Chapter 33
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
DEAN
The sub surfaces, divers popping up around it, and my eyes dart around until I find June’s dark hair. Rain drizzles steadily, the gulf’s surface frothing and dangerous. Still, she wears a massive smile, waving at me from the water.
The Coast Guard allowed her to borrow one of their underwater cameras after she relentlessly hounded them about it. Dropping words like “priceless artifacts” and “go down in history for ruining an archaeological treasure,” and my personal favorite, “lawsuits from UNESCO, Spain, Mexico, and my university.”
When she mentioned the words “international incident,” I had to turn away so no one would see me laugh at the brow-beaten expression on the captain’s face. She finally relented, allowing June to accompany them once she provided digital proof of her diving and research credentials. No military officer wants to be in the news for fucking up an archaeological or historical site, and June knows it.
I am so fucking proud of her.
They insisted she wear one of their wetsuits, and I can’t take my eyes away from her as she loads into the Zodiac boat and motors back to the cutter. The wetsuit fits her like a glove, all curves and muscle. The zipper down the back teases me, reaching from the top of her neck to the round curve of her ass.
The sub clangs as it hits the deck of the cutter. Stepping forward, I help the remaining crew secure it to the boat. My fingers itch to open it, to finally get closure. There’s a fuck-ton of evidence in it, and from the weight the winch registers, more than drugs.
Good.
Pierce’s involvement stinks.
Where there’s one bad agent, there are usually more.
I swallow, rubbing a hand across my beard. It’s one of the things Thompson and I worry about. Us contractors, we don’t get the same benefit of the doubt.
Which means we need to be really fucking careful not to blow the tentative contracts we have.
We’re good at being careful.
I wince. Usually.
This sub might be the key to something that’s been forming for years. The same thing Fiona hinted at before the military rubbed her foreign agent affiliation in my face. Before they said leave or be fired.
Stomach clenching, I rake a hand across my scalp.
Either the evidence is in there and we have an uphill battle to fight, or it isn’t and we have a lot more fucking work to do.
A crew member hands me a crowbar and Thompson, opposite me, catches my eye and nods.
“Do it, Evans.”
“Could be classified.”
“It’s not officially classified until an analyst wearing a pocket protector decides it’s classified, and you know it. Besides, if it’s what we think it is, it’s time-sensitive.” His words are loaded with meaning.
The crew member shifts nervously next to me, and I fix the man with a hard stare until he wanders off to a safe distance, eyes firmly on the sea. The captain remains, a grim expression on her face.
The crowbar fits neatly into the slit of the metal hatch and I grunt, leveraging my weight on it. Mud and silt drip onto my shoes, cold and wet. The hatch pops open with a metallic clang, and the captain hands me a flashlight.
“Thanks,” I say gruffly, clicking it on.
The high beam illuminates the interior. Dry. Everything in it is dry. Drugs, packed neatly in taped up bricks, stacked all together. Not as much as I assumed. Minor drug shipment. Sweeping the beam along the interior, something else catches my eye.
“Thompson, come look.” I push aside the drugs with the flashlight, careful not to smudge any possible fingerprints.
A metal crate. The tell-tale symbol painted in fluorescent yellow on the box.
“Fuck.” Thompson breathes. “You were right.”
“Captain, we need to call this in,” I say, hoping to god the metal crate is sealed correctly.
She takes a long look at the box, eyes widening. “On it.”
I swallow. This is it . Exactly what I worried the analysts were hinting around at, the intel that I didn’t quite scrape a high enough classification to access. It must be what the redacted cables referred to, and it’s my worst nightmare.
Proof the domestic terrorists my team’s been tracking are working with the Russians, and worse, planning something huge.
Domestic terrorists don’t just order up weapons-grade uranium for shits and giggles. No, this brand of white nationalist doesn’t go to this much trouble just to make a few threats and parade around chanting hate speeches before going home. They need to be dealt with, and they need to be dealt with quickly.
I breathe out slowly, pinching the bridge of my nose. This needs to be handed off to all the right agencies immediately.
I glance over to where June stands, a towel wrapped around her, something steaming in her hands, the wild look of excitement on her face, and resolve cements in me. This will get reported up correctly as soon as I can. HQ will figure out the next move, the next mission. I’ve done my job for the day.
June’s lips curve into a smile, and she sips her drink.
The night, however, is still mine.
Thank god the crate was secured properly. It took the rest of the afternoon to clear the sub correctly, with people in full gear, their equipment crackling as they swept us for leaked radiation. And my mind has been working overtime, chewing over the facts of the case. But the evidence is in the proper chain now. I saw it off, signed the papers, ordered Thompson to write the report and brief the rest of the squad.
