Delta Force Desire (3 page)

“You don't look like one,” he said.

It was something. The compliment made it hard to stay mad at Brute, especially given that he had saved her twice that day. He had a gruff manner, but he was looking out for her. Without him, where would she be? In the hands of Incognito, no doubt.

“I'd love something comfortable and warm,” she said. What they'd have access to would be limited, but they could issue her a pair of military sweats.

“She also needs shoes and a doctor,” he said.

The men saluted and left to acquire the items they had requested, she hoped.

Her foot was throbbing mildly. “I almost forgot about my foot.”

“Let me look at it.”

She sat on one of the cots, and he knelt on the floor in front of her, setting her foot on his knee. “It doesn't look good. Needs to be cleaned and dressed.”

He propped her foot on the cot and took a seat on the other one. He looked tired. The red welt on his face was turning a pale yellow. He was unbearably handsome with his piercing green eyes and the slight cleft in his chin. His steely demeanor was contradicted by the warmth in his eyes.

“Are you in pain?” she asked.

He rolled his neck, stretching his spine. “It's manageable.”

What level of pain would be unmanageable for him? She had worked with military men who had seemed incapable of registering pain. What about the injuries she couldn't see?

The soldiers returned with a stack of the requested supplies, and a medic entered the room behind them.

The medic examined her foot. “This needs to be cleaned,” he said. “I'll take you to the infirmary.”

Kit stood, the pain shooting up her leg. She winced. Brute stood from his cot and lifted her into his arms as if carrying her across a threshold. “Lead the way, Doc.”

The medic brought them to a brightly lit room with a patient bed in the middle and medical supplies on the shelves around them. The process of cleaning her foot was excruciating. Kit wanted to cry, yet Brute had to have worse injuries, and he seemed calm. She thought of something else, something other than the pain in her heel.

She couldn't watch the medic work so she stared at Brute. He was looking at her foot, but he lifted his gaze and their eyes met.

He intrigued her. More than muscle and brawn, he was smart. Not smart in a nerdy, tech-savvy way, but he was definitely street-smart, taking in details. Despite the intense time they had spent together, Kit didn't know his name. When she had worked on the Locker, she had been trained not to ask names or for details of someone's life. This man knew Shade. She hadn't been active online in the circles where Kit floated, and internet rumors indicated Shade had gone to work for a white hat organization. Had Shade gone to work for the same company Griffin worked for?

The medic was applying ointment and bandaging her heel. “You'll need to take it easy on your foot. Try to stay off it and give it a chance to heal. After you bathe, put on a fresh bandage.” He handed a box of bandages and tape to Brute.

She hopped off the table and held up her hand as Brute approached. “I can walk. It feels much better.” It didn't. It was aching. At least she had the confidence that it was clean and treated.

After walking for a few minutes, Kit gripped Brute's arm, using him like a cane. They were escorted back to their small room.

When they were alone, she sat on the cot, propping up her foot. “Could I use a phone to find out how my family is?”

“No direct contact. We don't know whose phones have been compromised. I'll call and request information on your family,” he said.

“When can I talk to them?” she asked. She wanted reassurance they were safe and unharmed in the melee.

“Not yet.”

“Who do you work for?” she asked.

“I work for the West Company.”

Kit inhaled. She had heard of them. Never met or worked with one of their operatives—at least, as far as she knew. After another secret government spy organization had crumbled under corruption and criminal charges, Kit had heard rumors that the West Company had taken over for the defunct agency.

Of course, it wasn't like the West Company had a website, and government officials denied its existence. Before now, Kit had only read rumors about it.

“Shade works for them?” Kit asked.

“Shade is married to the head of the West Company,” Brute said.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked.

“I've been authorized to explain this to you. We want to earn your trust. Taking you from your sister's birthday party probably didn't go a long way to winning you over,” Brute said. “We haven't decided how we'll spin your disappearance. It's already hit the news, thanks to your sister's fame.”

When Kit had worked on the Locker, contact with her family had been limited and controlled and monitored. Kit had felt like a prisoner. The precautions were for her safety, but they had felt like chains around her neck.

