Forged in Smoke (Red-Hot SEALs #3)(90)

Before Rawls had a chance to launch another argument, the elder from the ghost binding stood up. He nodded to Faith, and turned to face Rawls.

“The decision is Dr. Ansell’s. She alone has the final say,” he said with finality. “She goes.”





* * *





Chapter Eighteen




* * *





THE LAST THIRD of the meeting with Wolf’s people was a blur in Faith’s mind as she entered the sleeping quarters Wolf showed her to. She’d been too busy having a mental meltdown after agreeing to accompany them on the rescue mission. A very dangerous operation too, judging by Rawls’s violent reaction.

Vaguely, she remembered a discussion about some organization called the New Ruling Order, which sounded like a bunch of rich people with too much time and money on their hands. And then Eric Manheim’s name had popped up as the force behind the attempted hijacking of flight 2077, as well as the attack on Amy Chastain’s family and the murder and kidnapping of Faith’s coworkers.

Not that anyone but Rawls, Wolf, and Wolf’s people knew the information had come courtesy of interrogating a ghost! When pressed by Mackenzie, Wolf had blandly attributed the intel to classified intelligence. It had been all Faith could do to hold her tongue; Mackenzie and his men deserved to know where the information they were about to risk their lives on had come from.

Except . . . Rawls had been so terribly stiff beside her, furious that she’d agreed to join them on the upcoming rescue mission. She hadn’t wanted to chance souring the fragile new relationship budding between them.

Wolf had been utterly confident that they’d have confirmation of the “captives,” blueprints of the building, as well as head counts of the people inside, within twenty-four hours.

Twenty-four hours . . .

Which meant what, exactly? That she’d be down in San Jose sometime tomorrow preparing to attack a lab?

A chill washed down her spine and prickled across her scalp. She shivered, but then squared her shoulders and headed for the bathroom. A nice hot shower was just the thing to relax her. It sure as heck beat standing around and stewing about things she had no control over.

The bathroom carried the same bland, unoccupied-motel motif as the bedroom and its tiny attached living room. But at least the shower had a huge round showerhead and wonderful water pressure. She soaked for a long time beneath the spray, letting the beat of the water massage her tight, sore muscles. By the time she stepped out of the tub and wrapped herself in a cotton robe, her muscles were limp.

Her mind on the other hand had revved up rather than dialed down.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she listened to the strong, even beat of her new miracle heart and fought the sense of isolation.

With the exception of a fling early in her freshman year of college with a grad student, which had ended with summer break, she’d spent much of her life alone, buried in her studies or experiments. But loneliness had never haunted her, until now.

Except, she wasn’t lonely for just anyone, there was a specific face attached to this emotion. A specific name.

Rawls.

Somehow over the past two days, his smile, his drawl, his humor, and his patience had filled her mind and heart so full she felt diminished without him beside her.

Empty.

More than anything in the world, she wanted to get up and go to him, step into his arms and lean into his kiss, and explore this hunger simmering between them. The mission she’d agreed to was dangerous. Nobody was downplaying the risk. She knew full well she might not come back, and the thought of dying down there, in San Jose, without knowing the heat and tenderness of Rawls’s embrace, the beauty of his body on top of and inside of her . . . the thought of not knowing him in every possible way a woman could know a man was . . . distressing.

Depressing, even.

But the memory of the last time she’d seen his face held her prisoner on the bed.

He’d been icy, detached, and furious. When Wolf had dropped them off in front of the sleeping quarters they’d been assigned, he’d vanished inside his without a word.

She wanted to believe the strength of his reaction to her inclusion on this mission indicated he had equally strong feelings for her. She’d never seen him so angry—or so grim. But what if the emotions driving him weren’t as passionate as she hoped? What if he was being driven by a sense of responsibility instead? What if all the recent touching and light kissing meant nothing—or at least nothing serious?

Or even worse, what if she had killed whatever they’d been building toward when she’d ignored his advice and dismissed his wishes?

Her escalating list of what-ifs was cut short by a knock at the door.

With her heart in her throat and her mind full of hope, she got up to answer the summons, only to jump back with a gasp.

“Sorry,” Rawls said, his hand still raised and fist clenched for knocking. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“That’s okay.” Faith’s pulse picked up speed again, only the rapid rhythm had nothing to do with fear. At least not fear of his hand, more like fear of his heart.

He took her response as an invitation to come inside. As he closed the door behind him, he cast a quick look over her robe-clad body and heat kindled in his gaze. A moment later he broke eye contact and glanced around the room. “I see we got the same decorator.”