Page 4 of Going Rogue (Tactical Operations & Protection (TOP))

Rogue

What the fuck was that about?

Rogue tried her damnedest not to pick apart the kiss with Crane, but it wasn’t in her makeup to let it go.

Of course, she couldn’t have him knowing that.

Fuming over the whole debacle, she shot a glare in his direction.

They traversed the compound, staying out of the meager glow cast by the lights gracing the camp.

Barely more than a handful of rudimentary poles held electrical bulbs, which penetrated the dark, moonless night.

Though she couldn’t see Crane clearly, she felt him hulking a few feet in front of her. His presence wasn’t unwelcome even if his kiss had been.

Hadn’t it?

Rogue cursed herself for letting it distract her.

While her hands were busy with her task, her mind kept examining their liplock.

You’d think she’d never been kissed before the way she couldn’t stop thinking about his mouth on hers.

She had, of course, but none had ever lingered in her thoughts like this.

She’d be lying if she said it hadn’t affected her. Her lips still tingled when she replayed it.

Because his gentleness had surprised her.

Crane was a Marine in the best possible way. Still, all that ego and testosterone meant she hadn’t expected anything but a bruising crush of lips. The fact it hadn’t been made her wonder what more he might be capable of. Which was a dangerous fucking turn of her thoughts.

At 27, she remained a virgin. She hadn’t intentionally avoided relationships, but she’d never sought them out, either. Somehow, she’d always been working; before then, studying had been the excuse she used too often in college.

Her friends had fallen in love and then moped when their hearts were broken. She’d known they all thought of her as a frosty bitch. It had been unfair, but she let it stand. It was easier that way because she had to keep her heart safe from ever crossing the line into love.

An uncomfortable weight settled around her chest and pulled like an invisible rope, tightening with each breath.

She’d become a champion at pushing people away.

If you never let them get too close, they couldn’t disappoint you . . . Her dad had taught her that. At age eleven, her parents divorced, but it hadn’t been solely her mother that her father didn’t want anymore; it had been his daughter, too.

Focus, Rogue.

She scolded herself as she crouched under a militant’s truck, shaking off her line of thinking. It only ever led to bitterness, and she had more important things to stew over than her absent father. Like Crane’s kiss.

Distracted, she smashed her finger between the ground and two bags of fertilizer.

Something sharp cut into her hand, and she silently cursed.

When she freed her hand from underneath the bags, blood dripped from a small puncture on her ring finger’s tip.

She must’ve managed to stab herself with a rock .

Hoping she didn’t leave a trail, she clutched her palm into a fist and prayed it clotted soon.

She didn’t have time to stop and tend to it.

Not with the whole compound on high alert after her breakout.

The gate proved heavily guarded as if they knew their escapee would make a run for it at some point.

That’s why several bags of fertilizer wound up at the guard shack by the entrance.

With the assholes inside none the wiser.

A snicker tickled her throat. The big guy signaled with a sound, and she crawled out of her hiding spot, leaving behind a nice pile of explosive material.

For being six-five, she had to give Crane props for moving as stealthy as a ghost. He managed to blend with the shadows, perhaps better than her, and she was damned stellar at it if she did say so herself.

She’d borrowed his balaclava to hide her bright hair but still felt overly exposed without her vest and gear.

He’d given her his Glock, but she missed her own gun.

Who knew what the militants had done with it?

She didn’t want to waste time looking. Her primary objective was to get out of this hellhole alive and hunting down equipment she could repurchase wasn’t worth the risk.

Neither is a relationship with Crane .

The thought flashed in her head like a warning sign. It was bound to get messy when they worked together. So she’d avoided him since she’d joined the team with Tactical Operations & Protection.

A deep scowl twisted her lips as she tagged his shoulder to let him know she still followed. His quick squeeze of her fingers in response sent a tingle racing up her arm. Not at all happy about it, she jerked her hand away.

Why kiss me now ?

He’d either been messing with her, and she knew the idiot could turn anything into a joke. Or he’d actually waited two years to kiss her. That option seemed unlikely.

Didn’t it?

Because who does that? Who waits two years to make a fucking move? Wondering about it heightened her anger, adding to the adrenaline surging through her veins. Beneath the balaclava, the corners of her eyes crinkled with the desire to interrogate him.

I need answers.

Following behind Crane, she promised to do just that as soon as they were safe.

After what felt like an eternity, they placed the last explosive device.

They’d spent the past hour marking several buildings and all the vehicles they could—except the one they planned to drive out of there—with fertilizer bombs.

They’d had to be strategic in their choices to avoid detection and save as much time as possible.

She’d wanted to split up so they could cover more ground more quickly, but he’d refused to leave her side. She didn’t know what had changed since yesterday, but Crane was acting differently toward her.

Protective in a way he hadn’t before.

Like he didn’t see her as part of the team anymore but a damsel in need of rescuing, which pissed her off. Her body hummed like the charges ready to go off. She was seconds away from calling him on it when a shout in Arabic pierced the still, evening air.