Her family would be worried about her, but they would forgive her. She would be released soon. The government couldn't keep her here against her will. She had a life. Her work at the florist. Her apartment. Her online life. Why did that now depress her? No one except her mother, brother, sister and boss would have known she had gone missing.

Brute dialed his phone and checked in with someone, presumably at the West Company, and then handed her the phone. “Connor West is the lead of the West Company. He is on the line and available to answer questions.”

Kit took the phone from him, feeling a mix of awe and disbelief. “This is Kit Walker.”

“Is there anything we can get for you?” Connor asked. Behind the strength in his voice, she heard kindness.

She didn't require much, and she would be home soon. “I want to know if my family is safe. I want to be informed as the situation changes.”

“They are safe and I will let you know if anything changes. I've assigned an operative to each of your family members to ensure their safety while we work on this situation,” Connor said.

“What will you tell my family about me?” Kit asked. She didn't want to put them through any stress.

“We're discussing our strategy. Your family knows you're safe. We want your family to be reassured, but we don't want to alert the men looking for you that you're alive or give clues to your whereabouts.”

When she had left the Locker project, she had known this was a possibility. She had signed and agreed to so many rules and disclosures and confidentiality statements making it clear that despite her precautions, her future was in jeopardy. She had made an effort to put distance between herself and the Locker, but apparently not enough.

She wrapped up the call. She had no control over the situation. No phone, no computer, no access to the outside world, and she hated it.

She could at least make herself more comfortable. She pointed to the clothes that had been brought for her. “Please turn around so I can change.”

He did as she asked, giving her his back. “Do I have to worry that you'll attack me?”

“Are you making fun of me?” she asked. How would she attack him?

“Not in the least. I'm trying to understand you.”

“You pretended to like me at my sister's party,” she said, thinking of how he had approached her. “Were you trying to seduce me?”

“I was trying to convince you to leave the party with me so I could take you somewhere safe.”

It felt great to peel off the dress, but she didn't want to return the hoodie. It smelled of him and that made her feel safe. She slipped on the military sweat pants and T-shirt. “How did that work out for you?” she asked, adjusting the drawstrings on her pants.

“You're alive, aren't you?” he asked.

“That's one way to look at it,” she said.

“Any day I wake up is a blessing,” Brute said.

An odd statement, but perhaps coming from a West Company operative who had spent hours in dangerous locations, it was his truth. “What exactly do you do for the West Company?” she asked.

“Retrieval specialist,” he replied.

Deciding she could do what she wanted, she pulled on the hoodie. When someone gave her a computer, she would give up the hoodie. Maybe.

“How did they pick you?” she asked.

“Excuse me?”

“How did they know I would find you attractive? Was there an assessment done on me, a written profile?” Having worked for the government, she knew that complex plans were thought through on many levels—psychological, emotional and physical. The government had her profile, and they knew what made her tick. That knowledge made her suspicious of everything they said and did to her. Was Brute playing a role? How much of his behavior was him and how much an act to manipulate her?

“Do you always say what's on your mind?” he asked.

Kit refused to be cowed. “I'm trying to assess my situation so I can understand how to get out of this.”

“You can't get out of it unless you want to be taken prisoner by Incognito and then killed,” Brute said.

“Don't try to scare me,” she said. “I might be weak now, but if I can get my hands on a computer, I will rain missiles down on you.”

He faced her and smiled again. She had to get over that smile. It shouldn't have rattled her.

“If you rain missiles down on me, then you'll be raining missiles down on you, because we're attached at the hip.”

That knowledge surprised her. “I thought you were handing me off at the first opportunity,” she said.

“I'll release you when I know you are safe,” he said.

His words touched her. “Why does it matter what happens to me?”

Confusion darted across his face. “I swore to do a job. I will do that job.”

She had known him for less than a day and he felt responsible for her. “You have integrity. Do you also have a name you're willing to share with me?”

“Griffin.”

She hadn't expected a full name, but at least she could think of him as something other than brute. The longer they were together, the less she thought of him as a bully or a kidnapper. “Wings of an eagle and body of a lion.”

