Page 7 of K-9 Justice

Carson slipped his index finger under her chin and notched her gaze higher to meet his. “I’m not the threat, Ivy. Not for you. Ever.”

Her nerves frayed under his touch, and she was instantly lost in the feel of him. Of having him this close. How long had they starved themselves of moments like this? How long had they let the job rule how they interacted with one another? Pretended their mission was more important than their feelings for one another?

Too long.

She was the one to maneuver the food he’d made from between them. The plate missed the edge of the kitchen island and fell. Glass exploded from the impact, spreading far and wide with the soup across the tile. She didn’t care. Neither of them cared as she rose onto her toes and crushed her mouth to his. Ivy arched into him, pressing against him in an attempt to make them one, and the hollowness she’d suffered without him these past two years waned. In seconds, she was breathless. He did that to her. Had from the beginning.

It didn’t matter that they’d been partners, that the FBI had put rules in place to keep agents from getting romantically involved. There’d always been a loyalty from Carson she couldn’t ignore. Not just to the job. To her. In a lifetime of always looking for the best way to survive, for once, she’d felt as though she had someone at her back. And, damn it, he felt so good.

“I’ve missed you.” Her words vanished into his mouth. In his arms, she wasn’t the head of the Pentagon’s only weapon againstSangre por Sangre. She wasn’t calling the shots or grieving the loss of one of her best operatives, and with that came a sense of freedom. Of unburdening. It had been so long since she’d givenherself permission to drop the weight of responsibility at her feet. But Carson made it easy to be herself. Safe.

“I missed you, too.” He moved his hand over her rib cage—right where she needed him—but pain spiked into her chest and down her hip.

She sucked in a hiss of air, pulling back, as she grabbed her side. Lightning streaked across her vision. Ivy tried to swallow the nausea climbing up her throat, but there was no stopping it as long as her ribs were screaming for relief.

“You’re hurt.” Carson didn’t waste time waiting for her to deny it. Dropping behind the island, he pulled a first aid kit from underneath one of the cabinets.

“It’s nothing. Just a bruise.” Reality was rushing back. Too fast. She wasn’t ready to let go of the past few minutes. Because she wasn’t sure how much longer it would be until they allowed themselves to drop the roles they’d taken on again. “Is there a bathroom in this place?”

He stood there. Waiting. Waiting for her to let him help her. To be the one who burst into the room and fixed everything, as he had during their last case together. But the truth was, they weren’t those people anymore. Time and violence and death had contorted them into something hard and unrecognizable. “Yeah. Down the hall. Second door on the right.”

“Excuse me.” Ivy wouldn’t question his confidence. He’d been here before. In this place. In what capacity, she didn’t know, but he was obviously more familiar with the cartel’s setup than he’d reported.

She memorized the layout as she moved into the hallway, catching an office first. Cleaned out. What were the chancesSangre por Sangrehad left something behind for her to use against them? What resources had they been forced to give up when the last few remaining lieutenants had gone underground?Her fingers itched to find out, but the pain in her side hadn’t subsided.

She bypassed the bathroom as her legs threatened to collapse right out from under her. Adrenaline had run out within minutes of the ambush. She hadn’t eaten anything other than that single bite of dinner in close to twenty-four hours as she’d tried to piece Dr. Piel’s movements together from the past few days. Her go bag was stocked with food and water, but she’d left it back in the living room. As much as she hated to admit it, a piece of her needed the distance from Carson. To work this out. To put things back in perspective.

Ivy leveraged her hand against the wall as she moved down the too-long corridor. Room after room, stripped, abandoned. Papers discarded, shredders overflowing. Until she found one room furnished with an actual bed. The pressure of keeping it together popped before she managed to close the door behind her. Big breaths did nothing to counter the hurt pressing into her from all sides. Her nervous system was processing Dr. Piel’s murder, the ambush at the apartment, the reunion with the man who’d promised her forever, the kiss they’d shared. The reminder a killer had slipped out of her reach. It was trying to bring her back to neutral, but there was just so much stuff in the way. She barely had time to take in the setup of the rest of the room before hiding away under the covers.

Cutting off her senses was the only proven method of bringing her out of a tailspin. It had been a long time since she’d felt this…powerless. But the past few days had compounded until she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to take her next breath. At least, not anytime soon.

A low moan registered through the heavy comforter a split second before the mattress bounced with additional weight. A wet nose prodded underneath the seam of the blanket until Maxhad fully made her way inside the barrier between Ivy and the rest of the world.

“You always seem to know when you’re needed.” She wrapped one arm around the German shepherd, giving in to the warmth and the weight of the symbol of the relationship she and Carson had once created together. It all seemed so broken now. Foreign and strange. The longer Ivy stroked Max’s fur, the sooner the pressure subsided, until she almost felt like herself. Almost. There were still a few pieces missing and unsure, but Max made the edges less sharp.

If she was being honest with herself, Carson had, too. He’d helped get her out of the apartment. Protected her when the gunman had taken aim. He’d risked his life to ensure she kept hers. That hadn’t changed in the years they’d been apart.

But as sleep dragged her into unconsciousness, a single thought followed her under. One Ivy hated to consider at all but would be reckless to ignore.

That despite the attack on the safe house tonight, Carson was still utilizing cartel resources. And she wasn’t sure she could trust him anymore.

* * *

She and Maxhad fallen asleep together.

Carson couldn’t tear himself away from the sight as the past superimposed over the present. Of Ivy surprising him with the pup once he’d been released from the hospital at the end of their last case. Of the sheer look of joy on her face, so different from the woman he’d come to know as a partner. No longer burdened. But free. They’d been through hell together. Nearly died for one another. He’d lost one of his kidneys in the process. The kidney his mother had donated to keep him alive when he’d gotten sick a few years ago, but Ivy had done something unthinkable at the time.

His partner had given him one of her own.

She’d saved his life in more ways than one.

It was a miracle their blood types had matched. Her work with the FBI and her crippling terror of becoming victim to any kind of vulnerability had kept her healthy and strong, and when the time had come, she’d been there for him when it’d mattered most. Had brought them closer together than ever. But something had changed.

Ever since he’d accepted this assignment.

These past two years had separated them physically—he couldn’t deny the shift—but what he hadn’t expected was the emotional fallout keeping them apart now. The fallout that made him feel like he’d made up everything between them up to this point.

This job, the one he’d taken to find the killer they’d let slip away, had been their only chance to cutSangre por Sangreoff at the knees, and they’d done a hell of a job together. The cartel was dying off. What else could he do but finish what they’d started together as a thank-you for everything Ivy had sacrificed for this cause?

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