Broken. Rebecca Zanetti
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Wolfe, but he’d never confided in her. Yeah, it hurt a little. A one-way friendship didn’t appeal to her—even though he did. At some point, she was going to have to get a grip and move on if he didn’t let her in. “Why won’t you let me help with this case you’re on? I know you’re not letting your team know or provide backup.”
“I don’t need help.” His tone didn’t invite discussion.
Her temper boiled up faster than her mom’s pie filling in a cast-iron pot. Her taste in men sucked. Without question. She was also getting tired of him thinking she wanted a white picket fence and that she wanted it with him. What an ego. Why did she keep getting involved with impossible men? As if on cue, her phone buzzed.
She sighed. Yep. It must be after midnight. Without looking, she reached into her purse and declined the call.
Wolfe didn’t look over. “Who was that?”
“I don’t need your help,” she retorted, taking an admittedly immature pleasure in tossing his words back at him.
He turned then, those incredible bourbon-colored eyes catching her off guard once again. “We bring different talents to our friendship. I take care of problems.”
The guy truly underestimated what he had to offer, but it wasn’t her job to fix him. Not by a long shot. “And I do . . . what?”
“You do research and . . . let me take care of problems.” His grin was intriguing in that it failed to soften his face in the slightest. “I’ve noticed your phone ringing at weird hours, and I’ve also noticed that you tense up in a way that shows you do not want your phone to ring at weird hours. It’s time you told me what’s happening.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s a two-way street, my friend.”
He pulled into a ’70s-style office building in the middle of nowhere, parking near the door and away from the one flickering streetlight. “We’re not finished with this discussion.”
She faltered. “I can stay in the truck.”
He turned again, his dark eyebrows rising. “That’s silly. Why wouldn’t you come inside?”
She rubbed both hands down her jeans. “I’m a freelance reporter, and your team works for the government. Nobody wants me there.” They were good people on his team, but most feds didn’t want a journalist snooping around their offices.
For answer, Wolfe jumped out, shut his door, and appeared at her door in a second. “You’re part of the team, Dana.” He helped her out, strong and sure, and butterflies once again zinged through her lower body. Not noticing, he ushered her through the darkness to the old door, which opened easily to reveal a dingy hallway with a couple of closed wooden doors down the way. “You’ve helped on cases.”
Yeah, but she wasn’t part of the team. The smell of pizza caught her attention, and she perked up, heading for the rickety elevator that accessed the basement. “Well, I could eat.” Her stomach growled. If she’d known there was food, she wouldn’t have tried to stay in the vehicle outside.
“Me, too.” Once inside, Wolfe leaned against the elevator wall as if he could hold the entire contraption together, and his sigh of relief as the doors opened below was heartfelt. “Someday we’re gonna get stuck in this thing.”
“Nah. It’ll just drop and land hard.” She stepped out into the vestibule of the depressing basement space, her gaze immediately caught by the German shepherd bounding her way. “Roscoe.” She dropped to hug his furry neck, discreetly wiping marinara sauce off his coat, since he’d obviously snuck a piece of pizza somehow. Then she stood and moved forward, smiling at the two men in the main room, illuminated by old yellow buzzing lights in the ceiling. “Hi.”
Angus Force, the leader of the ragtag unit, and Malcolm West, their best undercover operative, sat at the four-desk pod in the center of the room with two pizza boxes in front of them. It looked like they’d both healed after the last assignment several weeks ago, in which everyone, including her, had been injured. Neither answered, their gazes squarely on the man behind her.
Force spoke first, his chiseled jaw going slack. “Are you wearing leather pants?”
Malcolm snorted, chuckled, and then shook his head. “Please tell us you were at a costume party.”
Force’s gaze then turned to Dana. “Or is there something kinky going on?” He nudged the pizza box toward her.
Heat flushed her face, but she moved toward the box. So Wolfe’s team had no clue what he was doing. Figured. “The leather pants weren’t my idea, and his phone gets caught in the back pocket, so don’t ask me what he was thinking.”
Malcolm reached down and brought up two beers, tossing one to Wolfe and sliding one across the desk to her.
Force shook his head. “Wolfe? Leather pants?”
Heat suffused Dana’s back as Wolfe moved closer, reaching around her for a piece of pizza, the underside of his arm brushing hers. “The lady at the department store said they made my butt look good. So I bought them,” he drawled, his breath heating the nape of her neck.
“She lied,” Force drawled, his eyes narrowing. The guy was a former FBI profiler, one of the best before he’d gone off the rails, and he could probably see past Wolfe’s good ol’ boy facade. To his credit, he didn’t push. Yet, anyway.
Dana pulled out a chair and sat, munching happily on a slice of pepperoni. Someone had sprung for the good stuff from Palozzi’s.
Wolfe took the only other vacant seat. “Where’s the rest of the team?”
Malcolm took a big swallow of his beer. “Raider and Brigid are up north with her dad for the next few days, and our shrink is—”
“Right here.” Nari Zhang clip-clopped in kitten heels from case room two, her hands full of manila file folders. Her black hair swung around her shoulders, and she’d dressed for the evening meeting in dark jeans and a pale yellow silk shirt, which made her dusky skin glow. “I’ve been going through these and have added notes and profiles where necessary.” She handed the stack to Force and leaned over to secure a piece of veggie pizza. “I think a lot of this is busywork.”
Force nodded, his jaw hardening. “Yeah. We pissed off our Homeland Defense handlers last month, and apparently they’re trying to get even.” He sighed, tossing a couple of folders toward Wolfe. “We all have assignments, and for now, we’re going to have to play nice.”
Wolfe tapped his finger on the top folder. “I don’t play nice.”
“Agreed,” Force said, pushing more folders toward Malcolm. Then he grinned. “The good news is that, with this caseload, I said you needed a research assistant, and we can actually pay Dana to work with you this time. She’s been a valuable asset and hasn’t sold us out, so we’re happy to have her onboard.” He winked at her. “Welcome to the team. Oh. You have to sign a nondisclosure agreement. You know, since you’re a nosy journalist and all.”
Dana sat back, amusement taking her. The desire to belong to the team, just for a little while, caught her off guard. Working alone did get lonely. “I accept. So long as I can write a story once we’re finished, with your approval.”
Malcolm chuckled. “I told you she’d say that.”
Nari nodded, her black eyes twinkling. “Yeah, you did. Also, Dana, everyone who works in the unit has weekly sessions with me. I assume you’re okay with that?”
Dana stiffened. “I don’t need a shrink.”
“Amen, sister,” Force muttered beneath his breath.
Dana caught her words and hastened to add, “Not that there’s anything wrong with counseling. It’s just that I’m fine.”
Nari smiled. “Then our hour a week will go fast and we can just chat. The requirement is nonnegotiable.” Her eyes hardened