Page 22 of Rusty's Command

Her whole body seemed to sag. “Sorry.” Her palm pressed against his chest as she stepped back, steadying herself.

“We’re stopping.” He left no room for argument in his tone. She already had a head injury. A broken ankle down here would be a death sentence. “Soda, heel,” he called, as he swept debris away with his boot and guided Sienna to where the curved wall met the floor.

The cold stone bit into his back as they settled, and Soda pressed against his side. Her usual comfort was distorted by the angry knots in his stomach, growling for attention. Christ, he was starving, but Sienna had to be worse after running that marathon before all this went sideways. And it wouldn’t be long before Soda started letting him know exactly how she felt about missing dinner.

Pickle’s nails clicked across stone, followed by a soft whump as he landed in Sienna’s lap.

“Hey, fella.” Her hands found the dog in the dark, moving in that steady rhythm that he liked to use on Soda when he was trying to comfort himself as much as his dog. “We’ll get you home to Aunty Dee. I promise.”

Rusty clamped his jaw. He should be the one making promises like that, but promises were bullshit. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. These days, he dealt in cold, hard truths or nothing at all.

“Hey, Rusty . . . what did you mean by you’ve been in worse situations than this?”

He bit back a groan. He should have steered the conversation anywhere other than talking about himself. Last thing he needed was her figuring out they had history. Not yet anyway. But he had a feeling she would keep prodding if he dodged her question.

Releasing a sigh, he said, “I had a mission in Colombia that was . . . that didn’t end well.”

“Oh, jeez. What happened? Did you lose someone?”

“Yeah. Two men. Two good men.”

“God, Rusty, I’m sorry.”

He let the silence answer. No apology could touch what that clusterfuck had cost him: his career, his men, everything.

Before she dug deeper, he said, “So have you moved in with your aunt?”

He knew damn well she hadn’t. He would have noticed a woman like her living across the street.

“No. I arrived two days ago. I’m looking after Aunty Dee’s place and this crazy dog for four weeks while she’s in Europe.”

“Huh, lucky for some.” He smiled, thinking of Sienna lazing in a red bikini while swinging in Dee’s massive hammock that stretched across her back deck.

“Yeah. Real lucky.” The weight in her sarcasm dropped like a stone.

Shit. “I meant Dee’s house. It’s a nice place to stay.”

“Oh, you know Aunty Dee’s place?”

Double shit.

“Everyone knows Dee,” he said carefully. At least that wasn’t a lie.

“Sounds right.” She laughed softly. “My aunt’s as crazy as her dog.”

“Do you visit her often?” The question had been burning since he first saw her charge out of the cop station. He wanted to see a lot more of her once this mess was over.

“I try to visit yearly, though I haven’t for three years. But . . .” A tiny sound spilled from her lips that was so sad he wanted to pull her closer.

“But what?”

“Aunty Dee basically forced me here this time.”

“Why’s that?”

A sound caught in her throat, raw and dark. “Life’s been pretty crappy for the last couple of months and . . .”

“And what?”

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