Vince paced the hotel room for the fourth time in as many minutes. After Charlie had left this morning, he’d gotten two irritated texts filled with British curses he still didn’t understand, and then nothing. No call. No text. It was like she’d fallen off the fucking planet.
“You’re making me motion sick, man,” Logan complained from the laptop screen.
Vince shoved his face in view of the camera. “I don’t give a flying monkey fuck if you’re getting sick. Get a ping on her phone or the truck.”
“Dude, I told you the phone’s not on, and the GPS tracker isn’t picking anything up. Someone either removed it or—”
“Finish that sentence, and they won’t find your body, Callahan,” Vince growled threateningly.
It wasn’t Logan’s fault Charlie had gone MIA, but fuck. He needed someone to lash out at or he’d start accosting hotel furniture.
Logan seemed to weigh his words carefully. “I was going to say that she physically disabled it. Jesus. Bloodthirsty much?”
When it came to Charlie? Yes. Vince never should’ve let her go off on her own, not after Franconi’s warning earlier in the day. Images of her lying facedown on the outskirts of a bush-lined highway kept flashing through his head, each one worse than the one before.
“Hell fucking yeah!” Logan roared, fist-bumping the air in front of him. “I got a hit on the truck. Hell, man. It looks like it’s at the hotel.”
“Does it look like she’s in the room right now?” Vince asked.
The words no sooner left his mouth than their door clicked open.
“She’s here. Call you all back later,” he said gruffly.
Charlie stepped into the room as he cut off the video feed.
Relief at seeing her stuck in Vince’s throat. Wide eyes glanced around their suite, and her skin, usually with a healthy glow, looked pale beneath the lights. Hell, the only color on her face came from the small red knot blossoming to life on the left side of her forehead.
Vince closed the distance and touched the bump, cursing when she winced.
“What the hell happened?” Vince reluctantly pulled his hand away, letting her inspect her head with her own fingers.
“I didn’t even know that was there. I guess I hit my head after all.”
Vince clenched his teeth until they ached. “How did you hit your head?”
Charlie shimmied past him, kicking off her shoes before plopping heavily down on the couch. For once, he didn’t think she’d ignored his question to be a pain in the ass. He’d seen it in the field. Acute shock. Whatever had brought it on was going to have to work its way to the surface, so he didn’t push.
She dug into her purse and tossed him the truck keys. “Pretty sure Alpha purchased a very expensive piece of scrap metal from the rental company. If Stone was going to birth kittens before, he’s going to have a litter of jungle cats now.”
He dropped to his haunches in front of her. “You were in an accident? Why the hell didn’t you call me to come to get you? Did you get your head checked out?”
“First, it definitely wasn’t an accident. And I couldn’t call because my phone is in about twenty different pieces from a run-in with my cousin’s high heel. And there’s nothing wrong with my head except for a having one hell of a headache.”
He trapped her chin between his fingers and gently kept her attention focused on him. Pupils reactive. Equal. Once he was satisfied she wasn’t in any immediately health jeopardy, he asked, “Are you purposefully trying to be difficult?”
“I was tailed out of the spa.” Charlie melted into the couch cushions, looking drained. “When they realized they’d been spotted, it turned into a bit of a car chase. And my crazy-assed cousin was so worried about me texting while driving that she dropped—and then stepped on—my phone, so I couldn’t call.”
“Explain to me again why you have a goose egg?” Barely hanging on to the last string of his control, Vince retrieved ice from the small fridge, and after wrapping it in a washcloth, sat next to her and held it against her head. “Goose egg, English. How did you hit your head?”
“It must’ve hit the window when I made one of the sharp turns. Bloody bastards wouldn’t give the hell up.”
Charlie looked more shaken than he’d ever seen. Everything inside him wanted to haul her closer, but coddling her now risked her pulling away. “Tell me about the car.”
“It’s minus its mirrors and the paint’s—”
“Not the truck—the car tailing you.”
