40. Hendricks
HENDRICKS
Every time I closed my eyes I saw her in that chair, legs spread, hand moving between her thighs while she watched me watch her. God knows what time I finally fell asleep.
No surprise what I dreamed about.
She’s up.
A feeling that’s as foreign to me as peace loosens something in my chest. I get out of bed, wash up, and head downstairs—in jeans and nothing else. I’m not beyond fucking with her a little too.
Mandy’s in my kitchen. She stands at the stove wearing one of my shirts—a gray button-down I left on the hook in my bathroom.
It hangs to mid-thigh on her, sleeves rolled to her elbows.
The black widow tattoo looks especially menacing in this light.
She's humming something low and off-key while she tends to something in a pan.
I stop in the doorway.
She doesn't turn around, but I know she knows I'm here. She’s always aware.
"Morning, sunshine," she says, like we didn’t cross all sorts of lines last night.
"You're cooking,” I greet her inanely.
"Observant." She glances over her shoulder, and the movement makes the shirt shift. I catch a glimpse of bare thigh, the curve of her ass. "You had eggs in the fridge. I figured you like them, so I’m making an omelet."
My brain latches on the eggs because it’s safer than acknowledging the woman wearing my shirt.
No one wears my shirt.
Hell—no one cooks in my kitchen. Yesterday, this room was nothing more than a refueling station. This morning, it smells like coffee, sugar, and her shampoo.
I’m befuddled, and it has nothing to do with a lack of caffeine.
I should say something that brings us back to our objective. Instead, I'm cataloging the way the morning light catches in her hair, the way her legs look in my shirt, the fact that I can see the outline of her body through the cotton.
She's not wearing anything underneath.
"Coffee's ready," she says, turning fully now.
That's when I see it.
The shirt is unbuttoned just enough that when she moves, I can see the curve of her breast, the edge of a rosy nipple. She doesn't adjust the fabric—she doesn't cover herself. She just stands there holding a spatula, watching me with those sharp hazel eyes that notice everything.
I know what her nipples look like when she’s turned on, but I want to know how they taste. I've never wanted to put something in my mouth more in my entire life.
"Hendricks?"
I force my gaze up to her face. "Yeah."
She bats her eyelashes like she’s innocent. "You going to stand there all morning, or are you going to eat?"
Fuck me.
Before I can formulate a response, there's a knock at the door.
Mandy's hand moves toward the knife block as I cross the kitchen. "Stay here," I tell her, pulling out my phone to check the security feed.
The app opens, and I see Luke Bennett on my porch, hands in his pockets, looking straight into the camera with his canary-eating grin.
Fuck. His timing is impeccable, of course.
My first instinct is tactical: warn Mandy, get her upstairs, give her time to put on clothes before Luke sees her standing in my kitchen wearing nothing but my unbuttoned shirt.
But then I remember the bra conversation. She set that boundary hard—she doesn't take orders about what she wears. If I go back in there and tell her to cover up, she'll push back—or worse, she'll know I'm rattled. That I care what Luke sees.
And I do care. I care in a way that's dark and possessive and completely irrational. Luke’s my ally and I’d still rather shoot him than let him see her half-naked.
So I make a different choice. I won't warn her. I’ll let it happen, because the choice is hers. I don’t like it, and if Luke makes a wrong move, he’ll have me to answer to.
I open the door. "Bennett."
"Hendricks." Grinning, he pretends to look around. "Nice place. Yours?"
He knows damn well it’s mine. I can’t decide whether I’m annoyed or impressed he discovered it. “How did you find me?”
"Mason tracked you from Turner's house last night. Blackthorn still has surveillance around the compound. We saw you and Mandy going in." He sticks his hands in his pockets and rocks on his heels. “You going to invite me in?”
I’m tempted to say no and close the door on him, but Luke’s one of the few men I trust. Besides, the smug bastard already knows he’s getting in. I can see it in his grin. “Coffee?”
“Yeah.” He follows me to the kitchen, slowing down in the doorway when he sees Mandy.
I watch his eyes land on her and process the scene—the gray shirt, the bare legs, the way the fabric gapes at the collar. I see the exact moment he registers what she's wearing and what she's not wearing.
I make a deliberate shift in my stance that puts me between them, my body angled to block his view. It's calculated. Intentional. A statement made without words.
His eyes flick from Mandy to me. He takes in the tension in my shoulders, the way I'm positioned, the fact that it’s absolutely clear through every line of my body that she has me on the ropes.
He knows.
His grin widens, and he says low enough so that only I can hear him, "Well, well, well. I knew it. I told Harper you two were a thing."
"We're not," I grit out truthfully despite myself—despite what I just did.
"Sure you're not." Luke saunters in with all his unassailable charm. "If this isn’t a surprise, Mandy."
"Bennett." She doesn't move from the stove. She doesn’t even look up. She just flips the eggs like this is a perfectly normal breakfast. "I’m making breakfast for Archibald and me. Want some?"
I go still. "What did you just call me?"
"Archibald." Mandy's voice is pure sweetness as she plates the eggs.
Luke's eyebrows shoot up. "Wait. Your name is Archibald?"
"No, it’s not." I look at her sternly to hide my amusement.
"He's sensitive about it," Mandy says, setting a plate on the counter. "I keep telling him it's distinguished."
