Page 7 of Mine to Protect

“Fuck off,” I grumbled. Because what else was there to say when he was fucking spot on. I had put on a few pounds since my demotion from team lead last month, and he was also correct to the cause. Damn beer.

“Gentlemen,” the director cut in, once again trying to regain control of the conversation. “I have another meeting in ten minutes. You’ll have plenty of time to catch up later. Now we must discuss Sergeant Mathews’s new assignment.”

That didn’t sound positive.

Brows raised in curiosity, I leaned forward, pressing both elbows onto my thighs. A pointed cough swept my suspicious gaze from the director to Peters, sitting in the other leather chair across from me.

“I’ll fill you in on the specifics on the plane tomorrow, but long story short, you’re with me now.”

What the hell?“Why me?” I demanded.

Peters shrugged and leaned back in his chair, but his tight shoulders and sharp movements radiated the tension he was trying to play off. “Why you? I know you, I trust you, and with you being USPP, your federal and state jurisdiction might come in handy at some point. You’re mine until we’re done.”

“Done with what? What’s this new assignment?” Damnit. A low throb pulsed behind my eyes as a headache began to set in. I hated vague, and the fucker knew it. Facts and strategy helped you make informed decisions. Both were needed for every assignment.

Sweat beaded down the column of my spine.

The last time I moved with too many unknowns, men died.

My men.

Peters’s eyes held my gaze with cold intensity, making my pulse race with excitement. “We’re headed to catch a potential serial killer.”

* * *

Venti black Starbuckscup in hand, I marched up the short stairs of the FBI’s private plane. Inside I had to duck not to whack my head against the low roof. Angling sideways, I shuffled to the open seat across the aisle from where Peters sat typing furiously on his laptop. The only acknowledgment to my on-time arrival was a quick nod.

Taking the ‘I’m busy’ hint, I twisted in the leather seat, getting as comfortable as possible in the tiny thing for the flight. Out the window, I saw the pilot and crew toss all my bags under the plane. The plane jolted as the final black duffel landed in the belly. Hopefully it didn’t tip us over the weight limits for the jet. All Peters said yesterday after we left the director’s office was to pack warm with enough firepower to make me feel comfortable, which meant a lot, then jotted down the address to the hangar.

The marines taught me how to use my hands and body as a deadly weapon, but still I preferred being heavily armed in hopes it never came to that. Hand to hand, I couldn’t hold back, unlike the distance a gunfight provided.

The still-too-hot coffee scalded the roof of my mouth at the first sip, but I downed another swig anyway, hoping to clear the ever-present fog from my mind. Last night was another restless night. Hell, I couldn’t remember the last time I slept through the night without waking up in a crazed panic with a loaded gun in hand.

Shortly after takeoff, Peters snapped his laptop closed and tossed it onto the seat across from him.

“Start talking,” I demanded, my hot breath pushing against the window, fogging the thick plastic. “I understand I don’t have a choice in taking this assignment, but I need to know what I’m walking into.”

Peters’s hard stare pricked at the nerves along my neck, making the hair stand on end. The soft leather groaned as I shifted in the seat and leaned back against the window.

He shook his head. “We need to get something else out of the way first. What happened to get you demoted?”

Wondered when this would be brought up.I sighed and scrubbed at my clean-shaven cheeks. Might as well get it out of the way now. If we were a two-person team on this assignment, he had a right to know what he was getting into.

“What? They let you in the FBI without knowing how to read?” I deadpanned. Yeah he needed to know. Didn’t mean I’d make it easy for him. “You want to know what happened, read the damn report.”

Peters smirked, knowing what I was doing. “I did read it, fuck face, but it was one-sided. I want to know your side.”

“My side,” I said with a huff.

“We served together, you fool. If you think you’re the only one who deals with past shit on a daily basis, then you need to pull your head out of your ass. Who knows, I might understand why you did it. But all in all, I need to trust that you won’t lose your shit again.”

“I didn’t lose my shit,” I growled, my fingers tightening around the thin armrests.

“Tell me.”

I scrubbed a calloused hand across my face and leaned back to stare at the ceiling. Maybe he was right. The person who documented my side of the incident wasn’t someone who’d been in close-quarters combat, didn’t understand the triggers that lay beneath the surface of every man who’d been cornered in the past and believed they were out of options.

“My team and I were on protection detail, stationed along the route the president would take that day to meet other dignitaries. We had a few protesters due towhohe was meeting with, but it was orderly and nonviolent. There were even a few kids in the group, holding their parents’ hands.” I downed another swallow of coffee. Fuck this small plane. Sitting in the damn, tiny chair was too confining. “A group showed up minutes before the president was due to cross our path. The group was different than the others—we all knew it the second they walked up—so when the first guy drew his gun, we were prepared. Several of the guys yelled at everyone to get down, and we went into action—”

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