“It was a dark blue sedan, late nineties. No license plate. And because of the serious tint job, I could barely register the fact that there were two of them inside, much less see anything more identifiable. When they rolled down the window to take a shot, they made sure I still didn’t have a view, so they weren’t completely bloody stupid.”
“They took fucking shots at you?” Vince roared, making her jump. He paced a few times, counting to ten before tacking on another five seconds. “With bullets?”
She gave him a cockeyed glare. “No, with spitballs,” she said sarcastically, her voice tired. “Yes, bullets. And like I said, the truck took the worst of it. Two of their hits made it earless, and then there was an unfortunate incident of squeezing between two Dumpsters.”
“Ears?”
She gestured to the sides of her head with her hands like he should know what the hell she was talking about.
“Yeah, ears. Side mirrors,” she clarified. “I hope you know a good body shop.”
“Cars can be fixed or replaced, Charlie. You can’t.”
She went quiet, maybe because of his use of her name, or the car chase starting to play on repeat in her head. Maybe both. But it gave Vince a chance to curse himself out for not being there to back her up.
He sat next to her, his thigh brushing hers because he needed to be touching her, somehow. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been there.”
She gave him another one of those looks. “You wanted to go to the spa?”
Vince released a tired sigh. “You know what I mean.”
She patted his knee and, before she took her hand away, Vince clasped it in his, entwining their fingers. They both studied their interlocked hands, and if Charlie’s face was anything to go by, the same emotions rolling through him at mock speed were also flying through her.
Relief. Confusion. And hell, need. She didn’t pull her hand away, instead leaning heavily into his side. Things were about to get a fuck-ton more complicated.
“You know,” she spoke first, softly, and with a slight tremble she tried hiding behind her usual snarky tone, “we can’t be attached at the hip. And being a full field operative means being able to handle things myself…which I did. So stop beating yourself up.”
Vince ran his thumb over the curve of her hand. “Just because you can handle yourself doesn’t mean you should have to do it all the damn time.”
Tension filled the room. A gentle shudder slid through Charlie’s body, and for a moment, he thought maybe he’d pushed too hard. And he didn’t care. He did what he’d wanted to do since she’d walked through the door, and pulled her onto his lap.
She didn’t bite or kick him. No smart-assed comment came hurtling his way. She turned in his arms, burrowing her nose in the curve of his neck, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
Vince held on tight and hoped he wasn’t hurting her. For hours he’d been ready to tear Miami to the ground and, now that she was here, he wasn’t eager to let her go. And the hell if he knew what that meant, but he wasn’t about to waste his time trying to figure it out.
Stroking her back, Vince attempted to smooth the tension coiled in her muscles. Charlie Sparks wouldn’t cry. Showing weakness around others wasn’t something she did, and he understood the need to be strong—to look strong. That was why he waited until her breathing returned to normal before he carried her toward the bedroom.
“Am I being sent to my room for being out past curfew?” her voice, muffled against his shirt, teased.
“Exactly,” he answered dryly. “But first you’re going to take a shower.”
“You realize I was just slathered in expensive oils and shite for the better part of the entire day, right?”
He gently settled her back on her feet. “And you need a hot shower to help break you out of your shock.”
“I’m not—”
“Babe, I’ve seen the hardest of assholes go into shock for less than being in a fucking car chase. Your adrenaline’s pumping right now, and you need to channel it before your body goes haywire.” He nodded to her skimpy little sundress, a far cry away from her Sinful Delights leather. “Do you think you can do it alone or do you want help?”
Helping her without touching her would be the painful equivalent of having his fingernails ripped out of their nail beds, but if that was what she needed, he’d do it.
“I got it covered. Thanks for the offer.”
He nodded, his voice gruff. “Fifteen minutes, and then I’m banging down the door.”
Her small smile didn’t reach her eyes. “We both know how it turned out the last time you did that. I imagine that’s good for shock too.”
