Page 83 of Hard Pursuit
Her mouth went dry. “Now what?” she shot out. “What are you going to do, buddy?”
He drove the needle into her neck. “Now you sleep.”
“I liked the hood better,” she muttered under her breath.
He narrowed his eyes at her, icy and dead.
The drug hit faster than her adrenaline could fight it off. The inside of the vehicle blurred fast, and the shape of the man hovering over her doubled.
She fought it with everything she had.
Archer.
He’d call. He’d find out she was missing. He said he’d find ways.
As the dark closed over her, Jolie clung to one last, desperate thought.
If ever there was a time for Archer to give up control, it was now.
He’d better break every rule he had.
FIFTEEN
Archer made it back to the base…but not all of him arrived intact.
The corridors felt wrong without her in them. Too quiet. Too narrow.
Too empty of the woman who had somehow filled every space she entered.
Sending her away had been the smart move. It also felt like ripping off his own skin.
Better pain than watching someone use her against him.
He told himself again that leaving her at the motel had been necessary. It also felt like the worst mistake he’d made since getting himself captured by Cipher.
As he entered, O looked up from the laptop. One look at Archer’s face and he turned back to his screen, knowing better than to crowd a man holding himself together by sheer discipline.
He strode straight to the common room and sank into the chair nearest the cold fireplace. On a low stool sat a coupleNational Geographicmagazines that Jolie left there. He twisted his gaze away from them and pressed a fist to his mouth.
The sound of footsteps didn’t register until Rome plopped on the sofa and propped his boots on the coffee table. He didn’t glance at Archer, just pretended to scroll on his phone.
Townie drifted in next with a bag of pretzel rods that he didn’t bother opening. Rorke and Rivers entered more slowly and settled on the fringe of the room, not close to Archer but there.
The scent of fresh coffee preceded Younger into the space, and he set a mug beside Archer without comment. O sprawled at the opposite end of the sofa from Rome, arm stretched on the back of the couch as he took interest in studying the ceiling with as much interest as Rome did his screen.
Cannon came last, leaned against the mantel and said nothing at all.
Though no one spoke or offered apologies about Jolie, Archer felt their presence and drew an odd comfort from it.
He lifted his coffee mug with a small nod of thanks to Younger and stared at the brew. He didn’t drink right away, just held the mug and sat there with the sensation that a vital part of him had been sliced off and was still bleeding in a place he couldn’t reach.
Finally, he brought the mug to his lips and drew a sip into his mouth.
Townie finally broke the silence. “You look worse than Cannon when he got stitched up in Honduras.”
He didn’t respond to one of the many tales he’d heard of ops before he came to Sierra.
Rome slanted a look at him. “He looks like a man who just discovered feelings.”
