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If only it was that easy to put the whole thing out of her mind.
Alex’s eyes were soft, her words careful. “Is that what Brock thinks, too? That making love didn’t mean anything? That you should try to pretend it didn’t happen?”
Je
“We agreed up front that there would be no strings, that it wasn’t going to go anywhere between us,” she heard herself murmur as she broke from Alex’s gaze and pivoted to clear more dishes. She didn’t want to think about how good it felt to be in Brock’s arms, or the startling hungers he stirred within her. “It was just sex, Alex, and a onetime thing at that. I mean, it’s not like I don’t have bigger things to worry about, right? I’m not about to make everything worse by getting involved with him—physically or otherwise.”
It sounded like a smart and reasonable argument, though whether she was trying to convince her friend or herself, she wasn’t totally certain.
Alex drifted out of the kitchen behind her. “I think you already care about him, Jen. I think Brock has come to mean something to you, and it’s got you terrified.”
Je
“Would it be so bad if you did?”
“Yes,” she replied, emphatic. “My life is uncertain enough as it is. How foolish would I be if I let myself fall for him?”
Alex’s smile was subtly compassionate. “I think there are worse things you could do. Brock’s a good man.”
Je
Alex’s brows arched. “You bit him?”
Too late to take back her careless blurt, Je
“Oh,” Alex replied slowly, studying her now. “And how did that feel to you, biting him?”
Je
“Have you talked to him since then?”
“No, and I hope I don’t have to. As I said, it’s probably best that he and I both forget the whole thing.”
But even as she said it, she couldn’t help thinking back to the moment she’d realized he’d returned to the room after she’d showered and gone to bed. She couldn’t help remembering how desperate she’d been to hear him speak to her—to say anything—in those quiet couple of minutes that he watched her in the dark, assuming she’d been asleep and didn’t know he was there.
And now, after trying to convince herself and Alex, too, that she was in control of the situation with Brock, the memory of their passion put an undeniable quickness in her veins.
“It was a mistake,” she murmured. “I’m not going to make it worse by imagining it was anything more than that. All I can do is make a point of not repeating it.”
She sounded so sure of herself, she thought for certain Alex would believe her. But when she glanced over at her friend—her best friend, who’d stood beside her through all of her life’s triumphs and tragedies—Alex’s eyes were gentle with understanding.
“Come on, Jen. Let’s finish up these dishes, then we’ll go see how Dylan and the others are making out on their investigations.”
“We’ve been sitting here for twenty-five minutes, my man. I don’t think your guy is go
Chase stared out at the vacant, snow-covered lot in Dorchester, where their rendezvous with one of his former Enforcement Agency contacts was supposed to have taken place. “Something must have come up. Mathias Rowan is a good man. He never leaves me hanging out to dry. Let’s give him another few minutes.”
Brock exhaled an impatient grunt and turned up the SUV’s heat. He hadn’t been excited about partnering with Chase on the night’s patrol, but he was even less excited that their work in the city included the prospect of meeting up with a member of the Breed nation’s de facto law enforcement organization. The Agency and the Order had a long-held, mutual distrust of each other, both sides in disagreement about the way crime and punishment should work among the Breed.
If the Enforcement Agency had been effective at one time, Brock personally couldn’t vouch for it. The organization had long ago become more political than anything else, generally favoring ass-kissing and lip service as a means of handling problems—two things that happened to be missing from the Order’s playbook.
“Man, I hate winter,” Brock muttered as the flurry of new-falling snow began to come down in earnest. A gust of icy wind buffeted the side of the vehicle, howling like a banshee across the empty lot.
Truth be told, a lot of his foul mood had to do with the way he’d screwed things up with Je
“Your man Rowan better not be dicking us around,” he grumbled. “I don’t sit in the damn cold freezing my ass off for just anybody—least of all a self-righteous Agency blowhard.”
Chase slid him a meaningful look. “Whether you care to believe it or not, there are a few good individuals in the Enforcement Agency. Mathias Rowan is one of them. He’s been my eyes and ears on the inside for months now. If we want a fighting chance at routing out Dragos’s possible allies in the Agency, we need Rowan on our side.”
Brock gave a grim nod and settled back to continue their wait. Chase was probably right about his old ally. Few in the Enforcement Agency would want to admit there were cracks in their foundation—cracks that had permitted a cancer like Dragos to operate inside the Agency in secret for decades. Dragos had hidden behind an assumed name, accumulating power and intel, recruiting an untold number of like-minded followers willing to kill for him—to die for him, if duty demanded it. Dragos had climbed as high as the director level in the Agency before the Order had unmasked him several months ago and driven him to ground.
Although Dragos was gone from the Agency, the Order was certain he hadn’t severed all of his ties. There would be those who still agreed with his dangerous plans. Those who were still allied with him in silent conspiracy, hiding within layer upon layer of bureaucratic bullshit that prevented Brock and the other warriors from going in with guns blazing to flush them out.
One of Chase’s main objectives in the months since Dragos turned tail and ran was to start peeling back those layers in the Agency. To get closer to Dragos, the Order would need to get close to his lieutenants without tripping any alarms. One careless move could drive Dragos even deeper into hiding.
The operation was covert in the extreme, made all the more delicate seeing how the Order’s best hope of success lay in the hair-trigger, volatile hands of Sterling Chase and his trust in an old friend who was only as loyal as Chase promised him to be.
On the passenger-side dashboard, Chase’s cell phone began to vibrate. “That’ll be Rowan,” he said, grabbing the phone and answering the call. “Yeah. We’re waiting. Where are you?”