Page 7 of Raven’s Claw (Raven’s Cliff #2)

Chapter Three

Jordan straddled her dirt bike and stared at the expansive house stretching across the property.

A series of lights brightened the darkness, the warm yellow glow chasing away the worst of the shadows.

Fog rolled across the grounds, clinging to the tress like ghostly apparitions waiting to strike as rain puddled in the driveway.

She swallowed, the inklings of doubt shivering down her spine — manifesting as goosebumps across her skin.

Twenty years under the iron rule of Rook and Scythe.

Covert missions to places even Kash and his teammates likely hadn’t ventured — the threat too chaotic, too raw to be worth the fight — and for the first time in her life, she was scared.

She didn’t do nice. Didn’t attend gatherings or make small talk.

Not unless it was part of her cover. And since Rook abhorred any form of joint operation — any chance of the world catching even a suggestion of Scythe’s existence — she’d lived her private life like she had her missions.

Alone. Always searching the shadows. Ready to bolt on a moment’s notice.

She could adapt. Like working at the Lighthouse Café.

It was a role. A way of gathering intel without exposing herself more than necessary.

People talked. She listened. Nothing more, nothing less.

So, agreeing to dinner, knowing full well it would likely involve the rest of Kash’s team in some capacity…

It was foreign. Like her feelings for Kash. An anomaly that had her so far outside her usual orbit, she was surprised she hadn’t crashed.

The front door opened, a daunting figure stepping out onto the covered porch. She couldn’t tell if it was Kash or one of his teammates — the man’s silhouette barely visible through the driving rain. But he waved her in, standing tall as if he was ready to chase after her if she changed her mind.

She turned off the engine then made a dash for the porch, jogging up the steps then into the house. The door slammed shut behind her, Foster staring at her as if he hadn’t quite believed she’d venture inside.

She sighed. “You’re not Kash.”

“Glad you can tell us apart.” He frowned, giving her a thorough once-over. “When I saw the single headlight, I’d assumed the other was burnt out. But… Did you seriously drive here on the rusty piece of shit I’ve seen parked outside the diner?”

Jordan crossed her arms over her chest, hating the shiver that shook through her as a deep chill settled in her bones. “She might not look like much, but the engine’s sound.”

“Great. So, it’ll still be purring when a flash flood washes you off the road.” He shifted on his feet, rolling his right shoulder as he shook out his hand. “Why didn’t you tell us that was all you had? We would have tossed it in the flatbed and given you a lift.”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve driven in the rain, Beckett.”

“But it could have been your last.” He raked his fingers through his long hair, then held out his hand.

“Give me your jacket. There’s a guest room up the stairs at the end of the hall on the right.

You can shower or dry off. Whatever you want.

I’ll call Kash and get him back over here with some dry clothes.

I believe he’s putting out a small fire in his kitchen. Something about burning the lasagna.”

Jordan scanned the room. “I can just go over?—”

“You’re soaked, your lips are blue, and despite your best efforts, you’re shivering.” He moved his hand closer. “I promise I won’t rifle through your pockets or anything else you might be worried about.”

“I’m not worried.”

“After the way you handled Tucker, that makes one of us.” He pointed to the staircase, this time. “Go. I’ll put your stuff in the washer once you come back down. Everything should be clean before you leave.”

Jordan stared at his hand, mentally sizing him up, but he didn’t appear as if he had ulterior motives. Wasn’t looking to grab her wrist or try to tackle her to the floor. In fact, he seemed genuinely worried that she could have gotten hurt on the ride over.

The thought sent another shiver down her spine.

This was why accepting Kash’s invitation had been a bad idea.

She’d been an agent too long to shift gears, now.

Acclimate into the world without the sum of her missions coloring her views.

Seeing everyone as a threat she’d eventually have to deal with.

Except where Foster looked as if he’d do battle with her. No explanations. No doubts. And she wasn’t sure if she was impressed or terrified.

Foster shifted on his feet, glancing at the puddle slowly forming beneath her boots then back to her. She gave him a small smile then slipped out of her gear — handing him her keys and a white bag along with the clothes.

Foster grinned, turning the bag over a few times. “Supplies for later?”

