Chapter 9 #2
“No girlfriends lurking around the corner with a block of C4?”
Levi laughed. “Absolutely none. Any gentlemen going to come out of the woodwork?”
“Ah, that would be a big negative. Guess the field is clear.”
“I can work with that.” Levi’s eyebrow lifted, and a wolfish grin spread across his face.
She shrugged. “Maybe. If I let you,” she dared him before winking and turning away, not waiting for a response.
She grabbed the clothes, soap, and towel, then headed for the spring. She had a wide smile the entire way. Sexy as hell. The man was pure unadulterated sex, and she was very okay with that.
The water was exactly as advertised. It was cold enough to make her gasp but gloriously clean. She stripped down; used a cloth to scrub away three days of sweat, fear, and jungle; and then put on clothes. She spent at least five minutes brushing her teeth. God, the sensation was glorious.
When she came back, Levi wasn’t in the cave.
She found him at the entrance, standing in the morning light.
He’d taken off the shirt again and was adjusting the bandage around his ribs.
The sun hit his back, highlighting every scar …
and there were dozens. Bullet wounds, knife marks, the puckered tissue of burns. A history of violence written in flesh.
But even with the scars, or maybe because of them, he was beautiful.
The thought came unbidden, unwelcome, and absolutely true. Not magazine beautiful, not safe or soft like those models. But real. Alive. The kind of beautiful that came from surviving things that should have killed you and somehow learning to smile anyway.
She should look away. Should give him privacy.
Yeah, fuck that. She wanted to get closer. Much closer. Like no space between them and the smell of sex in the air closer.
But she didn’t move. She stood in the shadows of the cave and watched the careful way he wound the wrap around his ribs. Even as she felt the surge of attraction and desire, the intimacy of it made something in her chest ache.
He turned, caught her watching, and winked.
Just winked. It was casual, easy, like he'd known she was there all along, then went back to wrapping his ribs.
She felt her face heat. He’d caught her staring, ogling him, even, and he just winked.
For once, she didn’t really know what to do.
She wanted him, but she had a mission to complete.
A mission seemingly at odds with his. Maintaining professionalism was the best option, she told herself.
She shouldn’t flirt with him as she’d done earlier, shouldn’t tease him despite her desire to walk up to him, loop her arms around him, and pull his lips to hers.
Walking out into the sunlight, she moved to stand beside him, ignoring the pull she felt between them. The air was heavy and hot and smelled like decaying jungle, but it was safe, and that was enough.
“Nice view,” she said.
“Yeah.” He was looking at the mountains, but something in his voice suggested he was talking about something else. “My bosses picked well.”
“They did.” She tested the word. “My handler suspects you work for Guardian.”
It wasn't a question. He didn't treat it like one.
“Really?”
“Yep. A private military contractor working for them.”
“I can neither confirm nor deny.” He wrung out the cloth and draped it over the bucket's edge.
“What can you confirm?” She crossed her arms, expecting nothing.
“I handle problems governments can’t and don’t officially acknowledge.”
Her eyebrows shot to her hairline. She didn’t think he’d ever give her any information. “Like Morales?”
“Like Morales.” He turned to face her, and his eyes were serious now, the humor stripped away. “My orders are to eliminate him and anyone in his inner circle I can. No capture. No testimony. Just … gone.”
And she knew that. She should argue that justice requires trials, evidence, and due process.
All the things she'd told herself when she’d started working as a contractor for the CIA.
But she'd seen Morales's work. The mass graves.
The trafficking victims. The villages burned to ash because they'd refused to cooperate. Still, there should be due process…
“My orders,” she said carefully, “are to confirm his location and call in an extraction team. CIA wants him alive for intelligence.”
“CIA.” He didn't sound surprised. “So, you're agency.”
“Contractor. Same as you.” She met his eyes. “But yeah. CIA.”
They stood there, two liars who'd finally told the truth, watching each other in the morning light.
“Our missions are mutually exclusive,” Levi said softly.
“Yeah.”
“So, what do we do about that?”
She didn't have an answer. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “We survive,” she said finally. “We get close enough to Morales to figure out our next move. And we decide then.”
“Together?”
“Together.”
He held out his hand. She took it, his palm warm and calloused against hers, and they shook like people sealing a deal that would probably get them both killed.
“Partners,” Levi said.
“Liars and partners,” Willow corrected.
“Best kind of partners.” His grin returned, that sunshine smile that had no business existing on someone with his scars. “Now, about breakfast. I make excellent MREs. Well, excellent is a strong word. Edible MREs. But we have options now. Well—”
“Levi.”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up and cook.”
He laughed, real and genuine, and headed back into the cave.
Willow stood in the sunlight a moment longer, looking out at the mountains and jungle, thinking about missions and truth and the man who'd packed her CIA equipment without saying a word.
She was in trouble. Deep, complicated, dangerous trouble.
She wanted this man with a desire she’d never felt before.
The physical draw was strong, and she knew he felt it, too.
It was dangerous to mix missions and feelings.
But any sense of professionalism seemed to fall apart when she was in his company.
So, maybe she’d eliminate one of the distractors, like her mission.
Her handler would have a cow. The CIA would cancel her contract.
She could end up with nothing but memories of her time in the jungle with this man.
If they survived. Which was always a big if.
But for the first time since she met Levi, she didn't entirely mind that idea of pissing off the CIA.
Inside the cave, he’d figured out how to make canned food slightly less terrible. They talked and laughed, building something fragile and impossible in the place of their lies.
Outside, the meadow stretched empty and peaceful.
And somewhere in Levi's ear, so quiet Willow would never hear it, Con's voice came through the comms.
“Berserker, you still with me?”
Levi touched his earpiece once. Affirmative.
“She suspects you're Guardian. “
He hadn’t admitted to it, but he hadn’t denied it either.
“Z?” Con's voice softened, just slightly. “Watch yourself. She's CIA. I know, just a contractor, but still … We’re calling in the big guns to get the CIA to back out. But you know them. This probably won’t end well.”
Levi touched the earpiece once more, then went back to opening cans and making Willow laugh.
He knew it wouldn't end well.
He just didn't care anymore. There was a connection between him and this woman. It was real, and it was more than just sexual. Granted, that was undeniable. That was something he wanted. She was someone he wanted. The CIA could go fuck themselves. He knew this woman. He suspected the hell she’d seen and experienced in this country.
He glanced at her as she ate the stew he’d made.
His mission would happen. He hoped she’d forgive him when hers didn’t.