Their Sin City Showgirl (The American Soldier Collection 7)

“That’s your opinion.”

“That’s a fact.”

“It’s your opinion. This is your home, your rules, and your safe location. To me this is unknown territory, you and your team are strangers, and I don’t know anything about you or your abilities. Excuse me if I want to secure my own weapon as I walk around, but that’s not going to change.”

“It will change. You’re hotheaded, you’re on the edge of a breakdown, and God knows if you even know how to use that thing.”

“Oh, I know how to use it. You don’t know what I’ve been through. Lots of people and places have claimed to be safe, and then they’re infiltrated. Good night, Conway. My gun stays with me.”

She headed toward him, and then stopped when he didn’t move.

He stared down into her jade green eyes, and she suddenly uncrossed her arms.

He felt the attraction immediately. It seemed that she felt it too, because suddenly he was moving out of the way and she was sprinting to her room.

Holy shit. Where the hell did that come from?

* * * *

J.J. couldn’t sleep. She was tossing and turning, and kept waking up with a jolt or in a sweat. The nightmares were getting worse, and so were the shakes. She even cut off having coffee and other caffeine related drinks. But it wasn’t working. Knowing that today was Sunday, she decided to do something to keep her mind off the nightmares and the shaking. She wished she could work out, or go for a run. But that didn’t seem feasible. She wanted to ask the guys, but they disappeared during the day, except for one of them. One of them was always around to keep watch. Usually it was Brook.

She walked into the kitchen. It was early, and the guys were up by six. The clock read 5:00 a.m. She pulled out some pans, and took the bacon from the refrigerator. Looking around the cabinets, she found the ingredients she needed to make pancakes and then a container with chocolate chips. She decided to make chocolate chip pancakes and bacon. Although she felt kind of funny doing this and making herself at home in their kitchen, she needed this. She needed to find some kind of normalcy to what was happening.

She didn’t know these men. They were huge, they were intimidating, and supposedly retired from the military. When she asked further questions, Sandman stated that it wasn’t important for her to know. Hadn’t she said the same thing to them about her? Wouldn’t she remain silent and not share too much about who she really was and why she was here? She was kept up for too long, an

d forced to stop everything that would make her feel strong again. She wanted to exercise, to hit a punching bag and release some anger.

Before the first piece of bacon hit the pan, Lincoln entered the kitchen.

“What are you up to?” he asked with an attitude.

“Cooking breakfast. I couldn’t sleep.”

“I know,” he stated and then walked over to the coffeepot and poured himself a cup. She started that, too, as she gathered the ingredients.

She hoped that she hadn’t made any sounds. She had slept with the pillow partially over her head in hopes of muffling any sounds she may make during her sleep. It was crazy and a bit uncomfortable considering that she awoke more often than not, feeling Dexter choking her against the car, the pillow blocking her breathing making it worse.

She shivered from the thought, despite the turtleneck she wore, and nearly burnt the bacon.

“Whoa. Hey, let me take care of that,” Lincoln said as he slowly took the tongs from her hand, and placed his hand on her waist to guide her out of the way.

She looked up at him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered and turned toward the bowl. She hadn’t even realized what she was doing. Am I losing my mind?

“J.J.? Are you okay?” Lincoln asked her.

She saw the concern on his face. His blond crew cut hair, the way his shirt clung to tight, large muscles, gave her an odd sensation. His green eyes seemed filled with concern, as well as the hard expression on his chiseled face. The man was very handsome in a rugged, hard, experienced kind of way. He was also older. The tattoos on his forearms, similar to Calder’s, gave her the impression that he was hard, and dangerous. But then, he spoke so softly to her. Was it a way to draw her in, and then pounce?

“What’s going on?” Conway asked as he entered the room.

“Nothing,” she whispered and turned toward the mixing bowl. She needed to focus on the task at hand and not the terrifying thoughts of her undercover operation. She could handle this, just like she’d handled everything else thus far.

“You’re up kind of early,” Conway said as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

“You are, too,” she replied, and they locked gazes.

It was like a game. She wanted to figure out who they really were and whether or not they were trustworthy, and they were doing the same with her. She didn’t like feeling as if she were living in a fishbowl. Why did they have to watch her every move? It was unnerving, especially since certain body parts immediately reacted.