Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
McGuire held Riven’s hand, palm calloused, her grip firm, but warm. As if she’d found some comfort in the brief contact, too. He squeezed her fingers reassuringly, then let go, already missing the easy weight of her hand in his.
She shifted on her feet, tucking some hair behind one ear as if she couldn’t quite stay still. What he suspected was all the leftover adrenaline from the fight — the chase down the bayou. Her eyelids drooped, each blink a bit longer than normal before she shook off the fatigue, drew herself up.
But despite the fire raging in the blue depths, he saw the exhaustion. Not from the firefight. This went soul deep. The kind of weariness that spoke of long nights spent listening for footsteps. Of never being able to truly shut down.
McGuire felt that too, only he’d always had his team.
While they didn’t live together, he knew, if he ever truly needed a break, Patch or Cross or Stone would have his back.
Would hunker down on his ratty couch, guard his six while he fully disengaged.
They hadn’t done it often, but they’d managed to have the odd night where they’d drank a bit too much, camped out in one of their shacks, each taking a turn walking the perimeter.
Who had Riven leaned on?
No one.
Not if Savvy had plunked her down with nothing more than an oh-shit phone and a secure connection.
He blew out a slow breath. “Riven…”
She tensed, as if bracing for impact. “I know you have a thousand questions…”
He sighed. “I was going to say is, you look exhausted. Why don’t we put a pin in all this for a few hours? Let you get some sleep.”
She tilted her head, gazed at him like she had in the bar. As if she wanted to puzzle him out. “I promise, I’ll tell you everything in the morning.”
“That wasn’t really up for debate, but thanks.
” He motioned to the last door on the right.
“C’mon. I’ll grab you a shirt and some sweats.
If you’re cool giving me your key, I’ll have Cross and Stone drop by your place in a few hours.
They can give it a once-over — grab a few things.
I’d just rather not risk you going anywhere familiar for a while. ”
She shoved her hand in her back pocket, then placed the key in his palm. “Fine, but I swear, if I find my underwear drawer all messed up, I’ll shoot them both in the ass, myself.”
“I’ll relay the message.”
He dropped the key in Patch’s hand, signaled for his buddy to make the call, then walked into the spare room. The hinges groaned as he shoved open the door, the moon casting a silver glow over the interior.
Riven edged past him, stood in the doorway while he darted into his room, grabbed her some clothes. She accepted them with a smile, looking oddly lost in the dated bedroom.
He scrubbed his hand along the back of his neck, knowing he needed to let her go but finding it hard. “You can put your Glock in the nightstand, and the door locks if you’re worried, but we’ll take shifts. No one’s getting close tonight.
She nodded, closed the door once he’d backed up. The latch clicked into place, the tumble of the interior lock noticeably absent.
He smiled, her apparent trust in him easing something inside his chest. A fluttery feeling that hadn’t subsided since his sister had uttered those few words.
Cinder.
He still couldn’t believe she’d been the voice on the radio. If tonight’s brawl was any indication, she’d obviously risked far more than he’d imagined to get them clear. Just thinking she’d faced a camp full of men like that alone…
He shuffled over to the couch, gaze still lingering on her door as he sank onto the cushion next to Patch. The ever-present chirp of crickets and bats played in the background, the odd frog calling in the dark.
Patch followed his gaze as he eased back on the sofa, feet crossed at the ankles before chuckling.
“So… Cinder, huh? Can’t say I saw that coming.
Though, it seems almost poetic that the ghost who saved our asses in Colombia is the same smoking hot bartender you’ve been trying not to have a relationship with for the past five months. ”
McGuire shook his head, ran both hands through his hair before bracing his elbows on his knees. “I think you’re enjoying the irony of the situation a bit too much.”
“All I’m saying is that you should have asked the girl out before everything turned into a Michael Bay montage.”
“Glad you’re not being overly dramatic about all this.”
“I didn’t mention shit about her being DEA, did I?” Patch grinned. “I thought for sure she was a spook, too.”
“The knife, right?”
Patch nudged him. “You might want to invest in more Kevlar if you still think you’ve got a chance. Which you do, in case you didn’t pick up on all the sexual tension once she’d admitted she was your secret crush.”
“It was just adrenaline from avoiding a dozen sicarios.”
