Page 15 of Going Rogue (Tactical Operations & Protection (TOP))

Rogue

Rogue stirred from sleep with sweat beading on her neck.

She was burning up. The main source of the warmth came from her back as if she’d fallen asleep with a heating pad on.

She attempted to lift her arms and push off the covers, but a heavy weight wrapped her middle.

Confused, she yawned and opened her eyes.

They’d turned off the lamps last night, but the rising sun lit the inside of the tent in a hazy yellow hue as its beams passed through the white fabric.

Crane.

She recognized the forearm holding her captive. The fact the bed was plenty big enough for both of them, but he’d decided to spoon with her made her smile. She could add cuddling to her list of firsts.

Sighing her contentment, she wiggled a hand free to play with the dark hair covering his skin. It felt so soft when everything else about him was so hard. Like the muscles hiding underneath the hair. The man was built . As far as lovers go, she’d lucked out with Crane.

In more ways than one.

Her cheeks heated as she replayed all they’d done together. He’d made her feel . . . powerful. She’d liked it. Maybe too much. Her stomach cramped with the familiar fear she attached to intimacy, but she shoved it away. Her resolve hadn’t wavered.

One night.

It was all they would ever have, but at least it had been one for the record books.

She snickered quietly as more memories bombarded her.

Last night felt like a dream. If not for the soreness between her legs, she might not believe all he’d shown her.

Or how gentle Crane had been. The man had a way of kissing her so sweetly it seemed like she became the center of his world.

As much as she enjoyed it, she’d felt like he’d been holding back until, at the end, she’d gotten a glimpse of the wildness he’d kept contained. A part of her wished she could’ve explored that side of him more, but their time together was done. Their one night had ended.

She’d let herself be vulnerable with him.

Her hand stilled on his arm as a frown creased her face. Speaking of vulnerability . . . he’d surprised her when he’d asked her to use his name. The request had felt strangely intimate—too personal. Like he’d let her in for more than sex.

Rogue worried her lip. Even if she didn’t plan to get attached, what if he did? She would’ve groaned at her lack of foresight in that regard, but she feared waking him. Not only had he been so patient with her, but he’d helped her clean up and even held her after.

Would he have done that if he didn’t care about me?

She wished she knew what his typical M.O.

was when it came to sex because she was beginning to think she’d ventured into dangerous waters.

Fake married was one thing, but if his protecting her meant more than simply helping a teammate out .

. . Was it why he’d been so overprotective? Why he’d panicked at the compound?

She gulped against the acid burning its way up her throat.

The dots were coming together, and she didn’t like the picture they formed.

But even as her preservation instinct rebelled against the idea, a part of her wondered what it would be like to be married to Crane for real.

Would she wake up wrapped in his arms like this every day? Did she want to?

Yes.

Her mind and then her body responded in the affirmative, promptly seizing all the breath in her lungs.

This time the fear couldn’t be repressed.

It wormed its way into her chest and squeezed off her air supply.

Relationships weren’t worth the risk, and no matter how much she might like Crane, protecting herself from heartbreak was more important.

With her lungs screaming, Rogue extricated her limbs and her heart from his embrace. Despite their sticky skin, he didn’t wake, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God he was a heavy sleeper.

As quietly as she could, she donned her clothes.

When she’d dressed, she fingered the stays on his tactical vest before putting it on.

It was the closest thing she had to a shield of iron.

She hoped, like the metal, it would dampen the pull between them.

Let it protect her heart as much as her body.

With a lingering glance, she committed Crane’s image to memory. The covers pooled at his waist, revealing the dimples on his lower abdomen. They tempted her as she dragged her gaze over his softly rising chest covered in sparse coal-colored curls to the strong jaw, relaxed in peaceful sleep.

Their journey wasn’t over, but this felt like a goodbye. When the hollow in her chest widened, she ignored it. She’d made her choice for a reason, and she’d stand by it.

