He thought maybe she would let her earlier question – well, assumption, really – drop, but no such luck.
“You didn’t answer,” she called from the fridge.
He sighed. “How much do you know about our target?”
She let the fridge slap shut and leaned her shoulder against it, arms folded, completely unimpressed with his evasion. “What they told us during our briefing. She’s strong. Powerful. Volatile. That we shouldn’t turn our backs on her and she’s got a guard dog who’s not afraid to drop bodies.” Her gaze narrowed. “But you know something else, don’t you?”
He clenched his jaw and stared her down.
It didn’t work. “You know, if a team leader fails to share valuable intel with his team, that’s putting the whole op in jeopardy. Iknowyou’re not doing that.” An accusation. A challenge.
“Maybe I am. You don’t know me.”
“No, but I know your record, and it’s spotless. You’re keeping something to yourself, and you’re a good leader, so you’re not out to sabotage us all. You’re having second thoughts.” She smiled a fraction when she said it, pleased that she’d figured him out. “Why?”
Jake held her gaze stubbornly for a long moment, and then caved, glancing away, exhaling tiredly through his nose. He’d never before been the one to back down first in a game of chicken; but he guessed he wasn’t the same man he’d been then. The Major Treadwell who’d sacrificed himself for his unit had died in a desert inferno; the blind man who’d crawled back, who’d been given a second chance and the leadership of this hackneyed team, wasn’t so unwaveringly sure of himself.
“I had an encounter with her in the diner,” he admitted. “She spilled coffee on me – it was an accident, but it burned my hand all to be damned. But. Then. She touched my arm and she…I don’t know how she did it, but the burnhealed. Right there.” He lifted his unblemished right hand. “I ought to be red and blistered, and I’mfine.” He shook his head. “They told us she was powerful, and that she could control fire – crazy comic book shit, right? – but they didn’t tell us she couldhealpeople, too.”
When he glanced back, Ramirez had her brows furrowed. “Maybe they didn’t know.”
“Maybe,” he agreed. “And maybe they don’t know anything. You read the same file I did. In all the records of Ruby Russell and Rooster Palmer hurting people, were any of the victims civilians?”
She looked up toward the ceiling, chewing on the inside of her cheek, thinking. “I dunno.”
“Well, I do. And they weren’t. The only people they’ve ever harmed were trying to apprehend them.”
Her gaze snapped back to him, sharper than before. “So what are you saying?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll let you know when I do.”
