Undaunted Page 7

  His protective instincts aside, that had to change.

  Reagan tipped her head, looking utterly confused. “You want to . . . what?”

  “Get to know you. As an adult, through my eyes and not through Mike’s. Or anyone else’s.”

  “Why?”

  Because he was fiercely, ridiculously attracted to her? Because he promised his partners that he’d try something new with Reagan? Because he really wanted to sleep with her and that wouldn’t happen if all they did was argue?

  Axl released a low laugh that was heavy on sarcasm and low on humor. “Sounds mad, doesn’t it? I’ve known you for nearly fifteen years but all we’ve ever done is fight. I’d like that to change.”

  “But, again, why?” Reagan demanded, her voice rising.

  Axl tapped the table with one blunt finger. “I’m going to be spending a lot more time in Mercy and I think we should learn to deal with each other.”

  Reagan sent him a suspicious look. “Why are you staying in Mercy?”

  Yeah, it’s all about you, Reagan. It’s because I look at you and my mouth dries up and my dick stands to attention, it’s because you are, suddenly, no longer just Mike’s little sister and, oh, yeah . . . because my gut is screaming that you are in danger!

  More words he couldn’t express. “I’ve been working nonstop for years, without taking a vacation. I have an excellent team running MKR and I could do with a break.” He sounded completely normal, his expression hadn’t changed, but Reagan narrowed her eyes at him.

  “You’re lying. You’re damn good at it, but you are lying through your even, white teeth.”

  Busted. “I just want a break, Reagan.”

  “In the place where your business has its headquarters? That makes no sense. If you want a vacation then go to Africa, go to India, Greece!”

  “I’d like to spend some time in Mercy, with my mates. It’s been years since we were all in one place. And I’ve been to Africa and Greece and India.” Axl sent her a slow smile that heated her from the inside out. “Is having me around going to cramp your style, Reagan?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Reagan demanded, her voice huffy.

  “I think you’re scared out of your mind.” Axl leaned forward and pulled her sunglasses off her nose. He looked into her eyes and tumbled into the deep, endless black-brown depths.

  “Why would I be scared of you?”

  “You’re scared of me because I don’t buy into your I’m-fine bullshit. I look past your controlled, restrained personality and see the troubled woman behind the façade. You’re scared that I will make you face some truths you don’t want to face.”

  “What truths?” Reagan demanded, looking like she was battling to breathe.

  “Whether being a Cas PPO is what you want to do for the rest of your life, whether your brother would be proud of you, whether you will ever earn your father’s acceptance. What making love to me would really feel like.”

  Reagan stood up so fast that she tipped over her chair. She slapped her hands on the table and bent down so that their eyes were level. “And you? Why are you so determined to rescue me? Is it because you didn’t save Mike?”

  Jesus. Hit me where it hurts, Reags, why don’t you? So, it was his turn to face an unpleasant truth. Reagan, because she had the killer instinct of a cupcake, winced and lifted her hands up in an apology. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It was . . . cruel.”

  Axl stood up. “It doesn’t make it any less true. I didn’t save Mike and that’s something I will have to live with until my dying day.”

  Reagan jammed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and rocked on her heels, looking thoroughly miserable. “I don’t blame you, Axl.”

  Axl placed her glasses back on her face and, using one finger, pushed them up her nose. “You just did, Reags. But it’s okay, I blame myself too.”

  Reagan confounded him when she stepped forward and rested her forehead against his sternum. Axl immediately wrapped his arms around her slim frame and held on, needing to connect to her on some level, even if it was just physical. He kissed her head and drew circles on her back, looking to comfort her. It wasn’t her fault that he’d failed Mike, that he hadn’t been sharp enough, quick enough, dialed in enough to his intuition to save his best friend. Mike’s death was on him; it was his cross to bear.

  “Why do we keep doing this to each other, Axl?”

  “Hurting each other?” Axl clarified.

  “Yes.”

  “We keep hurting each other because we can’t BS each other. We’re incapable of pretending. Especially not to each other.” Axl pulled back to look down at her. “We’re going to have to learn to deal with each other.”