Outside, she found the camp already buzzing with activity.

In the light of day, the little details she’d missed the night before stood out—the things marking this place as a home, like the hand-woven colorful strips of fabric decorating each tent.

They flapped erratically when the wind gusted, catching her eye.

Most of the tents stood open, and inside, women appeared to be working on meal preparation.

Several stares landed on Rogue as she moved into the central area where they’d eaten around the fire.

The men she glimpsed quickly looked away, making her frown.

They likely wouldn’t speak to her, but a plan had formed on how to get out of there, and she needed answers.

Not wanting to wait for Crane, she headed for the woman in the closest tent. Maybe she acted cowardly, but she needed more time to replaster the wall around her heart before she faced him.

As she made her way over, sheep bleated in the distance, the sound and smell of the animals carried to her on a breeze. When she stopped at the woman’s tent, the fresh cheese and cooked dough scents wafted through the open flap, replacing those earthy aromas with ones that made her mouth water .

While the woman peeled what looked like a potato to Rogue, she glanced around the tent.

This one held a low table with containers, metal basins, and cooking utensils.

More pans, oversized tubs, and bags of flour, she guessed, were stacked in another corner.

No rugs on the floor here. They would be unnecessary in a kitchen, which this room seemed to be.

In the center, where the woman kneeled, a fire pit smoked, waiting for the next dish.

A platter filled with the bread and cheese she’d smelled sat next to it.

Would it be rude to ask for some?

The woman tilted her head to meet Rogue’s gaze. She looked close to Rogue’s age, her tawny features visible without a face covering. A thin black veil wrapped her hair and covered her ears, but it left her smile bare as she gestured for Rogue to sit.

Smiling in return, Rogue complied. The woman leaned forward and handed her a root vegetable—not a potato—and a small knife to peel it with.

As she shifted back in her crouch, Rogue’s eye caught sight of the bright dress the woman wore underneath the long black overcoat she had on.

The red threading made Rogue wonder; black might be a requirement, but it seemed the Bedouin women still found ways to express themselves.

Using the dialect the leader had understood, she complimented the woman on the dress’s color.

In response, a thoughtful frown creased her lips as she took in Rogue’s attire. “You need dress?” Her stunted sentence suggested her grasp of the Western dialect wasn’t as strong as the leader’s they’d spoken with last night.

Before Rogue could respond, the woman stood. She’d gone halfway through a flap Rogue hadn’t noticed, which must’ve connected to another part of the home, when Rogue stopped her, “Wait!”

The woman turned with a questioning look.

“I don’t need a dress, thank you.” But she did need something from her. Rogue begged the woman to come back to the fire with a hand gesture. When she returned to her spot, Rogue tried again. “I need a vehicle. So my husband and I can get to our friends. Can we trade for one?”

The woman’s gaze assessed her for several long seconds, but the only thing she said was, “Peel.”

Rogue did as requested and hoped the woman would have something more to say when she finished.

◆◆◆

Crane

Crane jerked awake when the sound of an engine startled him from sleep.

He instantly sat up, searching the tent for Rogue.

His heart thundered in his chest when his eyes confirmed he was the only occupant.

Throwing himself from the pallet, he pulled on his clothes in a haste to get out and search for her.

What if the militants had taken her again? What if she were hurt?

Panic built in his chest, and his thoughts sped through one horrible scenario after another.

How the hell could I have slept through her leaving?

When he’d dressed, he crashed through the tent flap with the force of a raging bull, yelling her name repeatedly, “ROGUE! ROGUE!”

The sun glared so bright it nearly blinded him, and he didn’t see her blonde hair anywhere. Children eating in front of one of the tents scattered inside as he ran through the camp like a maniac.

Where the fuck is she?

“ROGUE!” he shouted again as he shielded his eyes and turned a circle in the center of the tents.

Light glinted off metal, and he tamped down the panic to pay more attention.

A truck. Looking much like the one they’d attempted to drive off the militant’s compound.

