3. Flynn
CHAPTER 3
FLYNN
This woman was not what I expected. I knew she’d been CIA before coming to Edge Ops, but most of the spooks I’d encountered were cold automatons, overconfident blowhards, or bland chameleons without a personality to call their own.
Lyric Renard was none of those things. She was fire wrapped in silk.
I followed her into her suite and leaned against the door frame, watching as she shed the Elisa Deveraux persona as if she were peeling off a second skin.
And damn if I wasn’t a little impressed.
Without a word, she picked up a scanner and started sweeping the room for bugs. I could tell her I’d already done it before tracking her to Moreau’s suite, but where was the fun in that?
Besides, I was enjoying the view as she bent to run the scanner along the baseboards.
That dress really was something else.
“Stop staring at my ass, Shepherd.” She straightened and set the scanner aside.
I grinned. “Just admiring your technique.”
She shot me a look that could’ve given Satan himself frostbite and tapped her earpiece. “Kate, get me a meeting with Ethan. Now.”
Yeah, I was definitely going to enjoy needling her. Call me a masochist, but there was something wildly entertaining about a woman who looked at me like I was the grime she scraped off the bottom of her designer shoe. Most women found me charming. Lyric wanted me dead, or at least gravely wounded. Kinda liked that about her.
Kate’s voice crackled in both our ears. “He’s busy. You can debrief with me.”
Lyric exhaled sharply through her nose. “No. I want to know why the hell Shepherd is here, and I want to hear it from Ethan himself.”
I leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the subtle twitch of her eyebrow, the clench of her jaw, the flex of her slender fingers—tells most people would miss, but I’d built a career on spotting. She was barely holding it together. The hotel’s buttery lighting glinted off the platinum in her hair, making the strands shimmer like champagne. I had the stupid, sudden urge to reach out and see if it felt as cool and silky as it looked. Probably would’ve lost a hand. She looked like she wanted to put a bullet in me. I found that more appealing than I probably should have.
This woman was wound tight. Whether it was her nature, the solo-operator mindset, or just the fury of being blindsided, I couldn’t say. Probably all three.
Made a guy wonder what it’d take to make her come undone.
And just how fun it might be to help her do it.
After a long beat of silence, Kate’s voice came back, resigned. “I’ll patch him in.”
A few seconds later, the suite’s massive flat-screen flickered to life, and Ethan’s face appeared. The last time I saw the man, he’d looked like a recruitment poster for the military. Clean-shaven, square-jawed, all sharp edges. But not tonight.
Jesus, he looked like hell. His beard had grown in wild and wiry, and his hair brushed his collar. Bruises and cuts dotted what I could see of his face under the beard, like he’d gone three rounds with a champion fighter and only barely walked away. Which was saying something, because I knew from experience that Ethan Voss could throw a punch hard enough to knock a guy flat.
Edge’s last mission in California had been a clusterfuck and half the team landed in the hospital. Ethan gave me the bare bones when he called in his favor, and I didn’t ask for more. I don’t do teams anymore. The only reason I was here was because I owed Ethan. And, yeah, maybe because part of me was curious about the woman trying to fill Maya’s shoes.
“Report,” Ethan said.
Lyric stopped pacing, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin. She clearly wanted to rip into him for dropping me into her mission unannounced, but she held it back. Gave her report like a pro. “Moreau took the bait. He’s interested in Elisa for more than a payday. He invited me to his yacht.”
Ethan nodded. “Good.”
“But I wasn’t able to go or place a tracker on him.” Her eyes cut toward me. “I was interrupted.”
I grinned at her.
Ethan eyed us warily. After a beat, he said, “Not ideal, but not a deal breaker. We’ll adjust.”
Lyric crossed her arms. Every inch of her said annoyed. “I was interrupted by my ‘security detail.’ Moreau has run a background check on Elisa. That was expected. We had planned for it. But now he’ll be digging into Mr. Mercer, my supposed head of security, and an ‘incident’ in Dubai.”
