Cue the music.
“What else do you know about the Basilisks?” she asked. “Do they have military connections? Have they partnered with the Apostles on anything else? Will you—”
“Miss Tate.” Washington cut her off. “You’ve been in this business a while now, so you know how this goes.”
Samantha crossed her arms and gritted her teeth so hard, Ozzie was pretty sure he heard her molars creak. “I just gave you everything, and you’re going to give me nothing.”
Washington shook his head. “Because you did give us our first break, and because I happen to like you—you’ve got gumption, remind me of my oldest daughter—I’m willing to let you be the one to break the story once we have a firm hold on it and an arrest pending. Seem fair?”
“Marginally,” Samantha allowed. Then, “But you could use me as a source, couldn’t you? Or better yet, as bait? The Basilisks—”
“Over my dead body,” Ozzie growled before he’d made the conscious decision to speak.
There was so much fire, so much conviction in his voice, that everyone turned to gape at him. Well, everyone except for Christian, who just leaned back in his chair and shook his head like he wasn’t at all surprised.
Well, that makes one of us.
Ozzie was as surprised as hell. Sure, he was naturally protective. Sure, Samantha was his friend and his secret midnight fantasy. But his vehemence went beyond both those things and skated along the edge of something deeper, something more substantial, something that scared the ever-loving shit out of him.
*
Over my dead body…
Ozzie’s declaration, spoken in that low voice, rubbed over Samantha’s skin like a tongue. All smooth and seductive. Then, the more she thought about it, the more his words grated.
Sure, they were friends—and she was beyond relieved to discover he wasn’t a lying criminal asshole; in fact, she was so elated, she wanted to grab his ears and kiss the stuffing out of him. Then again… How dare he think he has any right to tell me what I can and cannot do!
She opened her mouth to tell him it was none of his damned business if she wanted to volunteer to be the carcass the police used to lure in the big, bad wolves, but she hesitated. Because the look on his face said he was the human equivalent of a cluster bomb. One wrong move from her, one wrong word, and boom! Detonation.
She did a double take. The Ozzie she knew had always seemed so good-natured, so charming and easygoing. Okay, sure, there were times when he got quiet, got serious, and his expression turned…sad. But never had she seen him looking like this. He was still Ozzie, still handsome as homemade sin. Still wearing that ridiculous T-shirt that read Keep Calm and Klingon. But there was something else in his face. Something more. Some sort of knowledge or understanding or—
And then she realized what it was. He was sitting there in his young man’s body, but his eyes…
His eyes were those of an old warrior.
When Washington cleared his throat, she realized that some time had passed since Ozzie had spoken. Time when she and Ozzie simply stared at each other, neither able to look away. Her mind felt fuzzy, as though someone had installed shag carpeting along the inner curve of her skull. Which was why it took her a second to understand what Washington was getting at when he said dryly, “Thanks for the offer, Miss Tate, but we’ll have to pass. There’s that whole protect nonsense in the oath we took to protect and serve.”
“And speaking of that”—Ozzie gave Samantha a quick glance—“are you going to assign her a marked unit as escort? Put a uniformed officer at her house? Bulldog doesn’t strike me as the kind of dude to simply give up once he has his mind set on something. And judging by this evening, his mind is set on getting his hands on Samantha. She needs protection 24-7 until you guys resolve this thing.”
Samantha knew how it was supposed to go at this point. She’d seen enough TV, read enough books. This was where she was supposed to object. Where she was supposed to say she was capable of looking out for herself and didn’t need police protection. But in all those TV shows and books, the oh-so-brave heroine eventually found herself in the clutches of the big, bad men, and the audience or readers just rolled their eyes, unsurprised, since the heroine had made a decision that put her in a category labeled Too Stupid to Live.
That being the case, Samantha kept her mouth shut. Not that she looked forward to the inconvenience of having a bodyguard. But if the alternative was a body bag, you can bet your sweet ass she’d take the inconvenience every day of the week and twice on Sunday.
“Well…” Washington rubbed his chin, glancing back and forth between Ozzie and Samantha. “I could do that,” he mused. “But if you’re worried about her safety, you know there’s no place in the city safer than—”
“The shop,” Ozzie finished for him.
“Oh no.” Christian shook his head adamantly. “That’s a bleeding, buggering cock-up of an idea if ever there was one.”
Samantha saw Ozzie’s expression turn contemplative. That contemplativeness quickly morphed into determination. “Why?” He pinned a frown on Christian. “With all the others away at that conference”—he seemed to stress the word unnecessarily—“the place is empty.”
“Except for the wives and the girlfriends,” Christian grumbled.
“All the better. She’ll have plenty of female company.”
Since Samantha had been inside the Black Knights compound, she knew Washington was right. Not taking into account the massive brick wall topped by razor wire that surrounded the place, the warehouse itself was a throwback to a bygone era, with masonry walls that were three feet thick and insulated with what was probably clay and horsehair. It was a fortress. She would certainly be safe from the Basilisks in there.
And honestly? She was curious to get back inside. Maybe there she’d find the answers to why Ozzie had those old warrior’s eyes.
I mean, they have to come from somewhere, right?
Somewhere other than the year he matriculated at Stanford before going to see his nearest navy recruiter. Somewhere other than the three years he spent as a rescue swimmer attached to a navy aircraft carrier, because as far as she could figure, he hadn’t seen much action. Maybe he had acquired those eyes during the year following his stint with the navy. In all her research, she hadn’t been able to account for those thirteen months postnavy and pre–Black Knights Inc.
“And the days?” Christian asked.
“What do you mean?” Washington frowned.