Before she could process what it meant, Crane pulled her behind a cargo trailer and pushed her back against it. He moved in front of her until she felt the rough material of his tactical vest poking into her chest, effectively blocking her body with his.

“What the hell are you doing?” An outraged hiss left her throat with the question as she glared at the back of his head.

When he said nothing and checked his weapon, she tried another tactic. “We can’t stop. We need to light the charges and egress like our lives depend on it because, oh yeah, they fucking do.” She’d meant to sound calmer, but desperation to get off this compound made any chance of that impossible.

His answer came as a low grumble she had to strain to hear. “Trust me, squirrel.”

What kind of answer is that?

Her body buzzed with adrenaline, but she made herself take a calming breath. “What did they shout?” She spoke Arabic, but Crane had a stronger grasp of the different dialects.

Again, she had to strain to hear his response. “One of the militants found a fertilizer bag.”

The adrenaline coursing through her body surged with a powerful jolt, and she lost any pretense of calm. “Then we need to move. Now!”

◆◆◆

Crane

Rogue was right. They should be accelerating their plan, not pausing here to be found. But the fact she didn’t have a bulletproof vest any longer damn near paralyzed him. Crane didn’t want to take the chance of her getting shot.

His brain told his legs to move, but he wouldn’t—couldn’t—leave her vulnerable if the militants were onto them.

He felt her shift position and backed further into her. “Stay put.” He knew she wasn’t likely to listen, so he added a strained, “Please, Rogue,” hoping she’d cooperate.

They were close enough that he felt her sigh of acceptance. It did little to ease the worry gripping his muscles, though. His ears perked for any movement in their direction.

At least the adrenaline pumping through his body heightened his senses. While he strained to listen for threats, her sweetly spicy fragrance overpowered any other scent.

Trying his best to ignore it, Crane gripped the Ka-Bar in his palm even tighter. If they were about to have company, he wanted to deal with it as quietly as possible, or they’d be well and truly fucked.

Seconds passed with nothing except the hammering of his pulse in his ears.

We should move.

Rogue had to be getting restless, but some instinct froze him in place.

One breath.

Two.

Then, a heated discussion between two men in Arabic reached them. It grew louder the closer the militants came to their position.

The men argued about the fertilizer and were likely on their way to check the area by the cargo container it had been transported in. Another heartbeat, and they drew closer. Crane felt Rogue’s sharp intake of breath and shifted his feet into a better fighting stance.

They were going to be in a lot of shit when the militants found most of the fertilizer gone . . . unless he took out these fuckers before they realized.

Ready to do it, Crane eased his hold on Rogue, trusting she’d stay put.

Big fucking mistake.

As soon as he no longer restrained her, she took off, darting between containers like a cat.

His bowels seized as if he was about to shit a brick.

Cursing, he kept his eyes trained on her shadow, tracking her as the militants walked past his position, but he couldn’t do anything about them now.

He had no choice but to follow Rogue or lose her in the dark.

Anger rose to match the fear she’d triggered in him. The rapid rise and fall of his chest didn’t ease when he reached her. Gripping her elbow, he growled in her ear. “What the hell are you doing? I was going to take out those tangoes.”

She jerked her arm away with a grunt. “Putting our plan in motion. We don’t have time to waste. ”

When he thought she’d take off again, she turned and gripped his forearm. “We’re going to have to split up. I’ll take what we planted on the western half of the compound. You take the east. We meet at the truck.”

In reflex, a protest started up his throat, but he swallowed it because it had become their only option now that the militants were about to discover what they’d done. But damned if the thought of letting her go it alone didn’t break him out in cold sweats.

Something suspiciously like panic crept up his back as he worked to unclench his jaw. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

Right now was not the time to lose his shit. Too much was at stake. “Rogue . . .”

God, he wanted to kiss her, hold her, never let her out of his sight.

Instead, he settled for a quick embrace. With his arms around her, it became even harder to let go.

But he had to.

Kissing the top of her head, he released her with a stern demand. “Don’t die.”

He caught a flash of her bright teeth. Then she said, “You either. ”

Before she could leave him there with his chest gaping open, he stopped her. “Wait.” Taking off his tactical vest, he placed it in her hands. “Wear this.” It would be a little big but better than sending her out there—alone—with no protection.

He could sense her consternation. “But what about you?”

When she made no move to put on the bulletproof vest, he helped her into it. “You wear it or we’re not separating.”

“But—”

As his fingers fastened the straps, he cut her off, “I’ll be fine. And this way, I’m not distracted worrying about you.”

At his admission, she didn’t say anything else in protest. When he’d secured the vest as tight as it would go, she squeezed his hand before melting into the night.

Balling his palm into a fist as if he could sear her touch into his skin, he watched her disappear and prayed he wouldn’t live to regret his decision to let her out of his sight.