Page 17 of Avenging Jessie
Spence leaned back, rubbing his eyes. “I assumed he’d had plastic surgery and changed his appearance so he could stay off our radar, but nope. Facial rec confirms it. This is him. Our guy is alive and well and definitely working with Keller, er, Hastings. The Pentagon security breach was most certainly him.”
She’d known this day would come when Brewer was flesh and blood again. Not just a shadow. Not a ghost. He was back. Her body started down the panic highway, thanks to her PTSD, but she shut it down. In her mind, she painted a red bullseye on his chest.
Spence typed a series of commands, lines of code scrolling by in one of the black boxes. “If only I could worm my way inside the warehouse. Tap into some form of audio. There has to be a way to see and hear them. Without it, they’re ghosts.”
Her pulse kicked harder. Even ghosts left fingerprints. He just had to find them. “This is it, though. We need to get to that warehouse. Now, before the meeting is over.”
Spence shook his head. “That photo is from two a.m.—and before you break my neck for not waking you, I didn’t get into the feed until thirty minutes ago. This is from a recording. The meeting was probably hours ago. What we need are live feeds, terrain intel, and an exit plan?—”
“Exit plan? Jesus, Spence, you sound like Meg and Dec. Everything has to be planned out. Everything has to be timed. Even if it was hours ago, Brewer might still be there. We need to find out.” She checked the old-fashioned cuckoo clock hanging on the wall. “If we leave now, we can get there in the next hour.”
He scoffed. “No.”
That was it. One word.
Anger roared through her. She smacked the top of the desk.“That will be your live feed. That’s how you get your terrain intel. We can form anexit planafter I gun Brewer down and send him to hell.”
Spence stopped typing. He stood so abruptly, his dark eyes hardening into flint, that she had to stumble backward to keep him from bumping his chest into hers. “Enough with the renegade bullshit, Mendoza. Above everything else, you are still a CIA operative. You are tasked with a mission, and that mission has parameters.” His voice was as stern as his eyes. “Those parameters are in place to protect you, me, and the rest of our team, as well as to catch the bad guys we pursue. I’m all for taking risks and bending a few rules, but your recklessness needs to stop right here, right now. You are not a vigilante.” His voice lowered. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I don’t want to pull rank, but Flynn put me in charge. I will pull you off this mission and ship your reckless ass right back to Langley if you keep acting like this.”
It was as if he’d slapped her. She lashed out before she could stop herself, storming across the room—well, as much as she could manage on her traitorous ankle—and grabbed the first thing she could find—a cracked ceramic vase sitting on top of an old wooden chest. She hurled it across the room at him. It missed and crashed against the wall, shattering it. “You don’t understand!”
Spence didn’t flinch. He crossed the space between them in two strides. Caught her wrist. Not hard, just enough to stop her from grabbing something else. Just enough to pull her in close.
She froze.
His breath mingled with hers. His eyes searched her face. Fire and pain and something raw burned between them.
“Jess,” he said, low.
She didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. She hated how much she wanted to lean into him. To let Brewer and everything else she’d been carrying all these months fall away.
Their lips were inches apart. Should she do it? Give in to these raging feelings that weren’t only about her nightmares but about…him?
A crash came from downstairs.
Spence stepped back, releasing her. “You might be surprised at what I understand about the past and how it keeps a grip around your neck, no matter what you do.”
Air. She needed air. Jessie turned without a word and limped toward the rusted fire escape. She shoved open the window, cool air slapping her face. She braced her hands on the railing, breathing hard.
Behind her, Spence followed.
Damn him.
But he didn’t say anything. They stood in silence.
The city was still dark. The street below was empty except for a garbage truck rumbling past. Through the thin walls and wooden floorboards, more sounds came from the bakery as the owner prepared to open shop.
Spence blew out an audible breath. “Every time I get near you, I forget how to breathe. I forget what the mission even is.”
“That’s the problem.” She stared out over the rooftops. The sunrise did little to scatter the heavy, gray clouds. Her voice cracked. “I never forget.”
His body tensed. She could have bounced that silver coin he was constantly toying with off his tight muscles, straight back, clenched jaw.
She turned back toward the apartment. “I need a shower, and then that coffee.”
He raised his face to stare at the sky, as if he couldn’t stand to look at her. “I’ll grab breakfast from downstairs. Don’t overdo it. You need to keep that ankle elevated again today.”
Embarrassment crept up the back of her neck and into her scalp. God, she was acting like one of those ridiculous drama queens on a reality show. She felt like a bomb about to explode every damn day. Hypervigilance. Fear. Her adrenals were shot. “Bossy bastard.”
