Page 12 of Dangerous Mission
When I climb in the driver's seat—because the passenger side is totally screwed—Griff mutters something from the back seat.
“What was that?” I ask. “My ears are still ringing.”
When I turn around to look at Griff, his eyes are closed, his jaw is clenched, and his hands are fisted on his lap.
My heart squeezes. I wish I could do something for him, but don’t know what to do.
“Should I look around in the truck for a first aid kit? Maybe they have some pain pills.”
“Yeah,” he replies in a ragged tone. “But A, I need to tell you something. Stay away from Scout. I saw how he was looking at you. He’s bad news…”
Hm.
I should probably focus on the bad news part, but instead I have a different question. “How do you know him?”
“Our team worked on a mission with his SEAL Team a few years ago.”
That explains a lot. He’s a SEAL. An enigma.
Much like Griff.
I don’t know much about my brother’s career. Only the small details he’s shared, which were few and far between.
Enough to satisfy me, but not enough to worry me. Even though that is exactly what I did. Constantly.
Sometimes, I both hate and appreciate that he was protecting me from the ugly details of his life. Even though I was watching it change him.
“Deltas and SEALs work together?”
His tone turns gruff as he shifts in the back seat. “Sometimes. All you need to know is, he’s trouble.”
Okay, so this subject is a revolving door and I know when I need to get off.
“Don’t get upset, Griff. You don’t have to worry about whatever he is. He saved my life. I returned the favor. I’m not in any hurry to get involved with a man again.”
This is the truth in every way.
Too bad my body is obviously starting to think otherwise. A fact that baffles me, given what that monster did to me.
“Good. Stay clear.” Griff slits his eyes open and pins me with a warning glare that only a brother can give. “Scout’s a bomb with a faulty fuse. I can’t believe Agile hired him.”
Biting my tongue, I stare out into the rainy night.
Curiosity almost has me asking more, but I decide to let the subject go.
Scout can be whatever he is. I can enjoy the view and keep myself safe.
One bad judgment call nearly got me killed. So, no thank you. I’m one and done.
A shudder makes me wrap my arms around myself. Cold pulses deep in my marrow. Not because my clothing is plastered to me, my hair is hanging in wet strings, and my boots are literally full of water.
This kind of cold doesn’t go away when you’re dry.
It hides in the scars around your wrists…
And comes out to haunt you when your guard is down.
Mouth going dry, heart rate speeding, it feels like the truck cab is closing in on me.