food to make it stretch, just like the pizza. She obviously couldn’t afford what she needed to live, and that fucking bugged him more than the flat look she sent his way.
She didn’t make a scene about the way he’d walked out on her the day before. But she wasn’t speaking to Jolie either.
She was quiet, which seemed more out of character.
Jolie pushed a plate of toast toward her, and Stina picked up a slice, breaking off tiny pieces and eating as if every bite needed rationed.
A tingle along his neck made him turn his head to see O watching him watching Stina.
Thankfully, before O could run his mouth, Cannon walked in.
“We’ve got a situation.”
Rome pushed back from the table. “I volunteer.”
Cannon stared at him. “You don’t even know what you’re volunteering for yet.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Cannon turned to the rest of the table. “Since last night, I’ve been watching some extreme skiers on the upper east slope.”
He cut off as his gaze hit the whiteboard. “The only twins you guys can count on are these.” He raised his fists, and the group laughed. All but Stina.
Then Cannon sobered and went on, “The trespassers drove to the base of the mountain and made camp. Now they’re getting ready to hike to the top and try not to die skiing down Devil’s Switchback.”
Rome leaped up. “I’ll handle the unwanted visitors.”
Without meaning to, he looked at Stina. She narrowed her eyes at him and her lips twisted in a scowl.
Rome couldn’t escape the base faster. He grabbed his cold weather gear and hurried out. When he walked out of the tunnel, the cold air hit him in the face, sharp enough to clear his head and erase the heat still lingering on his skin from the things on his mind.
Out here, he had a task. A problem to solve that didn’t have a thing to do with why Stina hadn’t spoken a word during breakfast. And the cold air still felt warmer than the glare she’d given him.
He located the hikers’ camp. Judging by the expensive gear rated for extreme temperatures, they’d planned this adventure, but Rome was about to put an end to their fun.
If he was having a bad day, they were going to have a worse one.
He packed up all their gear and carried it to the place where their SUV was parked on a service road with a locked gate. When he saw they’d cut the padlock, his temper shot up another notch.
He circled the SUV, checking for passengers, but saw no one inside. No visible weapons either. He dropped all their gear into the snow and checked the doors. They were all locked, but he ran a hand under the frame and his fingers hit cold metal.
He peeled the hidden spare key box free and stared at it for a second.
“Amateurs.”
A few minutes later, he drove the SUV down to the road and parked it where the skiers couldn’t miss it if they made it through Devil’s Switchback in one piece.
He tossed all their gear in the back without a care. Then he leaned against the hood to wait.
After a while, four people appeared, skis tucked under their arms, faces red from the wind and anger.
One of them ripped off his goggles. “Dude, what the hell?”
Rome didn’t push away from the hood. “You won’t need to go back up the mountain for your gear. I tore it down. Everything’s in the SUV. Don’t come back to the mountain.”
Two people opened the back and saw the state of their tent poles, which Rome made sure they’d never be using again.
They huffed and murmured among themselves, stowing their skis and gear. Then they climbed in the vehicle, and he watched them drive away, tires whirring on snow, before setting off toward base again.
He still had to get back up the mountain, but he could use the long walk to clear his head.
He only made half the climb before he heard the growl of an engine and looked up, expecting to see the same trespassers or even a new group coming to take advantage of fresh powder. But he saw one of their own SUVs with Monk behind the wheel.
“Figured you might want a ride.”
With a grunt, he climbed into the passenger seat. After Monk put the vehicle in gear, he threw Rome a look. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
His brow hitched upward. “Like what?”
“You’re always in control. The guy we all count on to be levelheaded.”
“What are you getting at?”
“I’ve never seen you rattled.”
“Who the hell said I’m rattled?” he growled.
Monk kept his attention on the road but his mouth twitched. “When Stina threw your shirt at you, you looked pretty damn rattled to me.”
Rome issued a noise low in his throat.
“She’s pretty,” Monk said.
“I don’t need a woman, pretty or otherwise. I’m not desperate. I’ve had women since joining Sierra.”
“But she’s the first one to get under your skin.”
Hell. Monk was right. Since the moment they met and she didn’t react the way any normal, sane woman would after seeing a dead body, he’d been trying to figure her out.
In the time he’d known her, the only thing he knew was that she argued with everything he said.
She also had beautiful eyes and a perfect ass and a tattoo on her back that drove him crazy all night.
And he knew she was too quiet at breakfast.
The only thing worse than Stina being upset was Stina being quiet.
“You know, when Jolie first got here—” Monk began.
“Not talking about this,” he cut him off.
“I didn’t get my point across.”
He settled a glare on his friend. “You were going to try to big-brother me. And there can only be one big brother figure.”
Monk laughed harder and turned the SUV toward the base entrance.
Rome settled back in the seat and told himself not to react. Unfortunately, his mind had already returned to the breakfast table, to Stina sitting too quietly beside Jolie and picking at food like she was saving the rest for later.
He could handle threats.
He could handle missions.
He could even handle a mountain full of idiots on skis.
What he didn’t know how to handle was the woman who’d reached for him when she needed comfort and left him feeling like pulling away was the stupidest thing he’d ever done.
* * * * *
Stina caught herself looking toward the hallway for the third time, and annoyance washed over her.