Page 28 of Delta Force Defender

“It doesn’t matter if your secret hobby is being an amateur marksman. You weren’t a marine.”

“I’m something far more dangerous than a marine, Isaac,” she snapped. “I’m a determined woman who has no intention of being trussed up and carted around again.”

“You telegraph your moves, baby.” And he could see her temper and a hint of uncertainty flutter over her face, but she didn’t lower her weapon. “That gives me about three seconds to react. And guess what? I only need one.”

“Do you want to test that theory?”

“Go right ahead,” he dared her.

And this was Caradine. So he wasn’t surprised at all when her chin tipped up, stubborn and strong. Or when her shoulders squared.

He saw the exact moment she made her decision. Her eyes flashed a darker blue, she held her breath, and he was damned lucky she really did telegraph everything.

She aimed again, but he was already moving.

By the time the shot rang out, it was done.

Caradine was bent over, cradling her hand. Isaac had possession of her gun. And there was a nice bullet hole in the wall behind where he’d been standing. At thigh level.

“Do you feel better now?” he asked her, gruff and low. Deadly calm while she panted for breath.

“No, I don’t feel better,” she seethed at him. “I think you broke my wrist.”

“I didn’t break it. If it was broken, you would have heard it crack. And you’d be in a lot more pain. Meaning you wouldn’t be whining about it.”

“You hurt me.” She straightened and glared at him, another thing she wouldn’t have been doing if he’d really hurt her. “And now you’re calling me a whiner?”

“You tried to shoot me, Caradine. Do you know what I normally do to people who shoot at me?” He grinned. Broadly. “I’ll give you three guesses, and none of them involve hanging around talking about it afterward.”

“Is that supposed to make my broken wrist feel better?”

And maybe it was because she’d made him feel like a giant rampaging stampede of bulls in all the china shops,again, when he’d done his best to disarm her without really hurting her. The way he could have, and easily, when there was a bullet with his name on it stuck in the wall behind them. And when he knew she was hardly the fine china in that analogy. Not his scrappy, forever-tough-talking Caradine.

Whatever it was, he wasn’t as completely in control of himself or his emotions as he should have been when he reached over and hauled her toward him, with one hand wrapped around her upper arm.

“Are we pretending you feel something?” he bit out, his face in hers, his grin long gone. “Are you sure? Because I was under the impression that if a single emotion dared poke up its head around you, you’d implode.”

Her gaze was much too dark. “Let me go, Isaac. Let me drive away and don’t follow me.”

“Not happening. Because I don’t know if you noticed, but this has all gotten more intense. Who was that man?”

“I don’t know.” She tried to pull her arm away, but heonly tightened his grip. “I honestly don’t know. I don’t recognize him.”

“But you know who he works for.”

Caradine made a frustrated noise. “I have theories, that’s all.”

“I have theories, too,” he retorted. “About you. Because I couldn’t help noticing his accent, and that narrows it down nicely.”

“Great. Theories upon theories and none of it matters. You still need to let me go. This has nothing to do with you.”

“What exactly were you planning to do?” he demanded, and there was no getting around it then. He was definitely losing his cool. “Explain to me how you thought this was going to go. Whoever you called sent this guy. Did you think he was going to ask you out for coffee? Sit down, have a nice chat? Does he look to you like the kind of guy who could be reasoned with?”

Her blue eyes were filled with storms and fury. “I was perfectly happy to shoot you, Isaac. I don’t know what makes you think I had acoffee datein mind for someone I like even less. I wanted to see who it was. I wanted to see if I recognized him. I wanted to see if it was my—”

She didn’t finish her sentence. She gulped down whatever she’d been about to say.

“Your what?” he demanded. Edgily.

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