Ethan didn’t blink. “Kate will handle that.”
“Already on it,” Kate confirmed off-screen, her voice coming from both the TV and my earpiece. “Flynn will be Colt Mercer, head of Elisa’s security. I’ll send you his dossier.”
I couldn’t resist. “Please tell me he’s from Texas so I can unironically wear a cowboy hat.”
“Well, you are originally from Texas, right?” Kate asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Killeen.” But my dad’s Army career had us hopping around bases so often that I didn’t really have a hometown. I’d left the Texas accent behind a long time ago, but I could call it back when needed. And, right now, it was pissing Lyric off, so I laid it on extra thick.
“There you go. The best lies are grounded in the truth.” If I wasn’t mistaken, there was a smile in Kate’s voice. “Colt Mercer is now a Texan.”
“Yeehaw.”
Lyric growled. She was about two seconds away from hurling something heavy at my head. “We’re not here to play cowboy, Shepherd.”
“Shame. I’ve got a collection of boots and spurs that would really sell the image.” I didn’t really. Everything I owned fit into one rucksack. But I wanted to see her reaction.
She didn’t disappoint.
“Are you always this obnoxious, or are you making a special effort for me?”
“Princess, you bring out the best in me,” I drawled, enjoying the way her jaw tightened at the endearment.
Ethan cleared his throat. “If you two are done, we have an operation to run.”
Lyric dismissed me entirely, focusing on Ethan. “You sent me in with an unknown variable. Mind explaining why this Shepherd character crashed my op?”
“You’re welcome, by the way.”
She spun back to me, eyes blazing. “I didn’t need saving.”
“Yeah, you did, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me sweetheart. Or princess. Or… anything!”
“Now, I gotta call you something since we’ll be working together.”
“To you, I’m Siren,” she bit out.
Siren. Her operational codename. It suited her. “Okay, Siren.” I all but purred it, turning the name into a caress. Then I shook my head. “Nope. Doesn’t work for me, princess.”
Her scowl deepened. “Grim, I don’t need a babysitter.”
“He’s not a babysitter,” Ethan said, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “He’s an asset.”
“An ass, maybe,” she muttered.
I chuckled. “That’s just hurtful, princess.”
Ethan gave a sigh full of I-don’t-have-time-for-this. “Flynn, what did you do?”
“Why do you automatically assume I did something?”
“Because I know you.”
He got me there. “Yeah, fine. I made a scene.” I shrugged. “Moreau had her alone in his suite, and we had no comms. I didn’t want to find her floating in the Mediterranean tomorrow morning, so I played overprotective bodyguard, swooped in with a territorial display, and extracted her before things got messy.”
“And I had no idea who he was!” She whirled on me again, shoving a finger at my chest. “I had Moreau eating out of my hand. I was two minutes away from a private tour of his fucking yacht. I could’ve been on my way to Sentinel now.”
My stomach soured at the thought of her on Moreau’s yacht, and my smile dropped away. “Jesus, E. Don’t tell me she doesn’t know about Moreau’s extracurricular activities.”
“Of course I know. I may have been dumped into this mission, but I do my homework,” Lyric snapped. “I know exactly what Moreau does to women who interest him.”
She was so close I could see the gold flecks in her green eyes. Her perfume—citrus and something seductively spicy—wound around me, and for a second, I lost my train of thought.
I had to take a step back to clear my head. “Then you know putting yourself on that yacht alone would’ve been suicide. The last three women?—”
“Went missing,” she finished. “I’m aware. But unlike them, I’m trained for this. I had it handled.”
“You think he would’ve let you walk off that yacht after showing you his toys?” I leaned forward, dropping the teasing tone. “Moreau doesn’t share his secrets with people who can leave.”