“That's the one,” he said.

“Is that your name, or is it another ploy to manipulate me psychologically?”

Griffin appeared flabbergasted. “Though it may seem otherwise to you, this was a well-thought-out operation with considerably less time spent analyzing you and more time spent countering the threats against you. I was not selected to seduce you or manipulate you.”

Her cheeks grew hot. “That's good, because I am not easily seduced.” Most men didn't try. She didn't exude sex appeal and confidence the way her sister did.

“That red dress was made for a woman who was looking for sex.”

She blinked at him. Maybe Marissa had been right and that dress had looked good on her. She hadn't felt sexy in it. “I wasn't looking for anything. My sister wanted me to wear the dress and it was her birthday, so I indulged her.” But she didn't want to discuss her insecurities or Marissa's beauty. “What now?”

Griffin pulled his cot across the door. “We sleep while we can.”

Chapter 3

T
he squeaks of the cot springs gave away that Kit wasn't asleep. She was tossing and turning.

“Why aren't you sleeping?” Griffin asked. His cot wasn't the most comfortable, but he had slept on worse. At least he was dry and no one was shooting at him.

Kit shifted in her bed. She was the most restless sleeper he had ever been in the same room with. “How do you know I'm not?”

“For one, you answered me. For two, your breathing is irregular and the noises of your cot indicate movement.”

She blew out her breath. “I'm upset. It's been an upsetting day. I'm worried about my family.”

The West Company would ensure their safety. She had nothing to worry about in that regard. “They are being guarded.”

She let out a harrumph. He should have stayed quiet, but he hadn't been sleeping, either. He wouldn't give in to the exhaustion that pulled at the corners of his brain until he was sure she was asleep.

“Let me call my mom.”

A security breach to allow direct contact. “Can't happen. People are looking for you. We can't risk someone tracing the call or your mom alerting anyone to your status.”

He could envision Kit glaring at him in the dark.

“Do you think I don't understand how to mask where a call is coming from? I know to think before I speak. I have not questioned how well you do your job, snatching people and punching people, and I'm asking you to trust me to do this.”

She didn't strike him as an overconfident woman, and he guessed she could back up her statement. “I don't have permission to give you a phone.” They were working on obtaining a secure computer and phone for her.

“I am not a prisoner. I am a person,” Kit said.

Griffin turned on the overhead light to look at her. “I know you are a person. A person I am trying to keep safe.” He was having enough trouble wrapping his mind around the idea that he was responsible for protecting her. His complex about that was a twisted mess. He had accepted the assignment to retrieve her and deliver her to a safe house. This added complexity caused uncertainties to surface.

“Give me your phone,” she said.

“You can't call your family and check in. We want your whereabouts to remain unknown to Incognito.” Since that wasn't dissuading her, he decided to tell her the brutal truth. “If anyone knows that you contacted your family, that family member will be tortured for information. Do you understand what torture is?”

She glared at him. “I am aware of what it is.”

“Have you ever been tortured?” He hated pressing her, but he needed her to understand the severity of what was playing out.

“Not physically.”

He considered her words. “If you want to check the internet for news about the incident at your sister's party, I'll allow it, but no underhanded stuff.”

“Underhanded stuff?” She seemed pleased at the small victory.

“You know what I mean. No sending secret, encrypted messages. It's a point, click and read-only venture.”

She smiled. “Thank you. That will help me sleep. I need to see for myself.”

He crossed to her cot and sat next to her. She moved away and extended her hand for the phone. He shook his head. “I watch what you are doing, every finger motion.”

She rolled her eyes. “You are an untrusting man.”

“That is a trait that will keep you alive.” He handed her his phone. Activity on it was monitored by Kate West. If Kit tried to pull anything, Kate would know it.

Kit smelled of the beach. It was an odd smell to associate with someone, warm sand and the waves, when she hadn't been near the shore. She elbowed him. “You're too close. You're crowding me.”

“The screen is small.”

“Is that a tattoo on your neck?” she asked. She traced a finger over the tattoo that ran from the base of his neck along his collarbone and to his biceps.