The roar of the engine starting had woken him, and there, standing next to it, was a woman in a tactical vest.

His breathing slowed to a regular, if rapid, rhythm as he jogged over to her.

“Didn’t you hear me calling you?” Crane resisted the urge to reach for her. To hold her and prove to himself she wasn’t a mirage.

“What? No. Not over this noise.” She threw a hand toward the truck’s engine, and he had to admit, it did sound unusually loud in the emptiness of the desert.

But it didn’t make him any less angry that she’d left without waking him.

It mixed with the fear swilling around in his stomach, churning it into a nasty combination, making his next question much less calm.

“Why the fuck didn’t you wake me?” he growled as his chest heaved. The Bedouin man and woman standing at the truck with Rogue moved several steps away at the aggressive signals his body sent; he had little care in his current state to worry about scaring them.

His tone had her whirling on him. Good. At least now he had her full attention. He was so fucking mad at the fear she’d caused him that he had an urge to bend her over his knee.

“Why does it matter?” The confusion on her face only made everything he felt worse.

She doesn’t understand.

Her not knowing how he felt about her sliced at his heart. He squeezed the back of his neck with both hands and shook his head. For that, he only had himself to blame.

She’d already wounded him. It seemed only fair to tell her why.

“Because you have my heart, Rogan. I couldn’t—” When his voice cracked, he scrubbed his hands down his face and met her wide eyes. “I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you.”

“No, no, no, no.” The muttered words fell like bombs from her lips. She shook her head when he gripped her shoulders, forcing her gaze to meet his. Panic swam in those intoxicating orbs. “I don’t want it.”

Another knife to his chest. He’d known she wasn’t ready, but he hadn’t realized her rejection would hurt so much. Dropping his hands with a sigh, which only hinted at his suffering, he told her, “But you have it anyway.”

Her dark eyes snapped at him, then frosted over with an icy glare. “That’s not fair. I didn’t ask for it.”

Fresh hurt ignited his anger, and he couldn’t stop the outburst. “It’s not a damn burden, Rogue!

” He shook his head and then took a deep breath.

“It’s a gift.” How could she not see that?

Crane’s jaw clenched and unclenched as he tried for calm.

“And I’m not asking you for anything in return. I’m just telling you how I feel.”

She moved further away from him as if afraid he’d try to touch her again. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

His heart lay bleeding in the dust, and she’d kicked a layer of sand over it.

Gritting his teeth, he forced out, “Fine.”

“Fine.” She turned and watched him from the corner of her eye as she pointed to the truck. “This is our ticket out of here.”

And just like that, Rogue was back to the business at hand.

Well, if she could put it aside, he would too. With a strength he’d never had to call on, Crane pushed everything he was feeling into a Pelican case and locked it shut. Time to focus on his primary mission—getting her home safe.

“Great.” His voice lacked enthusiasm, but having transportation other than their feet was good. It would be risky to stay in the camp any longer with the militants still hunting them .

She gestured to the Bedouins, who waited over ten feet away.

“They rented it to bring vessels of water out here from a nearby town. I’ve been trying to strike a deal for us to borrow it, but you’ll probably have better luck.

” Her lips twisted as she nodded toward the man he’d pegged as the leader last night.

“He’d rather discuss it with my husband anyway. ”

Husband.

The word bounced off the case he’d built around his emotions.

The wish that the word could be real didn’t have a chance at penetrating the indestructible material.

Plus, the case was already too full. He certainly didn’t have any room left to care about her indignation over not being treated equally because she was a woman.

Bedouin culture hadn’t changed for thousands of years.

And he didn’t expect it to happen overnight.

Without looking at her, he managed to muster another, “Fine,” before he went to secure their ride out of the camp.

But as he walked away, the case securing his feelings cracked.

Despite Rogue’s rejection, hope still fought against the hurt she’d dealt him.

Time might change her mind, so he’d give it to her.