She scoffed. “It’s bacon for Nyx, wiseass. She had a bad day, too.”

“But it’s looking up. For Kash, as well.”

Jordan rolled her eyes then headed for the stairs, making her way to the bedroom, then into the bathroom.

It didn’t take long for the water to heat, steam softly billowing into the air.

She grabbed a clean towel, hung it on one of the hooks next to the glass door, then stripped and stepped inside, letting the warm water ease the day’s tension.

Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe Kash and his buddies could help her.

Give her a chance at bringing down Rook without dying in the process.

They’d volunteer. That much was obvious.

But it meant coming clean — letting them see behind the curtain.

And she wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to face their reaction.

Thinking she might be an agent was one thing.

Seeing it spelled out in blood and bodies…

Five minutes.

That’s how long she’d give herself to gather her composure.

Get her head on straight. Decide how much of the truth she’d share — just like with Greer.

They already suspected she’d worked for some kind of agency, either CIA or worse.

She could use that to her advantage. Because if the first two minutes of the evening were any indication of how the rest would play out, she was in for one hell of a night.

Kash stopped outside the bathroom door, some sweats, socks and a hoodie piled in his arms. Somewhere between kissing her in the café and setting the lasagna on fire, he’d forgotten about the dirt bike.

Too busy reliving the soft play of her lips — how she’d slid her fingers into his hair and pulled him closer — to make all the necessary connections.

Thankfully, his oversight hadn’t ended with her trapped in a river or dangling from the side of a cliff. Which meant, he still had time to salvage the night. Show her that he was worth the risk.

He frowned. There had been something in her eyes when she’d agreed to dinner that had been gnawing at him.

A look that had put his protective instincts on high alert.

As if she’d come to a decision, but not the one on the table.

Something deeper. Darker. And Kash bet his ass it had to do with whatever agency she’d been part of.

The way she’d taken down Tucker had confirmed everything he’d been thinking. That her past was filled with redacted files and above top-secret clearance. Missions that didn’t exist in places few ventured. The only question was whether she was running or hunting. Burned or biding her time.

She didn’t act like a hunter. The hyper-vigilance.

The distance. It struck him more as someone trying to blend in.

Who wanted to vanish into normalcy. Which explained why she’d taken the job at the Lighthouse Café.

Just another face behind the counter. Close enough to the pulse of the town she stayed current on the local gossip without drawing attention to herself.

That had changed tonight.

And that’s what scared him.

That this wasn’t the beginning of forever, but the start of goodbye.

Kash pushed aside the thoughts. He needed to clear his mind, or she’d pick up on the tension.

She hadn’t bolted yet. And if he played his cards right, he might be able to steer her onto another path — one that involved him and his buddies rallying around her.

For now, she needed to believe he was still in the dark.

He took a breath, pushed his shoulders back, then knocked on the door. “Jordan?”

The handle jiggled before the door opened amidst a curtain of steam. It took a moment for the room to clear, her terry-clad silhouette taking shape within the mist.

“Damn.”

There was no other way to describe her. Smooth pale skin. Strong firm muscles. Her long brown hair curling around her face, making her baby-blue eyes seem twice as bright.

She arched a brow, looking too damn sexy as she smiled, slowly moving over to the doorway. “Damn?”

He coughed. He hadn’t realized he’d said the word out loud. “I…” He chuckled. “That seems to be my go-to where you’re concerned, today. And I meant it exactly how it sounded.”

“I guess there are worse things you could say.” She nodded at the clothes. “Are those for me?”

He held them out, drinking in the floral scent of her skin mixed with a hint of coconut in her hair. “They’ll be big, but…”

“Big sounds pretty perfect.” She glanced behind her. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect Foster to have soaps and shampoo that didn’t smell like pine trees and bad decisions.”

“Pretty sure that’s Mac’s influence. While I haven’t been deployed with Beck for several months, I can assure you he’s never smelled as incredible as you do after a shower.” He motioned to the pile of clothes stacked on the counter. “Can I take those down and get them in the washer?”

She bit at her bottom lip, looking as if no one had ever offered to help her, before. “You don’t have to do that.”