Riding The Edge - Elise Faber Page 0,50

clinic where Olive watched over her until Laila had pulled the doctor away.

Olive had been dead on her feet, nearly unconscious herself as she watched every monitor, checked every stitch and bandage, ran herself ragged with every change in blood pressure and pulse.

It wasn’t until Laila pointed out that her fatigue might risk Ava’s recovery that Olive had finally left the room.

And I had stayed.

Maybe from the outside nothing between me and Ava had changed.

We were still teammates, still agents who sometimes put our lives on the line, who were occasionally seriously injured in the line of fire.

Maybe people would think a handful of kisses and some conversations didn’t change anything.

But it was more than just kisses and words.

It was whispered memories in a dark cell, a bond forming when shit got scary. It was her being so willing to sacrifice herself when she’d kicked ass to get me out of the warehouse safely several weeks before. It was pain in her clear brown eyes after she’d taken the shot to kill her father. It was a sliver of light in a claustrophobic space, a glimpse of a life that hadn’t broken her but would have shattered so many other people before.

It was her limping forward with a broken ankle and a stab wound in her side.

It was . . . Ava.

I’d seen inside the carefully built walls, and I had so much fucking respect for the woman.

But she was still and silent . . . and it killed me to see her like that.

A soft knock on the door had me glancing up, and it spoke to how tired I was that I hadn’t heard it open.

Laila stood on the threshold and took one look at me before pointing down the hall. “Shut-eye. Now.”

“Lai—”

“That’s wasn’t a suggestion,” she said.

“You’re giving me orders now?” I asked.

Technically, she was the team leader, of course, but it wasn’t a common thing for her to outright tell us to do something. Usually, we worked within loose parameters Laila laid out, discussed and came up with a plan of action together. She didn’t order us around . . . unless we were at risk of hurting someone or . . . ourselves.

“Dan,” she said. “You’re of no use to her right now. Your reflexes are slow. Your senses dulled.” She shrugged, her tone no-nonsense and not the least bit soft. “You couldn’t protect her from a fly. You’re dead on your fucking feet. You need to sleep.”

Pissed off, I straightened, shoved down the fatigue. “I’m fine.”

“Definitely not fine,” she said. “Which is why I’m advising you to go the fuck to sleep so that when she wakes up, you’re ready to be there for her.”

“More orders,” I muttered.

Laila rolled her eyes. “Look, we both know the only reason you’re not running your own team is because of Ava. You’ve been in love with her for years, and you decided to stay on my team because it’s the only way you can be close to her.”

“I—”

She sighed, pushed off the wall. “Look. I’ve been there,” she reminded me. “On both sides—too fucking scared to go after the person I wanted and spending every waking moment longing for the single individual who I thought might fit me perfectly.”

“Laila—”

Laila gripped my arms, shook me lightly. “She’s strong. You know that.” A sigh. “But sometimes those that seem the strongest on the outside are the ones who need the most care on the inside.”

“You know, I would do that for her in an instant,” I said. “She’s—”

“Your everything,” Laila finished for me when I faltered. “I get that. Like I said, I’ve been there.” She stepped back, crossed her arms. “But D, I honestly don’t know if she’s ready for you or a relationship or to let anyone in. She’s been so hurt and closed down for a very long time. I’ve known her for nine years, and while I’ve seen glimmers of the woman she is beneath those shields, and I consider her a close friend, and I would never hesitate to have her at my back on a mission . . .” She sighed. “I’m . . . just not sure if she’s ready to let another person near her heart.”

“She is ready to let someone in,” I protested. “We—”

Laila shook her head. “You can’t know that.”

In all honesty, I wanted to argue, to tell her about the connection, the week in Georgia, the conversations in the cell. I wanted to tell her about the look