“Yes.”

He didn't lean away from her touch, knowing the slightest distance would give her fingers time to do mischief on his phone. Her profile was fresh in his mind. When it came to computers and technology, she was not to be underestimated.

“Can I see the whole tattoo?” she asked.

“You want me to take my shirt off?”

“Yes.”

“When you're done with the phone.” She'd use the time he had the fabric over his eyes to send a message.

Her frown told him he was right. The short time he'd spent with her, he'd learned at least that. Genius behind a computer, but she had no game face. Everything she felt and thought played out in her expression.

She clicked a few links, read an article and then handed him the phone. “No mention of anyone being killed. Except the men who broke into the party, and I already knew what happened to them. I'm surprised the reporter didn't include a quote from my sister expressing her grief about me going missing. No mention of me missing at all.”

“You sound angry about that,” Griffin said, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Not angry. Resigned. For as long as I can remember, Marissa has been at the center of a three-ring circus, and I've been the person selling popcorn to the crowd.”

“Does it bother you to have a famous sister?”

She shrugged. “It bothers me when people make comparisons between us. If my sister had been average-looking, then the fact that I'm below average wouldn't stand out so much.”

She had a low opinion of her looks. He found her tremendously appealing. Griffin didn't go for stick-thin and expressionless, a look he had associated with her sister and a number of guests at the party. “You are not below average.”

Kit stared at him, her eyes wide. “If you're making fun of me, stop it.”

“I'm not joking with you. I'm speaking plainly.”

“Then I can speak plainly and tell you that you are a handsome man. You're scary, but I don't think you're planning to hurt me.” A question on the end of the statement.

He had killed to protect her. He had placed himself at great risk to keep her safe. If he had wanted to hurt her, she'd be dead. He had sworn to Connor that he would stay with Kit until his job was complete. He would do what he could to protect her, and that had deep meaning to him. Connor was aware of Griffin's lack of experience in this arena and what had happened to Beth. “I won't hurt you.”

“I believe that. Of course, I've believed a lot of things that have turned out to be lies.”

The hurt in her words was heavy. Griffin wasn't privy to the details of her personal life. “We won't be together long, but while we are, you can count on me to be honest with you.”

“What if someone comes in here to kill me?” she asked.

He nodded to his cot across the doorway. “They won't get through me.”

She pulled her knees to her chest. “Thanks for getting me these clothes. They're much nicer than the dress.”

“How's your foot?” he asked.

“Better.”

“Ready to sleep now?” he asked. Their day would start before first light.

“I'll try.”

He moved from her cot and returned to his. He waited for her to settle, and then he shut off the light.

What was she thinking about? What would she dream about? Who had hurt her to make her question everyone around her? He could understand her fear and apprehension about the situation, but this wasn't the first time she had been cut off from her family and staying in a military base.

When she had chosen to work on the Locker, she must have known she was committing to a lifetime of looking over her shoulder.

* * *

Griffin had not left her side the entire morning. Kit wasn't accustomed to someone hovering over her, and it was unsettling. She couldn't catch her breath with him watching her.

When she went to the shower, he checked that the bathroom was empty, then waited outside the door. As she showered, Kit realized that the military had provided some essentials like shampoo and a razor, but she wouldn't have clean undergarments. Who could she ask about that? It was a small thing to worry about, but she wanted some normalcy in her life. She was a creature of habit, and her routine had been taken from her.

Kit climbed out of the shower and wrapped herself in a bleach-smelling rough white towel. Griffin was standing in the doorway to the bathroom.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked, pulling her towel tighter around her body. She had never been naked in front of a man before, and Griffin wasn't just a man. He was an incredibly handsome and virile man.

“I told you, I am looking out for you.”

“I'm trying to work something out. Could you please leave?”

“What is it that you need to work out?” he asked.

She was an adult, but she couldn't discuss something this private with a stranger. “I can't talk to you about it.”

He looked around. “There's no one else to talk to.”

“It's a female issue.”

He lifted a brow. “If you need a tampon, I'll find one.”

