What the hell did Sarah see in the bastard? Why the fuck did she put up with that shit?
Seriously, even Mooch would have been better than Mitch. While Mooch might eat you out of house and home, at least he didn’t trigger Tag’s there’s-something-rotten-in-the-banana-boat alarm.
Mitch, on the other hand…Tag had picked up on something from day one. Some cold-ass vibe the fucker shed. Only not the normal special operator cold-ass attitude. Mitch’s vibe was less focused. More predatory. Opportunistic. Tag’s instincts had gone off like a Ka-Bar down a chalkboard. Even though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what he’d picked up on, he’d known something ugly lurked beneath Mitch’s good ol’ boy façade. Something serpentine. Something cold and dead.
It wasn’t often you found a rotten operator in the SEAL brotherhood, but he’d sure as hell found one in Mitch.
Too bad no one else noticed it.
But no, the teammates he counted on to watch his six thought he’d manufactured his distrust of Mitch to justify going after Sarah. Hell, even after that fucking operations fund fiasco, they were still inclined to trust Mitch, based off the seat he’d earned in the Black Hawk and the way he flashed that easy smile of his.
Stupid pricks.
He stopped in front of the bright blue door, squared his shoulders, and jammed his finger against the doorbell. Footsteps sounded inside. Tag stiffened, then forced himself to relax. A few minutes, that’s all. A few minutes to soldier through and then he could march on down whatever path his life took with a clear conscience.
The door opened, revealing a tall, lean redhead.
“Sarah,” he said as he soaked her in. The ember-bright hair. The freckles. The wide face and mouth. The hazel eyes that had turned a deep, dark, mysterious blue green.
“Brett.” Her face went stiff. Frozen.
Which was so damn …wrong.
Sarah’s beauty lay in her expressiveness. The wide mouth that smiled or frowned with ease. The eyes that changed from green to blue depending on mood or clothing. The cheeks that bunched or smoothed, the forehead that wrinkled, the eyebrows that rose—every feature of Sarah’s face had broadcast her emotions as she charged through life without shields.
She’d been completely open, without masks two years ago.
Not so much now.
Goddamn you, Mitch…
“You shouldn’t be here.” Her voice was flat, a careful monotone.
He locked down a flinch. That even, cautious tone was another departure from the free living, expressive spirit she’d been back then.
“We need to talk,” he said, channeling that same flat monotone.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” She backed up a pace, as though she were about to slam the door in his face.
“Then you can listen.” He stuck his foot in the doorframe and locked down every ounce of emotion. “Look, I’m not here to get you back, okay? That ship sailed a long time ago. But you used to be a friend, and you’re about to make a big mistake. That’s something I can’t walk away from.”
“This isn’t your business.” The skin around her eyes tightened.
“I’m making it my business.” He forced the next words out, all too aware that the bearer of bad news was usually the one skewered and strung. “You don’t know what you’re getting into. Mitch isn’t the guy you think he is.”
“I know exactly the kind of man he is,” she contradicted him, her voice even tighter than before.
“Do you?” Tag asked grimly. “Then you know your loving fiancé is fishing at the BU and taking home a new catch every night?”
Something slipped through her eyes. But it wasn’t pain. It was more calculating than that.
“I don’t care.”
Tag rocked back on his heels. She didn’t care? That didn’t sound like the Sarah he’d known.
She must have seen the surprise on his face, because she leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping with intensity. “Look, nothing you say is going to change my mind. Nothing. Just go.”
He shook his head, disoriented. Could she really have changed that much over the course of two years? The Sarah he’d loved would never put up with Mitch’s bullshit. Not if she’d known about it. The Sarah he’d loved had too much pride for that.
With a lift of his eyebrows, he cocked his head, studying her. Every freckle stood out like a fleck of gold on her white face. He regrouped, frowning. There was something off here. Way off.
“You realize he’s a thief?”
At least that accusation seemed to rock her. Those bright eyebrows of hers drew together. She hadn’t reacted to the news Mitch was cheating. But the thief allegation