Chapter 25

25

Abe turned his back, every muscle in his body taut. The approaching night air cooled his skin, while heat built within him. He strained his ears, desperate to catch any sound behind him.

The soft rustle of fabric sent his imagination into overdrive—Freya’s delicate fingers working the buttons of her shirt, her stepping out of her clothes, skin pebbling in the bitterly cold air, the press of nipples against lace?—

He willed the thoughts away. I’m a professional, dammit.

“This is ridiculous.” Freya’s exasperated voice cut through the charged silence.

Abe exhaled, frustration coloring his words. “We need to know, Freya.” And I need a drink. Or ten. Maybe eleven.

He tilted his head back, searching the sky above for some anchor of calm. White clouds scudded past, taunting him with their serenity. Even the cosmos was indifferent to his agitation.

“I think I would know if there was a tracker in my clothes.” Her tone swung between indignant and pouty.

Abe blew out a long breath. “Hmm. Yeah. Because secret tracking devices always announce themselves. Hello, I’m hiding in your socks.”

“I’m not sure sarcasm suits you.” Freya shot back.

The soft thud of clothes hitting the ground sent a tremor through him. Then, silence. His imagination still unhelpfully vivid, supplied a mental image of Freya naked, triggering a cold sweat.

He dug his nails into his palms as he fought to maintain his composure. Think about work. Cold cases. Tax audits. Anything but ? —

What was she doing? The urge to look, to see, clawed through him. “Freya?” Fuck, his voice was rougher than he wanted it to be.

“Um, Abe?” Her voice had taken on an odd pitch. “I think we have a problem.”

Of course, we do. He turned, praying to whatever deity might be listening that he could maintain his professionalism for the next five minutes.

His heart continued to beat as he laid an eye on her, but time stopped. Her shirt was unbuttoned, exposing the sweet curve of her collarbone, and her lack of underwear underneath?—

His blood pressure peaked, blacking out everything but an awareness of her.

Focus.

He wrenched his gaze upward, meeting her wide-eyed stare. In her trembling hand, she held her bra, fingers clenched around a delicate froth of lace.

His throat constricted, a mix of professional concern and something far more animalistic surging through him. He forced his voice to steady. “Let me see.”

As she passed him the garment, his senses went into overdrive. The fabric was silky and still radiated the warmth of her body. He fought to ignore the way goosebumps had risen on her exposed skin in the night air.

“The under wire. Here.” Freya’s voice pulled him back to the task at hand. Her hand covered his, her touch electric as she guided his fingers to an imperceptible flaw. “The seam is broken.”

Abe squinted. A sliver of metal protruded from the delicate curve of wire. He pinched it between thumb and forefinger, extracting a tiny object no bigger than a grain of rice.

“Clever bastards,” he growled.

“You recognize this?”

“Micro tracking chip. Seventh generation. Unobtrusive, long battery life, and a tracking range that’d make a GPS satellite jealous.”

His gaze lifted, meeting Freya’s. The officious scientist was gone. In her place stood a woman—smart and beautiful, but human in her vulnerability. He was hyperaware of every detail: the gentle breeze stirring her hair, the faint sheen of sweat on her brow, the way her fingers curled protectively around her midsection.

He fisted his hands at his side. There was nothing he wanted more than to pull her close, to shield her from the world with his own body. Instead, he made himself take a step back, to be the professional she needed. He dropped the tracker on a flat rock and ground it with his heel, the crunch satisfying.

Freya’s hands knotted. “How could I have missed this?”

“Locating trackers is not in your job description.” He offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “During my SEAL days, I almost got my entire team compromised because I missed a tail in Kandahar. Rookie mistake. Thought I was being clever, using a local market as cover. Turns out, our target knew every vendor by name. The moment I engaged with the wrong one, our cover was blown.”

Her eyebrows shot up, curiosity overshadowing her anxiety, and her shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Really? What happened?”

“Let’s just say it involved a lot of running, a hijacked tuk-tuk, and me learning how to apologize in Pashto.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Maybe keep that to yourself. Otherwise, my boss, Leo, might question my judgment.” His mood sobered, meeting Freya’s gaze. “We’re all human, doing the best we can in difficult circumstances. What matters is how we respond when things go sideways.”

“I’ve never been one for accepting ‘things go sideways’ as a valid outcome.” The plushness of her mouth went prim. “With proper planning and a margin of error of 2.5%, 98.7% of operations should proceed according to projections.”

Fuck, he wanted to do dirty things to that mouth.

He dragged his gaze off her, the tendons in his neck twitching. “Maybe it’s time to re-evaluate that theory.” But, despite everything, he smiled at her dedication to precision. “Sometimes the 1.3% sneaks up on you.”

He pushed aside the urge to comfort her further. There’d be time for that later. Maybe . He shifted his tone back to business. “Get dressed.”

He scanned the immediate area, mind already racing through contingencies. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”