He turned and walked away through the snow, leaving footprints that would be covered by morning. Behind him, the apartment went dark, and the ghost of Christmas past finally, mercifully, let him go.
NINE
Bangkok’s warehouse district transformed after dark into something from a spy thriller.
Shadows pooled between cargo containers. Sodium lights cast everything in amber and menace. The Chao Phraya River lapped against concrete docks, and the air hung thick with diesel fumes and welding smoke.
And her man was the spy. The kiss from two hours ago still burned on Chloe’s lips.
What was wrong with her that watching Skeet gear up for a mission was like watching all of her fantasies come to life?
But then again, she’d been a die-hard James Reece fan sinceThe Terminal Listcame out.
And here he was, a warrior, in the flesh. Black combat gear that hugged his lean frame, tactical vest loaded with equipment, night-vision goggles pushed up on his forehead.
The transformation was complete. Terrifying. Devastatingly attractive.
And okay, maybe he wasn’t as dark and tortured as James Reece, but yeah. Skeet in full tactical gear... Wow, Thailand was hot.
She gripped her camera tighter as Ham spread tactical maps across the hood of one of their cars. The rest of the guys stood, kitted up and solemn. Ham’s voice cut through the humid night, sharp, a sense of military in his tone as they talked about exits and infils and different scenarios.
Around them, the industrial maze stretched in every direction—towering cranes silhouetted against the city’s glow, container ships moored like sleeping giants. They had parked four blocks away from the warehouse.
This was it. The story that would expose Volkov’s entire operation.
“Silver stays in the vehicle.” Ham’s words shattered her daydream.
“Excuse me?” She looked over at him.
“You heard me.” He didn’t look up from the warehouse schematics. “This is a tactical operation, not a photo shoot.”
“I’ve been documenting this story for months. I’m not sitting in a car while you?—”
“While we what? Do our jobs?” Ham’s eyes met hers. “This isn’t negotiable.”
And so what if he looked a little scary, she’d... well, she’d interviewed a drug lord once.
“It absolutely is.”
Skeet appeared at her elbow.
“Ham’s right. It’s too dangerous.” His voice carried professional authority, but when he looked at her, something softened in his expression. “And I’m not losing you to a story. Even a really good one.”
She rounded on him. “Since when do you get to decide what’s too dangerous for me?”
“Since about two hours ago, when we decided this thing between us is worth protecting.” The corner of his mouthquirked up despite the serious conversation. “Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer my girlfriend breathing.”
“Girlfriend?” The word slipped out before she could stop it.
“Too soon?” His grin widened. “Because I was thinking we could make it official after we save Bangkok. You know, romantic dinner, maybe somewhere without armed guards and biochemical weapons.”
North smiled, which felt odd given that his tactical gear made his already-imposing frame look lethal.
“All the more reason I need to be there.” She lifted her camera. “This equipment has night-vision capabilities your team doesn’t. I can document everything—evidence that will hold up in court, exposure that will prevent this from happening again.”
“Dead journalists don’t write exposés,” North said quietly.
West looked up from where he’d been rigging some kind of explosive device. Even in full tactical gear, he somehow managed to look casual. “She’s got a point,” he said. “Mission cameras are garbage in low light.”