21. Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-One
There was a naked assassin in Kathleen’s bath, and all she wanted to do was climb in to join him. It took every ounce of self-will not to do it.
She could tell Finn was improving and taking positive steps forward. He was gradually coming out of his shell, voicing his thoughts and wants, and making choices. Things were exceptionally delicate right now, and she couldn’t abuse the trust he was showing in her.
And then she heard it.
Although it was muffled, Kathleen recognized the sound a man made when he was close to coming. When she was younger, it was a sign she’d become attuned to, forcing her partners to pull out. That wasn’t a thing she worried about anymore, but she still knew that noise… intimately.
Was he really…?
Kathleen took two steps toward the bathroom before she caught herself. No. She had to be the strong one. She gave one last look at the door and retreated.
Kathleen sat on the bed, pulling the bag of pastries toward her. The crusty, flaky pastry was delicious and distracting. She didn’t notice Finn watching her until she was halfway through her second Danish. The crease in his brow hinted at uncertainty, the warmth in his gaze at want.
Kathleen offered him the bag. “Want one?”
A long pause preceded Finn’s slow approach. The tracksuit pants sat low on his hips, and his sweatshirt was a little too tight, showing off his muscular form. It wasn’t intentional, just some clothing she’d borrowed from a friend-with-benefits two years ago and stuffed into her bag. On Finn, the clothing was mouth-wateringly flattering.
He sat next to her on the bed, so close Kathleen could feel his thigh against hers. He took the bag from her, peering inside, frowning.
“Take them both if you like,” Kathleen said.
Finn appeared hesitant but finally chose one, biting into it. His eyes widened as the pastry left a dusting of flakes all over his clean clothes.
Kathleen laughed at his apparent consternation. “It’s okay. It’s the cost of eating them. Don’t worry. Just sweep it onto the floor. I’ll clean later.”
She reached over, brushing some of the flakes from his thigh, pausing as she caught sight of the slight rise of his pants.
Was that…?
Finn shifted a little, adjusting the way he was seated. He darted a look at her, then bit into the pastry again.
That was definitely a response to her touch.
As he ate, she unabashedly watched him. He did it with intention, with wonder—like the taste and sensation was new and engrossing. When he finished, he brought his fingers to his lips to catch the remnants of the pastry flakes.
Kathleen couldn’t help herself. She caught his wrist before he could complete the gesture, feeling him still. She could practically feel his eyes on her as she guided his fingers to her lips. With slow deliberation, she ran her tongue along each of his fingers with slow, long strokes.
She was sure Finn had stopped breathing.
Kathleen took his thumb into her mouth, her tongue pressing along the pad as she sucked gently. She could hear his breath finally rattle out, but he was otherwise still.
That wouldn’t do at all.
Kathleen took his thumb from her mouth and guided his hand to her hip while her other hand settled on his shoulder. Then she twisted toward him. Her knee settled on the far side, straddling him as she gazed at his face.
Finn’s expression wasn’t entirely blank: there was something carefully restrained in his gaze. She recognized the wariness, the uncertainty. His hand was still on her hip, but he hadn’t given any sign of responding.
Her hands lifted to cradle his face. Kathleen’s gaze flickered to his eyes, checking for any sign of discomfort before she kissed him, a bare brush of her lips. His eyes were on her, but the rest of him was frozen. She couldn’t tell if the wariness had deepened into fear or something else, but she pulled back, afraid she’d struck a nerve.
The moment she leaned back, Finn lunged forward with impossible quickness, his hand slipping into her hair and tightening, trapping her in place.
It was her turn to freeze. Her heart pounded, not with fear, but with anticipation. She wanted him to continue, but she feared he wouldn’t. She hated herself for being so weak.
Was it a weakness to… want?
This time, when Kathleen looked into his eyes, she saw none of the uncertainty or wariness of earlier. This time, the heat in his blue eyes—his apparent desire so acute it left her breathless—said otherwise. She had never let a man handle her in such a way, never let one make her feel so vulnerable. She should have felt afraid. He was dangerous—a killer, a broken man struggling to find an equilibrium—but all that made her want to give in to him. To give him her vulnerability.
