Church try and cover that up.
While they tried, she’d have him in interrogation.
A growl hard on her heels warned her it wouldn’t be easy. She didn’t think it would. As a hand closed on the back of her neck, Parker stopped abruptly—too fast, no warning—and slammed her elbow into his gut.
He took the hit. Took it as if her elbow was made of feathers and foam. Stepped into it, into her, slamming her sideways into the hallway wall. Shelves in her living room clattered. His free hand curled into her blouse front, shoved her hard against the wallpaper.
The back of her skull bounced off his palm.
His eyes gleamed, mere inches from her face. His features, already angled, were drawn taut, skin flushed. Mouth set.
She’d surprised him.
Good.
She shifted; he let go of her head to grab the wrist with the gun, pinning it to the wall above her head. “Stop it,” he ordered.
Like she would. “Breaking and entering, Mr. Wells,” she panted, too aware of his greater strength over hers. Of his leg shoved hard between hers, his hip pinning her tightly.
His rain-saturated clothing slowly soaked through her blouse. Warm and suddenly too intimate for the setting.
“The least of your concerns,” he growled back, jerking the damp strands from his forehead with a hard shake. Raw impatience. “Listen to me, you need to get out of here.”
“I’m not leaving my home on your say-so.”
His teeth flashed in a hard smile. “You’re a smart woman. You know I wouldn’t risk my neck if it weren’t important.”
She knew no such thing. Far as Parker could tell, Simon Wells was a certifiable lunatic.
But still, she hesitated.
“You’re important enough to kill,” he said quietly, slowly relaxing his grip in her collar. His fingers grazed her throat. Her collarbones. Smoothed over the sensitive curve where her shoulder met her neck. “Which makes you important enough to keep alive. Come with me, Parker.”
“Director,” she corrected coolly, even as her skin heated from the rasp of his callused fingertips. From the damp heat of his body against hers.
“Fine, if it’ll get you out of here.”
She shook her head. “I don’t trust you.”
Again, that edged smile. A flicker of approval. But before he could say anything, it vanished as his gaze snapped to the living room beyond the hall. His features settled into hard, dangerous lines. “Shit.”
“What?”
“Quiet.”
The intensity of the order drilled through her outrage.
Her pulse kicked hard.
His mouth thinned. Anger, she read that much. Concern? “Listen to me,” he whispered. “There are three men circling this complex.”
“What?” Her voice slid up an octave.
“You know how you aren’t a field agent?” He turned, slid his hand against the back of her now clammy blouse and snagged her wrist with the other hand. Almost as if they were dancing. Only she couldn’t pull away. “I am, and I’m talking to you as an agent. Move your ass, Director.”
Was he telling the truth? Aside from the continual rumble of summer thunder and pattering rain, she couldn’t hear anything but her own heartbeat. And his.
The holster carrying his gun—illegally worn, now that she’d suspended him—bumped her elbow as he leveraged her past her office. “Clearly, the strain is getting to you,” she said evenly.
He didn’t rise to the bait. “You have no idea. Is there a fire escape out your window?”
“Yes, but—”
“Good.” His footsteps didn’t so much as rasp on the colorful runner protecting the hall’s hardwood flooring. Hers dragged.
Parker dug her heels in. His grip on her wrist twisted; she winced. “This is absurd. You need help. Whatever GeneCorp did to you, Simon—”
His face shuttered. The light flickered behind them.
“Time’s up.”
With a low, wheezing drone, the electricity guttered to dead silence.
Thick black night corralled them in utter darkness.
T his was his fault.
Simon followed Parker’s gaze as she
While they tried, she’d have him in interrogation.
A growl hard on her heels warned her it wouldn’t be easy. She didn’t think it would. As a hand closed on the back of her neck, Parker stopped abruptly—too fast, no warning—and slammed her elbow into his gut.
He took the hit. Took it as if her elbow was made of feathers and foam. Stepped into it, into her, slamming her sideways into the hallway wall. Shelves in her living room clattered. His free hand curled into her blouse front, shoved her hard against the wallpaper.
The back of her skull bounced off his palm.
His eyes gleamed, mere inches from her face. His features, already angled, were drawn taut, skin flushed. Mouth set.
She’d surprised him.
Good.
She shifted; he let go of her head to grab the wrist with the gun, pinning it to the wall above her head. “Stop it,” he ordered.
Like she would. “Breaking and entering, Mr. Wells,” she panted, too aware of his greater strength over hers. Of his leg shoved hard between hers, his hip pinning her tightly.
His rain-saturated clothing slowly soaked through her blouse. Warm and suddenly too intimate for the setting.
“The least of your concerns,” he growled back, jerking the damp strands from his forehead with a hard shake. Raw impatience. “Listen to me, you need to get out of here.”
“I’m not leaving my home on your say-so.”
His teeth flashed in a hard smile. “You’re a smart woman. You know I wouldn’t risk my neck if it weren’t important.”
She knew no such thing. Far as Parker could tell, Simon Wells was a certifiable lunatic.
But still, she hesitated.
“You’re important enough to kill,” he said quietly, slowly relaxing his grip in her collar. His fingers grazed her throat. Her collarbones. Smoothed over the sensitive curve where her shoulder met her neck. “Which makes you important enough to keep alive. Come with me, Parker.”
“Director,” she corrected coolly, even as her skin heated from the rasp of his callused fingertips. From the damp heat of his body against hers.
“Fine, if it’ll get you out of here.”
She shook her head. “I don’t trust you.”
Again, that edged smile. A flicker of approval. But before he could say anything, it vanished as his gaze snapped to the living room beyond the hall. His features settled into hard, dangerous lines. “Shit.”
“What?”
“Quiet.”
The intensity of the order drilled through her outrage.
Her pulse kicked hard.
His mouth thinned. Anger, she read that much. Concern? “Listen to me,” he whispered. “There are three men circling this complex.”
“What?” Her voice slid up an octave.
“You know how you aren’t a field agent?” He turned, slid his hand against the back of her now clammy blouse and snagged her wrist with the other hand. Almost as if they were dancing. Only she couldn’t pull away. “I am, and I’m talking to you as an agent. Move your ass, Director.”
Was he telling the truth? Aside from the continual rumble of summer thunder and pattering rain, she couldn’t hear anything but her own heartbeat. And his.
The holster carrying his gun—illegally worn, now that she’d suspended him—bumped her elbow as he leveraged her past her office. “Clearly, the strain is getting to you,” she said evenly.
He didn’t rise to the bait. “You have no idea. Is there a fire escape out your window?”
“Yes, but—”
“Good.” His footsteps didn’t so much as rasp on the colorful runner protecting the hall’s hardwood flooring. Hers dragged.
Parker dug her heels in. His grip on her wrist twisted; she winced. “This is absurd. You need help. Whatever GeneCorp did to you, Simon—”
His face shuttered. The light flickered behind them.
“Time’s up.”
With a low, wheezing drone, the electricity guttered to dead silence.
Thick black night corralled them in utter darkness.
T his was his fault.
Simon followed Parker’s gaze as she
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