Page 15 of Wilde and Untamed
“What’s your read on Rue’s safety?” she asked. “I’m worried she’s not taking this seriously enough.”
“She’s not in immediate danger,” Elliot said, trying to keep his voice neutral despite the worry gnawing at him. “She’s taking it seriously, but you know how she is—always thinks she can handle anything thrown her way.”
“That’s Rue,” Rowan agreed, a mixture of fondness and exasperation in her voice. “Mom says she was climbing out of her crib before she could walk. Always looking for the next adventure.”
“This isn’t an adventure,” Elliot muttered. “It’s a Praetorian operation disguised as a scientific expedition.”
“Then you watch her,” Davey said in the authoritative tone he used when issuing orders. “Every minute. Don’t let her out of your sight.”
“That was already the plan,” Elliot snapped before he caught himself.
A knowing look flashed in Davey’s eyes, and he wanted to squirm. His brother had always been too perceptive when it came to things Elliot would rather keep hidden.
“I’m sure it was,” Davey said dryly.
Elliot ignored him. “I’ll keep her safe, Ro. I promise.”
Rowan’s expression softened. “I know you will. But who’s going to keepyousafe fromher?”
Now that was the prize-winning question, wasn’t it?
“I can handle her.” He finished his beer and set the empty bottle on the counter, already mentally cataloging what equipment he needed to prepare. The standard WSW field kit wouldn’t be enough for Antarctica—he’d need specialized gear for the extreme cold, backup communications that wouldn’t be monitored by Praetorian, and weapons that wouldn’t be detected during the inevitable security screening. “I should head up. I have a lot to do still.”
“El,” Davey called as he headed for the door. “Be careful out there. Not just with Praetorian.”
The warning was clear. Be careful with Rue. Don’t get too attached. Don’t let your feelings compromise the mission.
Too late for that, Elliot thought, but he just nodded. “Always am.”
As he climbed the stairs to his apartment, the weight of what lay ahead settled more firmly on his shoulders. Antarctica. Praetorian. Rue. Three variables that could each be deadly on their own. Combined, they were a powder keg waiting for a spark.
And he’d just volunteered to stand in the middle of it all with a match.
six
Two days later,Elliot stepped off the elevator onto the seventh floor of the brownstone, darkness enveloping him. He paused, one hand instinctively moving toward the concealed weapon at his hip. Davey had texted him to meet in the common room for a final briefing on Antarctica, but the pitch-black space ahead set off every internal alarm he’d honed through years of field work. No lights. No sound. Not even the low hum of the TV that Dom usually left on as background noise.
He took a cautious step forward, his boot creaking on the old hardwood floor. “Davey?”
The lights blazed on with blinding suddenness, and a chorus of voices shouted, “Surprise!”
Elliot flinched, hand tightening on his weapon before his brain caught up with his reflexes. The top-floor common room of the brownstone, the space he shared with his brothers, was packed with people. His people. Family.
“Happy birthday, you paranoid bastard!” Dom’s laugh boomed across the room as he strode forward, throwing an arm around Elliot’s shoulders. “Man, you should see your face rightnow. Did you actually reach for your gun? At your own surprise party?”
Elliot blinked, his brain struggling to shift gears from tactical assessment to... this. A crooked banner hung across the far wall, the words “Happy 30th Birthday, Elliot” painted in what looked like Mom’s handwriting. Streamers dangled from the ceiling in haphazard loops, and the dining table groaned under platters of food—proper food, not takeout. The familiar, comforting smell of his mother’s pot roast filled the air.
“You all...” He trailed off, taking in the sea of grinning faces. Davey and Rowan stood by the bar, his brother’s arm draped casually around her waist. Griffin lounged against the wall, looking faintly irritated. Daphne and Fiona were by the windows, champagne flutes in hand. His parents, his aunts and uncles, cousins, and friends he hadn’t seen in weeks because of work—they were all here.
And then he saw her.
Rue stood near the kitchen, a party hat perched at a jaunty angle on her honey-gold hair, holding what appeared to be a homemade cake. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she caught his gaze and mouthed, “Gotcha.”
“You were in on this?” he asked, unable to keep the betrayal from his voice as she approached.
“Duh.” She rolled her eyes, the motion so quintessentially Rue that it made his chest tighten. “Who do you think kept you distracted with all those ‘urgent’ questions about your gear while they set this up? You’re welcome, by the way.”
Of course. The random texts all afternoon: What type of thermals was he packing? Did he have ice climbing gear? Was he planning to bring a weapon because she needed to make sure… blah, blah, blah. With so many texts and requests, she’d delayed him from leaving the office by an hour.
