Steel Vengeance (Blackthorn Security #6)

Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

W here was she?

Sloane opened her eyes and looked around the room. It was plain and functional, with bare walls and tightly drawn curtains.

Why didn’t she recognize anything?

The ache in her arm cut through her grogginess. She’d been shot! Stitch had brought her here and taken out the bullet.

She glanced at her bandaged arm. It still hurt, but not as much as before. She wiggled her fingers, sighing in relief when they moved. Thank goodness there was no lasting damage.

There was a soft knock on the door, and the woman came in.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Okay, I think. I’m sorry for intruding like this.”

The woman smiled. “Any friend of Stitch’s is welcome here.”

Sloane was even more intrigued.

“How do you know Stitch?” she asked, leaning back on the pillow.

“His team used to come here when there was trouble over the border. I called them my American heroes. So brave.” She shook her head. “Fighting for their country. My daughter lives there, you know. She’s in New York.”

His team? Fighting across the border?

Sloane’s mind swirled with questions.

“When was that?”

“Oh, a long time ago now. Many years.” She patted Sloane’s hand. “You’ve had quite a shock. Stitch said to keep an eye on you and not let you leave the house.” She smiled. “He was very worried about you.”

He was?

A warm glow spread through her, or maybe that was the anesthetic wearing off. Her head felt a little fuzzy.

“Thank you for helping me,” she murmured.

The woman grinned. “Of course, dear. It’s not the first time I’ve patched someone up. You should’ve seen the state of them when they used to come here.” She shook her head. “Such dangerous work.”

Sloane assumed “them” meant Stitch and his team. She realized she didn’t know much about what he’d done in the military, before he left. They’d never really talked about it.

“You rest, dear. You’ve had a nasty shock. Someone tried to kill you.”

Thanks for the reminder.

It still made no sense. Who’d want to kill her? A rookie agent, barely getting by undercover. A nobody.

Then she remembered the phone call.

Matthew!

She grabbed the woman’s arm.

“Where’s Stitch? I need to talk to him.”

“Are you in pain?”

“No, I just need to talk to him.”

“He’s gone out, but he’ll be back later.” She made to leave. “I’ve made some stew, so let me know if you’re hungry.”

Sloane shook her head. She couldn’t eat. Not now that she remembered.

Oh, God. Oh, God.

Please let it not be true.

But there was nothing she could do now. She had to wait for Stitch to get back—and he wasn’t going to be happy with what she had to say.

“You did what ?”

His icy blue eyes locked onto her, intense and unforgiving.

“I’m sorry. I thought it was best to keep him in the loop. I couldn’t email Jeremy, since he’s mixed up in this, so I figured I’d better report back to Matthew.”

Needless to say, Matthew hadn’t been thrilled to hear from her. But that changed when she told him what she’d found out.

“You should’ve talked to me first,” Stitch said. He’d changed into a t-shirt and jeans, and she couldn’t help but notice his tanned, muscular arms or how his jeans hugged his thick thighs just right.

His tattoo was on full display now—black ink twisting in a Celtic design down his forearm to his wrist. Another one covered his bicep, disappearing under his shirt sleeve.

“Why?” Her cheeks heated up. “You’re not my boss. I don’t report to you.”

“I told you when we started this…”

“That was then. Things are different now. We know Omari’s running drugs, and we know Jeremy’s involved. After you left last night, I thought it over and decided Matthew needed to know. If Jeremy’s turning a blind eye or somehow involved in getting drugs into the States, the CIA has to be in on it.”

Stitch stared at her for a long moment. “From your side, that makes sense.”

Was he actually agreeing with her?

She frowned at him. “Thank you.”

He moved closer and sat on the bed. The ancient springs creaked under his weight, tilting her toward him. He was all muscle and heat, freshly showered, his hair still damp. She had to fight the urge to touch those rock-hard thighs.

“But I need to know exactly what you told him.”

