Nichole Severn - Rules In Rescue

“We’re here,” he said.

She caught sight of four cameras mounted to the ceiling, all with small red lights beneath the lenses. That, coupled with the Batcave entrance, gave her an idea of where they’d ended up.

Blackhawk Security. His new employer.

Anthony shouldered his way out of the vehicle and rounded back to open her door for her, weapon in hand. Always the gentleman, always prepared for the worst.

“I’ve got to say, I never imagined you working in the private sector.” He certainly hadn’t been willing to change careers when they’d been a couple.

She slid out of the SUV, but fell into him when another round of pain shot across her shoulder. With one hand on his chest to keep from face-planting on the cement, she tried to ignore the seductive heat snaking through her. Being shot at, taking a bullet—that she could handle. It’d been part of her job since the day she’d been promoted to special agent within CID. But being this close to him, his clean, masculine scent resurrecting countless nights spent wrapped in each other’s arms... Glennon added another foot of space between them.

No. Despite her need for Anthony’s help, that was as far as it’d go between them. Nothing more. She pulled away. Her voice wavered as she forced her gaze from his. Or was it from the blood loss? “What finally made you decide to leave the wars behind?”

“We need to take a look at that wound.” He slammed the door closed behind her and headed for the single elevator on the north side of the parking garage. Studying their surroundings, he adjusted his vest. Ready for anything.

A rush of warmth crawled into her neck and face as she kept on his heels. The elevator doors closed behind them, her stomach dropping as they ascended to the top floor. Whether it was from the change in elevation or being caged in a small container with the one man she thought she’d never see again, she didn’t know. Didn’t matter. She had a job to do and the bullet tearing through her left shoulder should’ve kept reminding her of that.

With a muted ding, the elevator doors parted and they stepped onto a darkened floor. It was after hours. Most Blackhawk Security personnel had obviously gone home for the day, but Anthony led her to a single lit room at the end of the hall.

A breathtaking view of the Chugach Mountain range took up the entire east side of the floor, and her insides ached. This had been her home for most of her life. She’d loved it. The wildlife, the snow, the sunsets and beautiful lakes. Leaving this city—she glanced at Anthony—leaving him had been one of the hardest decisions she’d ever made. Even if it had been the only option at the time.

“I’ve already called in the rest of the team.” Anthony diverted her to a hallway to his left, bypassing an occupied conference room, and motioned her inside the first door. “But I’m going to check out that wound first.”

“Like I said back at the scene, I’m fine.” She’d taken a bullet before. And lived. But he didn’t need to know the details of that particular investigation. “I came to you to keep me alive, and so far, you’ve done a bang-up job. Now, let me do mine.”

She made her way back to their original route and swung the floor-to-ceiling oak door open with her uninjured arm. The large conference room was dominated by men and women she assumed made up the founding core of Blackhawk Security. One stood immediately, striding toward her with his hand extended. He was muscular, although not quite as big as Anthony. Dark hair and a five-o’clock shadow were eclipsed by his sharp sea-blue eyes. “Sullivan Bishop, CEO of Blackhawk Security. You must be Ms. Chase. We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Sergeant Chase.” Probably nothing good, considering how things had ended between her and Anthony. She wrapped her blood-free hand around Sullivan’s calloused grip. “But as much as I love the chitchat, I don’t have a lot time. My partner is missing and the longer I’m here, the less likely I’ll find him alive. So I need Anthony to help in the recovery. I’ll pay whatever fee you set. There’s just one condition—you can’t involve the authorities or the army.”

“All right. Then let’s get to the point, Sergeant.” Sullivan threw Anthony an amused smile before dropping her hand and folding his arms across his chest. His stance screamed military—wide legs, impossible to push over if she tried. A SEAL, if she had to guess. She could tell by the haircut. “Who put that bullet in your shoulder and why?”

Anthony threaded his fingers around her uninjured arm, hiking her into his side. “She needs to get this wound checked before we get into this.”

Hadn’t they already covered this?

“I have no idea.” Stinging pain worked through her as she wrenched out of his hold to take a seat. As much as she appreciated his concern, they didn’t have time for this. Flashes of the night’s events were fresh in her mind and she needed to remember every detail. Talking it through was the only way to do that. The shooter could be anywhere by now.

Collapsing back into one of the leather chairs, she exhaled hard, checking her wound. No major damage. She’d live, but she’d need a good cleaning, and stitches front and back. “But I’m positive it has to do with my partner’s disappearance. I tracked Sergeant Spencer’s phone GPS to that location. Obviously someone doesn’t want me following in his footsteps.”

Anthony took a seat two chairs down, her awareness of him at an all-time high.

“Could it have been your partner who pulled that trigger?” Another member of the team leaned forward in his chair, fingers laced on the dark reflective wood. His expression seemed to light up at the idea.

She’d done research on the people in this room before dialing Anthony’s number. Sullivan Bishop: CEO. Elizabeth Dawson: network security. Kate Monroe: profiler. Vincent Kalani: forensics. She’d had to know what kind of support—if any—she’d have access to during her off-the-books investigation. But something about Elliot Dunham, Blackhawk Security’s con-artist-turned-private-investigator, made her hope the firm had a whole lot of hazard insurance to keep him on their payroll. “It’s not him. I know Bennett. He’d never take a shot at me.”

“It’s amazing what some people will do to keep their secrets safe.” Elliot smiled. “And going to the police is a bad idea because...?”

All eyes landed on her, a physical pressure holding Glennon in her chair. “The fewer people involved, the better.”

She had her own secrets. Granted they wouldn’t stay buried forever, but she wasn’t about to reveal them right here, right now. And not to these people. She glanced toward her ex-fiancé, every muscle in her body strung tight. A rush of dizziness crashed through her and she checked her stained shirt. Too much blood loss. Damn it. Maybe she should’ve listened to him after all. She couldn’t go on like this much longer.

Gripping the table hard, Glennon tried to breathe through the darkness closing around the edges of her vision. “On second thought, I think I’ll take you up on that patch job now.”

Memories could only get a man so far.

Having Glennon here, his hands on her skin, resurrected those irrational feelings he thought he’d buried a long time ago. He wiped the excess blood from her wound, doing everything in his power not to crowd her as he worked. That was the thing about Glennon. She urged him to get closer, pulling him in with her scent, the brightness in her gaze and her smile. But she’d made herself perfectly clear when she’d tugged her arm out of his hold in the conference room. Calling him tonight had been strictly business.