Chapter Eight
There were times in a woman’s life when she just had to stand back and admire a man.
Roman’s feet were planted, arms up and muscles rippling as he fired at the paper target a dozen yards away. His large hands clasped the stock of the much bigger gun he used, his thighs engaged as he absorbed the recoil of the blasts.
The memory of his arms around her as he’d instructed her on proper body placement sent a warm flush through her system. Power and control exuded from every inch of him.
A power and control she knew he must exhibit in the bedroom as well.
What am I thinking?
There was that pesky confirmation bias again, letting her interpret this new evidence based on her current belief in him. Maybe that was the problem—she was thinking too much. For once in her life, she wanted to turn off her constantly churning mind and just feel.
His kiss from that morning had made her do just that—stop thinking. Even now, when the memory of his sensuous lips taking control of hers surfaced, her brain seemed to short-circuit. Earlier, when he’d positioned her body with his, she’d completely forgotten all the instructions he’d given her. Instead of focusing on the target, all she could think about was turning in his arms and kissing him. Running her hands over his solidness and feeling anchored again.
He muddled her thoughts but made her body come alive. It had been nearly two years since her last relationship, and that one had been almost asexual. Gordon was passionate about many things, but sex hadn’t been one of them. At least not with her. He’d left her for a younger version. A younger, ditzy version who didn’t know the difference between a trowel and a toothbrush.
Roman fired off another round of bullets, and even from her distance behind him, she could see the clean hole in the center of the paper man’s chest that Roman expanded with every squeeze of the trigger.
Deadly.
Commanding.
Totally in control.
Another shiver went down her spine.
For half a second, her wild imagination took over. In the last chapter she’d read of Operation Sheba, Conrad and Julia had made up, their hot passion nearly sizzling the pages of the book, and making Brooke wish she could trade places with a fictional character for just one intimate night with a hero. A hero who would risk his life to save hers, and do it with a cocky smile and wink.
As Brooke watched Roman shooting his weapon, she imagined she was bold enough to write her own romance. To take control over her own world. She’d take that weapon from Roman and guide his hands to her own trigger.
“Brooke?”
She jumped. Roman had stopped shooting and removed his ear protection. He was staring at her.
“Um, yes?”
“Everything okay? You were a million miles away.”
She hadn’t gotten to finish Operation Sheba yet. Of course, she’d already read it at least a dozen times, so she knew what happened at the end, but still. It was her favorite book.
It had been in her suitcase, which was now in the hands of the masked man. Where she’d stopped, Julia was just about to get caught stealing top-secret information.
I need another copy of that book. “Just picking up tips from your extremely perfect form.”
He flipped the switch to pull in the paper target, a small, very male grin on his face. “Like what you see, Dr. Heaton?”
Flirting with me. Again. It was still too good to be true, but what the hell? She had nothing to lose. Julia certainly didn’t thumb her nose at Conrad’s flirting once she’d forgiven him for faking his own death. “I think I’m in good hands.”
His blue eyes caught hers for a moment, heat and desire pulsing between them. “I guarantee it.”
And ho-boy, it took all of her nerve to hold that bold gaze of his. She hoped she’d never have to use the gun he’d loaned her on a real, live human being, but she sure didn’t mind his tutelage in learning to handle one.
Over the next few minutes, conversation ceased, but the easy silence felt normal, natural. They stripped and cleaned their respective weapons, multiple law enforcement officers, both current and retired, speaking to Roman in passing.
He knows everyone. And they all seemed to like him. The handshakes, comments, and pats on the back kept interrupting their quiet time, but Brooke didn’t mind.
An older man with a buzz cut stopped at the table where they sat. “Roman Walsh, is that you?”
Roman did a double take and stood, the chair legs scraping the floor. “Ludacris? When did you get back?”
The two men clasped fists and did a manly hug with exaggerated back slaps. Ludacris glanced Brooke’s way, back to Roman. “Two weeks ago. I didn’t think I’d ever make it out, but they finally got sick of me.”
