Torn (Deep 8, #5)

29. Harlow

TWENTY-NINE

Harlow

I keep my suspicions about Nick to myself. If Dean has any reservations, he hasn’t voiced them. We pull around the back of a Bunnings hardware store. Dean switches off the engine and stares out the front window.

Roger and I sit in silence, knowing he needs time to process. "If he is part of this in any way and puts anyone in danger, I will take him down," Dean mutters, his voice tight with determination.

"I’m getting mixed signals from him. One minute he wants you out of Australia but won’t say why. The next, he’s hauling your ass around like a criminal. His behavior is erratic, which is so unlike him." I try to make sense of Nick’s actions.

"Why not tell you what’s going on? You’re a trained agent and could assist." Roger asks, his confusion evident.

"He’s a power-hungry bastard. My mum should have left him years ago. I offered to bring her to the States, but she loves her home here too much to leave. I understand because I’ve missed home so much," Dean replies, his voice filled with longing.

We enter Bunnings on a mission, heading to the paint aisle. "We’re going camou, so look for muted shades of green," Dean demands.

We check out with two bags of spray cans and head to the truck. "This is going to bring me infinite joy. He never let me drive this truck," Dean spits out, a fierce glint in his eyes as he pulls out a can of spray paint.

The three of us work together, transforming the truck until it resembles a military Humvee. Dean sprays the top in muted grays and browns to give us cover from above.

"If we’re in for a long ride, I’m going back in and get us water." I head back into the store.

A black government SUV sits around the corner in the parking lot. I slip into the store and grab a hat, stuffing my hair underneath. Two men in military gear are at the customer service desk as I duck behind a rack full of sunglasses. They’re showing our photos and asking about us.

I grab three pairs of sunglasses and two more hats as I exit out to the truck. The guys are in the truck with the engine running. I jump in the back seat. "Put these on. We’ve got two inside asking questions. Pull out slowly."

Dean and Roger don’t ask questions as they put on their glasses and hats. "I would give myself up if I thought it would give you two the edge, but I don’t think it will," Dean’s tone is grim.

"We need you as part of the team to get us out of here. God only knows what your father has planned for you," I reply. He is crucial to our operation, and we can’t afford to lose him.

Once we determine we’re not being tailed, the tension eases. Dean heads west into the forest. The rolling green hills and fewer houses offer a reprieve. As we get farther from Sydney, my stress starts to dissolve.

My demons live there, and I don’t wish to visit them anytime soon. Memories of my dad fill my mind, but I push them down. I’m on a mission to avenge his death and find out why he was murdered.

The terrain flattens out, revealing fields of golden grasses and cattle dotting the landscape. Farmhouses sit kilometers apart. We turn onto a dirt road full of ruts and rocks, bouncing up the road until it smooths out. A white fence separates us from the cattle roaming in the fields on either side, unaware of their fate.

"I thought Texas had a lot of cattle," Roger comments.

"Australia is one of the leading producers of beef in the world," I spout off a fact from secondary school.

We drive through a small, wooded area that opens to a beautiful house on a small hill. The modern design catches me off guard. The front terrace has chairs and a fire pit. Solar panels cover the roof as the rest of the house sprawls out on either side.

I recognize the faces sitting around the fire drinking a beer as heads turn in our direction. We tumble out of the Land Cruiser, happy to have our butts still attached to our bodies.

Beck is the first to greet us, "Glad you could join us. Nice ride, wrong color." He pulls Dean into a bear hug, not one of Dean’s favorite things, but the gesture is welcome.

Dean pulls back. "Where’s your ride?"

Beck points to a row of motorcycles. "We had to improvise. We found these relics and bought them on sight. They got us here, but not comfortably. This old boy is getting too old for this shit."

A huge burly man comes up from behind, wraps his arms around Dean, and lifts him off the ground. "Hey, Deanie, how are you doin’?" he asks.

"Brett put me the fuck down. What did I tell you about picking me up?" He releases Dean as he drops to the ground. Dean spins around and puts his fists up like he’s going to box Brett.

"I’m taking bets. My money is on Brett. Anyone want in?" I say with a straight face.

Everyone starts to reach for their wallets, calling out, "I got five on Brett."

"That’s great. My teammates are betting against me." Dean jabs the air while Brett stands there with his arms by his sides.

"Remember, Deanie, it only takes one shot."

Dean lowers his arms. "Right. You better have a Gold on tap."

Brett claps his hand on Dean’s shoulder. "Always have a lager on tap."

"Thank God. It’s been a long day," Dean replies.

I walk next to Dean and whisper, "Deanie? I gotta know."

Dean gives me a side-eye. "Brett and I went to secondary school together. He used to call me Deanie the Weenie. One day after school, we threw down, and I got him on the ground by fighting low. He was impressed, and we’ve been friends ever since. In case you’re getting any ideas, he’s the only one allowed to call me Deanie."

"How long has he worked here?"

"Work here? He owns this ranch by working his way up. Bought it about five years ago. It’s worth millions. Wait until you see the inside." He slings his arm around my shoulder and hugs me.

As I look over my shoulder, Roger’s eyes darken, and his jaw muscles flex. Butterflies tumble in my stomach. There might be make-up sex in my future. Every time our eyes connect, I fall farther into a place I don’t want to visit. There is something about his energy, spirit, and ferocity that brings me to my knees with naughty intentions.

Everyone settles into a room with space to spare in this hidden mansion. Roger remains quiet and stoic.

"You can stop being jealous." I brush by him and fall on the bed.

"I’m not jealous. Do I seem jealous? Jealous isn’t even a thing for me," he replies, his words are clipped.

"You realize you said the word jealous three times in a row. I call bullshit. You’re jealous." I give him a sly smile.

He jumps on the bed and straddles my hips. My skin flushes, and warmth pools between my legs. He pins my arms above my head, his eyes searching mine.

"I understand Dean is in a bad way with his father, but I want you to lean on me, rely on me. I want everything with you—best friend, colleague, and lover." The words hang between us like thorns threatening my perfect little bubble.

His hands slip down my arms, leaving a trail of heat in their path. Our eyes lock. I suck in a breath as his fingers skim over my nipples and they harden.

"Delta, Whiskey, Romeo, eighty-eight," I whisper.

He frowns. "I don't think this is the moment to recite Dean’s call letters."

"I know too much about Dean. He used to drink a lot of whiskey, and he was a Romeo with the ladies. I, on the other hand, try to avoid relationships as much as possible. We were the perfect teammates."

"And what are we?" His eyes forbid me to look away.

"This can’t go anywhere. Look what we do for a living. We could be called to any part of the world at any time, gone for months on end." My voice quivers.

"There are always options." His stare turns cold as he gets up and stands next to the bed. "I’ll see you downstairs for the meeting."

He’s better off walking away from a woman who runs from job to job, helping and rescuing people and solving their problems. My calling isn’t something I can shut off, but it’s starting to loosen its grip on me.