Siren in the Wind Book One of the MIT Series

Chapter Twenty-One

He knew he was losing his shit and he didn't give a shit. Cool as ice Max was now a raving lunatic.

Her reaction wasn't what he expected; she looked at him as if he was daft before shrugging. "You men are all like amped-up rabbits bouncing all over the place; I can't talk to you while you're like this. Where are we going?"

Max glared at her as options raced through his head. He trusted his profiling. If he gave Evans the benefit of the doubt, it could get them all killed.

"Fuck!" Max swore loudly, she jumped, and the two men in the vehicle shot him a worried glance. "Pull over, Slater." He turned to her. "Five minutes and if I don't buy your bullshit cockamamie story then you're done. Understand that?"

"Yes," she replied softly.

"I'll erase you from existence like a dirty smudge if you pose a threat to my team."

"I understand. I screwed up, but I'm not working with any extremists."

Max stared at her a second longer and glanced out the window. "Slater, find the closest secure spot, no boxing in and no audience."

"Sir."

"And make sure we're not being followed."

"Always do." Slater deftly maneuvered into traffic.

The last time Max lost it this badly was when his team had been blown to shreds in the mall bombing. He was always cool and in control in the field, and that was why he was assigned the team leader position. Evans snatched away that control, and he didn't like the feeling.

Tension fogged up the vehicle, making it hard to breathe. The wounded look plastered on her pretty face when he'd manhandled her in that bedroom probably meant she'd had a flashback to the attack at La Coraggio. Max also had a freaking flashback. When frisking her, running his hands over her firm buttocks, his flashback had been of her wet naked body orgasming in the shower, and that angered him.

Screw her; this was her own doing. She gently clasped her hands in her lap. Red marks marred her right wrist, marks he'd put there. Slight tremors ran through her, rippling up the side of his arm.

Guilt weighed heavily. Guilt that he couldn't save anyone. Not Sully, not Mike, none of the victims in the mall attack, not Abigail Evans from herself and, God help him, he couldn't save himself from getting sucked into this mess and dragging his team along with him.

***

Max glanced at her wrist for the second time. Looking down, Abby saw the red swelling that throbbed in time with her racing heart. Minutes passed as she stared at her still hands, her heart suddenly feeling lighter than it had in years. Max truly cared; the driving force behind this formidable man wedging her into her seat was honor.

Abby had never been this close to someone this fine before. And what she meant by "fine" was a person who displayed integrity, bravery and most of all loyalty to those who deserved it. Stomping all over the scrap of trust he'd bestowed meant that he probably would never believe her, but Abby knew that she could trust him. She'd known it from that first night when he'd comforted her on a cold floor, she was just too stubborn to accept help.

Abby was done with all the secrets, her plans were shot to hell, and she needed expert help. Max stiffened as she touched his leg. That look of contempt would've shriveled most humans. "I'm not hurt."

"What?"

"My wrist is not that sore."

Slater sniggered up front.