Garrison's Creed (Titan) (4 page)

He leaned his hulking frame back, put one boot against the wall, and continued to watch. She turned around on the bed but kept an eye on his reflection in the mirror. Nicola punched the number into the phone, waited, and entered another series of numbers.

Beth answered on the first ring, as was her custom. “Hey, girl. Didn’t expect you again.”

“Gabriella was compromised. She avoided a hit. But not by much.”

“You’re hurt?”

“Minimal.” Nicola never offered signs of weakness when she didn’t know who listened. Her best friend would understand by the tone of her voice that minimal was bullshit, but nothing a bath in Bactine wouldn’t fix.

“Gotcha. And who are you with?”

“Friendlies.”
I think.
“The situation is… complicated.”

“Why can’t you give me more?”

“Because my friend—” She glared at Cash in the mirror. “—is too nosey for his own good. For now, I don’t need an extraction plan. I’ll make contact tomorrow.”

“Do I need to be worried?”

That was the best friend asking, not her handler. The two components were often at odds, and Beth knew Nic would never answer in the affirmative, even if it were the case.

“I’ll see you soon enough and explain in person. Night.”

Nicola clicked off the phone and slid it behind her, not wanting to make eye contact with Cash. He ambled from the wall, one heavy footstep slowly following the next. The noise wrapped around her. She dropped her eyes. Her hands went clammy. The thump, thump, thump of her heart could’ve vibrated the safe house.

Cash’s boots stopped, and she fought the need to look up.

A finger wiped away her resolve. It touched the bottom of her chin and lifted until he held her gaze.
Have mercy.
Sapphire eyes and a sad smile made her bleed on the inside.

“It’s nice to see you again.” His voice was hurt and husky.

“You hate me?”

“I might.” He smiled again, taking the bite out of their reality.

“I had reasons.” But with him standing in front of her and Roman upstairs ready for a riot, they didn’t seem worth a shit.

“Seems like a lot has changed.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“Nice dress.” His eyes wandered slowly down her neck, down the dress.

For the length of the look, she held her breath, unsure why or how his gaze made her skin blaze. She stammered to fill the silence. “I thought the only upside of this day was I could keep the dress.”

He chuckled, breaking the heated glance. “How are we gonna do this, Nic? You want to just explain, or should I start an interrogation?”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“But I won’t.” She stared at the comforter, smoothing a wrinkle. “You and Roman. You look different. You… I guess we all grew up.”

“A lot of time has passed.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“So you did.”

“I know it doesn’t—”

“Enough with the apologies.” The harsh change of tone surprised her. He pushed on. “You want to talk now? To me? Roman? Hell, to Rocco?”

“I already said—”

“And I don’t care. The way I see it, you’re having a bad day because boyfriend-dearest finally got what he deserved.”

“What?” She recoiled. The words felt like a slap across the face. He couldn’t possibly think she and Antilla were a thing. Then again, seducing the blood-hungry prick was part of her cover.

“Don’t play me for stupid, Nic. You and Antilla Smooth.”

“Cash, you—”

“I have no idea what you’ve been up to for ten years, so start talking, or you may need to classify me as something other than a friendly.”

“He wasn’t my lover.”

“I don’t care.”

His face said otherwise, and the panging in her head shouted that he needed to know.

She tried to move away from the Antilla line of fire. She might’ve had a compromised operation, but she wasn’t going to pass out details of a covert operation because of past feelings. Too many unknowns. “Why were you out there? And Roman? Both of you decked out like—”
Like snipers. Oh, holy hell.
He raised an eyebrow, watching her connect a few scattered dots. She’d been on an adrenaline cocktail, then shocked by their meet-and-greet, and now, the jagged pieces started to align themselves. “One of you took Antilla out?”

One of them ruined her operation? Everything she’d put in for months? The good guys finally had a chance, and they destroyed it?

His jaw gnashed before it set, and he spoke through his teeth. “What’s it to you?”

That was confirmation enough. Cash and Roman blew up her mission, shattering any chance to further infiltrate Smooth’s world, to take out illegal arms dealers.
No!

She lunged at him. It was the wrong move, an amateur move, but she wasn’t thinking like a trained agent. Screw her busted foot and arm. Nicola landed square in front of him. What was she going to do unarmed? Shake him to death? They’d already confiscated her only gun.

With her one good arm, she beat his chest, pounding out every frustration and emotion that ached within her. The bedroom door flew open revealing Roman and Rocco poised, ready to do… something. She looked up at Cash towering over her, his face cold. Emotionless. She realized she’d been screaming. Her cheeks were wet. Shit, fucking tears. Years of training with the best disintegrated in one night.

Roman looked at Cash. “What the fuck?”

“She’s upset that I blew her boyfriend’s brains on the carpet.”

Roman’s face fell until disappointment snarled onto his face. “Boyfriend?” He turned from her, muttering something to Rocco while walking back down the hall.

Cash whispered, “I can’t believe I loved you.”

God, no. This was all wrong. She didn’t know enough about who they were or why they were there. Explaining her part could have exponential effects on the CIA’s other operations.

Why had she run into them tonight? Aching to tell the truth, aching to remember his love, Nicola looked in the mirror as she collapsed onto the bed. Maybe she was too weak for the job. Self-doubt ate at her like she was back on the Farm, in her first week as a recruit when every man, and the handful of women, had eyed her like lunch. She hadn’t been much, just potential, and she still felt the need to prove herself.

She could do this: act like the agent she was trained to be and stop reacting. Emotions shouldn’t dictate action.

I can’t believe I ever loved you.
Don’t react. Don’t move. His voice clanged through her memory. Her internal orders didn’t work.

