Page 36 of Code Name: Reaper
I couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t explain that I’d had the most vivid, intense sexual dream of my life starring him, and that I’d probably moaned his name aloud. “Nothing. Um, thanks again.”
“Good night, Charity,” he said softly, and then he was gone, leaving me alone in the darkness.
I slid down on the pillow. My heart pounded as details of my dream returned. Reaper’s hands threading through my hair,his mouth hot against my throat, my body arching beneath his while I called out his name in breathless gasps. We’d been in this very bed, but we weren’t colleagues maintaining boundaries. We weren’t running for our lives or searching for missing persons.
In the dream, he’d taken his time undressing me, his fingers trailing fire across my skin as each piece of clothing fell away. The way he’d looked at me—like I was precious, someone he wanted and desired—made me writhe against his touch as his hands had mapped every curve and hollow, learning what made me gasp, what made me beg him for more.
I remembered the weight of his body over mine, the heat of his skin, how he’d whispered my name like a prayer as he settled between my thighs. Then how I’d guided him into me, both of us moving together in rhythm, building toward something that felt inevitable and necessary and right.
The dream had seemed so real I could still feel the phantom sensation of his lips on my neck, the memory of his hands cupping my breasts, and the way he’d made me come apart beneath him with a combination of tenderness and hunger that left me breathless.
Even now, lying alone in the darkness, my body ached with want. The dream had awakened something I’d been trying to suppress, a hunger.
My hand drifted beneath the covers, following the path his dream-fingers had taken. I imagined them instead of mine as I touched myself, remembering the way he’d made me feel in that impossible fantasy—safe enough to surrender completely.
When it came, my release was swift and intense, leaving me gasping his name into the empty room. For a moment, I lay there, caught between satisfaction and shame, wondering what it meant that I’d brought myself to climax while thinking about the man sleeping down the hall.
Eventually, exhaustion pulled me under, and I dozed fitfully until morning.
When I foundReaper in the kitchen at zero seven hundred after I’d showered and dressed to return to the command center, I could barely meet his eyes.
“Ready?” He handed me a travel mug of coffee without comment, his fingers brushing mine in a way that made my pulse jump.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
The drive to the estate gave me time to process what had happened last night beyond the dream.
He’d broken fundamental security protocols by revealing the identity of an asset in order to prove I could trust him. He’d put Dagger’s life in my hands because of two words I spoke: “Your source.”
It should have been reassuring. The first person I could truly trust after Mercury’s systematic lies, after discovering my entire support system had been built on deception. Instead, it terrified me. Because trusting him meant depending on him, and depending on anyone again felt like signing myself up for more heartache.
But even as fear clawed at me, I couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through my chest when I thought about his words when he explained why he’d divulged the name of his source. “Because you’re the only person I’ve met who fights for people the way I do.” He saw something in me worth protecting, worth trusting. That mattered more than it should have.
We were pulling through the estate gates when his phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen, then continued to the main residence and parked.
“What is it?” I asked when he didn’t get out of the SUV.
“Dagger answered the message I sent last night.” He handed me the phone. “Read it.”
The response was brief but explosive.Lt. General Jason Briggs, USAF Retired. Subject of Prism and Mercury’s investigation at USAFA. Active Russian intelligence consultant at Pentagon. Financial irregularities suggest alternative revenue streams.
I stared at the screen, my heart racing. “Jason Briggs?”
“Sounds like he’s our guy.”
I was already pulling up search engines on my tablet before he finished speaking. “Lieutenant General Jason Briggs, retired Air Force.” The results populated quickly, and I read them out loud. “Career military officer, decorated veteran, confirmed as current government consultant specializing in Russian affairs. And owner of a sixty-million-dollar mansion in Old Alexandria, Virginia.” I clicked on the real estate photos, then angled my tablet so Reaper could see the screen. “How does a retired three-star afford this?”
“Could be inherited wealth, or marriage. Then again, it could also be legitimate consulting income?—”
“Or he’s dirty as hell,” I snapped, annoyed by his automatic defense of a man whom his own asset had called out as suspicious. Why did he always have to consider every innocent possibility first?
I kept digging, cross-referencing dates and positions. “He was superintendent of the Air Force Academy during the exact period Prism and Mercury were both there undercover.” My fingers flew across the screen. “And look at this—his retirement in June coincides exactly with Mercury’s departure from the academy and the termination of the Operation Avalon investigation.”
“That’s not a coincidence,” Reaper said grimly.
A sharp rap on the SUV window made me jump. I lowered it when I saw my brother standing next to the vehicle.
“You two planning to come inside any time soon? Nemesis is holding the morning briefing until you show up.”
