Chapter 20
Celine yanked the loaf of bread from the counter and tossed it on the island, her tummy growling as she went to the refrigerator and pulled out the ham, lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, and mustard.
Crazy man. What was his deal? It wasn't like she'd destroyed his bedroom on purpose, she's just unpacked. Did he expect her to keep everything he'd bought in the bags?
She tilted the loaf of bread up and emptied a few pieces on her plate. Next she opened the bag of ham, inhaling the mouthwatering smell. Food. She never appreciated food so much in her life.
This sandwich would be the biggest, bad ass sandwich on planet earth.
Once she finished stacking it high, she poured on the mustard, slapped on the top piece of bread and took a big bite, her eyes rolling back in pleasure.
She'd gone so long on stale water and scraps her stomach had shrunk and the doctor at Mr. Mankel's, or Mr. J’s, palace had forbidden her more than tiny, incremental meals at a time.
And the food at the hospital...well, yuck.
But this, now this was a real American sandwich and she would savor every last bite.
She heard the shower cut off and Aaron's footsteps cross the floor.
After the fifth pass back and forth, she shrugged and went back to eating.
He could pace a hole in the floor for all she cared.
She took another bite, cherishing the explosion of flavor from the vine ripened tomatoes, and sagged against the counter.
She'd take her time with this one and then when she finished, she'd make another.
“I've got an idea. I think we need to look higher than we originally thought. O'Keefe couldn't get that kind of access without some serious weight from the inside.” Aaron's voice drifted down the stairs through the open door.
“Exactly. You handling it okay?”
Celine took another bite and carried her sandwich to the doorway, completely unashamed to be eavesdropping. This was her life, too.
“Roger. I'll wait for your call.”
The bed creaked and then he spoke again. “Merc, brother, any luck on finding your uncle?”
Uncle? Who was Merc?
“I'm on a secure line, too. Shit. I thought for sure having his alias, Jack Mankel, would give you a lead. What about Caroline? Any traffic with her?”
The bread turned to dust in her mouth and Celine had to force herself to swallow the last bite.
“Any idea on a time line?”
She heard Aaron’s footsteps as he began to pace again. “Me, too, brother. I'd give anything to see that traitorous murderer finally get what he deserves. I still dream about Shane taking that bullet.”
She tried to piece together his conversation. She'd heard of Shane Carter. He'd been declared killed in action almost two years ago now. Had Aaron seen Mr. J kill him?
“You know how bad I want to be there, but I can't leave her.” Not ever again.
Her. Celine. He couldn't leave her.
“Yeah, I feel it, too. You’re close. You'll take him out this time. Just...just let me know when he's finished, okay? I need to know he's dead.”
Her knees went weak and she collapsed against the door.
According to everything she'd put together, from O'Keefe at the CIA, what Aaron had told her, and the conversation upstairs, Aaron Speirs had been tracking Mr. J for two years.
And he was giving up his chance to catch him for her. He was putting her first.
“Roger. Out.”
Heart in her throat, Celine rushed back to the counter and shoved her shaking hands to her hair.
She'd been so selfish thinking only about herself and how he affected her, completely ignoring the fact that the man who had not only martyred one of Aaron's teammates, but had tried to murder his entire team, was within his grasp.
She should talk to him, explore whatever this was between them and find out once and for all if he had any feelings for her and be ready to deal if he said no.
Then she had to let him go. He needed to be with his team for this mission.
Celine grabbed the bread and threw together a couple more sandwiches. A few minutes later she went upstairs to a spotless bedroom and a shirtless Aaron.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I kinda need to use, you know...” She nodded towards the toilet.
Instead of getting all embarrassed, he stood to his full height and crossed his arms, his eyes narrowed. “That's fine, just try not to touch anything, okay?”
“Sure.”
“That didn't come out right.” He dropped his arms and shifted to his left foot. “Listen, this is kind of my sanctuary. When I'm overseas, everything is so polluted and nasty. But when I'm here, I can keep everything clean and it makes me feel...better.”
Her heart lurched at his confession. She knew she was a little bit untidy.
Her friends had bemoaned that fact regularly.
But this wasn't her house and it obviously meant a lot to him.
“Thank you for telling me. I'll try to do better, but I can't make any promises, I'm afraid I was born a mess – at least that's what my dad says.”
He came to her then, and cupped her cheek, stealing her breath right out of her body.
“That's enough for me.”
Celine jumped back, at a loss for how to react. “Your food is in the kitchen. I'll be down in a little bit.”
“Take your time. Oh yeah, check the sink vanity, there's something in it for you.”
Celine stared at her reflection over the mirror, totally dejected at her appearance.
Her hair had dried with a big fat crinkle all the way around and hung in limp hanks.
With absolutely no make-up, she looked washed out.
She was supposed to make him want her like this?
Dejected, she pulled open the drawer under the sink.
It took her a full minute for her mind to register what was there.
Reverently, she reached in and caressed the mini-blow dryer and round brush.
He'd even bought her a curling wand. Filling up the rest of the drawer were all kinds of make-up, powders, and brushes.
She lifted the strawberry flavored lip gloss and twisted off the top, inhaling her favorite scent. He’d noticed.
No, she hadn't really tried with him, at all. But she would. And he'd have to tell her to her face that he didn't want her. No military commanders involved this time.