Code Name - Rook (Jameson Force Security 6)

And then, our break came. One of the men brought Malik out. I confirmed it was him using night goggles, and he’d looked awful.

“I’ll take the one who has Malik,” I had whispered to Merrit, who was positioned on his stomach, the same as me. We both had our Barrett M82 rifles resting on tripods. “You take the other.”

We put eyes to scopes, centering in on our targets. My crosshairs were on Malik’s captor’s head, dead center of his forehead. I knew Merritt—who was also a Navy SEAL like me—would be the same.

“On the count of three,” I whispered, then counted backward.

Three… two… one.

My bullet hit first, and I remember seeing the confusion on Malik’s face as the man’s head exploded next to him. A millisecond later, the other man was dead, too.

Kynan interrupts my accounting. “See Corinne today.”

“Got it,” I replied with a nod.

And that was all that needed to be said to have my mental health checked out. I know some guys balk at such a thing, but not me. I’m a big believer in keeping my mind as healthy as my body, particularly since I’m making a career out of this line of work.

Kynan has some follow-up questions. When we’re done, we shoot the shit about irrelevant stuff, and I know he’s happy to have me back.

Until the next mission.

Before I leave his office, I ask, “Got any recommendations for a nice restaurant where I could score dinner reservations tonight?”

Kynan’s eyebrows shoot high. Not only have I never asked such a question, because I’m a fast-food kind of guy, but it also implies I’m going on a date, which is shocking.

His expression smooths out, and he makes a few suggestions. Enough to get me started on planning this date. He never asks me for details, which is good… I hadn’t planned on sharing as I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

But I do know I’m looking forward to seeing Jaime again tonight.CHAPTER 3JaimeI texted my boss that I’d be late for work before I even got in the shower. It’s not a big deal as I tend to work way more hours in a week than required, and I never claim overtime. It’s not that I’m being altruistic; I just love what I do so much that time seems to get away from me.

My shower goes on a little longer than expected because my mind wanders over the short time I’d spent with Cage. I go over every minute we’d spent at that bar, and I linger a little too long on every second we spent in my apartment.

It was so out of character for me to bring him to my place. It takes me a long time to get to know a man well enough to share my body with him. It’s not that I’m old fashioned or a prude, but I’m not one for instant gratification. More importantly, sexual attraction is more than just physical looks. It’s that element that can’t be seen with your eyes… how well personalities mesh and if the other person is trustworthy. While I could make no judgment on Cage’s trustworthiness in that short amount of time, I had a good gut feeling about him.

And… both of us were egged on by my friends, who kept shamelessly dropping hints that we made a hot couple, and we’d have an even hotter night if we left together. Alcohol helped make the decision easier. As I think back over it, I don’t have an ounce of regret for doing something so out of my norm.

Easy to say since I’m safe in my apartment and he didn’t murder me, but, again, I never thought that was a possibility. I’m a pretty good judge of character. I have to be in my line of work with domestic violence victims because I have to make important safety decisions all the time for women based solely on the history they give me.

When the water starts to cool, I give a final rinse of my hair to ensure the conditioner is out before exiting the shower. I wrap my hair in a towel, then slip into a fleecy robe I grab off the back of my door. My stomach is rumbling, and it needs to be fed. I know it’s certainly at a calorie deficit after the workout Cage gave me last night.

I smile at the memory… even as I acknowledge the slight soreness between my legs. It’s like a badge of honor.

Snickering, I head through my small living room into the kitchen.

“What’s so funny?” I hear a male voice say from the direction of my couch.

I shriek in fear, jumping about two feet off the ground, before my brain connects the voice with a name and I realize it’s my brother.

“Jesus,” I yell at Brian, who is casually lounging on my couch with the full carton of orange juice from my fridge. I’m suddenly regretting giving each of my immediate family members a key to my place in case of an emergency. “You scared the shit out of me.”