Battle Tested. Janie Crouch

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      “Would it be okay for us to see Steve now or should we make an appointment?” Brandon Han, Omega’s top profiler, asked one of Steve’s assistants in the outer office.

      “Yeah, maybe we should make an appointment. For around eighteen months from now.” That was Liam Goetz, leader of the hostage rescue team. “When hopefully Steve is in a better mood.”

      Cynthia, the assistant who kept his entire office running, laughed. “I think it’s safe now.”

      Steve winced. Obviously nobody realized the door to his office was cracked and he could hear everything they were saying.

      “Should we remove our weapons?” Liam asked.

      “Why? Are you afraid you might shoot him?” Cynthia’s gentle laughter didn’t make Steve feel better.

      “Are you kidding? I’m afraid he might take them and shoot us.”

      The topic moved on to more neutral ground: Liam’s twins and Tallinn, the little girl he and his wife had adopted. Liam had pictures. Steve stopped listening.

      Liam’s jokes didn’t bother him—Liam was always making jokes—but Brandon’s initial question did. These men were an important part of the Critical Response Division’s inner team. Steve’s team. Moreover, they were his friends. They didn’t need an appointment to see him.

      But evidently they thought so given Steve’s behavior over the last few months.

      Rosalyn.

      He ran a hand over his eyes, then turned his chair so he was facing the Rocky Mountains out the window.

      When he’d awakened as the sun began to rise in Pensacola and found her gone, he’d at first thought she’d decided to walk on the beach or run out to get donuts or something. Heaven knew they hadn’t left the room in a day and a half. Maybe she’d needed some air.

      Then he realized all her stuff, including that giant catchall bag she carried, was gone.

      Going against his nature, Steve still gave her the benefit of the doubt. She was scared of something, he knew. He’d hoped to convince her to tell him what it was, to let him help.

      Every time he’d considered broaching the subject—telling her he worked in law enforcement and could help her with whatever had her so afraid—they’d ended up making love instead.

      Not that Steve had minded that. The only time he didn’t see shadows floating in Rosalyn’s eyes was when they were filled with passion. He had hoped to convince her to stay the rest of the week with him and during that time get her to tell him what was really going on with her. To share whatever burdens she carried. And the secrets she was obviously keeping.

      Starting with her last name.

      But it soon became obvious Rosalyn wasn’t out to grab coffee or go for a jog. Steve had known that from the beginning, although he hadn’t wanted to face it. Someone who looked over her shoulder as much as Rosalyn, who’d been so willing to stay inside the bungalow even when there was a gorgeous beach right outside, wouldn’t be going out for a casual walk.

      Checking his wallet confirmed it. She’d taken every bit of his cash.

      She’d played him.

      Even now, six months later, the thought sat heavily in his gut. The time they’d spent together hadn’t meant anything to Rosalyn. He was just a means to an end.

      Steve had packed up his stuff that afternoon and returned to Colorado Springs. He’d been in a bad mood ever since. Obviously something everyone was aware of, from the conversation that had just occurred outside his door.

      The thing was, he would’ve given Rosalyn the money—more if she’d needed it—if she had let him know what was going on. Would’ve done it without her having sex with him or waiting until he was asleep to steal it.

      But she hadn’t. She’d found him to be an easy mark and taken off.

      Steve stood and walked over to the plastic evidence bag on his windowsill and picked it up. It held a glass inside. One from the bungalow that he knew contained Rosalyn’s fingerprints.

      Steve had brought it back with him like it was some damn souvenir or something.

      “Hey, boss.”

      Steve put the bag back down quickly. “Brandon, hi.”

      “Liam is showing Cynthia pictures of the twins.”

      Steve rolled his eyes. “Who would’ve thought the great womanizer would become such a family man.”

      Brandon joined Steve at the window. “Just takes the right woman.”

      Brandon had found the right woman a couple of months ago—Omega behavioral analyst Andrea Gordon—and Steve couldn’t argue the change it had brought about in the man. The peace it had brought both Brandon and Andrea.

      “You brought that home from Florida, right?” Brandon asked, pointing to the evidence bag. “Prints, I’m assuming. But you’ve never run them.”

      Steve shrugged. Brandon was a certified genius and a profiler. Not much got past him.

      “I’m assuming something happened with a woman down there. If I had to guess, I would say a one-night stand.”

      Sometimes Han was spooky good at his job. Steve shrugged again. “It was Florida. And you guys did pitch in to get me the romance package.”

      “Then I’m assuming she took off suddenly, probably while you were unaware.”

      “Why do you say that?” Steve crossed back over to his desk chair.

      Brandon leaned a shoulder against the wall. “You sure you want me to go into this? I didn’t come here to profile you, Steve.”

      “No, please. Continue.” Brandon was rarely wrong and Steve needed to hear what the man thought of his behavior.

      “Okay, you met a woman. You were extremely interested in her. I would assume the relationship became intimate, but you didn’t and still don’t know much about her.”

      All right so far. Steve gestured for Brandon to continue.

      “Something happened. Something not good. The fact that you have an evidence bag with a glass with her prints suggests that you want to know more about her. Who she is. But the fact that you haven’t run them suggests that she hurt you personally in some way rather than actually committing a crime against you, in which case you would try to find and arrest her. She hurt your pride.”

      Actually, Rosalyn had done both, committed a crime and hurt his pride.

      “And you’re mad at yourself.”

      Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that?”

      “You keep that bag in the center of the windowsill. You look out that window at least a dozen times a day. Every time you do, you’re reminded of the woman who got the best of you. Who got past your СКАЧАТЬ