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“One more thing,” I called out. “In Brazil, what was she like?”
The fucker turned and smirked.
“Didn’t talk to her. Watched a guard let her into the prison. Just walked right in like she owned the place. The guard peeled off so I followed her. She found her target, moved in behind him, and sliced his throat. Clean and methodical. She didn’t make a peep, didn’t flinch, didn’t delay making her exit. In and out and that was it—she was gone.”
Smith didn’t say it but he didn’t have to. Not only because I knew him well but also because he didn’t hide it—he was impressed.
Wet work was a far cry from taking out a target from a distance. It was up close and personal and took a certain disposition to stomach it.
“So, good call making sandwiches. I wouldn’t make her anything that requires utensils until after the two of you have worked your shit out.”
With another smile he took his plate into the bedroom he’d claimed and shut the door behind him. It took a minute for me to get my shit together enough to move. My contemplation had nothing to do with my teammate’s concern for my safety and everything to do with his warning.
Sometimes you have to go with a gut feeling when all your intel is showing you something different.
My gut was telling me not to let her get away.
My gut was telling me I needed an explosion to happen so I could break though.
I just hoped that breakthrough didn’t break her.
On that thought, I walked down across the poor excuse for a living room to the door.
The door that separated me from the woman who drove me crazy.
I didn’t bother knocking.
My excuse—I was pleading insanity.
As soon as the door opened, Nebraska whirled and pinned me with a semi-dirty look.
“Why am I not surprised?” she asked.
“That I couldn’t allow your only source of nutritional intake to be a sugar snack?” I quipped. I held out the plate as an offering.
Her gaze dropped to the plate. Mine dropped to her bare legs that unfortunately were not on offer. They were bare because she only wore a t-shirt that barely covered her underwear. And suddenly I really wanted to know if she was wearing another pair of ugly-assed cotton undies or if she’d switched to something…who the hell was I kidding? Ugly or not I didn’t give the first fuck about her underwear. They could be lime green with toucans on them and I’d still want to peel them off—with my teeth.
“You made me dinner?”
She no longer sounded combative but instead perplexed. And since she hadn’t stopped staring at the plate I’d say perplexed was an understatement.
“Not sure grilled cheese is considered dinner once you’re over the age of five, but yeah, I made you something to eat.”
Finally her eyes lifted and I wasn’t sure how I’d missed it. She wasn’t beautiful, she was fucking gorgeous. It wasn’t just one of her attributes that made her physically attractive, it was Nebraska as a whole. Mind, body, soul—she was nothing short of stunning.
Nebraska wasn’t a woman you won. You had to earn her love and trust. She’d put a man through his paces, she’d make it difficult, she’d fight and slice you to shreds, and take you to task before she found you worthy.
I’d once won a woman, I’d never earned one. I’d never had to work to prove I was good enough. I’d never found a woman who was worth the effort, worth the pain and struggle.
Correction: I’d never found a woman worth the effort until Nebraska.
I had a feeling Smith was wrong. There wouldn’t be an explosion; but one way or another the woman was going to annihilate me. And the fuck of it was she wouldn’t do it on purpose. She’d break me like she was right then with the look of shock on her pretty face—over a sandwich.
“Nebraska—”
“You made me a sandwich?” she whispered.
Yep.