They both chuckled. Roman shook his head. “Never thought I’d see you retire.”
“Never thought I would.” He put his hands on his hips, reminding Brooke of a boot camp instructor. “Hey, I was sorry to hear about Percy.”
Roman’s casual stance stiffened. His attention focused on his gun again. “Yeah, thanks.”
“He was a good man. I never had any trouble with him. But all those tours,”—Ludacris shook his head—“it messes with guys, you know? Then to get hurt on top of that and need those damn pain killers. What a waste.”
Roman stepped back and fiddled with the stock of his gun. “Tell me about it,” he muttered.
His fingers twitched and the utter sadness enveloping him had Brooke jumping to her feet. She stuck out a hand, moving in close to Roman. “Brooke Heaton. Nice to meet you.”
Ludacris gave her a half-smile and they shook. “Ludacris Van Pelt. You a friend of Roman’s?”
He winked at her, emphasis on the word friend.
“We’re working together. He’s teaching me to shoot.”
“Working together, huh? You still with the Domestic Terrorism Taskforce?” he asked Roman.
“Absolutely.” Roman touched Brooke’s back. A subtle thank you, she thought. “Dr. Heaton is consulting for us.”
“Doctor, huh?” Ludacris gave her another look. “Well, you’re working with an awesome team. Take care of my boy, here.”
She smiled sweetly. “You’ll excuse us. We need to get back to the office.”
Ludacris shook Roman’s hand, saying they should get together for lunch some day and catch up. Roman agreed, but Brooke knew he was lying.
“Thanks,” he murmured to her, as they resumed their seats. He started snapping his gun back together.
She gave him an innocent look. “For what?”
He glanced up. “You know what.”
“We all have things we don’t want to talk about. I don’t like to talk about my mom, you don’t want to talk about your brother. I got your back.”
Guns cleaned and in working order again, Roman took her hand and led her out of the range. A day ago, Brooke realized, it would have been awkward and she would have pulled away. Instead, she entwined her fingers with his, her steps buoyant and light as they made their way across the parking lot to his car.
“Is there a bookstore around here?” she asked as Roman helped her into the passenger seat.
He eyed her and gave a shrug. “I suppose I can find one, why?”
“There’s a reference book I need that might help the case. As long as we’re picking up some clothes and shampoo for me, I thought I’d check the bookstore.”
His eyes narrowed as if trying to see through the lie. “A reference book.”
Yep, he definitely wasn’t buying it, but she didn’t care. She gave him a stern look. “The key to successfully solving a case is in the research, Roman.”
And boy, did she need some Julia-type research to handle the hero staring back at her.
The smoldering hero staring back at her.
Brooke swallowed.
“You really think a book is going to help with this?”
God, I hope so. “Absolutely.”
A smug smile spread across Roman’s features as he shut the door and went around to his side of the vehicle. He started the car and turned to her. “I know you’re top notch in the research department, but it’s like learning to handle a gun. You can read how to shoot and watch a dozen YouTube videos, but until you actually get one in your hands and fire it, you’ll never learn how to handle a weapon properly. So while I agree that book knowledge and research is important, Doc, hands-on research is vital as well.”
In some ways, Roman was like a gun. “No worries there. I have every intention of getting my hands dirty with this research subject.”
His brows furrowed again, seemingly in confusion this time. “Are we still talking about self-defense?”
Quite possibly.
At least where my heart is concerned.
Roman rarely enjoyed taking a woman shopping. Brooke, however, attacked it like she did everything else—with speedy efficiency.
She’d made quick work of grabbing a couple shirts, jeans, underwear, some tank tops, and a pair of flip-flops at the local big box chain store. Into the cart went shampoo, body wash, and deodorant. The store had a section of paperbacks and magazines and she wheeled her cart in that direction.
