Stealth Mission (Team Falcon: Agile Security & Rescue Team 2, #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

It’s a bank robbery for fuck’s sake. And here I am in my head.

Instead of giving all my attention to the black sedan idling in front of Banco de Karma, I’m alarmed over the swarm of noise inside my head that feels a lot like…jealousy.

Impossible. I’m not jealous of my team leader’s relationship.

I’m not. I don’t do jealous. I do angry. That’s it. One emotion.

Things are a lot simpler like that.

But Beast said he had to call me back. And I know that’s because he was with his girl. A fact that puts the heavy sensation in the pit of my gut.

I don’t like it. Being distracted will get you killed in this line of work.

I scrub one hand over my face as I clutch my phone with the other. “You’re working, asshole.”

God, I’m asking to myself now? Clearly, I’m not right.

After giving myself a mental shake, I continue watching the car as I consider my options.

Try to intervene and possibly catch the people that might have the missing woman?

Or keep a low profile and see if I can tail them to where they might be holding her?

If they are holding her.

And then there’s the issue of the innocent people in harm's way in the bank building.

Fucking dilemma. I don’t like it one bit. But being part of a team means no wild West solo bullshit allowed. Yet, sitting on my hands while this goes down feels like I’m rubbing barbed wire against my skin.

I growl and pace back and forth on the sidewalk.

Beast needs to call me back soon. Like now.

When my phone rings, I don’t even give him time to say a word. “There’s a situation in Karma.”

He must have me on speaker because his woman—the newest member of our team—speaks first. “Evan, is that the good kind of situation or the bad kind?”

As I open my mouth to explain what I see, my words die, and the world comes into razor-sharp focus. Definitely not in my head now.

The bank door catches a ray of light as it swings closed. Two men, armed and wearing face masks, scramble for the car.

Fuck it. I’m right here.

I’m not letting these assholes get away with robbing this little town’s bank, and I’m not letting the car that’s part of our case just speed away.

Without hesitation, I snag my pistol from the holster against my lower back, take aim, and fire at the tires.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Total wild West move.

My shots echo along the rows of businesses. The car careens out of sight unscathed.

Dammit. I missed.

A bitter taste hits my mouth. There’s no way I can follow them—my truck is at the other end of town locked up tight in the hotel parking lot.

I move the phone back to my ear and force my clenched jaw to open. “Fuck. That just happened. So to answer your question, Camile, I’m not sure yet.”

There’s no cover, but I move to the edge of the bank building. Stucco scrapes my back as I press against it.

Beast's voice barely reaches me over the blaring alarm. “Were those your shots?”

“Yeah. I gotta go. The bank just got robbed. Pretty sure the getaway car is the same one Scout and I chased the other night when we saw our missing woman. I want to clear the bank.”

I don’t know how much he can hear.

All I catch is, “Report in ASAP. Over.”

“Copy. Over.” As I end the call and shove my phone in my pocket, I hustle forward.

My indecision and anxiousness is gone. I’m in go-mode now.

The bank alarm suddenly goes quiet.

Thank god. The street turns quiet as a graveyard. No one in sight. No cars moving.

Just the sound of pumping blood in my ears and a familiar hum of adrenaline in my veins.

When I approach the door, only a portion of the lobby is visible through the tinted glass. I can’t see anyone from this angle. Taking a second, I steady my breath. When I’m centered, I reach for the handle. The door swings open with a whoosh when I pull.

No gunfire.

So far so good.

Until…a woman slams into my chest.

With a huff, I spit out a mouthful of long hair. “What the?—?”

She screams in my face. Loud as hell.

The ear-splitting sound freezes my body, but my mind catalogs all the sensations. The sweet scent of citrus hits my nose. Warm skin brushes my bare arms. Curves press against my chest.

She’s gasping for air and spitting mad as I set her aside.

Focus: clear the bank of any more bad guys.

But I don’t make it inside the building.

A small fist connects with my belly button. “You monster!”

That’s just the beginning—the warning bell.

She punches me three more times in my stomach—a tornado of bright red fabric, long, shiny black hair, flashing eyes.

“Hey. Hey! Whoa, now. ”

Whoa must mean go in her dictionary because two seconds after that, I catch a purse to the side of the head.

Gawd almighty.

Rhonda Rousey would be proud of her.

I snatch the offending bag out of her hand, throw it to the ground, and with the same hand snatch her to me. She’s squirming when I lock my arm around her back.

“Damn! You got an anvil in that thing?”

Dangerous, fiery eyes flash toward me. “Let. Me. Go.”

Oh no. I know good and well when you need to keep the enemy close. “How about figuring out who you’re hitting before you knock their brain into next week?”

We breathe at each other.

Wild energy pulses around us.

Her heart is pounding madly against my sternum. Every damned one of her curves is glued to me.

