Chapter Sixteen

Shane had no idea what he'd done to set Everlee off. One minute she was warm and cuddly; the next, she was back in bad cop mode. Downright rude to Ms. Smart. Downright bitchy. The lasagna Everlee had brought to the table was hot and good, rich and cheesy, though. Between that and the buttery garlic bread sticks, everyone was droopy with carb overload by the time their paper plates were clean and dinner was done. Before Everlee took over like she was prone to do, Shane jumped to his feet, cleared the table, and tossed the containers into the trash bin beside the kitchen sink. Then, because he'd been taught right at home, he located a clean dishcloth, filled the sink with hot, sudsy water, and wiped the table and countertops. He'd already divested himself of most of his new weaponry before he ate, just kept the knives in his boots and the pistols in his hip holster.

By the time he'd finished clean-up, he discovered Everlee and Smart were gone. The bathroom and bedroom door was shut. Darn. They were already locked down for the night. Which meant Everlee had cuffed Smart to the bedframe and that was Ev in the shower. Naked. With suds sliding over her bare shoulders and down her back and—

"No," he hissed at himself. Not going there. She was probably still mad at him.

But that kiss. The totally unexpected, slamming sex against the wall. Everlee was damned hot when she took control. Just thinking of her bossy mouth jazzed up his body again. It had been so long since he'd—

No. Just no. He refused to revisit what just might have been a once in a lifetime, hot damned sexual encounter. Shane was still armed. No doubt Everlee was, too. He didn't need to get himself shot. Even one pistol seemed overkill against a woman who acted as helpless as Smart. In no way was she savvy enough to get out of her flex cuffs. He understood the need for caution. People were not always who they seemed. But still... Shane had his doubts.

The bathroom door opened and Everlee leaned out with nothing on but a thick, white towel wrapped under her arms and around her body. Water dripped from her wet, slicked-back hair into her eyes. My God, she was small fully dressed, so much smaller—undressed. Day-um. Just when Shane thought he'd finally relaxed, he wasn't.

"Shower's all yours," she said as she dashed to the bedroom door, her voice breathy and her eyes bright, the tease.

"If we'd showered together, we would've saved water," he complained hoarsely.

A smile lit her face when she ducked into the bedroom, then peered back around the edge of the door and whispered, "We're on duty, big guy."

"Yeah, well…" He was at her side in an instant, leaning in, savoring the taste of her squeaky-clean skin and loving the flowery scent of shampoo in her wet hair. His tongue traced over his bottom teeth. Shane was thinking he deserved another taste. And another. "You sure we're done? I mean—"

The door closed in his face.

But he'd seen the heat in her eyes, the way she'd dragged her teeth over her bottom lip, the way she'd bitten it. The way her breath caught the moment he'd drawn close. And there he was, fighting another hard-on, wishing he were on the other side of her door. And that Ms. Smart was somewhere—anywhere—else.

Shane blew out a gust of pent up, sexual frustration. No sense getting excited when he couldn't do anything about it. He unbuckled his holster, draped it over the back of the couch where it was still within reach, slipped his dogs out of his boots, and headed for the shower. It was still steamy, still smelled like Everlee. He swiped the condensation off the mirror. One look at his reflection and he nearly laughed out loud. No wonder she'd turned him down. The explosion had turned his normally thick, dark hair into a singed, feathery mess that only a decent haircut would cure. His eyebrows hadn't fared much better. They were feathered into gray, singed ends. He looked ridiculous. And him without a decent razor.

Still thinking of Everlee, he cranked the shower faucets to hot and steamy, then shucked out of his dirty clothes. Folding his pants and TEAM shirt carefully, he left them on the narrow counter by the sink and stepped into the confining space of a four-by-four-foot stall.

Smoke had built a damned nice storm cellar. The entire bathroom was tiled: smaller cream-colored ceramic tiles on the walls and ceiling, twelve-by-twelve earth-brown tiles on the floor. A vent overhead funneled the steam to places unknown, and the ceiling heat lamp was a nice touch. The towels were thick and plush. The plumbing was sound and water pressure was great.

But size mattered. Every time Shane turned, he nicked his elbow on the faucet handles or the built-in, hard as a rock, damn it, ceramic soap tray.

Scrubbing quickly with the crisp new bar of soap Everlee must've left in the shower caddy, Shane let the hot water rinse the problems of the day away. For a guy who'd been blown off Smart's front porch just this evening, he wasn't feeling too bad. Yeah, the burns on his face and the front of his neck were tender but no worse than a good sunburn after a day at the beach. All things considered, his first day of TEAM work had gone well. Ms. Smart was now in custody, and he and Everlee were on their way home. Maybe on their way to another adventure if the stars aligned.

