Under Fire (Elite Force 3)

For a second, she rested against his chest. Her hair left a moist spot on his uniform, the dampness cool against his overheating flesh.

“It’s called Wags and Whiskers, and it’s located in a home environment. My dogs get run of a house without being kenneled…” Her voice trailed off. “I’m babbling, which is not wise when I’m trying to prove to you I’m rational. What does it matter where they are, as long as they’re not in my house? Which according to you is burning to the ground.”

“You said you’d told her you would be gone for a week.” He stroked her head as she leaned into him. “But did you say where you would be going?”

“I didn’t tell her where. Thank God. Only that I needed some time away and could be gone as long as a week.” She looked up at him. “If they told someone, then why blow up my house?”

“I don’t think they did. I’m more concerned with someone finding out you’re not in your house.”

“Oh, right. But if someone was following me here, they already know, which doesn’t make sense.” Her hands drifted up to clasp the front of his uniform. “Maybe it wasn’t meant for my home after all.”

Her touch heated through his uniform. He wanted her now every bit as much as he had six months ago, all of her, her body and her smile. And he could swear he saw awareness in her eyes. Could she be as frustrated and distracted as he was? She might not return his deeper feelings, but there was no denying the chemistry between them.

The reality of her being right about a threat sunk in deeper. In spite of her discussion of burnout, she’d been levelheaded when he knew her in the Bahamas. If someone was actually trying to pass along secrets, the timing and possibilities couldn’t be worse, with a worldwide military confab only a week away, right here in his own professional backyard.

Was that coincidental? Or could it actually all be tangled up together?

No more time to think. Time to move.

“The house—hell, damn near a city block—was blown up hours ago. We need to get back to base and talk to authorities. Higher up this time.”

“But what about Brandon?”

Brandon Harris. The veteran she’d been helping. Helping, right? Nothing more… Something that felt too much like jealousy kicked around in his gut.

Rachel was reaching down inside of him and taking hold just as firmly now as she had before.

Not. Wise. “I’ll see what we can do about having someone pick him up and bring him in and I’ll have someone check on the doggy day care place.”

“Staking out a doggy day care? Oh my God, Liam.” She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “This is crazy.”

“Damn straight, it is.” He tossed the burned stir-fry down the disposal and yanked open the pantry. “You need to eat something on the way over. It could be hours before you get a chance.”

He pitched a protein bar her way, snagging another for himself along with two cans of juice. Taking charge. What he did best. What she needed most from him now. And if what she feared was actually true, a lot more people needed him to get to the root of this mess before the unthinkable happened.

“You’re a health-food nut.” She eyed her candy bar beside her wallet on the table.

“And I’m guessing that comment means you aren’t.” He’d checked out books from the library on cooking healthy for his mom. “You can critique my food choice later. Come, Disco.”

Her dog plunked onto his butt. Liam ground his teeth. Apparently no one had told the dog who was in charge. “No more steak for you.”

“He only listens to me.” She patted her leg and the dog walked up beside her. “Let’s go. We can talk in the Jeep. And I can call Brandon while you’re driving.”

***

Brandon Harris had been told he possessed nerves of steel—on the football field. But he didn’t play college football anymore and his nerves sucked, courtesy of his last deployment to the Middle East.

He threw his truck into park and turned off the headlights, past ready to pick up his dog Harley from the sitter and kick back with a beer at home. In fact, his whole life sucked these days, tough to swallow when he’d had the world by the tail for most of his life. But he wasn’t at The Citadel military college these days or even in his job as a security cop in the air force. Since his return from Afghanistan, he was… in limbo.

And he was late picking up his dog, Harley.

He jumped out of the truck, his gym shoes hitting the sandy driveway outside the doggy day care.

Doggy frickin’ day care, for Christ’s sake.

Shaking his head, he scrubbed a hand over his shaggy hair, longer than normal these days. But then, he was on extended medical leave until they decided if he was a permanent or temporary basket case. Which meant he had to keep his appointments with the base shrink if he wanted to stand any chance at getting his life back.

Brandon slammed his door, triggering a distant ripple of barks. He flinched. His pulse ramped. He tipped back his head and stared at the crescent moon, dragging in calming breaths to ease the tightness in his chest. Sharp noises still did that to him. But at least he wasn’t face down in the dirt anymore.