Page 3 of Provoking Bryan

Bryan chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. "Fair enough. Bryan Mena," he introduced himself, holding out a hand.

She hesitated, as if weighing her options, before placing her hand in his. "Sara Gray."

Her grip was firm, her skin soft against his calloused palm. He let his thumb linger a fraction too long as he released her hand.

"So, what brings you to this circus?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

"Doctors Without Borders," Bryan replied. "Starting with them in two weeks. Tonight’s about shaking hands and smiling for the donors."

He was surprised to see several Cerberus operatives in attendance. He knew JJ Fitzwallace, the wife of Cerberus founder, Robert Fitzwallace, was a huge donor, but security for a fundraising event seemed a bit low key for the world-class security, intelligence and black ops group.

"Must be a change of pace for someone like you," Sara observed. Her eyes flicked over him—clinical yet charged.

"You mean someone who confines himself to the safe world of a hospital?"

She didn’t answer immediately, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward. "Something like that."

"And you?" Bryan countered, stepping closer, lowering his voice. "You’re not here for the champagne and hors d'oeuvres."

Her gaze sharpened. "What makes you say that?"

"Your eyes," he said simply. "You’re scanning the room like you’re waiting for something—or someone."

For a moment, Sara’s carefully composed mask faltered, and something dangerous flashed behind her eyes. But before she could reply, the air shattered with a deafening crack.

Gunfire.

Screams erupted, the elegant room descending into chaos. Bryan instinctively grabbed Sara’s arm, pulling her behind a thick marble column as people scattered.

"Stay down," he ordered, his voice steady despite the chaos.

Sara gave him an incredulous look. "Not a chance."

Before he could argue, she was already moving. She reached under the slit of her gown, pulling a small pistol from a thigh holster. Bryan stared, stunned but impressed. It was a Sig P238—a small but serious gun for a serious shooter.

"You're full of surprises," he muttered, his heart pounding in a mix of adrenaline and something else entirely.

"You have no idea," she shot back, her tone clipped.

Bryan didn’t have time to dwell on her words. Across the room, a man in a ski mask aimed his gun at a cowering couple. Without hesitation, Bryan lunged forward, tackling the man to the ground. The impact jarred his shoulder, but he held firm, wrestling the weapon from the assailant’s grip. It would seem the instincts he’d learned on the battlefield had not deserted him.

A sharp crack from Sara’s direction made him glance up. She stood over another attacker, her movements precise as she disarmed him with a calculated strike. A third shot came from Seth, who stood over a third assailant.

The room was littered with broken glass, overturned tables, and sobbing guests. Bryan hauled his captive to his feet, securing the weapon before locking eyes with Sara.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded, his breath ragged.

"Just a guest," she replied smoothly, though the grin tugging up at the corners of her mouth betrayed her.

She stepped closer, the air between them crackling like static electricity. For a moment, the world shrank to just the two of them.

"Impressive moves," Bryan admitted, his voice low.

"Likewise," she replied, her tone laced with challenge. Her gaze flicked to his lips before snapping back to his eyes.

Before either of them could say more, police sirens sounded and Seth joined them, dragging his prisoner in tow. The police stormed in, weapons drawn, shouting commands.

“A day late and a dollar short,” Sara quipped as she slipped away like smoke, blending into the chaos.

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