“You are amazing,” Finn whispered in quiet wonder.
His words went right through her—right down to her belly, fluttering at the praise—and then lower as a pleasant throbbing of want began to beat between her legs. His hand loosened its grip on her hair, but she could feel his hand settle at her back, pushing underneath her top. She shivered as she felt the rough pads of his fingers against the bare skin of her back.
“Finn,” she said.
Something in the way she said his name made him freeze, and Kathleen hated herself for it—that she had caused that reaction. That he’d had that reaction at all. She had let this go too far. She barely knew who this man was, and the strength of her attraction to him was unsettling.
Panic rose through her. This was a mistake.
“I… this is, we shouldn’t.”
For three heartbeats, Finn stared at her. She saw the line of his throat as he swallowed and looked away. He stood, displacing her from his lap, wordlessly walking to the door. It snapped shut behind him with finality.
This was for the best. Yet why did it feel like she was ripping out a piece of her own heart?
Finn was gone all day as Kathleen researched. By the time it got dark, she was sure he wasn’t coming back, and she crawled into the small bed, trying to ignore the ache of guilt—and want.
She woke to light streaming through the edges of the curtains. Somehow, she’d made it through the night without a single nightmare, and she felt relaxed and refreshed.
At least until she realized what the delicious warmth at her back was.
Over six feet of muscled assassin was spooning her, his skin warming her like a furnace. His hand splayed against her stomach, holding her against him. She hadn’t woken when he joined her in the small bed. The way one of her legs was curled back over his suggested she might have even encouraged it.
Shit. She did not need this temptation: heat was already rushing through her veins and sending a pulse down into her core. Kathleen reached for his wrist, intending to displace it, but he tightened the hold in response, pulling her flush against him. A long breath exhaled and tickled the hair near her ear.
Desire shivered over her, unmistakable.
Finn was awake. Kathleen expected him to do what most men would in this situation: make space, make some mumbled excuse, and leave the bed.
But Finn wasn’t most men. If anything, his fingers slid further down her stomach, like he was making sure there were no gaps in the seam between their bodies.
Another part of him was awake, too. With her leg over one of his, she could feel his hardness grow as he stirred, pressing into her ass. His knee slipped further forward between her legs, and his thigh brushed against her panties.
She moaned.
It slipped out before she could catch it, and mortified, Kathleen sought to push herself upward.
Finn, though, had other ideas.
His mouth found her shoulder where the thin strap of the camisole top she’d worn to bed gave way to bare skin. His breath tickled over her, his lips warm as they whispered over her skin, sending delicious shivers through her entire body.
“Finn,” she said, and she meant it as a warning.
Finn took it as the opposite, though. As if the whisper of his name stirred something. He tightened his hand against her stomach, and his mouth shifted, this time finding her neck. The flutter of his lips became more solid, more certain, and the wet heat of his tongue made her gasp.
In response, Finn’s guttural, needful groan reverberated through her back.
The thought of his hot, wet mouth on other parts of her body drove her to shift her leg, grinding herself against his thigh. She turned, intending to see his expression—and she got an impression of his heated gaze and full lips before those lips crashed against her mouth.
His hand slid lower, the rough pads of his fingertips finding bare skin and the edge of her panties even as his tongue slipped into her mouth. For someone who was so oblivious to so many social cues, Finn certainly knew precisely how to awaken her body. This was a bad idea, but at the moment, Kathleen no longer cared.
She wanted this. She wanted him.
The buzz of her phone was like cold water.
Finn froze, his mouth on hers, but all his attention shifted to their surroundings, alert.
“Just my phone,” she murmured against his lips, shifting to reach for it.
The reluctance of Finn to release her was obvious in the way his hands lingered as she climbed over him, walking over to her phone.
It was a text from Gibson. Waiting downstairs. I brought coffee.
Shit. Kathleen had forgotten she had asked him to give her a ride.
“Gibson,” Kathleen told Finn with a frown as she dressed in the first things she picked up off the floor.
