In a fluid movement, she lifted the heavy revolver to shoulder height, her knees bent and her aim slightly north of the bottle. Without hesitation, she squeezed the trigger. The crack of thunder didn’t even make her flinch. The bottle was obliterated.
Laughter bubbled from his throat. “You are fucking amazing with a weapon.”
“Thanks.” She pursed her lips, blowing across the smoking barrel.
A raw jolt of desire slid through his veins, leaving his voice ragged and rough as he took a step toward her. “You’re a natural.”
And in that moment, the light in her eyes vanished. She handed him the gun. “Thanks for the target practice. We’re going to make a solid team.”
He watched her walk away, his jaw slack and his brain full of questions. He replayed the conversation and frowned. Had he said something wrong? He’d complimented her.
But that wasn’t going to make her forget the mission he’d fucked up for her back in Savannah. She disappeared around the corner, and he reminded himself that he didn’t want her forgiveness anyway.
And he shouldn’t want to make her smile again, either.
Chapter Six
Aura lay on her cot in her tiny cabin, staring up at a pine knot in the ceiling.
The rush of shooting bottles with Greyson had confused her. He was good, of course—he was the master gunner of the ship. He’d also been firing cannons and guns and rifles for lifetimes before she’d even been born.
Having fun with him had been the unexpected part.
What was she doing? This was the same guy who’d ruined her reputation with her team. He could’ve cost her the job. She’d been Bale’s go-to agent for undercover missions until the coven. Since then, Agent Garcia had been sent undercover twice while she’d sat behind a desk. Bale had claimed he had a better background for the assignments, but she could see the writing on the wall.
This mission was her last chance.
Being an agent in Department 13 was all she had left, her entire identity. Without her badge, she was nothing. There was too much at stake to fuck around with a sexy pirate.
A cover-blowing, guns-blazing pirate.
But hearing him recognize her skills, too, had felt so damned good. She didn’t need his approval and wasn’t asking for it…but still. It was rare for her to meet anyone who shared her affinity for weaponry. That’s probably all it was.
She rolled over and closed her eyes, sinking into sleep’s embrace.
As her body relaxed and sank deeper into the mattress, her mind wandered back through time to the familiar alley of her nightmares. Her breathing came in shallow bursts as a scratching sound caught her attention—something crawling in the darkness.
She tracked the noise, chasing it deeper into the shadows. Her informant was nearby—maybe it was his footsteps. She glanced down at her NYPD uniform.
Deep in her mind, she begged herself to wake up.
Instead, she crept closer, whispering, “Chad? You there?”
She’d been tracking a string of unusual robberies in the area. Instead of computers and televisions and jewelry, businesses were reporting missing chemicals, and a testing facility in the area had lost a handful of lab animals.
Her partner, Jones, hypothesized someone was cooking up a new drug, maybe a new meth recipe, but it didn’t feel right to her. The missing lab animals made it seem like someone was testing something. And the missing chemicals could only be purchased with proper permits.
A hiss. She spun around with her gun raised. Nothing.
Oh god, please wake up. Wake up!
Glass crunched under her shoe as she clicked her coms. “Jones. Where are you? Chad’s MIA.”
Jones was one of her few friends. She got along with everyone, but her hesitancy to trust people made her friend circle very small. They didn’t have any chemistry romantically, but they had the same taste in vapid comedies, which they got together to watch a couple times a month.
The familiar click of their coms sounded farther down the alley, a click she herself had just made.
“I’m right here, Henderson.” The deep baritone of her partner’s voice rasped with something…extra.
Her brow furrowed as she struggled against a surge of anxiety. “Are you okay? You sound…hoarse.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m not injured.”
His voice still gurgled, and what kind of answer was that?
Except she already knew, and she begged herself to wake up.
Her dream continued, keeping her trapped in the moment, drowning in the emotions as if they were happening all over again. The desire to run swelled inside her, but she fought the self-preservation instinct, convincing herself to move forward. This was her partner. This was Jones, the guy who never tired of watching Dodgeball and Dude, Where’s My Car?
But if he wasn’t injured, what was going on with his voice?
She whispered this time. “Where are you?”
No, no, no. Wake. Up!
Something was dripping. A leaky pipe? Or maybe her missing informant.
“Chad?”
Her eyes struggled to see in the dim light as she crept toward Jones’s voice, her gun still raised at the ready. Where was Jones? Her partner was at least a foot taller than her, with dark-red hair. He stood out. But she couldn’t see him. Not here.
She searched the darkness, her finger caressing the trigger of her Glock. Something moved behind her, and she spun toward the sound. “Freeze, NYPD!”
Her jaw went slack. It was Chad. Or…what was left of him. His body lay faceup on a trash can. Blood still dripped from the hole in his chest onto the concrete alley.
Adrenaline laced her veins as she searched for whoever or whatever had done this, but the area was clear. Did Jones see them? Maybe they’d tangled with her partner before they’d fled the area.
She lowered her weapon, clicking her coms as she pressed two fingers to Chad’s neck to check for a pulse. “I need an ambulance to the alley behind Corkie’s Deli on 52nd.”
He was gone. No one could still be alive with their heart ripped from their chest. His face was still frozen in terror. What the hell had happened here?
And where was Jones?
She stood, scanning the area as she raised her gun again. Chad’s body was still warm. They couldn’t have gotten far. She clicked her coms again. “Jones. Where are you? Chad’s dead,” she whispered into the mic on her chest.
Two red lights, like eyes, flashed from deeper in the shadows. “I know.”
“Jones?”