Rules In Deceit

“First, I want your forensics guy to analyze those bullets in the windshield.” Braxton leaned against the back quarter panel mere inches from her, arms crossed across that broad chest of his. The weight of his attention pressurized the air in her lungs. He watched her carefully, as though he couldn’t miss a single moment. “Maybe we’ll get lucky with an ID on the unsub trying to kill you, and—”

“And you go back into hiding.” That was the deal. She’d agreed to his protection, and as soon as they had a viable lead on that shooter, he’d go back to whatever rock he been hiding under for the last four months and let her move on with her life. Alone. Storm clouds shifted overhead as the last remnants of rain pelted against her leather jacket, but the crisp, cleansing atmospheric scent did nothing to clear her head. Unzipping the duffel, she reached in, wrapped her shaking hand around her teammate’s backup weapon, and loaded a fresh magazine. Full.

“Right,” he said.

Setting the bag back in the trunk, she faced Braxton with her emotions in check and her guard in place. He might be the father of her unborn baby, but that didn’t mean she had to trust him. Elizabeth lifted her gaze to his. “You think going back to Blackhawk Security to hand over the bullets is a good idea? I seem to remember half of the penthouse floor is missing, and we almost died in the garage.”

Braxton moved in close, too close, his clean, masculine scent mixing with the aroma of rain. The combination urged her to lean into him, to forget how much she’d missed him. She’d told herself—hell, told him—she’d moved on, but her body had yet to grasp the idea. “I told you I won’t let him touch you. You have my word.”

“And I told you your word doesn’t mean a damn thing to me.” She fought back a quiver. Tightness ran down her neck and back. After countless hours—months—of trying to find him, here he stood less than a foot away. In the flesh. Tightening her grip around the duffel bag, she scrambled for purchase as the past threatened to drag her under. No. She’d been down this path once before. She’d trusted him, and it cost her everything. “We should ditch the vehicle and get inside. If the shooter is the same person who hijacked Oversight’s feeds, he’ll be able to track us to this area and try to shoot me again.”

Ten minutes later, they’d abandoned the SUV, sans bullets in the windshield, and hiked back to the apartment on foot. Braxton led her up two flights of stairs and toward an apartment in the back of the third building, his clothing barely concealing the muscle he’d put on since the last time she’d seen him. And not just in his upper body. His legs flexed beneath denim, powerful and strong. Inserting a key in the lock, he turned the doorknob and shouldered the door open. “Wait here a minute.”

He didn’t wait for her answer as he disappeared inside.

A breeze shook the trees below, and she stepped to the railing. No shooters waiting in the trees. No bomb ticking off nearby. She smoothed her hand over her lower abdomen as a rush of nausea churned in her stomach. Who would want her dead? And why now?

“Surveillance is clean.” Braxton filled the door frame just inside her peripheral vision. “The place isn’t much, but it gets the job done. We’ve got power, water, gas, and I had groceries delivered yesterday.”

She followed him inside, the skin along her collarbones prickling with the onslaught of a draft coming from the vents above. “Hiding your how-to-be-a-good-spy magazines before I came inside?”

“No, I keep those locked up all the time.” Braxton’s laugh replaced the cold-induced goose pimples along her arms with heat, but she couldn’t afford to give it much notice. Find out who was trying to kill her and why, then move on with her life. That was it.

He’d been right about the apartment. It wasn’t much, but it’d work for what they needed. Large windows took up most of the east wall, providing a jaw-dropping view of the mountains. A large sectional had been positioned in the corner of the living room, only photos of wildlife and scenic Alaska hanging on the white walls. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms from the looks of it. Simple. Bare. But the setup of surveillance equipment across the dining room table said secure. It suited him. Her, too.

“You can take the back bedroom if you want to clean up. There’s a bathroom attached to that one, so we don’t have to share.” Braxton maneuvered behind her, and she straightened a bit more. “I’ll have some food for us by the time you’re done.”

“Good idea. Give me a few minutes.” She checked her wristwatch. Nine at night. They weren’t going to get much done at this hour. The investigation would have to start in the morning. Another rush of nausea gripped her tight, and she fought to breathe through her nose to counter it. Didn’t work. The target of a shooter, reunited with the man she thought she’d never see again, and suffering from morning sickness all at the same time. Great.

“Take your time.” He headed toward the kitchen, tossing his baseball cap onto the counter. His dark hair skimmed his shoulders, and, hell, she’d be lying if she didn’t admit the look worked for him.

