Page 27 of Command and Control: GHOST Operative

Julieanne looks up from the cookie in her hand. "Why do you need to know that?"

"Because not everyone you fucked with is going to be like me, Jules. They won't humor your bullshit the way I do."

Julieanne’s dark brows pinch together as she slaps a scoop of ice cream onto the cookie. "Is that what you're calling this? Humoring my bullshit?"

Jesus Christ. She can’t give me an inch. Won't even let me do shit that's for her own goddamned good. "I'm trying to make you understand you can't keep doing the shit you're doing." I'm yelling now, but just like so much else where this woman is concerned, I can't seem to make myself stop. "You're going to end up with someone bad on your doorstep, Jules."

She smashes another cookie together, bringing a finger to her mouth to suck a drip of ice cream off the tip, her eyes holding mine. "You mean someone like you?"

"No." I stop, rethinking my answer. "Yes." I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. She has me so fuckingupside down I can’t tell which way is up. "You know what? I don't fucking care." I turn to walk away then stop, spinning back to the counter to grab my sandwich and cookie. "Do what you fucking want to do."

I storm through the living room and out the front door, slamming it as I go. She's not fucking listening and we’re getting nowhere. My team is just going to have to find another way to get into her system and shut her down.

Otherwise, kidnapping might have to be back on the table.

10

SOMETIMES IT TAKES TOM CRUISE TO GET YOU WHERE YOU WANT TO GO

JULIEANNE

HE’S DEFINITELY A brat.

I putter around in the kitchen a few more minutes, just in case Vincent decides to come back, but he must not be pissed enough at me to warrant another visit. That’s disappointing.

But it's late and I’m fucking tired, so, after packing up my cookie ice cream sandwiches, I head upstairs to brush my teeth. It's been a really, really long day and I am more than ready for bed.

Once that’s done I shuffle into my bedroom and flip off the light. I eye the blinds he dragged across my doors. For a minute, I consider reopening them, but then decide he's the brat, not me, so I leave them in place before dragging back the covers and falling onto the mattress. I flail around a little, trying to get comfortable, but it's not as easy to pass out as I expected. I can’t stop replaying the day’s events in my head.

Specifically the part where Vincent pinned me against the wall and angry-fucked the hell out of me. I'ma little suspicious I was coming close to getting the round two I wanted when his phone started to ring. But then his stomach growled and I felt a little bad. It's pretty clear things aren't going exactly the way he expected them to, and I'm going to take full credit for that. Which means I probably also deserved full credit for his grumbling gut.

Fixing him something to eat while he attempted to make good on his threat of erasing my hacking hobby from existence felt like the right thing to do. I knew he wouldn’t be successful, so I wasn’t worried. But I am worried about what will happen whenherealizes it can’t be done. Is he just going to fly back to Alaska and pretend I don't exist?

It's a little depressing to consider. Especially since in the four years I've been divorced, and the two years I've been actively trying to find someone to ring my bell, he's the only one I've ever considered allowing the opportunity to accomplish it.

And he rang that motherfucker like the town was burning down.

I flop to my other side and stare at the nightstand. Maybe I'll be able to relax a little better if I rub a quick one out. If nothing else, it’ll be fun.

I'm reaching for the nightstand when I hear scuffing on the balcony outside. Excitement twists my belly and my nipples tighten. I'm not just going to lay here and wait to see what happens next—the anticipation would likely kill me and I very much want to be alive for this—so I fling back the covers and jump from the bed, fluffing my hair as I go straight to the door. I slide the vertical blinds across the door and findexactly what I expected.

The man on my balcony is decked out in black tactical gear and looks ready to come through my door.

The problem is, the man's not Vincent.

I sling the blinds back into place and backpedal across the room, each step faster than the one before it as I try to put as much distance between me and the strange man as possible.

I was obviously wrong all those times I thought I got all hot and bothered from being a little scared, because right now I’m only filled with ice-cold panic. There's not a single hint of horniness to be found anywhere inside me as I reach my bedroom door. When the handle of the sliding door jiggles, I let out a yelp, my heart in my throat as I spin away and start to run.

Every bit of me bounces as I run down the stairs, forcing me to wrap one arm across my front to keep my boobs somewhat stable. I keep my grip on them as I hit the bottom and reach for the door.

Then I pause, realizing someone might be on the other side of this door too. Leaning forward to squint through the peephole, I let out a sigh of relief when no one's on the other side. In one last strike of brilliance, I reach for the end table and grab the key to Vincent's apartment, gripping it and my boobs tight as I yank open the door and race out into the frigid night.

The soles of my feet start to burn as I run across the frozen sidewalk, not bothering to look down as I go. I don’t care about the state of my soles or the chance I might step on something sharp. My only thought is to get to Vincent as fast as possible. He’s the only chance I have.

I reach his door, banging on it with one hand as I shove the key into the lock with the other, twisting itaround until I hear the deadbolt slide. Then I shove my way in, falling right against him as I tumble over the threshold.

Vincent grabs me tight, pressing my body to his as he swings me away and slams the door, locking it. "What's wrong?"

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