Mastered By The Mavericks(17)

Brynn spun, looking ready to challenge him to some hand-to-hand now. "You mean I'll bog him down."

He let her come, his feet planted and his jaw squared. The little brat  didn't know it, but this was a huge fucking favor. An excuse to match  her piss and vinegar? Oh, bring it on. "Let's get something clear,  sweetheart. I don't say what I don't mean, and I don't expect to be  questioned about it at every turn. Reb's going to bell this cat faster  if he's on his own, instead of over-the-shouldering about us the whole  time." He jabbed a finger back toward the house. "We can both be bigger  assets to him from that office, feeding him information like traffic  patterns and police chatter, than waiting for him in some field with our  thumbs up our arses and our hearts in our throats."

Wait.

What the hell?

Our hearts in our-

Christ.

What the fuck's going on now, asshole?

That shit violated every last code between Rebel and him. It didn't  matter that they were unwritten, unspoken codes; they just were.  Chatting up garbage like their "hearts" was no-man's land-forbidden  territory, no matter what tenor the conversation took. Just because the  team mix was different didn't mean the rules could change. At least they  weren't supposed to.

But they had.

Because Rebel had let them.

Exchanged things with this woman up in that plane. Things like bodily fluids.

So yeah, the rules were changing. He just wished to hell he knew which ones, and how much.

Time to wing it, mate.

"Look." He met her gaze as he launched back in. "You belong on this op,  Brynn. It was why I stood up to that wanker for you last night." A tick  of his head indicated Rebel as the subject of the wanker reference.  "You're going to get to do your part. You will help us find Zoe. But  only if you're alive for it. For that to happen, Rebel and I call all  the shots right now."

She pursed her lips. Really wasn't necessary. The hot spice of her eyes  conveyed her frustration clearly enough. "So … what? Just sit down, shut  up, and take orders?"

"In less than ten words?" he rejoined. "Yes."

"In less than five words, Sergeant, fuck you."

Karma was going to find some grand retribution for his reaction to  that-but at least he managed to rein in his grin before it broke all the  way free. How could he be blamed when she was so damn enticing,  snitting at him like a tomboy denied a spot in the dodgeball game, but  stopping directly between Reb and him, hands coiled as regally as a  princess?

When she stamped a boot down-holy shit, stamped her foot-he made karma  no more promises on his composure. He was saved by glancing over at Reb,  and catching the same struggle on his face.

Well … shit, part fucking two. He didn't even want to think about being on  the same page with Moonstormer again. Man-slut Stafford didn't get to  flash his damn charm and bounce off the shame hook so easily this time.  But that wasn't getting addressed anytime soon. Put it in the box-but  keep it on top.

At least focusing on that task cleared the way for a shot of calm.  "Peach-" Which apparently, didn't cover his verbal filter. The word  begged to be let out whenever he looked at her, the color defining so  much of her beauty. "We all do things we don't want to do, for the sake  of the-"

She cut him off with a splayed hand to his breastbone. "For the sake of  the mission?" she shot. "You're seriously going there? Let me save you  the effort, Sergeant. I've heard that one before, in much more creative  ways."

The calm was nice while it lasted. No way was it holding up to the  confusion she'd just brought down in an avalanche. Out of pure instinct,  he looked to Reb again. Once more, the guy's face mirrored his  thoughts. Step carefully. Somehow, they'd pinged a sensitive  nerve-demonstrated to the hilt by her sudden shove back, finished by a  bitter laugh.

"Yep. Heard them," she rasped. "Even liked them. Still do. That's my  damn problem, isn't it? Let's see …  ‘Embrace the suck'. That's a good  one. Or how about ‘bite the bullet'? I also enjoy ‘watch my smoke',  ‘diehards get it done', ‘bounce the rubble', ‘push the hard deck' … "                       
       
           



       

"Damn," Reb uttered.