Yes. This is really happening.

I’ve breached a lot of buildings in my time as an operator.

Gunfire. Smoke grenades. Bad guys. That’s what you expect, along with being ready for the unexpected.

Just not this. And that includes the reaction my body has to hers.

For some reason, it makes me feel better she’s affected too. Even if it is only fury that’s got her vibrating.

A frown pinches her brows together as she glares up at me. “For all I know, you were with those jerks.”

I’m a jerk, alright, but for a whole different reason.

My voice comes out thick. I’m about ten seconds from being at full mast. “I’m one of the good guys. Not that I can’t be bad when the situation calls for it.”

Her eyes narrow. “Surely, you’re not making a sexual joke right now.”

An older couple teeters out of the bank, giving us a wide berth as they pass, their gray hair in disarray, throwing me death glares.

With a somber nod in their direction, I regretfully set the brown-eyed wild woman away from me. This time, I step back, making sure I’m out of range. “Really, I’m here to help.”

She jerks her bag off of the ground. Whatever’s inside makes a clanging noise.

“A little late, don’t you think? The bad guys are gone. Only a couple of customers left inside.”

“Did they hurt you?”

“No.”

But she’s rattled and reasonably so. The shaking hands, the tremble in her pretty lips make my blood surge hot for a different reason.

I want to make those fuckers pay for scaring her.

Straightening her spine, she looks me in the eyes. “I’m fine.”

She pushes a hand into her hair but doesn’t look away. I’m not sure what’s happening, but I like this better than her punching me in the gut.

I drink my fill of her beauty.

My feet seem to have glued themselves to the sidewalk. Some might think I’m staring because of the hit I took to the head. But the dazed and confused feeling is pure chemistry.

I’m gobsmacked.

Shit, how do I even know that word?

The cornersI feel of my lips tug upward. “Personally, I’m beginning to think I was right on time.”

She doesn’t bother to reply, but instead looks past me, the color on her cheeks still pink. “Uh oh. The gossip gang is showing up.”

Down the street, fingers are pointing in my direction. Attached to those fingers are angry locals.

With a wry chuckle, I shake my head. “I’m not winning any fans today even though I tried to disable the getaway car. Which is something I need to speak to the local law enforcement about. I discharged a weapon, albeit carefully, but still discharged a weapon in the middle of your town.”

She inspects me like I’m some weird insect in science class. “Don’t hold your breath. The police are not coming.”

My brows go up.

I tug off my baseball cap, scratch my head, then reseat my hat as I look up at the Banco de Karma sign. “Where I’m from, a bank robbery equals police response. Why wouldn't they come?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” she snaps. “You can try going to the police station, but good luck with that. It’s probably closed.”

Huh?

Still confused by her remark, I mutter, “I’ll do that.”

Later. Right now I’m still glued in place. I extend a hand toward her. “How about we start over? Hi.”

She scrunches her nose.

I find myself grinning.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.

Throwing a glare at my hand, she hooks her killer purse over her arm and turns on her heel, pressing two very pretty lips into a hard scowl. “I need to go.”

I’m still grinning.

Lord, what is wrong with me?

Even though she’s clearly not into me, I call out to her, “Sorry if I scared you.”

She’s a good thirty paces away, but gives me a pained look over her shoulder. “I’m having a really bad day. I lost my temper. I don’t usually punch strangers in the gut.”

“Can’t say I blame you.”

She stares at me for a hot minute, but I can’t tell what she’s thinking.

Cracking my knuckles, I consider what I’m about to do. Possibly make a mess of things… or get a leg up on our case.

I can feel her out (not up) and ask if she’s seen Allison Westerly, the woman our team refers to by the code name MZ.

My mind whirls with the risk-to-reward possibilities. Given that the car I shot at could be related to the case, I know Karma is going to give us our next lead…

Only my motivation is selfish too. I am a guy after all, and she’s a beautiful woman with an attitude that makes her just a little too irresistible.

“Can I buy you brunch?”

She flinches, looking totally affronted. “No! That’s a bad idea.”

This time, when she walks away, there’s no backward glance.

As I stand outside the bank, the need to know her name burns in the center of my stomach. Right where her small fist punched. Right where those sweet feminine curves were pressed against me.

I rub my hand over the spot as I chuckle.

Damn.

I’ll be in Karma and the surrounding area for a few days hunting leads. Maybe I’ll see her again.

That thought settles the restlessness spreading through my veins a fraction.

But I can’t stop watching her as she hurries down the sidewalk. Sunlight catches off the long, shiny strands of her hair as she strides away.

Well, damn. What is that feeling in my chest?

Ask me to articulate what just happened in the last few minutes, and I’d fail.

The uneasy feeling isn’t about the robbery or missing my shots—this is 100% her.

In other words, I’m fucked.