Mine - HelenKay Dimon Page 0,35
at the edge of the forest.
He knew he should drop the conversation and get back to work. And he would—in a second. “The number of times doesn’t matter.”
She broke eye contact with the snow long enough to glance at him. “You think we’re dating now?”
Not that he was looking for commitment or even nights together once the assignment was over, but still. He’d used that line so many times. Having it thrown in his face made him realize how shitty it sounded. “I think I’m the closest thing you have to a friend.”
She touched a hand to her hat. Pulled it down closer to the top of her eyebrows. “I don’t sleep with friends.”
For some reason that sent his temper spiking. “You sure do have an answer for everything.”
She smiled above her scarf. “How does that feel? Annoying, isn’t it?”
One point for Natalie.
Perfect time to pivot. He reached for his gun and took a step toward the spot that had grabbed his attention a minute ago. “Now we have an entrance point.”
The corners of her mouth dropped. “What?”
“Do not look until we start to turn around and head back to the cabin, but we have covered tracks. No prints, but snow that’s been pushed and not just fallen in that pattern.”
She kept her focus on him. Didn’t engage in the usual panicked rookie mistake of checking out the scene despite all warnings. There certainly were benefits to having a client who knew how the dark side of the world worked.
“Can you see anyone in the vicinity?” she asked, as she gathered her coat around her and turned back to walk directly into the wind.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. To anyone watching the move might look romantic. For him it was really about being able to jump in and shield her if necessary, though part of him wondered if she’d let him try.
“No, but I’d be real disappointed in the person’s skill set if I could.” He kept his voice steady and his steps even. No signs they’d found the person scouting him. Even now the person, man or woman, could be watching from nearby, and Gabe refused to tip them off.
“So, now what?” Her hand slipped into her pocket, right where she kept the gun he gave her.
He looked forward, but with each step he did a quick visual sweep of the land, looking for any sign of movement. In the trees. On the ground. The person could be hiding anywhere. But wouldn’t be for long. “We set a trap.”
She hmpf’d. “We could just shoot the person.”
“While I appreciate your bloodthirsty response, we need him or her alive to answer questions.” He squeezed her shoulder but doubted she felt it through all those layers. “And Andy’s code said non-hostile.”
“What if Andy’s wrong?”
Gabe refused to let that thought snake its way in. Andy knew something. Now Gabe needed to know what. “Rarely happens.”
“You’ll understand if I don’t trust your hopeful loyalty to your baby brother.”
The same lethal baby brother who once took down a drug runner by stabbing him in the forehead. But Gabe didn’t start spouting off Andy’s resume or his own.
“Then trust me.” He’d been nothing but straight with her, even though it cost him to admit to the attraction kicking his ass. That had to count for something.
“Because we slept together.” Not a question. She said it as a statement, without judgment. Just a flat tone as she pretended to look at him but glanced past him in a check of the trees.
Part of him thought that should be enough, but he went with the more obvious answer. “Because this is what I do.”
“Fine.”
They walked faster, their boots clomping against the snow as he switched to a wider stride and pulled her along with him. “And, for the record, ‘slept’ suggests past tense, and I think we both know that’s not the case.”
“You’re awfully sure of yourself.” She matched her gait to his, never complaining, even as she grabbed on to his arm for balance.
Words ran through his head as tension built in his gut. Something was wrong. Really wrong.
He wanted her inside and behind a wall. Walking out in the open was an invitation to danger. He didn’t welcome that. “The blame is on you.”
“Of course it is,” she said in a dry tone.
“You’re the one who screamed my name the last time we were naked.” The memory pricked at him, but he blocked it. Had to. He needed all of