All the while thinking of June. The way she regaled the crew with stories of the Santu Espiritu, how she charmed them into letting her borrow their computer to email the photos she took of the wreck to her supervisor. To a news agency. To pitch a massive non-profit on assisting in the marine dig.
And now she sleeps peacefully in my replacement Jeep, her lips softly parted, face slack and sweet. So damn beautiful, and somehow, at ease with me after everything. Trusting me enough to sleep next to me again. Or at least, tired enough to. She fell asleep almost immediately, slept through the first pitstop I made too.
Excitement and nerves push to the forefront, left leg shaking as I drive. The ship docked in Corpus Christi, necessitated by the contents of the sub and the amount of manpower needed to clear the ship.
And I called ahead to our destination, waiting to be let off the cutter—thought I’d play it cool.
It isn’t a government safehouse; not convinced requesting a safehouse here would even be prudent. No telling how far the corruption reaches. Besides, I want to do something nice for June.
I could be her safehouse, if she lets me.
I glance back at the packages I picked up in the backseat. Luckily, government contracting pays well. A knot forms in my stomach, and I clench my hand on the wheel.
What if she doesn’t like it?
Then I’ll get her something she will.
The second package, weapons, courtesy of Thompson slipping out and ordering them for pick-up as I processed the first tranche of paperwork. While June processed and catalogued the photos she’d taken.
We worked wordlessly, side by side, no need for conversation. Companionably. Occasionally, her knee would brush mine and it took all my restraint not to carry her off to one of the cutter’s bunks.
“Hey.” Her voice is gravelly with sleep as she sits up, rubbing her eyes.
“Hey yourself.”
Destination looming on the horizon, I can’t help the grin creeping across my face.
“What’s that?”
“Well, it’s not a safehouse.”
“I can see that.”
“I got us a suite. It’ll be safer—that is, if I stay with you. We can’t be sure Pierce is done with you.”
Her expression tightens.
“I can get us adjoining rooms, if that would make you more comfortable.” God, did I push her too far too fast? I wanted to make things right between us, not mess them up more.
“Dean…”
I clench my teeth, waiting for the blow.
“It’s beautiful.”
The sun sets behind the hotel, casting oranges and pinks across the sky. The glass exterior seems lit from within by the golden pink light.
“Do you want an adjoining room?” I can hardly breathe with wanting her, but her comfort comes first. “I don’t want to,” I clear my throat, “take advantage of your adrenaline.”
June drags her eyes away from the golden hotel. Her lazy smile has heat rushing through me. The light catches her dark hair, making it shine, and I shift against the seatbelt.
“Hmmm. I seem to remember you made me a promise.”
I hardly dare look at her as I park the car as close to the hotel as I can.
“I did?”
“Mmhmmm.” Her fingers trail along my jawline. “Something about screaming?”
“June, I… I don’t want to push you, if you’re worried about the, you know, the Speed thing.” I cut my eyes to the packages in the back again, feeling idiotic.
A throaty laugh causes me to look back to her. “That’s what’s stuck with you? My one comment about Sandra Bullock and adrenaline?”
“I’m trying to be a gentleman here.” I am, goddamnit, but she’s undoing me at every turn.
She unclips the seatbelt and leans in close. She’s dangerous, a firecracker, and I’m ready to light the fuse.
Her eyes sparkle in the dusky light. “Maybe I don’t want a gentleman right now.”
“Good.” My control breaks, and I grab her, pulling her onto my lap. She squeals as my hands wind around her waist, the ample curve of her breast. For a moment, our breath mingles, and then she pulls back, leaving me raw. Wanting.
“I definitely don’t want a gentleman. But I do want a hot shower.” Her stomach grumbles. “And maybe an entire cow.”
“As you wish.” I smile, running a hand through her hair.
She crawls back over to her seat, making a surprised noise as she catches sight of the bags in the back. “What’s all that?”
“You can’t wear that to dinner.” I nod at her ripped jeans and tight graphic tee.
She flutters her eyelashes. “What, you don’t think divers can go down?” Her eyes dip to my crotch, and she licks her lips.
In one swift move, I capture her mouth, my hand against the base of her throat. Thumb massaging the smooth column of her neck, she gasps as I press against her mouth. Taking advantage of her surprise, I suck her bottom lip until she gasps again.
“I think I’m ready to find out,” I murmur, tracing her swollen mouth with my finger.
“Oh.”
“Shower first. Then dinner. Then…” I trail off, mind flashing on the fantasy of her beneath me, wondering what it will sound like when she cries my name.
“Then bed,” June finishes. “Rest is important.”
She opens her door, and I slide out of the driver’s seat, adjusting my pants before grabbing the bags from the back.