“Wait!” Nicola jumped off the bed as best she could, and bounced on one foot to the door.

But Cash was gone, taking the phone and leaving her the clothes. She tore off the mess of a dress, moving as fast as she could, threw the t-shirt over her head and—

And, oh God, did the shirt smell like Cash Garrison. Clean soap and a masculine, peppery scent. On one foot, with one good arm, she balanced with the shirt covering her head and just inhaled, immediately transported back to college. She was in her second year, and he was finishing up his fourth. They lay in bed, naked. His balled up t-shirt served as her pillow.

This shirt smelled like her past. A distant memory. A deep hurt blossomed in her chest.

Oh, no. I’m going to break my cover.

She finished pulling it on but grabbed the collar and held it to her nose. Just one more time. Just enough to relive the memory.

Cash told jokes. Always made her laugh, but at that moment, in that memory, he was dead serious and unsure how he would tell Roman they were together. At the time, they’d said together forever, and it’d been time to tell her brother. After she’d walked away, she’d cried for weeks. It still hurt.

She shook her head. Time to get this over with.

Nicola hopped down the hall, limped up the stairs, and found the men at the kitchen table, passing a bottle of Gentleman Jack. Roman stood up, staring at her limp. Cash threw back a shot.

Rocco waved. “Not much in the fridge. Power bars on the counter. But if you feel like joining us, shot glasses are next to the sink. We’re drinking to shitty days. Cheers.” He downed a shot.

“Nicola.” Roman eyed her. “Are you okay?” He smashed glare at Cash. “What’s with the yelling? Dickhead said—”

“She’s not welcome here.” Cash scowled and poured another shot.

This wasn’t going well, and she’d been in the kitchen, oh, two point five seconds.

“Shut your face, Cash.” Roman glared at the table. “Are you ready to, I don’t know, talk about this?”

“No.”

Roman sat down. Nicola grabbed a shot glass and sat down at the square table across from Roman with Rocco and Cash on either side of her. The lights were dim, and the table’s wood grain was suddenly very interesting. Instead of studying it, she grabbed the bottle of Jack, poured herself a shot, and threw it down.

It burned. It was perfect.

The kick gave her a shiver. God, she needed that. So she did it again.

When she looked up, Roman and Cash eyed her, maybe a little shocked to see her drinking like that since last time they’d seen her, she was all
hi, I’d like a pink drink with my pink paper umbrella
. Well, she still liked pink drinks. That hadn’t changed.

Damn, could she handle three shots in a row with nothing in her stomach? Nope, probably not. She slid the shot glass back a few inches.

“Antilla Smooth wasn’t my lover.” She met her brother’s eyes.

He coughed and squirmed. “Didn’t know that was the discussion we were having.”

Cash’s face didn’t register anything other than fury. If he didn’t believe her, that was his problem. It didn’t matter anyway.

Rocco picked up their slack. “Why were you running through the woods? Barefoot.”

“Better yet, why were you all over him?”

So Cash
did
want to join in the conversation. He seemed to ping pong between hurt and jealousy. She couldn’t blame him.

She studied Roman instead of answering because she didn’t know what to say. His eyebrows bunched. Then she glanced at his bicep.
No, no
. A memorial tattoo. RIP. Her year of birth. Her year of death.

Sucking a breath, she breathed out, “I’m sorry.”

Roman nodded. Nicola watched her big brother, who clearly hurt right now, but didn’t know why.

“Sorry? You’ve made that clear,” Cash said.

“Cash, stop.” Her palms felt clammy. “I didn’t freak out on you because I was pissed you killed him. It’s… complicated.”

“Yeah, today’s the definition of complicated.”

Rocco interrupted. “Dude, calm it down. She’s not going to talk to us with you up in her grill. Nicola, go on.”

“Who do you guys work for?” she asked, curious, but really buying time until her brain registered a what-to-say-now plan.

“Nope, not your turn yet.” Rocco stated it like he was wrangling an out-of-line preschooler.

She closed her eyes, then blinked. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Try the day you died.” Cash used air quotes around
died
.

Rocco knocked him in the shoulder, and Roman grumbled.

“Cash and I…” She stole a glance at Cash. An indecipherable flash in his eyes said that he’d never told Roman.

“You and Cash what?” Roman asked.

“Never mind. Simple version. Remember my job in college? I worked part-time for an accounting firm, translating international accounts. Unknowingly, I stumbled onto a money laundering scheme. I didn’t know it, but one of our clients was a mobster who did a lot of business overseas. I’d been tracking cash-for-hire assassinations and hadn’t a clue. Once I connected the dots, I couldn’t believe the truth. Then I naively showed up and accidently saw a goon-squad massacre. Wrong place, wrong time. I’d figured out they were killers, but then I actually saw them murder a man. Too bad that they also saw me. I ran out as the FBI swooped in. A sting operation. Their timing was good for me, bad for the other guy.” She shook her head, remembering the first time she’d watched someone die. “I was in federal protection by the end of the day.”

“Bullshit. It doesn’t work like that.” Cash slapped the table.

“Sometimes it does.”

“But you still go by Nicola?” Roman asked.

She nodded.

“Because?”

“I eventually left federal protection and took a job where I was… safe. I never got used to a different name. I’m Nic. It just worked.”

Roman kneaded his temples. “You didn’t call. Send a damn letter. Nothing.”

“I thought it would be better. Safer. I had a hard enough time adjusting to life without you all. Mom’s face if she got a letter from me? Dad would go insane trying to find me. You and Cash…” Remembering the decisions still hurt. “I had to.”

“You walked away from your life to help prosecute some low life piece of trash?” Pain was evident in the scratch of Roman’s voice.