  “And that’s why you’re sticking around?”

  One of many reasons. Axl released his hold on her and stepped back. “I told you, I need a break. Let’s go back inside. I can feel the good residents of Mercy discussing us as we speak.”

  Axl pulled open the door to the bakery and placed his hand on her back to usher her inside. Instead of walking back to the big table where his friends, and Knox, were sitting, she looked up at him. “Maybe we do need to find a better way of dealing with each other. But I don’t believe, not for one minute, that’s the only reason you are sticking around.”

  Nope, as he’d earlier thought, they couldn’t bullshit each other. Pity. Sometimes a little BS went a long way.

  ***

  Axl banged his fist on the front door to the Freedman estate, taking a minute to look at the estate in daylight. As Reagan mentioned, the view was amazing: green paddocks separated by white railings, dappled gray Arabian horses grazed in the paddock to his right, and beyond that were a few chestnut horses looking like the fortune they were reputed to be. Freedman Arabians were, according to his recent research, some of the best in the country, and their breeder, Reid Shaw, owned and trained the horses and was reputed to be one of the best horsemen in the country. Axl’s eyes skittered over the property, immediately locating a white house nestled into the trees on the far side of the property. That would be Shaw’s house, and the two smaller cottages farther down the tree line would be where his staff stayed. He’d run background checks on everyone who had access to the Freedman property and, apart from a DUI for one of the grooms and a couple of speeding tickets for Shaw, nothing popped. Nobody who worked on the Freedman estate had any connection to Knox Callow that he could find.

  He’d gone deep, dark-web deep, with his threat assessments, and he was convinced that Callow and son, and by association Reagan, were not in danger from anyone working on the estate. Axl jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and scowled at the purple-blue mountains in the distance, barely noticing the now-fading autumn foliage. He’d temporarily relocated to Mercy and was living out of Sawyer’s guest room. He liked his friend but he liked his privacy more; if he was going to stay in Mercy for an extended period he should think about buying a property, or renting an apartment or house for the immediate future. Axl added house search to his long, mental to-do list and went back to his most pressing problem: finding the UNSUB who was after Callow. Once they identified that jerkoff, his spooky sense could shut the hell up and he could resume his life. Sawyer had employed a private investigator who had, he’d told Axl, a vast and impressive set of skills, and the PI, CJ Carmichael, was still in LA, digging into Callow’s background.

  Just like he was. But Callow was, annoyingly, squeaky clean. He didn’t sleep around, was still on very good terms with his former colleagues in Formula 1 racing, and was reputed to be a friendly and professional actor. He’d been briefly married, and though it ended in tragedy, there was nothing on his dead wife that raised any flags. Yeah, she’d had problems but she’d died three years ago by her own hand. It annoyed him that he felt a little stumped. He normally could find a thread, something he could tug on, with everyone he i
nvestigated, but with Callow? Jack.

  He banged on the front door again. He was also annoyed that, despite some deep digging, he hadn’t been able to penetrate the multilayers of corporations to find the owner of this house Reagan currently inhabited, sleeping in a bedroom between Callow’s master suite and Bryn Scott’s guest room.

  He knew this because he’d, without informing Reagan, taken the six-to-twelve shift last night, relieving one of the operatives suffering from a cracking dose of flu. From the outside looking in he’d watched Reagan interact with the Callow family. She and Coe enjoyed each other and Axl was surprised to see how patient she was with the kid. Her relationship with Callow seemed easy and friendly, but Callow’s private bodyguard made no effort to hide the fact that he thought Reagan was seriously sexy.

  As he did.

  Bryn Scott spent far too much time talking to, and flirting with, Reagan. They’d watched a little TV together last night and then ended up on the porch when Callow retired upstairs.

  Okay, they hadn’t done anything but have a beer and talk, but Axl was in no doubt that if Reagan gave him the smallest hint that she was interested he’d be all over her like a rash.

  That wasn’t going to happen. Ever.