A look at the assassin told her he was fully alert; all the heat and desire of moments before leeched from his expression. No time to examine that, though.
“I won’t be long,” she promised, rushing out the door.
She combed her hair with her fingers as she descended the stairs two at a time.
Toshi Gibson was leaning against the hood of his black Ford F-150, arms crossed. His expression was relaxed behind his sunglasses, looking her way.
“Jesus, Harper. Looking a little rough this morning.”
Kathleen leaned against the hood next to him. “You used the bed of that truck to carry anything yet? Or is it still just for decorative purposes?”
“Crankier than usual, I see. Good thing I brought protection.” Gibson grabbed the takeout cup resting on the hood of the car, pressing it into her hands.
Lifting it to her face, Kathleen breathed in and sipped. She felt the hot liquid sliding down her throat and into her gut. Exquisite.
“You’re so easy to please.” Gibson snorted. “As for my truck, one day soon, we’ll need to move something, and you’ll be shit outta luck in your Mustang.”
“It’ll never happen.” Kathleen cleared her throat as she lowered the cup of coffee. “Listen, I need you to call in sick for me.”
“You got company or something, Harper?”
“What?” How the hell did he know?
“That sweatshirt’s a little big for you,” Gibson said. “And it’s kind of my job to notice that sort of thing.”
Kathleen glanced down, realizing she was wearing the sweatshirt she had given Finn. Shit. “Yes, I’m calling in so I can return to my sex den.”
It felt uncomfortably close to the truth.
Gibson laughed. “All right. Don’t tell me then.”
Kathleen took a deep breath. Then she realized the faint scent she could smell from the sweatshirt—gun oil—a distinct masculine scent, was Finn’s, and she felt a pulse in her core in response. Her body was completely out of control.
She balled her fingers beneath the long sleeves of the shirt and focused on Gibson. “You hear from your friend?”
“Not great news.” Gibson grimaced. “The outfit is called Special Operations Covert Command, SOCC. Command for short. It’s supposedly a deep black ops agency—and I mean, not even the Congressional Intelligence Committees know they’re funding it—type of black ops. There are all sorts of rumors about them. Spook stories about people who retired early from the force or the military and joined. That they come out of the program different and get sent on some fucked up missions.”
“Different?” Kathleen thought about Finn—about the Hound. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. My guy said there were rumors of links to the MKUltra experiments the CIA did in the fifties and sixties. Psychedelics, mental conditioning, the works.”
“There’s no way something this big could still be running. That’s more than half a century ago—it’s just so hard to hide anything these days.” Unless they ruthlessly cleaned up after themselves. Finn had told her himself: My mission is to kill you. “Do we have any idea who’s heading it? Wilson?”
Gibson choked. “Wyatt Wilson? Fuck, no. Sure, he’s a scumbag of the highest order, but in the political scheme of things, he’s a nobody. No, this is someone with deep reach and deep pockets. Probably multiple someones. My guy didn’t know, and he warned me against asking. Said he knew someone who did… and they went missing.”
A chill shivered through her. How many other agents like Finn had Command sent to silence people like her? And what happened when they didn’t complete their mission?
“Even if he’s not behind it,” Kathleen said, “Wilson is involved.”
“How do you know?”
“Call it a hunch.” Kathleen shrugged as Gibson gave her a look. “Safer that way.”
“Speaking of safe.” Gibson grimaced. “I heard some reports of an altercation near your condo Saturday not long after we spoke. Shots fired, patrols did a sweep, but it was all clear. You know anything about that?”
“No idea.”
“Christ, Harper. The fuck did you get involved with?”
“Nothing good. And nothing you should get close to.”
Gibson blew out a long breath as his hand shifted to his hip where Kathleen knew his gun rested under his jacket. A nervous habit of his. “I’ve half a mind to arrest you and throw you in the drunk tank—just for your own safety.”
“You could,” Kathleen said. “But I’d just spend the entire time lauding your praises and enhancing your reputation in the force.”