Elizabeth forced one foot in front of the other. Space. She needed space. Away from him. The lighttan-colored walls passed in a blur as she escaped to the nearest bedroom. She wasn’t sure if this was the room he’d meant for her to take, but at the moment, she didn’t care. Tossing her duffel onto the floor, she exhaled hard and ran a hand through her hair.

It’d been four months since she’d made the worst mistake of her life by climbing under the sheets with Braxton. That should’ve been long enough to get control of her physical reactions. Damn it. This wasn’t the plan. She’d accepted there would be a bottomless hole in her heart where she’d shove everything she felt for Braxton Levitt in order to raise their daughter on her own. But he’d come back. To protect her. Still, while she might have to stay within physical proximity of him, she wouldn’t let him hurt her again. Keeping her emotional distance would have to do. That, and a securely locked bedroom door. “Just a few days, baby girl. We’ve got this.”

The bedroom came into focus. Single queen-size bed, nightstand, dresser with some papers settled on top, same type of photography on the walls as she’d noticed in the living room. And a cardboard box full of phones stashed in the corner. She fished out a phone from the middle of pile and studied the room again. Groceries delivered, a box of phones, surveillance setup. How long had Braxton planned on staying here?

She swiped her thumb across the screen and dialed Vincent Kalani’s number from memory. She’d left her phone with the SUV about a mile west of here. Anyone who tried pinging it for a location would only find disappointment. Blackhawk Security training 101. The other line rang three times. Then four. “Come on, Vincent. Pick up the phone.” Another ring. If he hadn’t made it out of the building alive, she’d never forgive herself for leaving the forensics expert in the middle of a crime scene. “Pick up the damn—”

“Kalani.” Vincent’s usually smooth voice sounded rough, damaged.

“You’re alive.” Relief flooded through her. She exhaled hard, closing her eyes with a hand on her forehead. Turning her back to the door, she ignored the burn in her lower lash line. Hormones. Crying came too easy these days. “I was beginning to worry I’d be stuck with your vengeful ghost for the rest of my life.”

“No thanks to your new bodyguard there.” Muffled static reached through his end of the line. “What number are you calling from?”

“A burner I picked up out of a box full of phones. Consider this my new number for the time being.” She chewed on the end of her thumbnail. They shouldn’t have left him behind. She could’ve fought Braxton harder, could’ve done something. “Tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m good,” Vincent said. “Confirm you’re safe and give me permission to punch your ex in the face the next time I see him.”

“I’m safe. For now. And permission granted.” She dropped her hand and rolled her shoulders back. Pain shot through the right side of her rib cage, and she doubled over with a rough exhale. “But you’ll have to get in line.”

“Liz?” Vincent asked. “You okay?”

“Fine for someone who took an eight-foot oak door to the right side.” She breathed through the pain. “Listen, whoever set that bomb tried to finish the job in the garage. I pulled three slugs out of Elliot’s windshield, but I’m not sure how to hand them off to you without putting myself back in the open.”

“Stay put,” Vincent said. “I’ll have Anchorage PD’s crime scene unit check it out. Maybe we’ll get lucky on a stray casing. If that doesn’t work, we’ll set something up to get me those slugs. You should know, as of right now the Sovereign Army is taking credit for the bombing.”

“The privacy activists? Explosives aren’t usually their forte.” Headlines had taken over national news with the group’s intent to sell and publish congressmen and women’s browsing histories and darkest secrets, but setting a bomb at a security company? Although if the extremist group discovered she’d helped the federal government create a surveillance system to spy on them for the past year, who knew how far they’d escalate. Still, something about that didn’t sit well. A knock at the door pushed her pulse higher. Braxton. She nodded, even though Vincent couldn’t possibly see it, and turned as the bedroom door cracked open. “Thanks for the intel. Call me if you find anything else.”

She ended the call, nervous energy skittering up her spine.

Green-gray eyes locked on her and, suddenly, the last four months disappeared to the back of her mind. Braxton made his way inside, a white box in one hand and a steaming bowl of something intoxicating in the other. “Your team?”

“Yeah. Hope you don’t mind I borrowed one of your phones to make the call.” She tossed the burner onto the bed, crossing her arms over her midsection. Grinding her teeth, she fought against the pain ripping through her side. “Looks like Sovereign Army took credit for the bombing. Vincent’s sending Anchorage PD to analyze the scene in the garage. He’ll call back if he finds something. He’s very much looking forward to punching you in the face when he sees you again.”

“Fair enough.” A smile curled at one edge of his mouth, and his all-too-familiar pull hooked into her. Damn it. When would he stop affecting her like this? Braxton closed the space between them, coming within mere inches of her. Her breath caught in her throat as he maneuvered around her to set the bowl on the nightstand. Straightening, he backed away slowly, that mesmerizing gaze steady on her. “So now that there’s nothing more we can do tonight, take off your shirt.”

