That had been the core of his job in the activity. He slipped behind enemy lines, deep undercover, and went to work, befriending and inveigling.
That was how he’d learned the identity of the hitman. He’d convinced someone, a lot of someones, to feed him innocuous pieces of information until he had enough to put it all together.
Fucking mind-blowing.
Tomas pushed back from the table and rubbed his hands down his face. He’d been bent over documents for hours, and the words were blurring. Stiffness knotted his neck, and his body screamed for exercise.
The house was equipped with a weight room, and they all used it daily. But they weren’t accustomed to this type of work. They were the feet on the ground, the fingers on the triggers, and muscle on the front lines. They weren’t analysts.
Cole sat beside him, flicking that coin-shaped GSM bug between his fingers, eyes on his laptop. He’d been focused on the bug’s technical components, reaching out to unknown contacts, subtly asking around about it, and collecting data. He was convinced the tech in that device held all their answers.
Tomas looked around the living space, taking in the bodies sprawled on couches and chairs, holding laptops and reading through reports. In the kitchen, Tiago and Van prepared lunch while arguing the finer points on how to properly chop cilantro.
Definitely not a typical day for this group. But not once in two weeks had anyone suggested going home.
They didn’t know who the enemy was, what this entity wanted, or if it had anything to do with them. Maybe his emails were out there somewhere in the hands of someone who intended to exploit them. Maybe his emails didn’t factor in at all.
It didn’t matter. They were here, sticking together like wet on water.
His gaze fastened on his favorite brunette across the room. She lay face-down on a rug, her fingers clicking on a laptop and legs bent, rocking her delicate feet in the air. It was a girlish thing to do, reminiscent of Caroline lounging lazily on his bed. But that was the only similarity between the two.
The feelings Rylee stirred in him were so much deeper, darker, and deliciously grown-up.
He rose from the chair and prowled toward her. She hummed as he stretched out over her prone body, bracing his hands on either side of her shoulders and lowering into a push-up position.
“Take a break,” he said at her ear.
“I could use some fresh air.”
Outside, they took the bridge that led from the terrace to the dock below. The tree-lined shores wrapped around calm water that stretched for miles. Several boats bobbed on the horizon, too far to venture near this inlet.
As they made their way to the water’s edge, her hand slipped into his, and he felt a pull in his chest, a breath of undiluted happiness.
At the end of the dock, benches faced the water. He lowered onto one and guided her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her, warming her skin in the chilly air.
He’d fucked her on this very bench yesterday. Over the past two weeks, he’d taken her in every corner of this property, in every position. His need for her was unquenchable, and she had the enthusiasm to match.
Being cooped up together had given them a lot of time to explore. Not just their bodies. He’d never been one to vocalize his feelings, but she had a way of opening him up and riling not only his temper but also his fears, joys, and hardest memories.
She’d demanded to hear every detail of his mission with La Rocha Cartel in California, including an explanation about the girl on the meat hook. He didn’t want to revisit that, but after he shared the story, he realized he could tell her anything. Not just in an email, but in person, while looking into her eyes.
It was another first for him.
They talked a lot, argued plenty, and sometimes, they communicated without saying anything at all.
She curled up on his lap, her nose buried in his neck, choosing the view of him over the stunning vista of the lake. She loved him. The words hadn’t left her lips, but he felt them. He felt them in the weight of her stare, the caress of her constant touch, and the sigh of her breaths.
She leaned up, her gaze fastening on his. “I’m going to sell my house.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll need a place to live.”
“I’m your home.”
She nodded, smiled, and her chin quivered.
He kissed her lips. “Scary, huh?”
She nodded again.
Her dirtbag of an ex-husband had put that fear in her.
Deep down, he hoped that Mason Sutton was behind the hit on her so that he would have an excuse to murder the son of a bitch. He might just gut the fucker anyway.
“Which is scarier?” he asked. “Living with me? Or living alone?”