She shifted as she struggled to stay put and not slide down the bed into him.

“Fine. I told him I saw Omari meet with four Afghan men, and they looked important. I sent him the video from the restaurant.”

“What’d he say to that?” Stitch’s blue eyes were more curious than cold, softening his usually sharp edge. She noticed an old scar along his jawline beneath his beard, and her fingers itched to trace it. She forced her eyes back to his.

“He already knew. Jeremy had reported that the Afghans were preparing to move a shipment.”

“He knew it was drug-related all along?” Stitch’s eyebrows shot up.

She nodded. “Apparently. I asked why he hadn’t told me, and he said it was for my protection. In case I got captured, I couldn’t spill what I didn’t know.”

Stitch shook his head.

The idea of being captured made her stomach drop. She’d be on her own. She knew that now.

Thank God for Stitch. If it weren’t for him, she’d still be clueless, still thinking Omari was some terrorist plotting an attack.

How naive had she been? Heat crept into her face. “Then, I told him about Jeremy.”

Stitch’s jaw tightened. “What’d he say?”

“He was concerned. He said he’d look into it and that I did the right thing by telling him.”

Stitch’s eyes stayed glued to her face.

Her next words came out hesitant, shaky. “Matthew’s involved too, isn’t he?”

She didn’t want the answer. Didn’t want to face the idea that her boss—her ex—was dirty.

Stitch sighed. “I’m sorry, Sloane. Looks like it. Hell of a coincidence that the day after you tell him about Jeremy and a potential CIA drug operation, someone tries to take you out.”

She closed her eyes.

“I’ve been so stupid,” she whispered, opening them again to stare into his. “I thought I was doing the right thing. He’s my boss, after all.”

And more than that, he had been her lover.

Her voice trembled. “I thought I could trust him.”

“You can’t trust anyone,” Stitch said, his voice low, edged with a menace that made her shiver. “Not anymore. I don’t know how deep this goes or who’s involved. Could be an isolated case with Jeremy and Matthew getting paid to look the other way. But until we know for sure, you need to keep a low profile.”

She nodded, feeling miserable. How could she have screwed up so badly?

“If the CIA’s in on this, how am I supposed to get home?” Her voice hitched with sudden panic. “I can’t stay hidden forever.”

“You won’t have to,” he reassured her. “We’ll figure it out.”

That deep, rough voice could calm her when nothing else could. She only wished she could be as sure as he sounded.

“But how?” It felt impossible. How do you take on the CIA? It was just the two of them, in the middle of nowhere, with Matthew and the agency miles away.

“I told you, I’ve got friends who can help. Brothers I trust with my life.”

“From your old unit?” She remembered what the woman had said.

His face darkened. “How’d you know that?”

“The woman told me your unit used this place as a safe house when you were operating across the border.” She saw his face shut down, his eyes hardening, lips pressed into a tight line. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

“You get that look whenever you don’t want to talk,” she said. “It’s like you shut off everything.”

Frown lines appeared on his forehead. “You reading me again?”

She smiled a little. “It’s not that hard.”

There was a pause.

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk,” he finally growled. “I just can’t.”

“Too painful?” she asked gently.

“Too classified,” he corrected, his frosty eyes burning into her.

Ignoring his warning, she said, “She mentioned patching you up more than once.”

“She shouldn’t be telling you that,” he muttered. “I’ll talk to her.”

“I asked,” Sloane said quickly, not wanting to get the woman in trouble. “What do you expect? You never tell me anything.”

He rubbed his temples, as if trying to smooth out the stress lines. “Okay. You deserve to know a little.”

Her voice shook. “Especially since you’re the only person I can trust.”

It was true. Without him, she was as good as dead. Without his help, she’d never make it home.

Another, longer pause.

“We used this place as a safe house,” he said, finally. “A place to lay low if we were injured or needed time to recover. It was safer here in Pakistan than over the border.”