Cranking the faucets off, he grabbed one of those plush towels, wrapped it around his waist, and stepped out of the shower. Damn, what he wouldn't give to have Everlee with him in this crowded, steamy space. The possibilities made his mouth water. Them in the shower. Slick and soaping each other up. Suds and water making every part of her slippery and wet and…

"Everlee," he breathed into the steamy silence. She was a spitfire and a damned competent agent. A joy to work with, maybe a joy to work on, too. There was nothing hotter than a hard-charging woman who knew her way around weapons like she did.

Swiping a palm across the mirror again, he slapped on a thick layer of shaving cream, then extracted an actual razor from the courtesy shave kit, not a disposable piece-of-shit, and gingerly cleared the heavy five o'clock shadow from his cheeks and chin. Then his neck.

Come tomorrow morning, he'd have to shave again, but that was heredity for you. His deadbeat father must've had a dense beard, too. But Shane had no photo or proof to verify that guess, and as a boy, he'd never thought to ask his mom. He could've taken after his maternal grandfather for all he knew about his relatives. His mother never talked about her side of the family or the sperm donor who'd trashed their lives. But maybe not.

Shane grew up loving his mother. Her name was— is, he reminded himself—Erin Marlowe Hayes. Or Em. She'd often given just her initials when asked her name. She'd taken back her maiden name, though Shane had no way to know if she'd done that officially.

She'd been dark-haired, olive-skinned, and pretty; quick to smile, just as quick to forgive the jerk who'd deserted her and her toddler son when they'd needed him most. She'd always been a delicate thing, never should've had to raise a boy on her own, or work as hard as she'd had to make a decent life. But she'd done all that and more. They'd been a damned strong team all by themselves until cancer came along. It was too bad strength in character didn't equate to strong constitutions.

The only thing Shane knew about his mom's parents was they'd died years before she'd married. He'd never met any of his extended family, neither on his mom's nor his dad's side. For that matter, he had no proof she'd legally married his old man. She hadn't left any pictures. No, his bastard father had taken every photo and trace of his existence when he'd left. For all Shane knew, he might've been Mafia.

Shane had no recollection of Gary Tulane. Didn't plan on looking him up. No need. But for two cents, he'd gladly beat the shit out of the creep for what his desertion had put Erin through. Still, despite the hardships of those lean years, Erin and Shane had built a life full of what truly mattered, first and foremost, each other. Secondly, the simplest rule of life, the golden rule. Do unto others what you would want done unto you . Not a hard concept. More people ought to try it.

He swiped more condensation off the mirror and stared at the man looking back at him. The next time he kissed Everlee, he'd leave no whisker burns on her lips or chin. Although, there was a measure of pride in marking a woman like her. Shane tossed a cocky grin at himself in the mirror. That guy might not be much to look at, but he might be enough for beautiful, intelligent Everlee. Then, just because of her…

He tipped his head back and took one last long swipe up his neck to make sure it was clean and smooth. Using the comb and razor, he trimmed what he could of the ends of his burned hair. He would've shaved it all off, but he'd felt Everlee's fingertips on his scalp when she'd played with his hair. He wanted her to do that again. It was such a simple thing, no big deal, yet intimate in a non-sexual way. He just plain liked it, wanted her to touch him again.

After working his hair over, Shane utilized the deodorant stick, then splashed a healthy dose of aftershave on his face, just to feel the sting. Too damned bad they were still on the job. He'd love to sneak into her bed tonight and make love again, horizontally this time. He dressed in fresh underwear and the jeans she'd brought from his gear bag. Back in the common space, Shane turned out the lights, settled into one corner of the couch, and prepared to research a way forward while the women slept.

The night was quiet. Taking his burner phone out of his pocket, he brought up the map app, and plotted the straightest course to Washington DC. It was good knowing Alex had already provided tomorrow's transportation. A US Marshal's escort would've been nice, but Shane doubted Alex would offload his responsibility. Getting Ms. Smart back to DC was his gig, and he'd sent Everlee and Shane to make sure it happened.

A straight shot across the country seemed the surest route. Shane set a pin from Smoke's ranch in Texas, another one up in Arkansas, then another in Tennessee, then Kentucky. Since Everlee had gotten them this far by hopscotching between taxis, Ubers, and stolen vehicles, Shane felt confident they hadn't been followed by the unnamed guy Tuesday claimed was stalking her. But in case things still went sideways, he explored alternate routes that circumvented interstates and big cities like Little Rock and Memphis. He committed those byways to memory, not risking their core mission for speed or convenience. Their only mission was to get Smart to TEAM HQ alive, not fast. As long as he and Everlee stayed in touch with Alex, the rest of this road trip should be a breeze.

Should be, not would be. Shit still happened, even with the most detailed preplanning. A guy could always count on something to go FUBAR, as in fucked up beyond all recognition, the moment the first shot was fired. His efforts now were simply to minimize the possibility.

