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She could shoot. She could hold her own at hand-to-hand. She could throw down with the toys and the training the CIA gave her. She was good. Impressive. He liked the calculating, sparring Nicola, the adult Nicola, the woman who knew what worked for her and wasn’t afraid to embrace it. And spy games worked for her, so he’d deal. Kinda.
He stood up to stretch and put away his plate. Something to concentrate on besides Nic.
Jared continued, “So who here hasn’t met Miss CIA-herself? Nicola Garrison. Anyone?”
Roman shot coffee out his nose. Whoops. That probably didn’t go the way Nic had planned. Roman was on his feet. “Excuse me? Garrison?”
Cash felt his cheeks catch fire and stole a glance at Nic. She wasn’t fazed. Didn’t respond, other than a roll of her eyes.
Roman stepped toward Cash. “What the fuck? I thought you said you weren’t sure about her. That sounds pretty fuckin’ sure.”
Oh fuck. He told Roman he hadn’t been sure if they were really done because he didn’t know what was going on with her. Damn it, he was surethat he was interested in finding out. Then he had found out, and everything fell into place. Shit was working out. But coming from Roman’s lips, it sure sounded like he wasn’t sure about Nicola.
Her face was tight. Imperceptible to anyone but him. He knew that face too well, and she was hurting. Goddamn Roman.
“Why is it that I’m always refereeing high school drama with you guys?” Jared growled. “Princess, explain yourself. Roman, sit down. Cash, I don’t care what you do. Keep standing for all I care.”
“CIA gave it to me, Roman. Cut your shit out.” That Nicola sounded pretty damn tough and to the point. Props to his girl.His girl.That sounded good.
“So you aren’t…” Roman gestured.
“What, Cash and I ran off to Vegas last night? Give me a flippin’ break.”
“Oh.”
Yeah, jumpy asshole.
Rocco threw a handful of biscuit in his mouth like he was at a movie theater munching on popcorn. Winters laughed, looking confused but loving the drama.And I want everyone to mind their own business.
Winters’s cell went off.
Jared smiled. “That’d be my ammo. I can’t wait to get away from you assholes.”
Winters answered his phone, telling the delivery boy how to get through the NASA-like security gate and to his front door. He ended the call with, “—and the door is open.”
Good. Get Jared the hell out of here so they could map out Operation Catch-the-Butler with less of a headache.
Jared’s cell buzzed. “What the fuck? Hold on.” He stomped out of the room and slammed the door.
Clack. Clack. Clack. Heels clicked down the hall. Bright lipstick and fuck-me hair rolled around the corner carrying a big box marked EXPLOSIVE.
Fuck me.
Her trademark Girls Love Guns shirt was pulled over a set of fake tits he knew too well. Painted on leather pants were held up by a belt buckle of dueling silver pistols. Pretty much her uniform of a guy’s wet dream.
Sugar.
Fucking Sugar.
Well, fucking Sugar was the problem. Damn it.
Cash looked at Winters and whispered, “What the fuck, man?”
Winters shrugged, obviously not having a flippin’ clue. “When you guys came up empty-handed, I called Sugar.”
Cash had once tried to set Winters up with Sugar, but not really. He knew the guy wouldn’t take the bait, and Winters was being such an asshole that someone had to show him the only woman in the world he wanted was Mia. Cash did that for him. They should name their first baby Cash—boy or girl—because he pretty much considered their make-up and marriage his doing.
Maybe Sugar would behave, although that wasn’t one of her many talents. She’d never met Jared before and had always wanted to. Of course she’d behave in front of Jared. She wanted more of the man’s business at her gun shop. The woman could build the hell out of a high powered rifle. Titan would be the gold standard of clients, the way they went through guns and rounds.