Soldier For Hire

“I’m smiling because he’s good,” Scarlett admitted with a rueful chuckle. “If he’d wanted to hurt me, I wouldn’t be here suffering a useless ambulance ride to the hospital. He knows protocol will demand tests to ensure I’m okay. The tests will show a minor concussion and I’ll be pulled off the case for a few days, giving him time to get that much farther away. Like I said, brilliant.”

Zak grinned, too. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” He gestured to Scarlett’s bandaged head. “I bet that hurt like a son of a bitch.”

“It didn’t tickle,” Scarlett retorted, wincing as a wave of pain almost made her nauseous.

“You need to try and relax,” the EMT warned, but Scarlett just rolled her eyes. She’d had worse than a bump on the head.

To the EMT, she assured him, “I’m fine. This is just protocol. I’ll be out in a few hours.”

The EMT disagreed. “You took a pretty hard knock.”

“I got this,” Scarlett said, waving away the EMT’s concern to the man’s disgust. She didn’t care about hurt feelings. Returning to Zak, she said, “Xander knew just where to crack me in the head to get the job done without knocking my lights out permanently.”

“Talent. Did he say anything to you before taking you out?” Zak asked.

“Yeah.”

“What’d he say?”

“That he’s innocent.”

Zak frowned, shaking his head. “Do you believe him?”

“Not my job to believe him,” Scarlett answered, closing her eyes again when the vertigo became unbearable. “Just my job to bring him in. The attorneys can sort the rest.”

“Yeah, but you gotta admit this whole case stinks of rotten eggs. I mean, Xander’s an asshole, sure, but we both know he’s not the kind of guy to kill innocent civilians. Maybe he’s right... Maybe someone is framing him.”

“Well, we’re not PIs, Ramsey,” Scarlett retorted, if only to remind herself as well. Something was tugging at her brain, aside from the constant and excruciating thud of her heartbeat inside her head, and she didn’t like it.

Smart criminals had a way of getting inside people’s heads—and Xander was smarter than most. Hell, he had a ridiculous IQ, not that anyone would know by his baffling penchant for reality television. The man could binge-watch episodes of The Bachelor for hours on end when the same programming would make Scarlett put a gun in her mouth if she had to suffer more than ten minutes of the crap.

Xander also had the worst eating habits she’d ever seen of a former army ranger. Xander treated his body like a dumpster rather than a temple and yet somehow, he still managed to beat her PT times.

And it had nothing to do with muscle mass or any of that shit. Somehow, Xander had figured out how to convert processed sugars and carbs into high-octane fuel for his body when the same diet would’ve sent normal people into diabetic comas.

“Where’s the rest of the team?” she asked.

“I sent them back to the hotel to await further instructions.”

Red Wolf Elite was based out of McClean, Virginia, which was a veritable hotbed of special forces, FBI and military personnel, so when Xander’s trail hadn’t left the state, she’d been surprised. Not that he would stick around now that the welcome wagon had almost managed to catch him. It would take a few days of R&R before she could be cleared for the field again, but she wasn’t about to send the team home, not when they’d come so close to catching him.

As much as she hated to entertain the bent of her thoughts, questions that’d sprung up the minute his file had crossed her desk, rose with sharper clarity.

Xander had been right about one thing—there were details in this case that made no sense.

But then when did terrorists ever make sense?

Was she willing to believe that Xander Scott, a highly decorated former army ranger, was capable of killing innocent people to get to one politician?

A politician who Xander claimed he didn’t know shit about until Red Wolf had been hired as security detail for the rally?

Xander had been the first to scoff at the detail, saying they weren’t babysitters.

True, they were a highly skilled, elite force of former military badasses working for a private military company.

PMCs were making big money right now with the US government hiring out details in the Middle East instead of sending troops to deal with any problems left in the wake of military conflicts.

The money was good, and it gave retired soldiers a place to feel useful when civilian life wasn’t in the cards for them.

So yeah, when the detail came across her desk, she’d rolled her eyes in private but she wasn’t the one signing checks so she went where she was told.

Except Xander had voiced what they’d all felt.

Playing security guard to a pampered, doughy, left-wing senator trying to get the conservative vote for his re-election campaign was definitely below their pay grade, but Scarlett packed up her team and they went as ordered.

Now she wished she’d conveniently discovered a schedule conflict for that detail.

You’re better than this, Rhodes...

Xander’s voice urged her to dig deeper, to look beyond the flash bomb creating the sound and smoke to find who’d actually thrown the thing in the first place...and why.

Damn you, Xander.

Chapter 2 (#uacb5bfd1-8f56-5df2-bcbf-8a8117fb8080)

The thing about knocking boots with someone you aren’t supposed to see naked—say, your boss—the sex was damn electric.

So electric that it haunted your dreams and left you with a need so aching you’d do anything to make it stop.

Yeah, so that happened on the regular.

It wasn’t so bad when he’d been home, in his own bed. But now, on the run, sleeping in a rattrap motel, on sheets that smelled of bad choices and infrequent washings, an erection was damn inconvenient.

He wasn’t much in the mood for lovin’.

He closed his eyes but Scarlett was there.

Naked Scarlett.

That night had been epic—whether that fell in the good or bad column, he still wasn’t sure—but damn, it sure left behind a scorch mark.

Basically, they’d been celebrating a successful completion to a complicated detail and they’d all headed down to the local pub to blow off some steam. Usually, Scarlett broke off from the team when it came to slugging back shots—said it looked bad for the TL to get sloppy with the team—but that night, she’d agreed to have a beer with them.

Maybe she hadn’t liked the idea of celebrating alone, or maybe it’d been something more personal, but when she’d said yes, Xander had been just as surprised as everyone else.

As it turned out, their TL could hold her liquor pretty damn well and that led to a friendly competition—which then turned into a liver-destroying expedition.

Ahh, tequila, why are you such a harsh bitch?