“I’ll just be a minute,” she said, pointing at the sporting goods area. “Why don’t you see if they have any boxing stuff.”
What was she up to? The place sold everything from guns to soccer balls, but their boxing equipment selection was sparse. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
“Why?” She stopped the cart at the end of the aisle and pinned him with a look. “It’s a public place in the middle of the day. I hardly think I’m in danger.”
He needed to train her in evasion and hand-to-hand combat. Soon. “I don’t take chances.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly and she bit her bottom lip, rolling it in as she seemed to be arguing with him in her head.
Yep, she was definitely up to something, but what?
Damn, he wished he could take her back to his place rather than the office. He wanted a taste of that lip himself.
“I’m just going to grab a fashion magazine.” She wheeled the cart around. “Wait here.”
A fashion magazine? She didn’t strike him as the type to get much out of in-depth articles on the latest runway show and hairstyles. “I thought you needed a research book.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She waved him off. “I’ll figure it out.”
He checked his watch as she made her way down the aisle, then pulled out his phone. He had three texts from his team and one from Cooper Harris. That morning before Brooke had gotten up, Roman had spoken to his boss, Quinn Kuprin. Kuprin had upped Brooke’s official Homeland security clearance and had also mentioned pulling in the SCVC Taskforce to lend a hand with The Reverend case.
Normally, Roman didn’t like sharing. Harris’s team was different. Since they’d helped each other out before, he thought it might be a good idea. Harris’s resources weren’t as wide and deep as Roman’s, but more boots on the ground, finding leads and interviewing sources, never hurt.
The text from Harris told him Director Dupé had okayed a cross-team effort on The Reverend’s case. After the latest mass suicide, the FBI and Homeland seemed to be in agreement that the killer deserved a special, temporary cross-taskforce dedicated to taking him down.
With FBI, DEA, Homeland, and NSA all working this case, Roman felt sure The Rev would be behind bars soon.
Especially if Brooke could help them.
He glanced down the aisle, making sure she was still okay and found her deep in the paperback section. She snatched a book from the shelf, tossed it in the cart and hurried back to him.
“Ready,” she said, blowing by him. “You can bring up the car while I pay for my stuff.”
He took the cart from her and started wheeling it toward the cashiers a mile away. “I’ll take care of it.”
“What?” She tried to take the cart back. “No way. It’s my stuff, I’ll buy it.”
Gently but firmly, he pried her fingers off the handle. “Your clothes and briefcase were stolen because you were helping me with this case. I already owed you a pair of shoes. You’re staying here to work with my taskforce instead of flying off to your next job helping the Smithsonian. I’ve got it covered, Brooke.”
She huffed but turned the cart loose. “I don’t feel right about it.”
They walked and he kept an eye out. The Reverend didn’t seem the type to do his dirty work in public, and yet he obviously knew how to use public places, like the mission, to stalk his prey. “Why not?”
“I don’t let…”
She swiped a tube of mascara from an end cap.
“You don’t let what?”
A long-suffering sigh. “I don’t let men buy my clothes. Or my deodorant. It’s…weird.”
He took the makeup from her hands and tossed it in the cart. There were many things he suddenly wanted to buy her. None of which were ordinary supplies like flip-flops and shampoo. “This is business.”
As they got in line at the checkout, she picked up a magazine and the paperback from the cart. “Well, these are for pleasure, so I’m buying them.”
Pleasure. The things that word and Brooke stirred up when combined.
He tried to let her go first, but she insisted on paying for her stuff after him. He waited patiently, and since she seemed to want privacy, he pretended to be busy texting as she paid.
“Oh my god,” the checkout girl said, holding up the paperback. “Operation Sheba. I love this story! The Great Conrad Flynn.” She snickered like there was an inside joke. “Con and Julia make such a cool couple. I won’t say anything else so I don’t spoil it for you.”