"Ditto." Rhett wasn't sure how to punctuate it, aside from a bewildered  stare. Obviously, Dan Colton wasn't the first man who'd had to take off  his gun belt before climbing into bed with her-though considering her in  bed with some cocky-ass soldier boy was like biting a brick of gravel.  It was hard enough to contemplate her getting horizontal with Reb in the  plane. No. Scratch that. It was fucking impossible.

He chose to focus on the woman herself, despite how her backlash morphed  from bitter to openly hostile. "I could regale you with more-but you  know what? None of them matter or apply. I'm not going to ‘sacrifice for  the mission', because to me, this isn't a mission. This is my best  friend's life. I'm not going to sit back and just wait to ‘hit my mark'  when one of you tells me to. I have ideas to contribute, too."

Oh, yeah. A sensitive nerve. Probably more than one.

But which ones?

He was on unfamiliar ground. And as much as it sucked to admit it, was open to offers of help-

Even if it meant asking Rebel for it.

But by the time he looked back to his friend, Reb had already picked up  the torch. At Brynn's side again, he wrapped a hand around her waist,  pulling her in with the surety that spoke an undeniable truth. He'd  already done it before. Sure enough, Brynn's body acquiesced like butter  over a flame, softening against him-though her face conveyed a  different story. She wasn't happy about the biological betrayal. At all.

Rhett's jaw constricted. Feeling your pain, little peach. More than you know.

"Your ideas are important, cher." Reb's voice was firm but intimate,  another facet Rhett had never expected to surface beyond dungeon walls.  "And we'll listen to every one of them-when the time is right. That time  is going to be when we have more intel to work from."

More conflict sprinted across her features. Her spine stiffened. "So I really am supposed to sit down and shut up?"

Rebel let her push away, earning him massive points in Rhett's book.  Rage was like diamonds on Brynna Monet. She was five times more gorgeous  for it.

"You're supposed to stay calm and trust this process, Brynna," Reb  ordered. "You're supposed to trust us." He tilted his head, as if seeing  into her own. "Last night, you dared me to trust you, that you could  handle the pressure if shit went sideways out here. Well, you earned  that trust-but now the scales have to balance back. If you can't tell us  that your conviction is a hundred percent behind us, speak the hell up  now. Double-Oh can get right back on the hot line, and Sam can be back  in Austin with your ride home. Seeing as how I'm headed back toward town  tonight, anyway … "

Her mouth dropped. Definitely a good thing/bad thing. While Rhett forgot  about wanting to pummel Reb's chest like a victory drum, his  distraction was delivered by the perfect O of Brynna's lips-causing  other parts of his body to beat with twice the fury.

"You wouldn't dare." Her indignation only made everything worse. So  fucking gorgeous. She was the kind of woman who immortalized redheads,  Helen of Troy mixed with Ann Margret, sprinkled with enough Agent Scully  and Emma Stone to ensure he forgot all about his longtime fealty to  Scarlett Johansson. This was even worse, because his mental boner for  her was as mighty as the one between his legs. No wonder Rebel had  jumped her during the plane ride-underlining the steel in the guy's  fortitude now.

"We would and we will." Reb scooped his stare from her to Rhett then  back again, building his conviction by the second. "Unless we have your  assurance that we call the shots-for now."

She shifted from foot to foot. Drummed her fingers on her thighs.  Finally slanted her head at him, full of taut wariness. "For now?" When  Reb returned a smooth nod, she snapped, "What the hell does that even  mean? What are the parameters on that? ‘For now' isn't a clear-"

Rebel ripped her short by sweeping a hand beneath her chin. Gripped it so hard, she winced for a second.

"Trust, Miss Monet." He held fast as she tried to jerk away. "It's your  choice. Balance the scale now, or pick up your bag, walk out the door,  and wait for me in the car."

Her nostrils flared. Her lips parted, exposing gritted teeth. After a  grueling trio of those harsh breaths, she raised a hand, gripped his  wrist, and thrust it away. "Fine," she seethed. "We do everything your  way-for now."

For the first time, Reb's composure developed a crack. His breaths were  far from serene as he pulled his hand to his side, fisting it. His stare  narrowed as he charged tightly, "Because you trust us?"