Chapter Fifteen #2
Mercer might want the anger and the chaos. He wasn’t going to get it.
Because the FBI agent/profiler had the killer figured out and would work hand-and-gun with him to trap the son of a bitch.
He was a destroyer who deserved what was coming at him. And God dammit, he was about to meet the warriors who would achieve his destruction.
no one wanted to leave.
Niles had staked out one of the recliners. It kept him close for anyone who needed his assistance, but let him snooze in the meantime.
Twice the usual number of people were on duty.
Cait’s house had been checked and a SEAL team member planted in their house on the red sofa.
Elizabeth’s house had been cleared. Quaid’s house was secured with Tane and Conners monitoring.
Mac slept smack in the middle of the chaos on the floor in Operations. His mother’s safety was confirmed. She’d been moved to the Coronado Patton, unhappy but mothering two team members. Barker had arrived to personally supervise her safety.
In his office, Quaid was silent and pacing.
Alanna pushed aside every bit of guilt. This wasn’t on her. It was Mercer, going rogue. But, if she hadn’t used this consult to try to find Whit, none of this would have happened.
She was currently hotwired to Cait who was monitoring Whit with four team members there and her SEAL husband at her side. Whit had come from surgery in good shape, but would stay under until morning when Cait promised she’d wake him for Alanna.
She called her boss. She squirmed as he went quiet and weathered deadly angry questions at the news, then she filed a report and scheduled more help for the morning.
She talked to Frank and acknowledged the work he was already doing to find the murderous bastard.
The bomb squad went through the building, motor pool, and outside areas. All clear.
Armory was on partial lockdown but was available for team members.
At this point, her worry centered on Quaid.
His silence. Not his normal response, but to be expected. There was a lot to consider. But the pacing…Quaid was more contained than that. He didn’t lose control of himself in act or speech, and he never gave anything away.
She scooted forward on his office sofa and stood. “Let’s go upstairs to my quarters.” Getting him to leave the building would be a no-go.
“You go on up.”
“Nope. We’re both going.” She grabbed his hand and pulled.
He came to her and stared, eyes blank.
“Come on. This place is as covered as it can be, and we need to recharge.” She didn’t like the neutral expression on his face. It was her first time seeing him unraveled.
“You’ll still be right here. Seconds down the stairs, not miles away, and my bed is more comfortable than this sofa.”
He gazed around the office. She didn’t want him dwelling here anymore. She laced her fingers with his and leaned in to kiss his neck, his jaw, his mouth. “Let’s go,” she whispered.
He followed her. Still silent, but cooperating. At the door, she met Remy. “We’re going to 501. Get Mackey off the floor in Operations and on his office sofa for some solid sleep.”
“Can do. I was checking on what’s available. Quarters are all full, some with extras, too.” Remy eyed Quaid. “Get some rest.”
Alanna answered for him. “You, too. You can use Quaid’s office.”
“I’m on until sunrise. I’ll get some, too. Promise.”
Quaid finally snapped out of it. “Good plan. Call me if anything needs attention.”
“We’re good, boss.” He continued on a walk through of the admin floor and Alanna coaxed Quaid up the side stairwell to the fifth floor. They didn’t hurry, and they didn’t talk.
It left Alanna time to think.
The future all boiled down to one thing: right time, right person.
Mercer’s attack had led her to study criminal psychology.
Her teenage self had viewed a murder, suffered a horrific beating, and she still had nightmares and fears.
She should have walked away from those studies and taken on something easier like art history, financial accounting, or biochemistry.
Instead, she’d soldiered on. But she protected herself always and veered away from people and permanence, friends, and home even in her adulthood.
One would have thought it would ease up, but it didn’t.
The difficulties had led her to the FBI in the hope she would get stronger, think smarter, and protect herself better.
Personally, she’d stayed stuck with all her emotions locked tight.
Now, she stood at QM next to this man, and a huge chasm opened – like past and future blending with those difficulties and winding to a new place where it might be possible to let all those emotions free.
A place where the girl, the professional, and the woman could all be safe and at peace. Confronting herself with a bit of honesty, she trembled. She yearned for that. Always had.
All the stairwell doors were propped to stay open, but she was able to code into her suite.
She strategically flicked on a side light, keeping the muted mood.
The bed had been made, the white comforter straight and proper across the frame, and the room smelled of lemon cleaner.
Nothing had changed. Her bag was still dumped in the corner, her clothes were all hung in the open closet, and her laptop was on the work counter.
Quaid followed her in, but walked on to the bed and went silent again, his hands in the pockets of his chino pants.
The door snapped shut, locked against the world.
She went to him and eased her arms around his middle, laying her head on his back. “I thought I’d never have this. It hurt.”
He turned his head and gazed at her, calm and curious. “Have what?”
“Somebody I can trust completely in a place where I’m safe.” He twisted around and wrapped her in his arms. He didn’t talk or rock her, stroke her or justify an acceptance or a refusal. He stood quiet, absorbing, leaning, considering, deciding.
She tipped her head to look in his eyes, and Quaid sealed his lips to hers, letting the kiss go on and on. “I’m yours,” he whispered against her mouth, kissing her with lips and tongue and no regard for time.
She was the only thing stopping this. She either let go and reached for what she wanted, or she had regrets. She wanted yes for her answer to this man. Yes. Yes. Yes.
She fingered his shirt, and without looking, she started on the first button, then the second. She expected he might stop her, but she wasn’t after the notch for the playboy.
She wanted him.
The silent. The deadly. The charming. The partner. Him.
But he didn’t stop her. He groaned when her fingers brushed his warm skin, and he wrestled out of the shirt when the buttons were loose. He tipped her head and studied her eyes, the deep brown reflecting an emotion she hoped was mirrored in her own.
Silent decision made, he helped her shed her striped blouse and unfastened her blue lace bra in one motion.
His palms were right there when the fabric fell away to cup and stroke breasts she’d always thought were too big.
Her heart shot to a staccato rhythm while the play of his hands had her gasping for breath.
“Lani?”
She didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to answer questions, or stop the crescendo building inside her. She wanted him, wanted it all. She took his mouth with an urgency caused by his closeness. Arms around his shoulders, she lifted herself, tiptoes giving her leverage to touch his skin.