“Wouldn’t know. I never offered the service to any of the guys…but I could maybe be convinced to try it with you,” he teased. He started the shower and tested the water. “I’ll check on you in a bit.”
It took more effort than he’d thought to leave her alone in the bathroom. To distract himself, he dialed up headquarters. Stone answered on the second ring.
“What the hell’s happening?” Stone’s bellow made Vince pull the phone away from his ear. “You’re supposed to be watching Charlie’s ass, and then I find out from Logan that she’s missing!”
“She fine, though someone’s not going to be when I get hold of them,” Vince grumbled. “When she’s not so shaken up, I’ll try to get more of the particulars, but some bastards tried driving through her and, when that didn’t work, they decided to take a few potshots.”
“She okay?” his boss asked.
“Like I said, a little shaken up, not that she’d admit it. But she’s good. When she puts her head back on straight, I’ll probably have to talk her out of going after these guys. Her cousin was in the car too, so that didn’t help the whole fitting in goal.”
Vince heard Logan’s voice in the background before the other operative got on the line. “You guys going to be around later on? You know, no sex club delights or anything?”
“Callahan,” Vince growled a warning.
“Dude, I’m being serious here. I don’t have anything concrete on that thing you asked me to look into, but I’m close.”
Fuck. Charlie’s Miami exit. He’d almost forgotten that he’d conned Logan into digging into it, and with things as they were now, Vince was torn. Did he scrap the entire damn thing and focus on the here and now? Or did he go with his gut—and embrace what Charlie called his Caveman Tendencies—and tell Logan to keep at it?
He thought about tonight and not only how close he’d come to losing her, but how helpless he’d felt fucking waiting…and not knowing.
“Let me know what you get,” Vince heard himself say.
“Will do, brother. Take care of our girl.”
“And Franklin,” Stone added, “I know Charlie doesn’t make it easy to look out for her, but—”
“I got it, boss. I’m going to be so far up her ass she’ll think she sprouted a hemorrhoid.”
Vince hung up and, a few minutes later, the shower shut off. Charlie opened the door and stood in front of him, wrapped in a large, fluffy white towel. The hot water had put a little more color in her cheeks, but her eyes still resembled two big brown pools of exhaustion.
“Did you call headquarters?” she asked.
“I called. And you’re not to worry about it. Up you go, English.” Vince didn’t bother asking for permission as he scooped her up and deposited her on the mattress’s edge.
He didn’t know what she wanted—or needed—in that moment, but he knew he wanted to be the one to give it to her.
They stared at one another. Seconds stretched to an eternity. Charlie reached for the towel, slowly unbinding it from around her body, and let it fall away. Every inch of her silky skin was on display for his viewing pleasure.
She slid to the center of the bed, and with a whole lot of something welling in her eyes.
“I want to give you what you need, English, but I’m not so sure this is it.” Vince’s voice sounded raspy even to his own ears.
“I just need you naked and against me right now. No sex. Just”—her throat convulsed as she tried to speak—“just you. Just until I fall asleep.”
Fuck. Hold her? And sleep?
Vince warred with himself for five seconds before he stripped his clothes and climbed onto the bed. The second his back hit the mattress, Charlie curled into his side, her cheek against his chest. “You’ll stay? For a little bit?”
Vince rested one hand low on her hip, and held her close. “You couldn’t move me with a forklift, baby. I’m yours—for however long you want me.”
Fucking-A. Even he couldn’t ignore how fucking truthful those words rang.
* * *
The mattress bounced, stirring Charlie awake. Goose bumps erupted over her skin, sending a chill through her as she registered her naked body and the mound of blankets lumped together at the foot of the bed.
Another thrash turned her gaze to the right.
Vince lay on his back, fists clenched at his sides, his head twisting from one direction to the other. Sweat dotted his brow and pooled at the base of his throat. Low, almost indecipherable murmurs slid from his lips and as he chanted a name: Rico.