“Christ.” Gibson ran a hand over his eyes. “All right, fine. But if shit goes south, you call me. I mean it. I know you think you can handle shit on your own, and that’s true. But I’m your partner. You got to at least let me make a call on that. You hear me?”
Relief flooded Kathleen. She didn’t think he’d throw her in jail, but she was worried he’d try to get involved. Explaining to him why she had an assassin in her bed might stretch the bounds of their partnership. “I hear you. And thanks, Gibson.”
“You owe me, big time.”
“You got it.”
“I’m talking top-shelf liquor favors,” Gibson added as his hand eased off his hip and he straightened.
“The best I can afford.”
“Good.” Gibson sobered, eying her as he rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing briefly. “You watch your back when I’m not around to watch it, hear?”
“You just don’t want to break in a new partner,” Kathleen said, grinning as Gibson snorted. “I will be careful.”
Gibson’s hand dropped, and he circled around to climb into his truck. Kathleen moved to the sidewalk. She sipped her coffee, thanking the glorious liquid as she felt it ease down her throat.
Distracted, it took her seconds to realize she hadn’t heard the thud of Gibson’s door. He was dead still, his hands held in the air.
Kathleen followed his gaze to the entrance of the building, and her heart seized. The glint of light pulled her attention to the rifle pointed directly at her partner, then to the man who was sighting down it. His hair had spilled over his face, obscuring his features. He was wearing the pants she had given him and nothing else, his feet and chest bare.
But it was him. Finn. Or the Hound. Kathleen had no way to tell.
Dropping the coffee, she ran—putting herself in the line of fire between them, hoping it wasn’t the Hound, hoping that he wouldn’t shoot if she was in the way. “No!”
Finn was eerily still. “Stay there, Gibson,” Kathleen said. “I’ve got this handled. No sudden moves. No weapons.”
During the seconds of silence that followed, Kathleen risked taking her eyes off the assassin to reinforce the words. Gibson’s eyes were fixed on Finn, and fury was written in the press of his lips.
“Gibson,” Kathleen said.
Gibson’s eyes narrowed. They’d built a lot of trust in the time they had worked together, and Kathleen could tell the request was stretching the limit of it—but he gave her a nod.
Trusting Gibson to keep his word, she turned back to Finn. Kathleen advanced toward him with her hands outstretched.
As she neared, he lowered the rifle. The man—the Hound?—stared at her through his long hair, his features far from the expressionless stare Kathleen had expected. There was only one way to describe his current expression.
Murderous.
“Finn, talk to me.”
Finn’s hand was steady on the rifle, held in a position where he could snap it up at any moment. His cheek twitched. He was fighting to keep his expression neutral—and failing.
His baritone was dark, full of the promise of violence. “He had his hand on his weapon. He was threatening to arrest you.”
How the fuck did he hear all that over the noise of the traffic? That thought would have to wait. She needed to get Finn out of sight. Kathleen reached for his arm, hoping she was right in guessing it was Finn and not the Hound behind that expression. She wasn’t sure the Hound was as receptive to her.
Finn let her hand settle on his arm, then down to his wrist, where he held the rifle.
Kathleen exhaled slowly. “Gibson is my partner. I trust him. And you don’t hurt him.”
No response, then a narrowing of eyes, a reluctance. Finally, a nod.
“Finn.” Kathleen softened her voice. “I need to hear you say it.”
Finn’s jaw tightened and released. Was he fighting with himself, she wondered, or programmed habits? “Yes, ma’am.”
The answer sent a chill through her. Was that a reflexive response to an order? Kathleen wanted to question him further, but it would have to wait until the situation was resolved. “Thank you. Now, I need you to go upstairs.”
“No.” It was flat, with no room for argument.
This wasn’t how Kathleen wanted to start her day, especially running on only two sips of coffee. There was a rigidity in Finn that appeared inflexible; she’d hit whatever limit of leeway he was willing to grant her.
“Okay,” she conceded. “Then stay here. I’m going to talk to my partner, and then he’s going to leave, and we’ll go upstairs together.”