Kit felt her face flush hot. “It's not about a...you know.” A man hadn't ever talked to her like this.

“Isn't that what you mean by female issue?” he asked.

Kit liked that he was keeping his word to her and speaking simply. With him, she didn't have to read between the lines. “No.” She might as well tell him. He'd solve it without making a big deal or embarrassing her. “I don't have any clean underwear, and I wasn't wearing a bra under my dress. Or socks. I'll need fresh bandages for my foot, too.”

He gave her a look up and down. “I'll get what you need.” He stepped out of the room for a moment and returned. “They are on their way.”

Feeling better knowing she'd have more clothes between her and Griffin's perceptive eyes soon, she relaxed. She secured her towel around her, walked to the sink and combed the knots from her hair. Her sister had helped her arrange it last night. Now it was back to its normal shape, which was not much of a shape at all.

One knock on the door and Griffin opened it, standing between her and the person on the other side. He closed the door and handed her a bag. “Get dressed. The chopper leaves in five minutes.” He turned around to give her privacy but stayed in the room.

Kit dressed and then sat to rewrap her foot.

“Are you finished?” he asked.

She had taken less than three minutes. Her bathroom routine was quick compared to most women's. “Just need to wrap my foot.”

Griffin left his post and knelt at her feet. “Let me help you.”

“How much time does it take you to get ready?” she asked. She had hurried. If he was annoyed, that was too bad.

“Minutes. Less if needed. But I'm concerned about this injury. I want to be sure it doesn't get infected.” He used great care examining and bandaging her foot. Putting on socks didn't hurt. Shoes did. So did walking on it.

“I can carry you,” Griffin said.

She refused to be that dependent on him. “I'll hobble.” She'd figure out a way to walk to put the least amount of pressure on her foot even if it made her gait clumsy.

Griffin didn't leave her side and was patient with her slow walk. They were escorted to a field. After a few minutes, a chopper touched down close to them.

Kit moved faster, but she tripped over a divot in the grass. Before she could face-plant, Griffin grabbed her arm, keeping her upright.

“Careful. No more injuries,” he said.

She had been trying to be careful. “Thank you.”

Griffin supported her on the side of her injured foot, and they walked the rest of the way to the chopper.

They climbed inside. The chopper was similar to the one that had taken her to the secret military facility where she had lived for a year. For that trip, she had been blindfolded. It had been terrifying and exciting.

If she had known what that year would be like, if she had known what her work would entail and what it would mean to have a successful project, would she have done it? She had been naive and filled with self-importance. She'd thought her work would revolutionize cybersecurity. She'd believed her research would lead to malicious hackers and black hats being exposed.

The government hadn't been interested in her work being applied to any systems other than their own. They didn't care if anyone else was victimized as long as their computer systems were safe. By the time she had realized that, the project was almost complete. She had been used and cast aside, and nondisclosures and noncompete clauses prevented her from using her algorithms in other applications. Thinking of it still burned.

Griffin touched her shoulder, and heat zipped over her. He mouthed a question: “Are you okay?”

She nodded. It was too loud to talk over the spinning rotors, and Kit was glad. She didn't want to tell him she had been used then, she was being used now and in all likelihood, so was he.

* * *

Kit was driving him mad. The moment they landed, he would hand her over to the protection specialist assigned to the case and put distance between them. Connor would have had enough time to get a resource in place. Griffin was the wrong man for the job.

Griffin's entire body heated as he realized he was attracted to Kit Walker. She was part girl next door who had no idea how appealing she was and part smart professor who had a room full of male students fantasizing about sleeping with her. He was interested in her, and that awareness switched his desire on high. He wouldn't act like a sex-starved lunatic; he was a professional. But it was getting harder to keep those boundaries clear in his thoughts.

From what he'd read about her and what he had witnessed, she had a touch of social awkwardness, yet he didn't feel uncomfortable around her. He guessed she had spent so much time in her sister's shadow and then as a supergenius online, she didn't interact as naturally with people face-to-face. But when he engaged her in a topic she enjoyed, that clumsiness melted away and she was magnetic.