  The door opened and Axl turned around slowly, his eyes narrowing behind his wraparound shades. Excellent, just who he wanted to see. Scott swiped his sweaty chest with a gym towel and, judging by his wet hair, Axl interrupted his work out session. Tough.

  “I’m Axl Rhodes.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Scott gestured him inside. “You’re a bit of a legend in the Spec Ops community.”

  It was something that he was aware of, but the comment still annoyed him. If he was such a legend then his best friend wouldn’t have bled out in that hot, dusty African hellhole.

  “Where’s Reagan?” Axl demanded, looking around the double-volume hall dominated by the massive wooden staircase.

  Scott tossed a towel over his shoulder. “In the pool with Coe.”

  “Callow?”

  “In his study,” Scott replied. Axl gave Scott, younger than him by nearly a decade, a hard-eyed stare. He knew that he could look like a scary son of a bitch. His badass reputation was exaggerated but, hell, if it made Scott wary of him, all the better. The sooner he realized that if he laid a finger on Reagan, made the smallest, tiniest move, he’d rip him a new one, the better.

  “Uh . . . Reagan told me that you’ll probably be investigating me. I’ll shoot you an email with all my salient information to expedite the process.”

  Axl sent him a cold, steel-hard smile. “Don’t bother. I have what I need.”

  Scott frowned. “You do?”

  “Sure, you were the first person I checked out. You’re the younger brother of Callow’s best friend, did two years of college—premed—which you flunked out of. You joined the Army and did two tours, in Afghanistan. You were about to re-up when your brother told you that Knox needed help. You seem, thanks to your military training, competent.”

  “Well, shit.” Scott ran his hand behind his neck. “And I guess that’s just the highlights.”

  “Yeah, just the highlights.” Axl pulled his glasses from his face and sent Scott his scariest, don’t-screw-with-me stare. “But there’s only one thing you need to remember, Scott.”

  Scott straightened his shoulders and looked him in the eye, and Axl had to respect that. He didn’t like it but he respected it. “And what’s that?”

  “If something happens to Reagan on your watch, I will, slowly and painfully, kill you.” Axl knew that his calm, matter-of-fact tone was a great deal more effective than shouted warnings and hot threats. And judging by his thin lips and narrowed eyes, Scott received his message loud and clear.

  “Which way to the pool?” he asked, his tone still deliberately bored.

  “Through the informal lounge and into the games room. It’s through the door at the far side,” Scott said, his eyes flashing his annoyance. So he wasn’t easily intimidated. Again, respect.

  Axl nodded. “Thanks. Oh, and, dickhead?”

  Bryn narrowed his eyes at him. “What?”

  “Stop flirting with Reagan, okay? You’re working, be professional.” He didn’t think it necessary to tell Scott that he wanted to be the only man who flirted with Reagan.

  Scott opened his mouth as if to argue, but when Axl dialed up his don’t-fuck-with-me stare, Scott nodded. Once. Briefly. Good, message received. Excellent.

  His work here was done.

  Chapter Four

  SawyersFutureWife: I have the skinny! The fierce blonde with Knox is his bodyguard and Caswallawn employee, Reagan Hudson. She recently saved his kid from a fire on set of his latest movie.

  WaynesBikes: She’s hot. Is she single?

  BoredWife: Are you high, Wayne?

  ChocsandWine: Woo-hoo, the press have arrived! That means more money in our tills, folks!

  MayorBob: Let’s show them a warm Mercy welcome, folks.

  Pretty damn fancy, Axl thought as he walked through the entertainment area into the long rectangular room housing the very large pool. The floor-to-ceiling windows were open and the stonework surrounding the pool gave way to a teak deck outside, housing a sunken and, judging from the steam billowing from the bubbling water, heated spa pool. A ten-foot wall with climbers made the space private and intimate. He could easily imagine swimming naked in that pool or hopping into that spa bath late at night. Preferably with some female company.

