Page 11 of Evening Shadows

She drank in all that he gave her in that moment when reality crashed in and her blood turned cold.

Jerking back out of his arms, she covered her mouth in self-reproach. This was one of the men responsible for her husband’s death. The intel reports told all. Bev had told her Ken hadn’t saved Lance because he wanted Sam for herself. She hadn’t believed her friend, but….

Sick to her stomach, she did the only thing she could. “Leave,” she demanded.

He turned away from her. “As your team leader and a man who’s always held our friendship dear, I support you. As your husband’s best friend and someone I care about more than friendship, I don’t want you anywhere near the danger that comes with this job.” He turned back to her. “I’m having trouble reconciling the two.”

Her heart wondered if there was more to his statement. Even if not, reconciling those two things had to happen. Either she had to allow things with her and Ken to progress and forget about what she’d learned. Or, she had to find a way to make both Ken and Jesse pay for her husband’s death.

She slammed the door behind Ken as she strode away. Could she really allow herself to fall in love with one of the men responsible for her loss? Not wanting to think it through, she dropped on the couch. Dropping her head in her hands, she cried for all she’d lost and all she might lose.

5

Where the hell had that come from? Ken had been a fool to kiss her while he’d been acting like an ass. He could understand—in a small way—if his action had been too much as she hadn’t verbalized her agreement to move to the next step. What he couldn’t understand was why she turned him down for dinner then used the “boss” bullshit.

To be complete, he needed her in his life. His heart had always been devoted to her, even from afar. He had to pull it all together.

He had to remember the most important part—she asked him to leave after he kissed her. No other words. Just asked him to leave. He’d overstepped his bounds, but she’d looked so defeated and vulnerable that he’d wanted to enfold her in his arms.

When the first agent on his team burst from the building, Ken brought his focus back to his task. With the team split, he could devote more time to the cohesiveness of his smaller group. They’d all worked together, but now they had a chance to strengthen their bonds and become a smaller family. One who anticipated every move and countermove their teammate would make. Plus, they had to get used to Franks—his team’s new second-in-command—leading them when he couldn’t.Like right now.The agents had become comfortable with Grits, but times had changed.

“Dammit!” he shouted, a stopwatch in his hand. “It took you four seconds longer than our target time.”

Not long ago, a training house had been constructed so that they could practice rescues, which, unfortunately, numbered higher on their ops than protection details, but equal to their government-sanctioned ops which kept climbing.

“Four seconds,” he stressed, “longer to clear the house,” he reiterated to a tired and sweaty team.

Dressed in full tactical gear, the team had run different scenarios inside the hull of a house with no air conditioning with him not giving them time to rest in-between. They had to be ready to tackle a rescue even while exhausted. The rescue came first and foremost of any such op.

He had to get his point across even though he knew they understood. “Your delay could’ve notified the captors and our op would’ve ended in recovery instead of rescue. Our goal for the victims is rescue.”

No one spoke. Solemn, tired faces looked back at him, offering no excuses—which he wouldn’t tolerate. He hadn’t needed to tell them what taking too long could mean. They were hardened warriors. And warriorettes, if there was such a thing.

“Let’s run it again,” Ken said, even knowing he’d probably pushed them far enough for the day. He worried that if they were called up for an op right now, he couldn’t go in and lead them. They had to learn to beat the clock without him.

“Come on, Boss. Give us five to catch our breath,” Franks requested while leaning over with his hands on his knees. Ken trusted him, but he wished the agent had more leadership experience. His DEA experience was good—but not enough. When he was back on his feet, Ken would work with him, because his second had what it took.

Seeing how tired they were, he looked at his watch and grimaced. It was later than he’d expected. It wasn’t like him to lose track of time. In truth, he knew he’d pushed so hard because Sam hadn’t been acting as sniper; she’d been right in the thick of it. They had to get it right to protect her while he couldn’t. “We’ll call it a day and tackle this tomorrow. Make sure to clean your weapons before you leave.”

Cowboy snorted and rolled his eyes. “Like you have to tell us that.”

“Since Bravo team is out, you’re on call,” Ken reminded them.

Stone laughed. “You don’t have to tell us that either.”

“Wait,” Franks said. “Don’t tell me—make sure your gear is in good working order.”

“Don’t forget—make sure your go-bag is ready,” Sugar added with a chuckle.

“And the med kit,” Doc added.

By this time, the entire team was either grinning or laughing. He’d give them this bit of fun because it told him they listened. Not that he’d had to truly tell them to do all those things and more; they knew how to prepare. “Are you done?” he asked sourly.

“There’s plenty more,” Franks responded with a wry smile. “Should we continue?”

Normally he’d tell them to go fuck themselves, but he’d been trying to clean up his language so he wouldn’t owe Reagan so much. That child’s jar had already begun to fill. Plus, he did want to behave better around the Hamilton children. The Hamiltons had become his family. They’d taken him in and treated him as if he belonged. Although that pack of brothers could get overwhelming and opinionated when he didn’t want the hassle. “No. Just get it all done.”

After punching his code into the keypad beside the door, the team trudged through the war room to the weapons room. Once finished, Ken expected them to go to the locker rooms and get showers. He could use one also, but he’d survive until he arrived home. Not wearing full gear or running the drills, he’d survived the worst of the stifling heat. Plus, even with the wind in his face on his Harley, he’d still sweat on the ride home.

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