EXPERTS SAID TIME healed old wounds, but what the hell did they know? Braxton popped open the first aid kit beside him on the bed. How many times had he called her over the last month from this very same safe house only to hang up when she answered? Two? Five? Maybe more. She wouldn’t have spoken to him if he’d opened his mouth. That was clear now. More than likely, she would’ve demanded a trace on the call the second she’d realized who was on the other line and sent any resource available his way. His disappearance obviously hadn’t torn her apart as much as it had him. But, hell, he deserved it. Even if leaving had been to protect her.

“Excuse me?” Liz cradled her rib cage. Her features contorted but smoothed almost instantly. As though she’d caught herself in a moment of weakness.

Stubborn woman. On a scale from one to ten, he pegged her pain around a seven. Yet she hadn’t said a word. He’d noticed the way she favored that side, the small flinches in her expression. She’d been lucky to survive that explosion. If it weren’t for the very same oak door that’d possibly cracked her ribs protecting her from most of the shrapnel, she might not be standing here. The ache under his sternum, the one connected with the woman standing mere feet away, refused to subside as he studied the fast tick of her pulse at the base of her throat. “The only way for me to see if your ribs are broken is you taking off your shirt.”

“I’m fine. I’m sure it’s a rib out of place. It’ll either pop back when it’s ready, or this girl will kick it back where it belongs in the next few months.” She stared up at the ceiling, her fingers prodding into her side. Small lines creased her expression, and his gut clenched. In her next breath, she took back control. “Besides, I’m pretty sure you’re just looking for a way back under my shirt. Which isn’t going to happen.”

A laugh rumbled from deep in his chest. Exhaustion played a wicked game across her expression, but she’d keep going until they identified the unsub responsible for that bomb. That’d been one of the reasons he’d recommended her to Dalton Meyer for the Oversight project at the NSA two years ago. He’d studied her work programming drones for the small start-up company in Washington, DC, and admired her determination to get the job done. Nothing had changed in that respect. But sacrificing her health in the name of the investigation wouldn’t get them anywhere. “Can you blame a guy for trying?”

Her burst of laughter filled the room but cut off in her next breath. She doubled over, hiking her hand into her side.

“All right, enough stalling.” Braxton tossed the first aid kit onto the bed and propelled himself to his feet. “I’m taking a look at your ribs whether you like it or not.”

“Why?” Liz straightened slowly, pain evident on her features. “Unless you got your medical degree while you were in hiding?”

“Not exactly, but you learn a few things when you’re on your own and the government has plastered your face on the front page of the FBI’s website.” He feathered his fingertips under her shirt and lifted the black silk. Her sharp gasp quickened his pulse, and a rush of satisfaction shot through him. He’d always been able to change her breathing patterns with one touch. Nice to know some things hadn’t changed. Smooth skin slid against the rough calluses on his hand. And wasn’t that the perfect metaphor for their relationship—rough versus smooth. Bruises had already started darkening around her bottom rib on the right side. He studied her expression in his peripheral vision as he pressed his thumb into the bone. “It’s no way to live, though. Strange cities, fake names, avoiding human interaction.” Avoiding her. “Gets old real fast.”

“Well, now it looks like we have something in common.” She hissed as he prodded the third rib from the bottom. “Now I’m being hunted like an animal. Only this predator isn’t the federal government and has tried to blow me up and shoot me in the same day.”

He locked his jaw to cool the anger churning in his gut. If he hadn’t left, none of this would’ve happened.

“Nothing feels broken.” Braxton dropped his hand. Every cell in his body screamed for him to erase the worry lines from her expression, but he couldn’t move. He studied the vulnerability playing across her face. What he wouldn’t give to help her forget the nightmare of the last couple hours. “I’ll get you a heating pad for the soreness and ice for the inflammation. Should be good as new in a couple days.”

A weak smile played across her mouth. “Thanks.”

He turned away from her and headed toward the door. If he didn’t, the unquenched desire that’d burrowed itself beneath his skin and crackled along his veins when he touched her would take control. Her life—their baby’s life—had been put at risk because of him. Anything more between them would only make it that much harder to walk away. That’d been the deal. She agreed to his protection. He’d go back into hiding. Fighting to keep his focus trained, Braxton forced one foot in front of the other.

“Why’d you come back?” she asked. “Why now?”

He froze, his hands curling into fists at his side. Ten seconds. That was all he needed to clear his head, but she couldn’t even give him that. “Liz—”