“Didn’t that put her at risk?” She thought of the woman, probably playing host to a bunch of huge, intimidating operators.

“It was a managed risk. Besides, we made sure to take care of her.” He grinned, a flash of mischief.

Her heart stumbled over itself as his eyes crinkled, playful for once. Where had this side of him been hiding?

As she caught her breath, he added, “Mrs. B’s a big fan of anything American. Her daughter lives in New York.”

“I know, she told me.” She studied him. “She also told me your team often used to stay here after missions across the border.”

He hesitated, not meeting her gaze.

“You’re not a marine, are you? It’s more than that.” Her gaze dropped to his tattoo, the way he’d dashed across the road when the biker had appeared out of nowhere, his decisive actions, his ability to breach her room without her hearing him. “Navy SEAL?”

He sniffed. “You’re good.”

“I won’t tell,” she whispered, a shiver coursing through her. Navy SEAL operators were different. She’d read about them. They went into enemy territory, took on impossible missions, and hunted down terrorists. They blew stuff up, and yeah, they killed people with their bare hands.

He was one of them.

She should have seen it earlier. The controlled strength, the way he read situations instantly, how he’d charged the gunman on the motorcycle like he had zero fear. She hadn’t even noticed the guy coming down the road.

She’d never known anyone like Stitch. Matthew was the closest thing to a government agent she’d known, and he pushed paper behind a desk.

Stitch raked a hand through his hair. “Anyway, all that was a long time ago. I’ve been out for over a year.”

She didn’t miss the flash of despair on his face. “Why’d you leave?”

He looked down at his hands—scarred, marked by battle. “It’s complicated. Maybe I should check your wound.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” she said as he unwound the bandage. He’d already told her more than she expected.

She winced as he peeled off the gauze. It was still tender.

He focused on her arm, the neatly stitched wound. “We were ambushed in the Afghan mountains. Most of my team didn’t make it back. Only two of us survived.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He exhaled, replacing the bandage. “I couldn’t go back after that.”

“What did you do?”

“I wandered around until I took refuge in a village in the mountains. I’d been there before, helping them out as a medic, so they knew me.”

She nodded, listening intently.

“That’s where I met my wife.” Pain flashed across his face, raw and undeniable.

“The village Omari attacked?”

“Yeah.” He closed his eyes, blocking out the memories.

Her heart ached for him. She wanted to help, but she didn’t know how. Instead, she rested a hand on his arm, hoping to provide comfort. His muscles flexed beneath her fingers.

“I appreciate you telling me,” she said. “Now I get it.”

“I think you always did.”

She held her breath. It was true, she’d sensed something had a hold on him from the start—she just hadn’t known what. His skin felt warm and firm beneath her hand, the muscles hard and sinewy. She fought not to trace them with her fingers.

Oh, God.

Stop!

“I couldn’t hide it from you. You saw right through me.”

His face was so close now. Those blue eyes pulled her in like magnets. As he leaned closer, the mattress shifted, and she toppled toward him. Suddenly, she was clutching both his arms, his face just inches away. He reached for her, his hand resting on her hip.

She glanced down at his lips.

So close…

The pain in his eyes was gone, replaced by an intensity she hadn’t seen before. Her heart pounded so loudly she thought it was about to somersault right out of her chest.

She didn’t know what was happening, but right now, all she wanted was to kiss him.

And then it happened.

He closed the space between them, their lips meeting—soft, firm, deliciously hot.

Sloane closed her eyes and breathed him in.

Then she felt him freeze. His hand slipped from her hip, and he pulled away. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

Her lips still tingled where he’d touched them. So brief, so sweet.

Almost a kiss.

“It’s okay.” She tried to hide her disappointment. “I understand.”

The worst part was, she did. She really did. It was a miracle he’d even let his guard down this much after everything he’d been through.

Stitch stood up, avoiding her gaze. “Your arm’s looking fine. I’ll leave you to rest.”

And then he left the room.