Evidence of Passion (Shadow Agents 7)

“You mean when he tries to kill me again?” Dylan answered back. Yeah, he was more than ready for that contact to come. Only this time, he’d make sure Rachel wasn’t anywhere around when Jack got close.

“Killing you does seem to be the current goal,” Noelle murmured.

Dylan grunted. He’d figured that out when his ride became a ball of fire. “Are we a go on the transfer?” he asked Mercer. He’d spent the past twenty-four hours pushing for this change. Mercer hadn’t been on board, not at first. Dylan had worked hard and convinced the man to see things his way.

From the corner of his eye, Dylan saw Rachel tense.

I’m sorry, Rachel, but I’m benching you.

She wouldn’t like it. But she’d be safe. Dylan knew that if he didn’t get Rachel out of there, she would be at his side when Jack came again. Only she might not walk away with a bump on the head. She might not walk away at all.

That wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.

“The transfer is set,” Mercer said slowly as his gaze drifted to Rachel. “And the doctors agreed with your assessment.”

Rachel’s fingers tightened around the armrests. “What’s going on?”

Mercer’s fingers stopped tapping. “You came back to work too quickly after your last attack. Those stab wounds were severe, Agent Mancini. And now, in light of the concussion you just suffered, it’s clear that you shouldn’t be back in the field just yet.”

She immediately surged to her feet. “No, Mercer, you can’t—”

“You suffered a vicious attack a few months ago, Rachel, when the rogue agent—”

“I know exactly what the rogue agent did to me.” Rachel cut off Mercer.

The EOD director raised an eyebrow.

“After all, I was there,” Rachel continued, body tight. “I was there, fighting, when he stabbed me again and again. I was there when he rushed away, and I could only lie there, bleeding out on my apartment floor. I. Was. There.”

Dylan’s hands had fisted.

“I was the one in the hospital, hooked to machines. So believe me, I know just how vicious the attack was.” She huffed out a breath. “And I know I survived. I’m back here, ready to work—”

“But you collapsed last night,” Mercer told her. His voice was soft, mild, and Dylan actually saw a hint of sympathy in the man’s normally cold gaze.

“A small bump on the head.” She waved it away. “I didn’t—”

“If you’d been fully recovered, you might not have needed a civilian to pick you up from the street.” Now the sympathy was gone from Mercer’s voice.

“But I—”

“Dylan was right. You’re not ready.”

Oh, hell.

Rachel’s head swiveled toward him. Her gaze—shocked, hurt—held his. “Dylan? You think I’m not ready for this?”

“Um, Agent Foxx is the one who told me that you needed to be transferred to desk duty for a few more weeks. Under the circumstances, I do think it’s for the best.”

Rachel shook her head.

Thomas glanced at Dylan, his gaze knowing.

Yes, I’m trying to protect her. I’ll do anything to keep her safe.

Even, as Rachel had said, pull rank.

Even hurt her. Because Dylan could tell Rachel was hurt. And furious.