She winked at Brooke and the good doctor looked like she might melt through the floor. Cheeks flaming bright, she snatched the book from the cashier’s hand and shoved it in her purse, ignoring the magazine she’d been covering the book with. “Keep the change.”
Outside, the summer sun beat on the asphalt parking lot. Roman pressed his lips together to keep from saying anything, but Brooke caught the grin he was trying to suppress anyway.
“Not one word,” she threatened.
He didn’t know whether to be jealous of the fictional hero or flattered that she needed her Flynn fix after spending time with him. “Research, huh?”
“He’s good with a gun. I thought I might pick up some tips to impress you.”
Roman laughed and it felt good. “You’ve already impressed the hell out of me, Doc.”
They were at the car. Brooke faced him as he hit his key fob and unlocked the doors. “I have?”
A mother with twin girls passed by. An aging couple was across from them, the man helping his wife from the car. Roman touched Brooke’s face, tugging a piece of hair off her cheek. “You have.”
She went up on her toes and kissed him, a light, quick kiss on his lips. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For everything.”
He pressed her back against his Jeep, sliding his hand into her hair. Her pulse throbbed at the base of her throat. “I’m the one who should be thanking you.”
“I think you’ve already done quite enough to show me your appreciation.”
He nipped her bottom lip, like he’d been dying to since they were inside. “I’m just getting started, sweetheart.”
Her hands went to his back and she started to pull him in for one of those soul-sucking scorchers. It was wrong, kissing her. Exposing her in the parking lot. Crossing lines he should never cross.
But he did it anyway, shielding her from any prying eyes and letting her kiss him the way she wanted to. It started off soft, expectant, and then she parted her lips and slipped her tongue across his.
He gave her a solid kissing back, making sure she understood that this was no game to him. This was a contract. If she continued to cross that professional line with him, she was going to get everything and more.
A minute later, his phone dinged with an incoming text that brought him back to reality. He was breathing hard and so was Brooke, her lips swollen, eyes at half-mast, and her hair a mess from his fingers.
Gently, he hustled her into the passenger seat, threw the bags in the back. The elderly couple across the way were staring at him. The man gave him a thumbs up before the two teetered off toward the store.
What was wrong with him, taking chances like this?
She made him forget everything—his training, his paranoia, his professionalism. If he wasn’t careful…
He got in and sat for a second, taking a deep breath to clear his head. Her fingers brushed his jawline and he looked over to find her smiling at him.
“I know I’m being completely unprofessional,” she said, “and if that makes you uncomfortable, I apologize. I don’t know what comes over me when I’m alone with you. It’s like…nothing I’ve ever experienced, but if you want me to stop—”
He shut her up and answered her question by kissing her again. His hand took the back of her neck, drawing her closer and holding her as he completely worked over her mouth.
She moaned and nearly crawled over the stick shift into his lap.
He almost let her.
But then his phone rang this time with a call, not a text, blaring in the tight confines of the vehicle and making both of them jump.
Brooke sat back, once more breathing like she’d run a mile. “You should probably get that.”
Probably.
He leaned forward and kissed her again, this time soft and quick. “I should.”
But he didn’t, instead he just stared into her eyes.
“You’re an amazing kisser,” she said, her gaze dropping to his lips.
She wasn’t bad herself. He wondered if she’d learned to do that from a book, but no. Becoming a good kisser required practice, not research. “Just so you know, normally, I never mix business with pleasure.”
“Me either.” She grinned, looking like the Cheshire Cat. “But I have to admit that in this case? My personal code of ethics may need an amendment.”
God, he loved this woman. He’d worshipped her from afar for so long, building all kinds of fantasies about her. In the flesh, she was even better than he’d anticipated. Smarter. Funnier. So damned sexy. “I’m just throwing my code completely out.”
She laughed. “Well, okay then. I like your style.”
“I like yours too.”
Another bubble of laugher, this one full of deviousness. She hit the door locks, climbed over the gearshift, and started kissing him again.