Page 79 of Shane

The command died on her lips.

She’d expected resistance.

Not this.

Talk about an entire mission gone sideways.

The first whiff inside was so horrendous that Everlee wanted to puke. The stench of perforated bodies and heads. The horrific bouquet of blood spatter and perforated bowels would cling to her hair and clothes until she showered. A dozen times.

There. In the center of the expansive white carpeted room. Six men. Well-muscled, big-bodied men. As big as those SEALs she’d trained with. All in various stages of undress. All laying face up with ugly, black holes in the centers of their foreheads and chests. Looked like they’d been ready for bed, or in bed, when they’d died. Make that when they’d been killed. Murdered.

Some wore sweatpants and t-shirts, others just boxers. One was completely nude. But their bodies had definitely been posed, their faces tipped intentionally toward the penthouse entry. Facing Everlee. All those unseeing eyes were staring… Straight. At. Her. Daring her to relive her worst nightmare. A scream edged up her throat like that old familiar snake she’d never been able to swallow down.

Not here! Not now! Damnit! This is pure coincidence. Astor does not know one damned thing about me. Certainly not that!

The walls closed in. If she stayed with these six bodies, she’d lose her cookies and any respect Shane had for her. Everlee refused to bow to her body’s natural aversion to gore, not in front of Shane. Throwing up and fainting like a sissy were out. Too bad she couldn’t get her heart to slow down. Or her lungs to breathe right. Or her throat to swallow.

“Call the police,” she ordered huskily. She’d honestly tried to relay that order with military precision and authority. She was former military police, damn it. So why’d that command sound weak and pitiful?

“Already did,” he answered.

“You did?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And why’s he calling me ma’am?Her brain refused to process another puzzle. It was already overloaded with what her eyes were seeing. Fighting nausea and the primal instinct screaming from the animal side of her brain to run, Everlee dragged her gaze away from the nightmare. She pointed the muzzle of her Glock to her right, at the bloody drag marks in the hallway. “These men didn’t die here,” she told Shane in case he hadn’t already figured it out.

“No, they didn’t,” he replied grimly. “Cut your feed, Ev. Hurry. Shut it down. Tuesday doesn’t need to see this.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, I… I f-forgot,” she muttered, fumbling the helmet’s butterfly switch under her chin. At last the feed to the helicopter ended, but poor Tuesday had to have seen everything. “Damn. I’m… I’m too late. Sorry.”So, so sorry. For Tuesday. For me. For Shane taking charge like he did. For my mom For his mom. For Lamb. God, for everything!

The memory rolled over her like an attacking M1 Abrams tank. Her coming home from school that day. She’d been sixteen going on fifty. Too young to feel so old. Too young to have grown up so alone. So deserted. So betrayed. But that afternoon, when the high school bell rang dismissal at three fifteen, she hadn’t expected to run home and find her mother murdered in the middle of their kitchen floor. She’d been staring at Everlee then, too. Just like these guys were staring at her now. Which made this death scene eerily familiar, and the thought that Astor knew everything about her, that the witch was really after her, scary as hell. That all of this was more about ending, torturing, and outing Everlee Billings. Not killing Tuesday Smart.

Because that afternoon, her mother’s murderer had still been in the house. Everlee had never expected it’d be her dad. Which begged the question: Did Astor know the intimate details of her mom’s murder? Was that why these guys were facing the door, to scare Everlee? Was her dad behind this mess? Or was Astor so smart that she knew the sight of these dead men would unsettle Everlee? Worse, Astor had killed one of her men after she’d declared he’d kidnapped the wrong woman. Was that a lie? Just another smokescreen to confuse Everlee? Had those despicable murders been about her, not Tuesday? Who was Astor really after?

Tuesday or me? Both of us?She dug her fingernails into the side of her head, shifting the helmet out of her way.I don’t know anymore!So many questions, none of which Everlee could accurately process at this sudden shock. Her gloved hands trembled so hard that her pistols were shaking, too. Not wanting to appear weak in front of Shane, or, heaven forbid, unable to perform like the skilled operator she damned sure was, Everlee pressed both fisted weapons against her thighs.There. See? Better. Not falling apart here.

Not me. No way.

As iflookingbetter could ever be the same asbeingbetter. Or being in charge of her heart and her body and that damned snake still edging perilously up her throat to… to unman her. Unwoman her? Was there such a word? There should be.

Before Shane could take over again, Everlee blocked his path to the smeared carpet in the hall at their right. “Don’t touch anything,” she ordered in the weakest damned voice that had ever come out of her mouth. “Understood?” she nearly yelled as she tried to recover her tougher-than-shit, LT Everlee Yeager, Chief of Security Forces, persona.

Shane stared her down. “Copy that,” he replied with a nod of his head, showing her respect. Judging by the tender glint in his eyes, he knew she was close to falling apart. But Ev was damned if she’d admit it. And he’d better not ask.

His eyes were such a deep, bottomless ocean blue that… she had to get a grip. “Is… is there any way our helmet cams can record this scene without transmitting it to Heston and T-T-Tuesday?” Damn it. Her tongue didn’t seem able to perform the simplest question.

“Yes, ma’am,” Shane answered politely. Without another word, which was really good considering the half-assed way her brain was working, he reached both hands for her helmet and—

Everlee saw him coming. She knew Shane was good and honorable, yet still… Still! A terrified flinch vibrated up her spine when he cupped her head. She closed her eyes and jerked out of his reach. She knew he’d never strike her. He’d touched her before and that hadn’t hurt. Not at all. Yet she couldn’t stifle her reaction whenever a man’s hands came for her. Especially not now. Cold, stark panic climbed up her throat. Adrenaline kicked in.

Fight or flight? Which will it be?

He took another step into her. She fought to not take a step back. Because she knew—she knew!—he wouldn’t hurt her. And he didn’t. Instead of knocking her around, choking her, punching her face, breaking her nose, or spitting insults, he simply cradled her head and her helmet and…Click.The heads-up display relayed what he’d done.Recording. Not transmitting.Why was thinking so damned difficult?

Because her poor brain was pinging through years’ worth of physical abuse from her dad, then from asshat Butch. For God’s sake, as much as she’d detested what her father had done, she’d still married a man like him. What was wrong with her? Had all those slaps and punches caused her ADHD? Had it messed up her brain? And why was she thinking about that crap now? Here?

Because she was the worst, biggest fraud in the universe. “Okk-kay then,” she declared shakily, stretching her neck forward to get the cramp in it to ease up. “F-follow me.”