Page 42 of Code Name: Grit

His eyes searched mine, conflict written across his features. “You know why.”

“I don’t care if we cross the line, Grit.” The words emerged as a confession as I rose on my toes and captured his mouth with mine.

For a heartbeat, he remained frozen, and I feared I’d misread everything. Then a groan tore from his throat as he took control of the kiss, backing me against the wall. His mouth devoured mine with a hunger that matched the ache building inside me, his hands tangling in my hair.

The weight of his body pinned me in place as the kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against mine. My fingers found the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin beneath my hands.

A crash from somewhere in the house jarred us back to reality.

Grit pulled away, chest heaving. “Dammit,” he muttered, reaching for his weapon.

I drew mine as well, my body still humming as we listened to the footsteps moving through the house. The security feed on the panic room monitor showed three armed men in tactical gear methodically searching each room.

“Any chance it’s our extraction team?” I whispered, knowing the answer before he shook his head.

“Too early, and they’re not using K19 protocols.”

Grit moved to the control panel, activating the enhanced security systems. Multiple feed angles appeared on the screen—front entrance, kitchen, living area, bedrooms.

“Four total,” he whispered. “Well-trained. These aren’t typical Belcastro enforcers.” He studied their movements. “The way they clear rooms, check corners…They know what they’re doing.”

“Patriarca soldiers, maybe?”

Grit nodded, his expression grim as we watched them plant what appeared to be listening devices throughout the house.

“They’re not just looking for us,” I noted. “They’re establishing surveillance.”

“Which means they’re expecting us—or someone—to return. But don’t worry. It’s a matter of procedure to sweep a place upon entering.”

I reviewed the security footage again. There was something about these guys that seemed oddly familiar. The team leader’s hand signals matched protocols I’d seen before but couldn’t place.

A fragment of an audio transmission was barely clear enough to hear.

“Confirm shared access to feed with B-team.”

B-team? What the fuck was that? Were these Patriarca soldiers operating alone, or were they coordinating with someone else? The question was, with whom?

We settled in to wait, seated side by side against the wall, our shoulders touching. The monitor showed our unwelcome visitors continuing their methodical search, approaching the closet concealing our panic room.

“They won’t find us,” Grit assured me, his hand covering mine. “This panic room is designed to be undetectable. Even if they suspect it exists, the entrance blends in seamlessly when closed.”

As he’d said, the men searched the closet, running their hands along the walls, before moving on to the next room.

“How much longer?” I asked again, aware I was still breathless from our kiss.

“K19 will have registered the security breach. They’ll deploy an extraction team, but it could be an hour. Maybe two.”

An hour trapped in a small space with the man whose kiss had just ignited every nerve ending in my body. I wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” I said, needing the conversation to distract from the lingering heat between us.

Grit’s thumb traced circles on my knuckles. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything. Where you grew up. Your favorite book. How you take your coffee.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Charlottesville, Virginia. The Old Man and the Sea. Black, no sugar. But that part you know.”

“Hemingway fan?”

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