Finn’s gaze ticked over her, then toward Gibson and across the street. The whole process took ten seconds. His eyes flicked up as if he was searching for something—or someone. When he was done, he nodded to her. Finn wasn’t exactly relaxed—far from it—but some of that murderous edge had faded from his expression.
The same could not be said of Gibson. He had lowered his hands—closer to his weapon, Kathleen knew—and she gave a warning shake of her head as she neared him.
Gibson frowned at her, then glanced over her shoulder. “Who the fuck is that, and what the fuck is going on?”
Fair and reasonable questions. Kathleen positioned herself between Gibson and Finn. She wasn’t sure which one of them she was protecting from the other. Both, realistically.
“He’s a witness. He can help with our case against Wilson, but it’s complicated.”
“Does that complication involve tall, dark, and broody being half-naked in your supposed safe house?”
Gibson jerked his head toward Finn, but the narrow-eyed look was all for her.
Kathleen kept her voice even. “He’s the reason I asked you about Command. He’s one of them. And your friend was right. He’s under some kind of conditioning or brainwashing. Gibson, it’s fucked up. Wilson and the slaughter of the triads—that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”
Gibson visibly struggled—with the idea that the spook stories about Command were genuine—and that the man who had pointed a gun at him was one of them.
His jaw tightened, and he let out a long, ragged sigh. “Christ. Tell me you have a plan, Harper.”
“I’m pulling it together. I need more time—to get information from him.”
“I hate to say it, but this feels like something for the Feds,” Gibson began, and then his expression shifted with a sudden awareness. “Shit. He was the photo that Homeland crony Schmidt showed us, wasn’t he?” When Kathleen nodded, he grimaced. “Fuck. Fuck, Harper.”
“I know.”
“All right. I’ll play interference, but I’m going to need full disclosure real fucking soon. I mean it.”
Tension bled from Kathleen as she exhaled. “You got it.”
“And two fucking bottles.”
“We come through this okay? You get three.”
“Fucking truth.” Gibson’s jaw tightened as he looked over her shoulder again, his voice dropping. “Be careful. If you need an out, text me a nine one one. I’ll have SWAT here riding his ass in ten.”
“Thanks, Gibson.”
“Three bottles,” Gibson reiterated as he levered open the door of his truck.
Kathleen heard him swear again. Moments later, his truck peeled into morning traffic.
Finn was waiting at the corner, watching the departing truck as if he were tracking a dangerous enemy. Kathleen reached out, her fingers closing over his wrist, waiting for him to look at her. She knew she couldn’t move him if he didn’t want to go.
His Adam’s apple bobbed, intent blue eyes finally shifting to her. Wordlessly, he yielded to her, urging her to walk into the building. He shifted his rifle to his other hand so he could capture hers.
His skin felt hot, his large, calloused fingers twining with hers. It felt unreal. The man had nearly shot her partner for a misunderstanding, yet the way he paced her, moving so close to her that if she leaned an inch, she’d be touching his shoulder, was incredibly intimate.
Kathleen needed to know what was going on with him—and this Command group. She needed to stay focused long enough to do so.
They entered the elevator, and the way he leaned into her, with his mouth pressing against the top of her head as he breathed in, did not help her focus at all.
Neither was the fact that he was shirtless.
“When you are out of my sight,” Finn’s voice was soft, his breath stirring her hair as he voiced the words. “I have visions of Command dragging you away.”
That helped. It was like a wash of cold water followed swiftly by a burning anger. This wasn’t his fault. Kathleen forced herself to take a slow breath before she said anything. “This is what we’re going to do. I’m going to put coffee on. You’re going to put on a shirt… because.” She wanted to put her mouth on his skin, and it was very distracting, “It’s better. And we’re going to talk. I heard some things about Command, and I need you to tell me everything. I have to know what we’re dealing with, so I can help,” she said, even as she realized she’d said we.
Kathleen could see the tension in his posture and felt his breathing stop. “You’re lying to me,” he said.
“What?”
“Your heartbeat changed when you saw me without a shirt. You liked it.”
“All right, maybe I—”
“And if you want to know about Command, we’re going to need to take some precautions.”