Something flickered across her face—doubt, maybe—but she masked it quickly. “I can handle myself.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second, Siren.” And I didn’t. The way she moved, the way she calculated—everything about her screamed competence. But competence didn’t always save you from a bullet. “But Moreau’s got a body count that would make a cartel boss nervous.”
She sighed, her shoulders dropping a fraction. “I know his file.”
“The file doesn’t tell you everything.” I rubbed my jaw, remembering. “In Singapore, I saw what was left of a woman who crossed him. She was an MI6 agent. Good one, too. He kept her alive for three days before dropping what was left of her in the harbor.”
“Well, I’m not going to cross him. I’m going to smile, flirt, and steal his tech.”
“And I’m going to make sure you get out alive afterward.” I held her gaze, all teasing gone. “Whether you like it or not.”
“Flynn’s presence isn’t up for debate,” Ethan cut in, his tone all badass black ops commander. “You need backup, and with half the team on medical leave, he was the only option.”
“Wow, E. You make me sound like a last resort,” I drawled, placing a hand over my chest in mock offense. “I’m hurt.”
Ethan just glowered at me. The guy carried tension like it was tactical gear. Was it any wonder riling him up had become a personal pastime?
Lyric’s shoulders pulled tighter. “I prepped for a solo op. Now you’re changing the parameters mid-mission with no warning.”
“Parameters change,” Ethan said flatly. “You adapt. That’s part of the job.”
“But—”
“Adapt, Renard,” he said again, cutting her off. “You need someone to watch your six, and Flynn is one of the best. Ex-Ranger. I’m not losing another operative.”
She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I had it under control.”
I tilted my head. “You sure about that?”
She spun on me, full of fury. “Oh, I don’t know, Shepherd, did you see me stumbling through that conversation? Did I look like I needed someone to come in and play knight in shining armor?”
I held up my hands. “Just doin’ what I’m told, darlin’.” I let the drawl roll in heavier this time, just to poke her further. Tipped an invisible hat, too, for good measure.
She made a noise—low, furious, a hiss of sheer exasperation—and turned back to the screen. “I’m not working with him. Send someone else.”
Ethan’s expression didn’t change. “Flynn also has experience with Moreau. He’s tracked his operations across three continents.”
That got her attention. She glanced at me, reassessing. “You’ve worked on Moreau before?”
“Tangentially,” I admitted. “Crossed paths with him in Marrakech two years ago. Again in Singapore last summer. Man’s got a type when it comes to business associates. Ruthless, paranoid, and willing to kill their own mothers for the right price.”
“And what about his personal type?” she asked, and I could practically see those tactical wheels in her head turning. “What does he like in his women?”
“He has two. Vulnerable, needy, and alone. You can imagine what he does to those women. He tends not to keep them long.”
“The other?”
“Beautiful, dangerous, and slightly out of reach.” I let my eyes drift over her, making no effort to hide my appreciation. “You nailed it.”
She inhaled through her nose, slow and controlled. She was trying real hard not to explode as she returned her attention to the screen. “I work alone.”
“Not on this team you don’t,” Ethan said and shot me a penetrating look. “That goes for both of you. While you’re working for me, no lone wolf shit. Understood?”
“Spoilsport,” I muttered, earning another glare from Lyric.
“When you meet Moreau for lunch tomorrow,” Ethan continued, “Flynn will be with you. No exceptions, no arguments.”
The look on Lyric’s face suggested she had plenty of both, but she swallowed them back. Interesting. She might fight me tooth and nail, but she followed orders when they came from the boss. “And when Moreau digs into him?”
“Let him,” I said, stretching lazily. “I can sell whatever story we need.”
She studied me then, and I felt like she could see all the way down to the stuff I didn’t want anyone seeing.
Well, fuck. I didn’t like that one bit.
“Fine,” she bit out. “But for the record, I don’t like this.”
“Noted,” Ethan said dryly. “Keep playing your part. If you can’t get a tracker on him, plant it on Vidal. Flynn, you stay close. If Moreau tries anything, shut it down.”
