SEVEN
Rivers and Caryssa stepped out of the shower room together. Steam trailed after them, but the air between them was strange and quiet in a way that it hadn’t been under the water.
She didn’t glance his way as she headed down the hall to her room.
She didn’t invite him to follow.
She didn’t even look back.
Fuck.
He stood there, waiting for a glance over her shoulder. A hesitation. Anything that said she might change her mind.
Nothing.
Her bedroom door clicked shut with a quiet finality, leaving him standing in an empty hallway with water droplets still clinging to his skin and no idea how to shake off what he was feeling.
After another long moment, he continued on to his own room. Alone. He lay flat on his back on top of his covers, one arm thrown over his eyes. The whole thing played through his head on a loop without any way to stop it.
Pushing open the door. Caryssa’s gaze finding him through the steam.
You can leave. Or…you could stay.
For endless minutes, he lay there, reliving every delicious, heart-pounding, mind-blowing, soul-rending moment that came after that.
He replayed it in pieces. The sound she’d made against his mouth, the way her hand had fisted in his hair as though she couldn’t decide whether to pull him closer or push him away.
She settled, in the end, on closer.
He thought about the nights he’d lain in bunks and safehouses and tents and even a goddamn hospital bed, telling himself he’d made peace with never touching her again.
It hadn’t even been close to peace. It had been him holding his breath, and tonight he’d finally let it go in one huge whoosh. Now his chest ached with a sensation suspiciously close to hope, somehow worse than regret had ever been.
Regret he knew how to survive. He had no idea what to do with hope.
Years of wanting her had built up behind a dam, and tonight it broke. Now he had no idea what came next. Hell, he didn’t even know where he stood.
He didn’t know what it meant to her either. Maybe it was grief and adrenaline needing an outlet. Maybe it was more.
Or maybe she was already wishing it had never happened.
A knock on his door cut through his spiral. Rorke’s knock—two quick, one slow. A rhythm they’d used for each other’s doors since early days of Sierra team.
“It’s open.” Rivers sounded as miserable as he felt.
Rorke let himself in and dropped into a chair by the desk. Seamus Rorke was a puzzle to anyone who met him. People assumed from his name that he had Celtic roots, but his father was Scottish and his mother Latina. With his brown skin and dark eyes, he wasn’t the Seamus anybody pictured.
Rorke stared at Rivers for about two seconds before a grin spread across his face. “So.”
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything yet.”
Rivers sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face, aware that half an hour ago he was running his hands all over Caryssa’s slick, silky skin instead of his own beard stubble.
Rorke didn’t stop grinning. “How are things going with the woman you jilted?”
He straightened a little. “I think I’m making progress with her. Breaking down some walls.”
“Oh, we all heard you breaking down some walls.” His grin stretched wider and he looked far too pleased with his own joke.
Rivers closed his eyes, hunching his shoulders. “Fuck. You could hear?”
“Brother.” He spread his hands, looking even more delighted. “This place is basically an echo chamber. Concrete and tile everywhere. You want privacy, you don’t break down walls three doors down from the guy with the best hearing on this team.”
“Jesus Christ.” Rivers dropped his head into his hands, laughing despite himself.
“Anyway.” Rorke stood and stretched before heading for the door. “Try to get some sleep. You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The one where you’re about to lie there for three hours overthinking everything.” He paused at the door. “I better not hear you pacing the halls till sunrise.”
He was gone before Rivers could argue. No point when Rorke was completely right.
He lasted three seconds after the door shut before restless energy crawled under his skin and pulsed in his veins. Sleep wasn’t happening—not with his head this full.
He pulled on a shirt and went looking for Rorke again. He found him partway down the hallway, just leaning against the wall, waiting for him.
Rivers continued past him. “Let’s go blow off some steam.”
He arched a brow. “Thought you already did that.”
Rivers groaned and heard Rorke’s boots tapping faster behind him to catch up. Thankfully, his buddy let the subject drop and fell into step beside him.
They took the junction toward the shooting range, following one of the original tunnels beneath the old Montclair ski resort the base was buried beneath.
As with other Blackout bases, Sierra’s had its share of history—tax evasion, drug raids, other secrets even the team hadn’t uncovered. Rivers didn’t give a damn about any of it right now.