  With that female company. Axl stopped in the doorway to the pool area and felt momentarily light-headed. Reagan, oblivious to his presence, stood in the shallow end of the pool and effortlessly boosted herself out of the pool, water streaming down her perfect body. He watched as she dropped to her haunches to grip Coe’s wrist and haul him out of the water, lean and long muscles rippling.

  She wasn’t body-builder ripped but she looked strong and healthy, and with her dressed in that high-neck denim bikini, he could easily tell that she didn’t have an ounce of excess fat of her. She was all golden skin and long muscles and gorgeousness.

  God, he wanted her. He wanted to know whether her skin on the inside of her thigh was as soft as it looked, he wanted to run his tongue up the bumps of her spine, push his fingers into the muscles of her back, hear her moan. He needed to kiss that spot where her neck met her jaw, feel her lips part beneath his, feel her thighs fall apart to let him inside.

  He’d been in situations when he felt like his heart was about to beat out of his chest, when adrenaline was his best friend, but it had nothing on this knock-him-over-with-a-feather feeling. He’d never felt this alive before, standing in a doorway looking at Reagan. His heart was pounding but he also knew that he could hear a pin drop. The sunlight seemed brighter, the sparkle on the water more intense.

  Time, literally, stopped. Reagan, wearing a blue bikini, drained him of movement, speech, and his sanity.

  Axl banged the ball of his hand against his temple in order to kick-start his brain. This was Reagan! Prickly, independent-as-hell, frequently annoying Reagan. Yes, he was attracted to her but not like this, not with an intensity, a need, that shocked the shit out of him. Right, you’ve had your five minutes of acting like a dick. Move your feet and tell her the reason for his visit.

  Except that he couldn’t remember a damn thing.

  Axl scowled at Reagan. He was so screwed. And not in a good way.

  “I don’t want to get out,” Coe whined, his little face scrunched up. “I love swimming. I’m a fish. You said so!”

  “You are a fish,” Reagan agreed as she sat down on the edge of a lounger and pulled Coe toward her so that he stood inside her legs.

  “Then why do I have to get out? Fish swim, that’s what they do.”

  Reagan placed a towel around his shoulders and rubbed his arms. “Because you are also a little boy and little boys need lunch. I
think your dad is making burgers . . . Don’t you like burgers?”

  Coe’s expressive eyes widened. “I love burgers.”

  “But fish don’t eat burgers,” Reagan teased.

  “But I am also a boy,” Coe told her as she turned him around to dry his back. “I’ll be a boy now and a fish later.”

  “That sounds like a good plan,” Reagan agreed. She pulled the towel off him and tapped his little butt. “Go find them burgers, Fish-Boy.”

  Coe cocked his head at her. “Are you coming?”

  Reagan rested her forearms on her knees, conscious of a headache brewing in the back of her skull. She still wasn’t sleeping and the intense workout she’d pushed herself through earlier had sapped her energy. “I’ll grab something to eat later, kiddo.”

  “And I ’spose you want to talk to Axl,” Coe said, sagely. “Does he want a burger?”

  Reagan snapped her head up and watched, her mouth dry, as Axl sauntered across the stone deck to where she sat. God, he was all power and masculine grace, her eyes dropping from his messy hair and shaded-with-stubble face to his wide shoulders in a white button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to reveal the muscles in his forearms. The shirt fell, untucked, over his broad chest. His faded Levi jeans were well washed and very well fitting. He wore flat-soled leather boots and he looked hot and intense and far too fascinating for her peace of mind.

  His gray eyes held hers and she felt like someone was injecting molten silver straight into her veins. Reagan looked at the pool and wondered how ridiculous she would look if she jumped in to cool herself off. Then again, the pool was heated so she wasn’t sure how much cooling off would happen. No, maybe she should just stay where she was and try to stop looking like an astonished goldfish.

  “Hiya, Axl!” Coe’s piping voice broke into her reverie. Reagan watched as Coe monkey climbed up Axl’s long leg and wrapped his arms around Axl’s neck and his legs around his waist. Axl sent her a what-the-hell look and just kept his arms at his sides as Coe peered into his face.