The Hit (Team Zulu 1)

I sighed. “You know, there are other things you could do.”

“Like what? A mall cop? Or even worse, a real cop? And work in that corrupt system?” He scoffed. “No thanks.”

“I’m betting weapons aren’t the only things your hands are skilled with. I saw all those woodworking tools in your shed. You any good with them?”

Shep shrugged. “Not bad, I suppose. They were my dad’s. He taught me how to use them. Made that coffee table, the book shelf over there, and the bear lamp.”

He was being modest. The solid pieces of furniture with wrought iron accents were beautiful. But my favorite was the table lamp, the stand being carved from a single piece of wood in the shape of a black bear climbing a tree. It was a work of art.

“Shep, they’re amazing. People would pay a lot of money for those.”

He laughed. “Sure, I’ll open a store in town. Could you imagine me playing salesman? Or maybe customers could come here and annoy the shit out of me.” He shook his head. “That’s not me, Cam. I hate dealing with people, and I’m crap at it.”

“You’re not with me.”

He grunted. “You might be the one exception to that rule.”

I smiled and worked hard to keep it small. I liked his words far too much.

My heart ached for Shep. He believed he had no options in this world other than being a paid killer. Perhaps it was all he’d ever known, but I wished for a different life for him. It was strange how protective I’d become of him, too.

My gaze raked over his rugged, yet handsome features. The crease between his brows, soulful hazel eyes, a strong stubble-coated jaw, and his lips, oh God, those lips. They didn’t belong on a man so capable of killing. They looked soft and inviting and… and I shouldn’t be thinking about what they’d feel like pressed against mine.

My gaze dropped to his chest where I fiddled with a button. I had the absurd urge to release it and trail my fingers over the smooth, tan skin of his chest. “I’m sorry about your breakfast. It’ll be cold by now.”

“Nonsense, it’s fine.”

Shep stood us both up and held onto my shoulders, testing my stability. Taking my face in both hands, he tilted my chin up so he could look into my eyes. One thumb made slow, gentle circles over my cheek while he assessed me. I suppressed the small shiver that went through me at his touch. Satisfied that I wasn’t about to collapse on him again, he took my hand and led me back to the kitchen.

From the breakfast bar, I watched him cook up another batch of pancakes. He covered them with maple syrup, set the plate in front of me, and made sure I finished every piece. He even prepared a fresh brew of coffee while digging into his stone-cold meal. My heart squeezed at his kindness.

“What’s on the agenda for today?” I asked, now recovered after filling my belly.

“Thought I’d check the fences. The deer make a mess of them sometimes. With this much land, there’s always a section somewhere that needs repairing. You up to tagging along?”

Would Shep chain me up if I stayed? I didn’t think so. That was irrelevant because I wanted to go with him.

“Sure.”

I didn’t mention that I was more comforted in his presence than on my own, or that flirting with him provided a delicious distraction from the shitstorm that was my life.

I dressed in what had become my usual outfit here. One of Shep’s long shirts and a pair of boxers. His leather belt snug around my waist finished the ensemble. It was comfy, even if it looked silly. I pulled on a warm jacket as we headed out the door.

In the workshop, Shep loaded the bike with the various tools he’d need to repair the fence and, of course, his rifle.

I walked a casual loop around the quad, inspecting it. “Are these things hard to ride?” I squatted to check out the engine and suspension. The mechanic in me was curious to pull it all apart and put it back together.

“Not at all. You want to give it a go?”

“Really?” My smile was genuine. I loved all things fast and loud, but had never handled a bike before. This could be fun.

“Hop on up front. You’re driving today.” He pulled a set of keys from the top drawer of his toolbox, put his cap on, and gestured for me to get on the quad bike first.

Did that high-pitched squeal come from me? I clapped my hands and climbed on. Then I fought the urge to squeal again, but for a very different reason. Shep got on behind me. And if his closeness was anything to go by, he’d be monitoring my every move.

At least I’d be warm with his solid chest flush against my back and his long arms encircling me while we both gripped the handlebars. I wiggled in my seat to create some space, but there was none to be found. Shep’s body went taut behind me and a strained groan rumbled through him.

Okay, maybe try not to wiggle.