This time, Charlie didn’t struggle with what to do. He’d slept before when she’d crawled next to him, and if there was a slight chance she could help him, she’d do it. Starting with a soft touch, she rested her hand on top of his. He jolted, but stayed asleep.
“You’re okay, Navy,” she cooed, running her palm slowly up his arm and over his shoulder. “You’re here with me, Vince. Charlie. Nothing’s happening. You’re safe.”
And she repeated it, over and over—the words, the stroking. Eventually, his twitches lessened. Charlie, taking it as a good sign, placed soft kisses along his jaw. His breathing, though still labored, eased as he turned and tucked his head against her chest.
Charlie froze, unsure of what to do until his arm draped her waist, holding her tight. A small smile danced on her lips as she put her arms around his broad shoulders. Her heart beat a little faster as she continued rubbing his back in small, soothing circles.
Big man. Big nightmares. And big “aw” factor when his guard dropped—like now.
Vince Franklin was a man built on contradictions, and Charlie had to admit, they were a lot alike. Maybe too much so for anything to happen between the two of them beyond the sexual, but there was a ball of something sitting in the center of her chest, and every time she thought about their agreement to let things fizzle out, it tightened into a knot.
For someone who prided herself on independence, her first instinct after dropping Tina off at Arturo’s had been to get to Vince as fast as the damn bullet-riddled truck would go. That wasn’t something she should feel if they were working out a bout of sexual lust.
Sometime later, Charlie startled awake. The bedside clock read five in the morning, and both she and Vince still lay naked, their legs entwined like human pretzels. But now she was using him as a pillow.
Running her fingers through the dark dusting of hair between Vince’s pecs, Charlie brushed her thumb against his right nipple piercing.
“This is getting to become a habit.” Vince’s sleepy voice rumbled his chest. His hand, draped around her torso, traced over the largest of her cherry blossom tattoos.
“You complaining about it?”
“Nope.” He took a deep breath, the movement raising her cheek from his chest. “I could get used to it.”
Her, too—something for which she hadn’t prepared herself.
“What’s the meaning behind your tattoo?” Vince asked as he continued stroking her skin. “Out of all the things you could’ve gotten…why a cherry blossom tree?”
“Maybe I like flowers. Or spring. Or pink.”
“Nah. You’re not one of those sorority clones who want a dolphin because they’re cute. For you to have gotten it etched on your skin, it needs to have meaning.” His finger dipped to where one tree branch swooped below her left breast.
She wasn’t sure she liked him reading her so well, and he must’ve read it in her silence. “You don’t want to tell me,” Vince guessed accurately.
After everything they’d experienced together, it was ridiculous keeping the reasoning to herself, but to admit it aloud was one more nail in the coffin of intimacy she already felt when she was in his arms.
Blowing a pink-blonde strand of hair from her face, she tucked her chin into his chest and looked him in the eye. “I got it as a reminder; a comparison.”
“Of what?”
“Of the Charlie I was before Stone found me—one with all bark and bare limbs. To the Charlie I wanted to be—one who keeps coming back, time after time. Strong and resilient.”
Vince’s mouth spread into a slow smile. Charlie’s heart stumbled, then went still as his fingers gently brushed a lock of hair off her face. “See. Told you it wasn’t some drunk, bored college whim.”
“You don’t think it’s silly?”
“Nothing about you is silly, English. That tattoo suits you perfectly—although I do want to know what about your life here made you feel like bare bark.”
“Do all of your tattoos have a meaning?” She tried shifting the attention to him.
“Way to dodge.”
“Vince,” she warned.
“Okay. Too soon. But eventually,” he warned back. “And yes, all but one.” When she lifted a questioning eyebrow, he chuckled. “A drunken, bored weekend of R&R in a foreign city isn’t a sailor’s best friend.”
