Read Online Risk of Exposure (Alpha Ops Book 6) by Emmy Curtis - Free Book Online
Authors: Emmy Curtis
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measures.
And she needed him. Maybe.
CHAPTER EIGHT
S he was a bitch as well as a complete waste of time. How could Baston—your everyday good guy—give him this job? The worst job Mal had been assigned since he started at Barracks Security. And that included being shot at, being interrogated by a warlord in Afghanistan, and suffering through fellow operatives inexplicably falling in love. He’d rather be back in the cave in Taliban-controlled Helmand Province than watch good guys make fools of themselves again. Over women. Jesus.
And if she didn’t turn that fucking beeping off, he would stamp on every piece of electronics in the house. “Whatever that is, turn it off before I shoot it.”
Her superior expression had vanished, leaving a wan face with alarmed eyes. He sighed. “Jesus, tell me it’s not a bomb.”
She swallowed and nodded to her bag. “Worse.”
What could be worse than a bomb? “Start talking, sweetheart.”
She took a deep breath and looked as if she was about to say everything. Instead she lunged for her bag. He stood up and leveled his gun at her again, but she ignored him.
She straightened with a black remote control thing. “Shit.”
“What is that?” he asked, determined not to drop his aim even though he realized that he wasn’t going to shoot his boss’s daughter under any circumstances. You know, unless she really pissed him off.
“World War Three. Maybe.” She shrugged, but fear flickered across her face and took up residence in her eyes.
He lowered the gun. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”
“What are you going to tell my father?” she hedged.
His patience evaporated. “Whatever I damn well please, you psycho. That you’re a trained killer, that you disabled two muggers downstairs, that you sliced my neck open. Hell, maybe I’ll just call the police and let them have you.”
“The police?” She looked at her watch. “There’s no evidence left now. They’ll probably arrest you .” Her triumphant smirk made him want to kill her, or put his fist through something. Anything.
She was right. Randall’s people would have worked their magic by now.
“Okay, so Daddy it is.” He tucked his gun into his waistband and reached for his phone.
“You probably don’t want to do that. I’d get you fired in a heartbeat,” she said, almost absentmindedly looking at the amber flashing light on the remote control. The beeping had thankfully stopped.
“Oh yeah? And how are you going to do that?”
She cast her eyes to the ground for a few seconds. When she looked at him, tears were running down her face. He made a step toward her. What just happened? But she stretched her thumb and pinky finger out to make a finger phone, held it to her ear, and said, “Daddy…that man?” she sobbed realistically. “That man you sent? He…he seduced me and then…and then he left me”—more sobs—“saying that he’d only screwed me to screw you…” She cocked her head, tears drying instantly, and slammed her imaginary phone down. “Get it?”
Wow. “Dude. What’s the matter with you?” he said. “Your daddy issues are out of control. Do you want to talk about it? I understand they have therapy for things like that now.” He couldn’t resist getting her back for her earlier implication about his endurance.
“Just get out.”
He laughed. “No fucking way, sweetheart. I don’t know who you are, or what you’re doing here, but neither of us is getting out of this building tonight.” He glanced through the window at the whiteout in the street. “You’re just going to have to tell me what’s going on or suffer the consequences.” He cracked his knuckles, even though he had no idea what the consequences would be. He dropped his voice into what he hoped was a soothing tone. “Just tell me what’s going on, and I’ll see if I can help.” He shrugged and sat on the sofa, patting the spot next to him. Ah. A condescending note too far, obviously,
And she needed him. Maybe.
CHAPTER EIGHT
S he was a bitch as well as a complete waste of time. How could Baston—your everyday good guy—give him this job? The worst job Mal had been assigned since he started at Barracks Security. And that included being shot at, being interrogated by a warlord in Afghanistan, and suffering through fellow operatives inexplicably falling in love. He’d rather be back in the cave in Taliban-controlled Helmand Province than watch good guys make fools of themselves again. Over women. Jesus.
And if she didn’t turn that fucking beeping off, he would stamp on every piece of electronics in the house. “Whatever that is, turn it off before I shoot it.”
Her superior expression had vanished, leaving a wan face with alarmed eyes. He sighed. “Jesus, tell me it’s not a bomb.”
She swallowed and nodded to her bag. “Worse.”
What could be worse than a bomb? “Start talking, sweetheart.”
She took a deep breath and looked as if she was about to say everything. Instead she lunged for her bag. He stood up and leveled his gun at her again, but she ignored him.
She straightened with a black remote control thing. “Shit.”
“What is that?” he asked, determined not to drop his aim even though he realized that he wasn’t going to shoot his boss’s daughter under any circumstances. You know, unless she really pissed him off.
“World War Three. Maybe.” She shrugged, but fear flickered across her face and took up residence in her eyes.
He lowered the gun. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”
“What are you going to tell my father?” she hedged.
His patience evaporated. “Whatever I damn well please, you psycho. That you’re a trained killer, that you disabled two muggers downstairs, that you sliced my neck open. Hell, maybe I’ll just call the police and let them have you.”
“The police?” She looked at her watch. “There’s no evidence left now. They’ll probably arrest you .” Her triumphant smirk made him want to kill her, or put his fist through something. Anything.
She was right. Randall’s people would have worked their magic by now.
“Okay, so Daddy it is.” He tucked his gun into his waistband and reached for his phone.
“You probably don’t want to do that. I’d get you fired in a heartbeat,” she said, almost absentmindedly looking at the amber flashing light on the remote control. The beeping had thankfully stopped.
“Oh yeah? And how are you going to do that?”
She cast her eyes to the ground for a few seconds. When she looked at him, tears were running down her face. He made a step toward her. What just happened? But she stretched her thumb and pinky finger out to make a finger phone, held it to her ear, and said, “Daddy…that man?” she sobbed realistically. “That man you sent? He…he seduced me and then…and then he left me”—more sobs—“saying that he’d only screwed me to screw you…” She cocked her head, tears drying instantly, and slammed her imaginary phone down. “Get it?”
Wow. “Dude. What’s the matter with you?” he said. “Your daddy issues are out of control. Do you want to talk about it? I understand they have therapy for things like that now.” He couldn’t resist getting her back for her earlier implication about his endurance.
“Just get out.”
He laughed. “No fucking way, sweetheart. I don’t know who you are, or what you’re doing here, but neither of us is getting out of this building tonight.” He glanced through the window at the whiteout in the street. “You’re just going to have to tell me what’s going on or suffer the consequences.” He cracked his knuckles, even though he had no idea what the consequences would be. He dropped his voice into what he hoped was a soothing tone. “Just tell me what’s going on, and I’ll see if I can help.” He shrugged and sat on the sofa, patting the spot next to him. Ah. A condescending note too far, obviously,
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