He needed a target, a loaded weapon, and enough rounds to get his head out of the shower room and back in the game.
Two of the guys were already down there, Younger and O, both with ear protection around their necks as they reloaded at the bench.
O looked up when they walked in and grinned as if Christmas had come early. Younger threw Rivers a glower.
“We needed target practice to drown out the noise.” O didn’t hold back.
Younger checked his weapon without glancing up. “Too bad the universe didn’t see fit to drop a hot chick from our pasts into our laps.” He shook his head mournfully, amusement flashing in his eyes. “Rough life you’ve got, Rivers. Shame there’s no future in it.”
Rivers edged up to the bench as if squaring up for a fight.
Younger snorted. “What? You think the FBI’s gonna open a satellite field office in one of our tunnels? Convenient commute, I’ll give you that.”
The joke hit harder than Younger intended.
Rivers had spent six years knowing there was no future with Caryssa. Apparently, one day with her was all it took to forget.
“Can we even trust her?” Younger pressed.
Rivers glowered at him.
“She’s FBI. There’s a problem somewhere with the info flow.”
Fuck. Rivers didn’t know how to convince the team that Caryssa wasn’t part of their problem with the FBI. Yet his obligation to his team was tangled up with his loyalty to the woman who just walked back into his life.
“We can trust her.”
Younger eyed him for a long beat. “But can we trust that she won’t tell her boss everything she sees and hears?”
Hell. He didn’t know the answer. She had to report to her chain of command the same way Blackout did.
With no response to give his teammates, he strode to the weapons locker and pulled his favorite handgun off the rack before anyone could see how those words affected him.
He balanced the gun in his palm, the weight of it just as familiar as Caryssa’s body. He pushed the thought away as he sidled up to the bench and slammed a clip into place.
Casting a sideways glance at the guys, he said, “Which one of you assholes wants to lose some money tonight?”
That brought a round of laughter.
“Goes against Cannon’s rules.”
“We all know none of you will walk away from a wager on your shooting skills.”
Rorke was good. But Rivers was better.
He raised his weapon.
This, at least, he knew how to win.
* * * * *
Caryssa sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the whiteboard Jolie had dragged out of a supply closet for her.
Half an hour of sitting here hadn’t cleared her mind of her steamy shower with Reid.
When she forced away the memories and picked up a marker, she added what she’d learned from Jolie and Stina to the board, then drew a few new connections.
But her brain wasn’t connected to work. Any other day, she’d be up until three a.m. looking for threads and leads. Instead, her mind kept sliding sideways, off the board entirely.
Back to the shower, to unspeakable pleasure and her arms around the man she’d once loved.
I’m here to do a job. Not to—
Heat rolled through her before she finished the thought. Totally inconvenient when she was supposed to be working instead of thinking about the three orgasms Reid had given her.
She pulled the laptop across her knees and forced her fingers to the keys. She opened her email and her brain almost sighed with relief at having something new to concentrate on.
Doyle was working on a warrant to search the trucking company’s Portland office. He’d also overnight mailed a package to Caryssa containing a set of keys.
Keys.
No more instructions on how she was to use them or what they opened. Only that she would have a warrant and a set of keys by sundown tomorrow.
He also informed her there would be an evidence dump waiting for her in the morning, pulled from a conversation with the dead man’s widow.
Real progress was being made and the case could move forward now. It would take up every second of her time, making it easier to avoid Reid.
For another long moment, she drowned in the memory of the shower all over again. Her body still tingled from his hands, lips and tongue. Even the way he looked at her felt like a physical touch she had missed so damn much.
Shoving that thought far, far away, she worked through her inbox, addressing the most urgent emails and saving the rest for later.
Then she closed her laptop and folded down the covers.
The bedding smelled fresh. The sheets were crisp and cool and inviting.
But the minute she shut her eyes, lurid memories of Reid pinning her against the wall…
his thick cock moving inside her…his mouth crashing across hers over and over again… swirled through her mind.
If she was back in her apartment, she’d open a book on invasive insect species or something equally dull and fall asleep partway through a summary on lantern flies. But there were no books in her room.
Though there were shelves of them in several rooms she’d passed, she didn’t want to chance an encounter with Reid. Bad enough that she already proved her self-control was lacking.