Charlie ran her fingers over his arm, taking her time to admire his ink work. Everything was so beautifully blended, one image melting into another. She paused where the buxom brunette from the Archie comics perched seductively above his elbow.
“Let me guess, this one was your bored, drunken R&R weekend.”
Vince chuckled. “Actually, no. Veronica’s ballsy. She reminds me to never let anything or anyone get in the way of me and what I want. No matter how slick or squirmy or attitudinal she becomes.”
His arms tightened around her, bringing her attention back up to his eyes. The heat radiating from them nearly melted her on the spot. Hello, subliminal messages.
“When did what you want become she?” Charlie asked, her thoughts racing.
“Thought inserting your name right off the bat would send you screaming in the other direction.”
He was right. Being wanted wasn’t something she was accustomed to, and it scared the hell out of her how much she liked it.
Charlie kept up her tattoo search until she fingered the Navy SEAL trident on the inside of his bicep. Half-hidden within the curves of the staff were a finely etched date and set of initials.
“What’s the story about this one?” she asked.
It was Vince’s turn to be uncomfortable, and for a moment he didn’t answer. He looked at the tattoo, staring as if playing a movie reel in his head. “The trident came when I got my first SEAL team assignment.”
“So you survived through Hell Week, huh?”
“Yeah. But it’s nothing compared to what happens on the outside.” Vince took his eyes off his tattoo. “The initials and date were added later.”
Charlie didn’t need to ask what they meant.
“I’m sorry.” Her heart ached with the truth. “I can’t imagine.”
He nodded, his jaw flexing. But Charlie saw his emotional battle in the darkening of his eyes. Now a deep green, they held the untold sorrows that stretched straight to his core. “Thank God not everyone has to. But a SEAL knows what we’re signing up for ahead of time. Still doesn’t make the loss any easier…especially when it could’ve been prevented.”
Charlie knew his basic service history from his Alpha background check, but it had been dates and locations, no stories. Although she suspected there were a lot of them. Not long after that date etched on his skin, he’d put in his papers for retirement and became bail enforcement—which was what had led to his meeting Penny, and inadvertently, signing on with Alpha.
Since day one with the team, he’d been a man of rules. He trained hard. He worked harder. And he kept to himself the hardest of all. He’d been a man of secrets, and even though it was hypocritical of her, Charlie needed to know what they were.
“That thing you said could’ve been prevented…that’s what your nightmare is about, isn’t it?” she said carefully.
Vince stiffened against her. “It’s in the past. Isn’t that what you once told me?”
“Except that’s not really the case when you relive it every night.”
“I’m not doing this right now, English,” Vince warned, his voice gruff.
“If not now, then when?”
Vince pulled away, sitting up and sliding to the other edge of the bed. His massive shoulders slumped as he dropped his head to his hands, making sure to keep his back turned her way. “It only affects me when I’m sleeping.”
“Maybe the flashbacks only come back when you’re sleeping, but do you mean to tell me it doesn’t affect your everyday life?” Charlie debated whether or not to push. And what the hell…playing it safe had never been her thing. “You’re a rule follower—sometimes to the point where you begin questioning your gut. You don’t do relationships—”
“Neither do you,” Vince pointed out. “That’s not a crime. It’s called an agenda.”
“For some. For others it’s called avoidance.” Charlie crawled next to him—and waited. When he didn’t move away or tell her to get lost, she laid her hand on his knee and continued. “I don’t know what happened on that mission, Vincent, but what I do know is while we’ve been here in Miami, I’ve seen what kind of an impression it’s left on you. And do you know what else I’ve seen? Your mind quiets when I slide in bed next to you.”
“I told you to leave me alone when it’s happening.” Instead of a growl, Vince almost sounded…tired. Beaten.
“And you know I don’t always do what I’m told.” Charlie gripped his chin and drew his attention toward her. The flood of emotions swimming in his eyes almost undid her right there. “Your mind quieted when you let someone in, Vince. You can do it. You can let me in.”