“Easy enough,” I said.
Ethan’s eyes cut back to Lyric. “And, Renard?”
She stiffened. “Sir?”
“Keep your emotions in check.”
Her face didn’t move, but I saw the flinch in her eyes.
That hit a nerve.
I scowled at Ethan. He could be such an ass sometimes. Okay, most times.
“Understood,” she said.
The screen went black.
Lyric stormed toward the bar, yanking open the mini-fridge with enough force to rattle the glasses on top. She pulled out a miniature bottle of vodka and downed it like a shot.
“Drinking on the job?” I asked, eyebrow raised.
“I’m off the clock until tomorrow.” She tossed the empty bottle in the trash. “And I need something to help me tolerate your presence.”
I chuckled, pushing off from the wall to wander around the suite. It was nice—not as opulent as Moreau’s, but still dripping with luxury. “You know, most women find me charming.”
“Most women haven’t had their operations hijacked by you.”
“Just following orders.”
She scoffed. “Men like you don’t follow orders.”
“Men like me?”
“Lone wolves. Contractors.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Men who think rules are suggestions, and loyalty is negotiable.”
“Well, I make an exception for Ethan.” I let out a low whistle. “And he really doesn’t trust you, does he?”
“He thinks I’m not good enough. I’ll never be as good as—” She caught herself and kicked off her shoes, sending them skittering across the marble floor. One landed upright, and the other toppled onto its side. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, it definitely matters. You want them to trust you.”
“You don’t?”
I shrugged. “Trust gets people killed.”
She faced me fully. “And yet here you are. Playing watchdog for a team you have no interest in belonging to.”
I smiled. Damn. I liked this woman and her quicksilver tongue.
“I’m here because Ethan asked. It’s that simple. But you?” I stepped a little closer, testing her. “You, I can’t figure out. Why are you fighting like hell to prove something to people who won’t even let you in the door?”
Her eyes narrowed. “That amuses you?”
“Hell, yeah, it does. Because I already know how this ends, Siren. You keep trying to be one of them, and one day, you realize you never were.”
A flicker of vulnerability crossed her face, there and gone so fast I almost thought I imagined it. She turned away, grabbed another mini bottle of vodka, and poured a splash into a glass with juice. When she turned back, her icy shields were back in place, like they had never cracked.
“You don’t know me.”
No. I didn’t.
But I wanted to.
And that was a problem.
I should’ve walked away. Should’ve booked a flight out of there and let this be Ethan’s problem.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I prowled closer and leaned in like I was going to kiss her. Her eyes flared with undeniable interest, even as she tried to smother it.
Trouble.
This woman was absolute trouble.
And damn if I didn’t already want to see how much.
I smiled. “No, I don’t. Not yet.”
“Not ever.” She took a long, slow drink of her cocktail, then set the glass down with a decisive click and got in my face. I smelled the vodka and juice and that delectable perfume of hers. Up close, I could see the faint freckles dusting her nose, the slight smudge of mascara beneath her left eye. She was even more stunning at this distance, and my cock stirred to life with an interested twitch.
Down, boy. Worst possible time for optimism.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” she said, each word a precise knife cut. “We are not partners. We are not friends. I didn’t ask for you. I don’t need you. And if you get in my way?—”
“Let me guess, you’ll kill me?”
“You don’t matter enough to waste the bullet.” She picked up her glass again and carried it toward the suite’s bedroom. “Get out. Moreau may think you’re my bodyguard, but that’s just for show. I don’t need you up my ass all night.”
With that, she shut the double doors in my face.
Firmly.
“Oh, Siren,” I called, just loud enough for her to hear. “If I were up your ass, you’d know it.”
Silence.
Then a sharp intake of breath. A muttered curse.
Followed by the snick of the lock.
I laughed.
Yeah. I was definitely going to enjoy this.