With Every Breath (12 page)

Family
. That was what he hadn't been able to put his finger on but what had niggled at his brain. It resembled jealousy, which was stupid because a man his age didn't lower himself to the indignity of juvenile feelings like envy.

But DSS was family in every sense of the word. He'd seen them in action. Had gone into battle with them. And even if he had no desire to ever get mixed up in their crazy-ass missions, he could admit to being impressed by their expertise.

Shaking his head to focus back on Eliza, he shoved aside his dour thoughts about Dane's role in Eliza's life. He'd have plenty of time to find out everything that made Eliza who she was when he managed to crack the hardened shell that disguised the sweetest, most tender and understanding heart of anyone he knew.

As quietly as if he walked on panther's feet, he inched closer so he had an even better view of just what the hell she was up to. Eliza was bent over her suitcase, arranging the boxes of ammo she'd carried out after the knives, grenades and C-4. Good God. Was it going to get worse? He shut down that train of thought as well because it could
always
get worse.

He found himself drifting off again, something that was not characteristic of him. It was that damn, infuriating woman's fault. And yet the night he'd taken a bullet for her, he'd known that now she belonged to him. Or maybe he belonged to her. Did it really matter? They were connected on a completely different plane, something most people wouldn't experience their entire life. Most people chased, waited and, with every growing day, grew more despondent until finally they simply settled because they didn't want to spend the rest of their lives alone. Except Eliza, apparently. She was too self-assured and he could never see her settling for anything. It would take a strong man to take her on and it infuriated him that he positively itched with non-issued challenge.
Come and get me.

They had at least that in common. He would never settle and he had no desire to marry until he found someone he couldn't run over and make a meek mouse out of. He knew how rough around the edges he was. That he frowned far more than smiled. He had a temper and when sparked, it got ugly because he didn't back down from a fight. Ever. That didn't leave him too many options for marriage material. And he sure as hell didn't want a damn trophy wife who was more interested in the size of his bank account than the size of his dick.

He and Eliza would
never
work. They'd be at each other's throats constantly. She in his face. Toe to toe. Every goddamn thing would turn into a battle of wills. Yeah, he wanted to fuck her about a dozen times just to get her out of his head so he could stop thinking and worrying about her every goddamn day. She was too independent, too rash, too confident. Confidence was a trait he admired and respected and Eliza had it in spades. They were just too much alike. They were both control freaks and neither were people to ever be dictated to, and Wade was honest enough with himself to know that for the right woman, he could make small concessions. But when it came to her safety? All bets were off and he would do whatever he had to, even tying her to his damn bed if it kept her out of harm's way.

And that was the other alarm screeching like hell in his head. Yeah, no secret Eliza wasn't taking vacation. Not unusual for her to pack her gear and arsenal, because she never went anywhere unprepared, but this . . . this was different.

She was in a huge hurry and he could hear the soft curses under her breath as she tried to close the bulging suitcase. She'd never even be able to get it to her car. It weighed more than she did.

But he recognized that determination radiating from her. She'd never let a suitcase zipper defeat her because if it did, Wade was going to take great delight in tormenting her every chance he got that a zipper had kicked her ass.

Finally, her task was completed and then she took only a few moments to pull her long hair back into a ponytail, to Wade's disappointment, because he had some serious fantasies about all that glorious, silken hair. No, they weren't in the least bit compatible. They were all wrong for each other, and yet . . . Good things never came easy. They shouldn't. Anything worth having was worth fighting for. He'd never be happy with a fucking doormat. A woman who was little more than a robot programmed to comply with his demands. Was that really what he wanted? Because right now he was thinking his life would be a lot more interesting if the woman he chose challenged him at every turn. Shit would definitely never get boring. He was used to winning. He expected to win. Always. But sometimes conceding victory was a victory in itself because the reward was all the more sweeter.

Jesus, but he was losing his ever-loving fucking mind. He forced his attention back to Eliza and what she was doing.

She collected her oversize purse—armed with even more weapons if he had to guess. Then she tilted both suitcases, holding on to the two handles, and began dragging them toward the door, strain evident on her face.

He swore softly again. Stupid fucking stubborn woman. Why did he have to be drawn to her and worse actually
like
and
respect
her. If he only wanted sex, then he'd go get laid and never even think of the woman again. But once he had a taste of Eliza, he knew once would never be enough, and she deserved better than a quick fuck from a heartless bastard.

He pulled up on that thought, because if he ever got between her legs, there would be nothing
quick
about him fucking her. If he thought a dozen times inside her would ever be enough to get her out of his system, then he was out of his fucking mind. Eliza wasn't a woman a man could ever fuck and walk away from, and if they did, they were damn fools.

His breath paused and he melted farther back into the shadows as Eliza's door opened and she lugged the two large suitcases to her trunk. Then she went back inside but this time when she returned, Wade's jaw actually dropped. Hell, she could take out an entire city with the contents she very carefully arranged on the floorboard and then wrapped almost lovingly with a soft quilt.

No way in hell he was letting her leave without explaining to him exactly what the fuck had inspired this sudden need for “downtime.” Because she sure as shit wasn't planning a vacation and the fact that she hadn't confided in her team, people she was intensely loyal to and trusted implicitly, made his gut tighten with dread because whatever had prompted this was bad. Very bad. And no way was he going to let Eliza shoulder it alone.

He tensed, waited a brief moment for her to be positioned so he wouldn't be spotted when he made his move, and then he slipped silently to her SUV so when she slammed the trunk she would see him. No gap in the range of sight could prevent her from sensing his presence. Thank God she hadn't completely lost all vestige of common sense and the instincts that made her so damn good at her job. The minute she knew she wasn't alone, the trunk slammed with enough force to shatter the back glass and he found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol that looked far too big for such a small hand.