“It was pheromones. Mostly yours, but…” Patch dodged McGuire’s slap. “Look at it this way, you might just get that chance to pay her back.”
“Not sure we could ever do that.” McGuire stared at his hands. “All the gunfire and explosions. Her ragged breathing as she’d tried finding cover after killing the feed…” He sighed. “When the line cut off, I thought…”
He’d thought she’d been killed. Or worse.
Patch nodded, a heavy silence stretching between them. “Dane would have loved her.”
McGuire snorted. “He sure as hell wouldn’t have spent five months working up the courage just to ask her out.”
“She still would have said no. Trust me, when you’re in the room, everyone else disappears.”
“Even if that’s true, he would have spent that time listing all the reasons he was a better choice.” McGuire tapped Patch’s thigh. “No one gets to her unless we’re dead.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way, brother. Go. I’ll take first watch — wake you in a couple hours.”
McGuire stood, clapped Patch on the shoulder, then headed for his room.
After lingering a bit too long in front of Riven’s door, he closed his.
The bed creaked as he sank onto the edge, ribs still stabbing pain into his chest. He closed his eyes, fell back on the mattress, the ceiling fan shaking overhead as it squeaked through every rotation.
He watched it turn, thoughts spinning along with the blades until the endless voices in his head grated on his last nerve.
He grabbed a quick shower, changed into some clean clothes, then took his turn on watch. The early morning Louisiana air seemed oddly drier, only a few fingers of fog wove through the lush ferns. Mosquitos gathered in the dusky dawn, small clusters of black amidst the failing gray.
He rounded the perimeter, then trotted up the stairs, avoiding the right side that creaked with any sort of pressure. A dim light brightened the kitchen, Riven’s silhouette outlined in front of the counter.
He eased the door closed, careful not to let it slam, then crossed the floor — leaned against the wall as she hovered beside the coffee maker, hair damp, a fresh spring scent drifting on the air.
She wore his t-shirt and sweats, the cuffs rolled up a few times at her ankles.
The clothes were baggy and long, and his chest fluttered weirdly at the sight of her wearing them.
As if his heart wasn’t quite sure whether to speed up or simply stop.
Humming softly to herself, she turned, then jumped, nearly tossing the coffee mug at his head when she noticed him. She closed her eyes and hissed out a breath through clenched teeth. “Jesus, McGuire, make a damn sound when you enter a room.”
He shrugged, admiring the slashes of red on her cheeks. “Old habits.”
“Well, develop a new one before I toss a damn knife your way.”
“I didn’t realize the DEA had incorporated that into their training program at Quantico.”
She smiled, set his fucking heart on fire, as she leaned against the counter. “Sailor, I learned that growing up on the streets.”
He grinned, praying it didn’t look more like a snarl as he nodded toward the coffee pot. “You make enough for everyone?”
“Sharing’s never been my strong suit, but in your case…”
She grabbed a mug, poured him a cup, held it out. He accepted, lingering a bit too long with his hand over hers, until Patch cleared his throat behind him. McGuire caught the mug before it dropped, an adorable curse sounding beneath her next breath.
Patch seemed oblivious to the death glare she flashed him as he waved for a cup. “Morning sunshine. Everyone playing nice in the sandbox?”
Riven handed him some coffee. “Scare me like that, again, and the mug’s coming for your head.”
“Someone’s grouchy before they’ve had their caffeine fix.”
They all took a seat, another awkward silence filling the space between them.
McGuire placed his elbows on the table, snagged her gaze. “Riven…”
Riven shifted on the chair, looking at both of them before she pushed to her feet, paced the length of the kitchen. “I know you want answers about Colombia.”
McGuire glanced at Patch, reminded himself to keep his voice low, neutral. “I think it’s important we know why you were there. How it ties into Langley screwing us over. He was the one who killed the feed — who set us up to take the fall.”
She bit at her bottom lip as she speared her fingers through her hair before letting her head tip back.
She took a few breaths, then nodded. “Fine, CliffNote’s version…
About a month before I went undercover, one of the directors in Task Force Sentinel discovered anomalies in Langley’s mission logs.
Seems his teams had an unusual number of ops where the shipments weren’t on site, or they encountered resistance when it was a recon-only scenario.
And all the encounters involved one cartel — Herrera. ”