CHAPTER SEVEN
Deacon hadn't managed to catch any sleep before the briefing. He was exhausted. He'd been awake all night, and he'd pushed himself through his morning run. And then meeting with Levi had taken more of a toll than he'd thought it would, speaking aloud what had happened to him when he'd been buried alive.
By the time he'd lain down on his bed to catch a quick half hour of sleep, his mind had been spinning with an odd combination of memories he'd rather forget and those of a temperamental redhead whose lips tasted like sugar and sex. He'd finally given up on sleep completely and headed down to the briefing room.
For two years he'd avoided tangling himself with Tess. For good reason. She fascinated him on a level he knew was dangerous for both of them. Dead men didn't have personal connections. They didn't have family or lovers or friends. They did the job until their time was up. If they lived to see their last day. The risk of loving someone was too great. If he was captured or killed, then so would she be. He had enough deaths on his conscience without adding any more.
But he was drawn to Tess like a moth to a flame. He found himself lingering in the house when she was around, just to talk with her, and he'd made it a point to help out as much as possible, just on the chance that he could look at her.
She was unlike any woman he'd ever known. She was smart and funny and kind-too kind if you asked him-but there was a sadness at the core of her he wanted to understand. She'd gotten the raw end of the deal when they'd come to Last Stop, and everybody knew it. But she'd kept that stubborn chin pointed high, and she'd done the work without the reward of having the funeral home to call her own.
She may not have been beautiful in a conventional way-her hair was unruly, and freckles covered the bridge of her nose and cheeks-but she smelled of lemons, and she had the clearest green eyes he'd ever seen. He was halfway in love with her, and the only thing holding him back was fear for her safety. Otherwise he would've said to hell with rules and contracts. She bewitched him.
And late at night, when his mind and body were relaxed, those eyes would haunt him in his dreams. He'd wake up with the sheets twisted around him and his heart hammering in his chest, the scent of her wrapped around him and his body throbbing with need.
He'd made a mistake in going to rescue her from Levi earlier that morning. He should've sent one of the others, but there'd been no time for him to hunt someone down. Levi could've killed her before any of the others would have gotten to her. As it was, it had been nothing but luck that Levi had only grabbed her wrist and not her neck. Seeing her in danger had pushed Deacon over the invisible line he'd drawn for himself. It had been too close of a call, and he hadn't been able to stop himself from kissing her. He'd wanted to do a lot more than that.
When Tess had looked up at him, both fear and irritation in her gaze, he'd been struck dumb. She was no shrinking violet, that was for sure. And the daggers that shot from her eyes when he'd made the first smart-ass comment had him going hard as a rock. He'd always gotten a perverse sense of satisfaction from seeing a woman in full temper. And Tess's full temper was a sight to behold.
Technically, personal relationships were only frowned upon, not forbidden for Gravediggers. But the penalty was so severe it wasn't worth testing the waters. Physical releases were easy enough to come by. There was always an available woman, though since he'd set his sights on Tess no other woman had come close to holding his interest.
The worst thing he could do was let anyone know he had a weakness, especially Eve. It was her job to look for those weaknesses. Whether hungry, thirsty, or wounded, it was best to keep it to oneself. And emotional attachments were especially important to keep silent about. In his line of work, weakness was synonymous with unnecessary. Meaning those who were weak didn't deserve to live.
And Tess was fast becoming a weakness.
Deacon sat at the head of the large conference table, turning slightly so he could watch the surveillance cameras at his back while pretending to read a report. He was preoccupied, and he was vaguely distracted by the good-humored banter from the others at the table. They were all low on sleep and running on exhaustion, but they found their entertainment wherever they could.
They were well secured and protected behind the reinforced steel doors and within the underground rooms. Each of them had their own personal code, plus a fingerprint analysis. They'd installed cameras, not only all over the property, but in strategic locations around town, so they could always see if trouble was coming. And if they got in real trouble, there was the escape tunnel Deacon made it a point of running through every morning. It led all the way to the lake and the private property they owned. It was easy enough to fly in some of their larger supplies and equipment and then haul it underground to the compound. The tunnel was big enough for a full-size vehicle to drive through, though they used four-wheelers that could carry high-capacity loads.