“Funny way to greet someone who saved your life,” he said, heavy sarcasm lacing his voice.

He wanted her to think he was here just to piss her off and fuck with her because then it would be less obvious that he was studying her expression, her eyes and body language for anything else that set his what-the-fuck-o-meter off even more than it already was.

She looked . . .
relieved
?

What the fuck? This was getting more jacked by the minute. But her reaction was gone almost as quickly as it registered, leaving him to wonder if he was losing his mind.

He could swear she sagged the slightest bit. It registered as little more than a twitch, but he'd spent more time than he had liked studying her and getting to know her body language. What the hell was wrong with her? Why wasn't she in his face threatening to hand him his balls? For that matter, why the fuck was she so pale, despite the brief relief she hadn't been able to control that had flickered just once in her eyes. Eyes that moved swiftly beyond him, around him, everywhere
but
him, her chin lifting, almost like an animal scenting prey.

Or a predator. Or a person?

Evidently satisfied that whatever she was looking for was either there or not there—who knew with her—she lowered her gun and then gave him a scowl that lacked its usual authenticity.

“Don't you ever fucking do that again,” she snarled. “What the hell are you doing here? Are you just trying to get shot? Jesus, Sterling, one would think I would be the last person you'd want to see again and yet you just keep turning up, and let me say, you're about as welcome as a swarm of mosquitos.”

He stared directly into her eyes, noting that where before she'd never had a problem staring him down with defiance that aroused the hell out of him, she wouldn't meet his gaze. She glanced at his shoulder, his forehead, his ear and evidently his chin because she wouldn't be looking at his mouth. He wasn't that lucky.

He didn't like this. This whole fucked-up, middle of the night meet and greet in front of Eliza's apartment standing two feet away from a vehicle that could arm a small country. She wasn't even giving him lip. Because the watered down version of “fuck off” he'd just received was pretty damn pathetic and hardly worthy of someone who ran as hot and fierce so deeply as Eliza.

He purposely assumed an insolent pose, crossing his arms over his chest and staring right at her, despite the fact she was so obviously avoiding his eyes.

“Don't ever fucking do what again?” he asked calmly. “Check in on you to make sure you're taking care of yourself, since we both know you don't. And that you're safe and that you don't wake up every night with nightmares? You forget I've been up close and personal with you twice in the last two days, Eliza. I've
seen
you. I've seen what you're trying and miserably failing at hiding. The people you work with may be blind fools, but I'm not.”

He made a show of checking his watch just to make his point that most people were in bed, asleep and not in their driveway about to go to war. He had to bite his lip to ask how long it had been since she'd been one of those people who were in bed, asleep, because she looked like she hadn't slept in weeks and his blood ran hot with fury all over again.
How
had Dane not seen this? Or Caleb, Beau, Zack, anyone! Why had she been the one to request vacation time instead of one of her
partners
stuffing her in a safe house somewhere and then sitting on her ass, making damn sure she ate, slept and didn't battle her nightmares alone. Partners his ass. A partner would have her back and not give a shit if her feelings got hurt or whether her pride got ruffled because her partner demanded she stand down.

Finally, her eyes flickered to his, the prolonged silence obviously making her uneasy. For that matter it was making
him
damn uneasy. He'd all but insulted the entire precious organization she worked for, and she'd usually defend them with her dying breath, and yet she'd acted as though she hadn't even heard his scathing criticism. As the saying went, however, never look a gift horse in the mouth, so he took advantage and pounced, pinning her with his stare.

“Just how low are your reserves right now, Eliza? Fumes aren't going to get you very far and that's all you're running on right now. I'd be surprised if you could make it down the block. If your goddamn agency is so
sacred,
then why the hell aren't they taking better care of you?”

He almost wished she hadn't looked at him. Almost. Because he was bombarded by so many conflicting emotions that it unsteadied him and he had to shift his weight to his other foot to cover his reaction.

Grief, fury, sorrow, guilt and . . . What the fuck? He wanted to roar it! What the ever loving
fuck
?

He swore long, hard and viciously in his mind. Rage hurtled through his veins and this time, he couldn't control the flex of his fingers into tight fists, knotted over his chest. Red. He could swear he was seeing red. His jaw clenched, and he wanted nothing more than to go knock Dane on his fucking ass. And the rest of his pissant agency as well.

Fear
. He saw fucking
fear
in this female warrior's eyes. And a hell of a lot more. But fear was the one that clenched his gut and squeezed mercilessly.
Fucking fear
in
Eliza's
eyes.

That more than anything decided the matter for him. He had come out of curiosity after Dane's unexpected request and, well, because he'd been determined to follow up on the bullshit story she'd given him about Gracie's supposed surprise—both excuses. He damn well knew it because he hated admitting how much he thought about her and he really hated the fact he'd grasp any excuse to see her . . . but Dane's bizarre request gave Wade a
solid
excuse to run Eliza to ground. Since he hadn't expected
any
of what he'd witnessed tonight, he'd firmly planned to call Dane the next morning and tell him to go to hell. Now? Oh
hell
no.

Fuck Dane. Fuck DSS. Fuck playing babysitter and shadowing Eliza only to report in to Dane because
Dane
was “worried.” This was his situation now because he was making it his. Eliza's protection, needs and especially making goddamn sure she had nothing to be afraid of was, as of now, his sole objective. And Dane and his requests for check-ins could go to hell.

She was
his
. Not Dane's. Not DSS's and damn sure not someone's teammate. Had
no
one been able to see, cared enough to see what this fierce survivor had suffered—was
still
suffering? And did they not realize that if Eliza was fucking scared, then it was bad? Not just bad. The worst.