She shrugged. “I have no idea. Early on, Vaughn told me it was best not to keep count. It makes it easier to forget their faces.” And to sleep at night. The dead had a way of haunting your dreams if you gave them space in your head. She knew agents who kept a tally of their kills as if it were a point of pride, but it always seemed morbid to her. And although she wasn’t ashamed of the things she’d done, she didn’t see the point in keeping track like she was some sort of serial killer.
“More than ten?” Jackson asked.
“I killed more than ten that night at the base. You know that.”
“More than fifty but less than a hundred?”
Irritation crept under her skin and into her voice. She hated being prodded for information, especially when that information pushed her beyond her comfort zone. “I said I didn’t know.”
He held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s your turn to ask a question.”
His apology took the edge off her temper. She paused a moment to gather her thoughts, and then asked the question that had nagged her for years. “Why me? There are so many other women out there who could give you exactly what you need.”
Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he’d be much better off with a woman whose life wasn’t so…complicated. Someone less jaded, less rough around the edges. One who wouldn’t have to look over her shoulder for the rest of her life, because the line of people who wanted to kill her was longer than the one at Space Mountain.
Jackson looked at her as though she just sprouted wings. “I don’t give a damn about other women. You’re the one I want, because you’re exactly what I need.” His eyes smoldered with hope and desire, and her heart kicked against her rib cage. “You’re smart and beautiful, with a wicked sense of humor and a body that doesn’t quit. You fight like a tiger for what you believe in, and I find that sexy as hell. But the best thing about you—the reason I willnevergive up on you—is that you’ve seen me at my very worst and you loved me anyway.”
The weight of his words cracked her defenses and made her feel a whole lot of things she’d forgotten how to feel. For a while, especially during their divorce, she’d convinced herself they were dead and buried, but apparently they’d merely gone dormant.
Her gaze drifted up, meeting his, and she found genuine affection, emotions that went far deeper than lust, and the memories from what felt like a lifetime ago. The crack widened, and a flush of heat surged through her body. This was stupid, reckless. Odds were it would lead to disaster. How could it not, after the way things ended the last time around?
Too bad her heart didn’t give a damn about logic. She wanted this man just as much, if not more, than she had on the day they got married, and her worries about another broken heart failed to register on her radar.
“It’s late. I should go to bed,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction. She stood, and he mirrored the movement.
“It’s not even eleven o’clock,” his deep voice rumbled.
At least, that was what she thought he said. The pounding of her heart made it difficult to hear.
Reaching out, he cupped the side of her face and lightly brushed his thumb over her cheekbone. Her whole world narrowed, focused on his mouth, and the memory of how incredible he tasted made her shiver with anticipation.
If she had a lick of sense, she’d tell him to back off, retreat to her room, and lock the door behind her. But apparently her treacherous hormones had told common sense to take the rest of the night off.
As Jackson bent his head to kiss her, an alert sounded on his phone. A split second later, the power went out, plunging the house into darkness.
Chapter 14
In an instant, thehaze of lust evaporated, and every muscle in Jackson’s body snapped into battle mode.
He seriously doubted the simultaneous perimeter breach and power outage was a coincidence. More likely, it was the sign of an imminent attack. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he reached for his phone, and a few swipes later, his frown turned into a scowl. “We’ve got company.”
“Any idea how many?” Essie asked.
Jackson shook his head as he sent a text to Navarre to let him know that shit was going down. He briefly considered calling the cops, but the house was out in the middle of nowhere, and by the time they finally arrived, it would be too late. “There’s no way to tell. All I know is they triggered the sensors along the front and rear of the property. Think it’s your boy?”
In the dim light of the phone, her full lips pressed into a thin line. “No, this isn’t Vaughn’s style. He must have told Bazarov where to find me. At last count, his team was down to three or four, but he could have replenished his numbers. How do you want to play this?”
“That depends. Do you want them dead or alive?”
Dead would be easier and a lot less messy, but alive might yield some useful information, like how they’d found Essie and who hired them to kill Nina.
Thought lines furrowed Essie’s forehead. “Bazarov would rather die than talk. His men are hired muscle, so I doubt they’ll know anything useful.”
“Dead it is.” He led the way to his room, where he kept his arsenal stashed. “Shotgun, rifle, or pistol?”
“Pistol,” she replied without hesitation.
A good tactical choice, though he’d much rather use his Mossberg for close-quarters combat. As far as he was concerned, the shotgun was the perfect weapon for home defense. When loaded with double-aught buckshot, it was messy, but you rarely missed.