Once he filled his brain with different routes, Shane sent a text to Mark at TEAM HQ, telling him their planned route and possible arrival time, also copied Mother, whom he still needed to meet. Ms. Kennedy hadn't been in her office when Mark took him around and introduced everyone, and she hadn't been at Alex and Kelsey's dinner, either. Shane wondered why not. He would've liked meeting The TEAM's genius techie. Since Everlee seemed impressed with Sasha Kennedy, Shane was, too. Someday, he might even call her Mother. Not Mom though. That tender title overstepped the loving relationship he'd known with his mother. She was and forever would be his only Mom.

His phone pinged a thumbs-up emoji from Mark and right on its heels, a message from Ms. Kennedy, stating that he should call her if he needed any help. With those messages received, Shane shut down his phone, punched into shape the pillow Everlee had left on the couch, and settled his longer than the couch frame down for the night. Sleep didn't come easy. While he lay there staring at the darkened ceiling, he thought of that kiss. That sizzling sex just a few yards from their client. He'd never taken a woman so quickly. For that matter, no woman had ever taken charge of him like Everlee had, either.

Impulsive. Bossy. Determined. That was Everlee. Yet, at the same time, she was a puzzle, vulnerable when he least expected it. Like when he'd been lying in the street singed from the explosion. She'd been so tender handling him, so worried. But the best would forever be making fast and furious love beside Smoke's vault while Ms. Smart showered. Talk about risky. But that had added plenty of fuel to their fire.

Everlee was willing, all right, maybe even as overdue for a true and loving, committed relationship as he was. He was, wasn't he? Overdue? Shane didn't know. He'd never been in one. Sure, he'd had friends in high school and a couple were girls, but there'd never been time for frivolous things like dates, dances, or homecoming games back then. He'd been too busy working. Once he'd teamed up with old man Swanson, if Shane wasn't in school or at home, he was at Swanson's store, trying to be all he could be. The Army's motto seemed to be the theme of his entire life, even during his time in the Corps. Shane had worked since he'd turned twelve. What would it be like relaxing after hours instead of going to a second job or out on patrol? Maybe with Everlee tucked under his arm? Better question, was she feeling the same wonderment he was from that frantic, wonderful moment between them? Had their lovemaking touched her the same way it did him?

A yawn came out of nowhere. It had been a helluva first day, and it was past time to catch a few winks. The night was quiet. Shane scrubbed a hand over his face and let his body go slack and…

Morning broke to the delicious aromas of Everlee and Ms. Smart fixing breakfast. Bacon, for sure. He lay there with his arm over his forehead and watched them working together in the small kitchen space. The women were efficient and quick on their feet. Ev's ankle didn't seem to bother her, as she rotated between refrigerator and stove. Once again, Ms. Smart sported flex cuffs, this time in front so she could use both hands. She didn't seem to mind, still managed to arrange silverware and plates on the countertop, then retrieved several pint-sized bottles of orange juice from the refrigerator. Damned if Ms. Smart wasn't humming quietly, too. Like she was content.

Which took Shane back a few years to before he'd lost his mother. She used to hum. Strange that the woman voted most likely to kill again, the gal with the most to lose, seemed happy this morning, not worried. Not rude. Also strange how easily these two women were working together. Everlee could like it or not, but right then, she was getting along with her prisoner. One might even say they treated each other respectfully, like sisters instead of adversaries. They were good together. At least while they made breakfast.

That bacon smelled tempting, the coffee, too. But Shane had a problem. Morning wood. With two women in close proximity. Time to spring into action before anyone noticed the tent stake in his pants. Thank heavens he'd worn jeans to bed. Gathering the pillow against his lap, Shane lifted to his feet and turned his back on the ladies. He dropped the pillow and grabbed his next bit of camouflage, the blanket.

"Breakfast is almost ready," Everlee announced quietly.

"Thanks. Sure smells good. Save some for me," he replied as he sauntered as casually as was possible into the bathroom. Sure was different waking up with women in the same room, instead of a bunch of raunchy, smelly men.

After eating quickly and cleaning what little mess they'd made, they dressed and were close to getting back on the road again. Everlee was back in TEAM black as was Shane.

But Ms. Smart had left everything she'd worn the day before in the bathroom garbage can. Her ensemble today included simple Rider jeans and a t-shirt, finished off with white anklets and bright-red Converse tennis shoes. Smoke, for all his taciturn attitude, had texted Everlee earlier that he'd left a bag for Ms. Smart outside the saferoom door. Which made Shane smile. Every military guy or gal knew the value of taking good care of their feet. That Smoke had gone the extra mile to take care of Smart's feet was just plain nice of the guy. The clothes he'd chosen fit her well.

Smart had grinned when she'd slipped the shoes on. "They're perfect. I love them. I'm writing that nice man a thank-you note the first chance I get."

See? She had to be innocent, didn't she? What black widow would think of sending thank-you notes? A damned smart one, Shane thought soberly, determined to keep her in the alleged-murderer column until this mission was over.

"Whatever," Everlee growled. "We're burning daylight, folks. Step on it."

For some reason Tuesday Smart jump to her feet like an excited little girl on a road trip instead of a woman on her way to prison. "Then let's go!"