Under Fire (Elite Force 3)

Her slim legs wrapped around him with surprising strength. And thanks to the lamp, he could see her more clearly, be certain of when she was ready again so he wouldn’t leave her behind… Male pride? Maybe. But he needed her there with him.

She gripped his hair again and brought his mouth to hers as she cried out her release, her body clenching and holding him tighter with wave after wave that pulled him under. Pleasure sliced through him like lightning cleaving him in half.

So much.

Almost too much, the good so good, it almost hurt until he collapsed on top of her. He didn’t even have the strength to lever off of her. He just buried his face in her neck, twitching in the aftermath.

For how long? He didn’t know. Another zone-out? Or a micronap? Either way, not how he wanted to end this encounter. He rolled to the side and pulled her against him.

He knew sex wouldn’t fix everything, and already the myriad complications ahead of them was weighing on his shoulders like an M1 main battle tank. Although for right now, he planned to savor this night, this moment in time with an amazing woman who’d just given him one incredible gift.

He hadn’t solved all his problems. But he was going to give thanks that life could still surprise him with something so beautiful in this long trudge through hell to get back to normal.

***

Sunrise weakly pierced the drizzling rain.

Sitting on a plastic sheet on the porch, Rachel hugged her knees and stared out over the misty swamp. Her Baby Eagle rested beside her. The weather was clearing enough that she could actually see for target practice, but they didn’t need to draw attention to themselves with gunshots. And they needed to prep as much as possible to leave.

The Internet signal was strengthening. Jose had uploaded whatever that chip stashed in Brandon’s phone contained and sent a copy to their buddy Data and another to Special Agent Sylvia Cramer.

Now they just needed to wait for the okay to return to base, where finally the right authorities would take Lieutenant Brandon Harris seriously and get to the bottom of this. She willed that call from Sylvia Cramer to come through, itchy to get moving. To make something happen. To expose the people responsible for trying to kill her and her friends—people who wanted to do a lot worse.

She wanted her life back. And she wanted to know why—after hinting around at marriage—Liam was suddenly so reserved this morning. Was he angry because she avoided the conversation? Was he regretting what he’d said? Good God, for a funny guy, he sure was moody underneath all those laughs, and her heart was getting a serious workout, being yanked around this way.

Watching him prep the airboat, she thought of how she’d woken to an empty bed, the dent in the pillow and tenderness between her thighs the only proof he’d even slept with her. Sure he’d smiled at her from across the room and touched her shoulder as he walked past, but there was no missing the shadows lurking in his expression.

She sipped lukewarm coffee, more for the caffeine and something to do with her hands than out of any need to drink. “What can I do to help?”

Liam checked the magazine on his gun, tucked it back in the holster. “There’s not much to load up, but the more we get done now…”

“The faster we can leave later when the call comes.”

“Roger that.” He hitched his duffel over his shoulder and strode down the dock toward their airboat.

She scooped up her backpack. It felt like eons since she’d loaded it up, rather than just three days prior. Might as well have been a lifetime ago.

Liam stood at the end of the dock and shouted, “Toss it to me. No need to get wet until you have to.”

It was almost as if he didn’t even want to be near her. What the hell? Could he possibly be the kind of jerk who stopped wanting a woman the minute he got her?

Although he had been divorced three times.

“Here!” She threw her backpack like a basketball, pushing away from her chest. Hard.

He caught it without budging. It figured. He turned to walk away.

“Liam?” she called out, frustration stirring. “Liam? What’s going on?”

“I’m busy packing,” he said without looking back. “We can talk later.”

“Liam!” Aggravation tangled up with anger, not to mention all the fear piling up these past couple of weeks. “Liam! William McCabe! I’m not some quiet, laid-back person who’s just going to sit back and pretend I don’t notice you’re in a mood. What’s wrong with you today?”

He tossed her pack on the boat without a word and started back down the dock. His closed-off face didn’t promise much conversation. His boots hit the muddy bank. He picked his way over the wandering tree roots poking out of the muddy incline.

“Damn it.” She stomped her foot, not caring who heard. “Just talk.”

He turned sharply to face her, smiling. Sort of. “Now isn’t the time.”