"It's not my fucking name." Archibald. I shake my head as I get a mug and pour Luke a cup of coffee.
Luke laughs, the kind of full-body laugh that makes his shoulders shake. "Oh man. Harper is going to love this. Archibald Hendricks. That's—"
"My name is not”—I set the cup down in front of him with a loud clop—"Archibald."
"Sure, Archie." Luke wipes his eyes. "Whatever you say."
Mandy smirks at me over the rim of her coffee cup, and I want to bend her over the counter and fuck that smug look right off her face. Instead, I pour myself more coffee and join them at the table.
But I can't focus. All I can smell is Mandy over the coffee, all I can think about is the fact that she's standing three feet away from Luke wearing nothing but my shirt.
I want him out. Now.
"So, Archibald.” Luke shoots me grin as he shovels food onto his fork. “You want to tell me what you two were doing at Turner's place, or should I guess?"
"We have a situation," Mandy says calmly. "I need help with a problem, and Hendricks volunteered."
"Hendricks never volunteers for anything. He must really like you." Luke's expression shifts, humor fading into something sharper. "What kind of problem?"
"Classified,” I say. I don’t think Mandy would be susceptible to his charm, but I don’t want to chance it.
“I heard you were commissioned to locate Mandy,” he says, looking at me shrewdly.
Mandy holds her arms out. “And here I am. He’s good at what he does.”
“I bet.” Luke raises his brow as he faces her. "Does Lily know you're here?"
"Lily knows I'm safe," Mandy says smoothly. "That's all she needs to know."
Luke studies her for a long moment, then nods. "Fair enough. If you need help—"
"No," I say.
Both of them look at me.
"This stays contained," I continue. "The fewer people involved—"
"If we tracked you," Luke interrupts, "other people can too.”
He's right. If Blackthorn's surveillance caught us, then Ashford's people could have done the same. I've been so focused on Mandy—on keeping her close, on not touching her—that I missed the operational vulnerability.
I've been compromised since the moment she walked into my life.
“Don’t worry.” Luke points his fork at me. “Mason erased all the footage of you guys that we collected, and he made sure it was deleted from Turner’s cams as well, in case they’re being monitored.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
"See? You know we’re good teammates, and we're offering help," Luke says, his tone serious now. "No charge. No strings. Blackthorn takes care of its own, and Mandy's Lily's sister. That makes her family."
Mandy's expression flickers—surprise and then vulnerability before she masks it with her usual snark. "Family, huh? You guys need to up your standards.”
“Too late. You’re already in.” Luke winks at her. “But we’ll think twice about Archie.”
I roll my eyes.
Luke finishes off the mound of food like he walked here from Blackthorn. Taking his plate to the sink, he rinses it off and sets it to dry. "If you change your mind about backup, you know where to find us." He pushes off the counter, heading for the door. "And Hendricks?"
"Yeah?"
“For a guy who’s impossible to read, you’re broadcasting like a fucking radio station right now.”
Before I can answer, he’s out the door. I hear the front door close behind him, and I'm left in the kitchen with Mandy, who's looking entirely too pleased with herself.
I raise my brow. "Archibald?"
She chortles. "It suits you."
"No, it doesn’t."
Looking smug, she leans back in the chair, stretching her arms over her head, which makes the shirt ride up and reveal her sleek thighs. "Watching you get all tense and growly when I call you something is just plain fun."
The playfulness drains out of me like someone pulled a plug. "If Mason tracked us, we're exposed."
The shift in tone lands. I watch her register it—the way her smile fades, the way her arms lower. She's still stretched out in my shirt, bare legs crossed at the ankle, but the smugness is gone.
I move to the window, checking the sightlines out of habit.
I rotate my shoulders, but the tightness doesn’t ease.
I'm furious—not at Luke or Mason. At myself.
I got distracted and let my fixation on her compromise operational security.
I didn't sweep for surveillance after Turner's house, didn't check for tails.
I didn't run counter-surveillance protocols because I was too busy white-knuckling my way through the drive home while she asked me about her fucking panties.
Amateur hour.
Now we're sitting in a safe house that isn't safe anymore.
"Hendricks."
I don't turn around. "What?"
"Maybe it's a good thing."
That gets my attention. I look at her over my shoulder.
She's sitting up now, elbows on the table, eyes sharp. "If Mason found us," she says slowly, "then maybe Ashford's people can too. Maybe whoever ransacked Turner's house is already looking. Maybe instead of chasing answers, we let them come to us."
I turn fully, crossing my arms. "You want to use yourself as bait."
"I want to use us as bait." She tilts her head. "You're the one Ashford hired. I'm the one he wants. If someone's watching, they'll make a move eventually. When they do, we'll be ready."
It's not a bad plan. It's actually tactical. But it also means staying here, in this house, with her wearing my shirt and sleeping down the hall while we wait for someone to try to kill us.
"You're assuming they'll come," I say.
"They will." Her voice is certain.
She's right. I know she's right, but that doesn't make this any less of a clusterfuck. "Fine. Only, if we're doing this, we do it my way. No more games. No more distractions. We stay sharp."
Her eyes meet mine, and there's something dangerous in them—something that tells me she knows exactly what I mean by distractions.
"Whatever you say," she murmurs. "Archibald."
In this moment, I know without a doubt that if Mandy’s the bait, I’m the one’s who’s hooked.