Page 36 of Parker

Handsome man, knows computers, loves gaming, acts like he cares… Sound familiar, anyone?

Quinn knew that story well, and it didn’t come with a happy ending. She knew because she’d lived it, and there wasn’t even the tiniest part of her that wanted to do it again.

Not even with a man who looked back at her as if he’d buy her the moon if she asked.

Probably could afford it with the money he has.

“Listen, I have more questions, and I’m sure you do, too.” Parker’s deep voice reigned in her scattered thoughts. “I promise I’ll answer every single one of yours…truthfully…once we’re at the safehouse.” He glanced down at her feet. “What size do you wear?”

“Seven and a half.”

The suddenly protective man gave her a curt dip of his chin, his eyes alert as he scanned the lot for possible threats. “Is there anything in your car that you need to take with you?”

She shook her head. “Like I said, it’s all at home.”

“Lock it.” The order was stern. “We’ll leave it here for a day or two in case you’re being tracked.”

“If I was being tracked, they would have found me by now.”

He brought his stoic gaze back to hers. “Or they’re regrouping and preparing for a second attack.”

The man had a point.

Quinn reached into her pocket, pulled out her fob, and pressed the button to lock her car. “I’m ready.”

“Let’s go.”

Warmth from Parker’s hand spread across her lower back as they walked to where the other two men were waiting. Like when he’d touched her before, a pulse of electricity originated at the point of contact, and it was all she could do to hide the breath-stealing shock.

Refusing to acknowledge her body’s inexplicable reaction to a man she barely knew, she focused on Parker’s friends.

Dressed in jeans, boots, and t-shirts, they were both at least six feet, brunette, and fit. And more than a little attractive.

They don’t hold a candle to Parker, though.

“Jinx, this is Christian Hunt.” The star of her thoughts pointed to the man on the left. “He’s a former Navy corpsman who heads up RISC’s Delta Team. That’s the local private security group I mentioned earlier.”

Bulkier than the other man, Christian’s shoulders were broader, his chest and biceps larger and more defined. The slicked-back hair on the top of his head was longer than the neatly trimmed sides and back, his matching scruff covering a chiseled jaw and slightly dimpled chin.

Her eyes fell to the ink covering his left arm from beneath his black t-shirt’s short sleeve to his wrist. Peeking out from the sleeve’s stretched hem was the head of a bald eagle.

Minus the bird’s golden eye, the rest of the realistic lines and curves that had been permanently etched into his skin had all been done in black and gray. Feathers wrapped around the back of the top half of the arm, their tips morphing into the stripes of the American flag.

A saluting soldier whose bottom half was made from the infamous battle cross stood below.

Quinn couldn’t see the back of his forearm from where she stood, but it didn’t take a genius to guess whatever was there, it was patriotic in theme.

Someone with tattoos like that has to be a good guy, right?

Quinn knew that wasn’t necessarily true but gave the man the benefit of the doubt and a guarded smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” His expression was unreadable but not unfriendly as he tilted his head toward the man next to him. “This is Brody King.”

With a lean, fit build, Brody looked more like a runner than body builder. Short dark hair and a thick, well-groomed beard matched the man’s fierce, intense demeanor. As did the set of dark brown eyes that were laser-focused on her.

“Thanks for coming.”

The man said nothing. Just a slight, almost indiscernible tip of his chin.

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