
From New York Times best-selling author Cristin Harber and best-selling author Jessie Lane comes an exciting collaboration...

What happens when Titan and Ex Ops work together?

Terror has gripped the NYPD. A rogue sniper took out, not only the NYPD's SWAT snipers and police chief, but several others. Now they must turn to the only person they can trust: Jared Westin and the Titan Group.

There's only one problem. The Titan Operatives are currently tied up with their own missions.

Unwilling to leave the NYPD hanging, Jared Westin cashes in a favor from Commander Jaxon Wall. Only, Jared doesn't want to send Jaxon's Ex Ops Team for the job; he wants to send in someone Jaxon has kept secret: his goddaughter, Billie Jean Beasely, one of the best snipers working for the FBI's Hostage Rescue Team, if only her male counterparts would let her prove it. The NYC mission could finally give her that chance.

Thing is, Jaxon Wall isn't willing to send his goddaughter in alone. He wants to send one of his own men to help her. Chase Anderson.

Will Chase turn out to be yet another man who thinks Billie is less of a shot just because she's a woman? Or will Billie finally meet a man who realizes she loves her bullets as much as bluebonnets?

Raves for the novels by

JESSIE LANE

Secret Maneuvers

"...I couldn't put it down. It's not just the love story between Belle and Bobby, the suspense, the action, the drama, the friendships, the loyalty... I could go on and on. There is relatability to the characters, it's a well written, well thought out and developed plot... I loved this one, by far one of my top ten reads so far this year!"

\- Chelsea Camaron, USA Today Best-Selling Author

"First loves, second chances, and too many heart-stopping moments to count!! Secret Maneuvers is without a doubt sure to be a huge hit, because this story is romance magic from page one up until the very end!! I lost count of how many times I had to use the highlight feature on my iPad with this story, there were just so many great moments and lines that I wanted to go back to! Whether they were tender or filled with raw emotion, hilarious or beautiful, this was just one of those stories that gives you a little of everything to endure and enjoy!"

\- The Autumn Review

"The author manages a lightness and humorous atmosphere, even though the story is highly emotional at the same time... Not only does it have bone-melting romance but thrilling action scenes as well. The writing is, as always, engaging and draws you in on page 1. I'm excited to find out who is next in the Ex Ops series! If you haven't read Jessie Lane yet, what are you waiting for?"

\- Swept Away By Romance

Stripping Her Defenses

"STRIPPING HER DEFENSES Blew. Me. Away! I liked this one even better then the first book, SECRET MANEUVERS. The characters were engaging, the pacing perfection, and the story-line was dynamic. This is Jessie Lane's best work yet!"

\- Reading Between the Wines Book Club

"In this installment, Lane addresses the serious topics of depression, death, and how to deal with being married to a military spouse. A deep emotional tidal wave ebbs and flows throughout the story as Lane flips back and forth to let us see the reasons behind a failed marriage and the steps one woman takes to reclaim her life and self-worth. Steamy sex scenes spice things up the storyline while heart to heart dialogue keeps the story from becoming just another "trope." Humor injects randomly to offset the somber tones while interesting new characters are introduced to announce a spin off series Lane is creating with fellow writer, Chelsea Cameron."

\- Smexy Books

Ice

"There is angst, yes. There is drama, yes. There is suspense, yes. There is sexiness, yes. But I think what it is, the reason behind why I liked this so much is the reason behind the MC. The driving force, the reason why they do what they do, why they were founded. I don't know that I have read a book like this one before."

\- Books chocolate and lipgloss

"The action in this book truly has you on the edge of your seat. Chelsea and Jessie have you smiling and then nervous with each page turned. There was one scene that I was shocked and gutted. It was hard for me to read (and I have read some shocking, gruesome scenes) but this one...WOW this one was truly shocking!"

\- Halos and Horns Book Blog

Hammer

"This story was so much more than I expected... I just love a badass with a warm gooey center!"

\- Belle's Book Bag

"I have waiting for a year for Hammer and it was WELL worth the wait. Camaron and Lane did not disappoint in this story. I actually think they kicked the volume WAY up in this one with Hammer and Desirae. This story was intense and sexy... If you enjoy a different type of MC romance, then definitely add this series to your TBR list."

\- The Book Chick

Bullets and Bluebonnets

Ex Ops Series #6

By Jessie Lane

Copyright © 2016 by Jessie Lane

Published by Whiskey Girls Publishing

All rights reserved.

Edited by: C&D Editing & Shannon Webb

Cover Design by: Jessie Lane

Cover Images by: © Gergely Zsolnai | S-F | Jaroslav74 | Shutterstock

For more information on Jessie Lane:

<http://jessielanebooks.com/>

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Copyright © 2016 by Jessie Lane

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of Jessie Lane, except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. If you no longer want this book, you may not give your copy to someone else.

The purchase of this e-book allows you one legal copy for your own personal reading enjoyment on your personal computer or device. You do not have the rights to resell, distribute, print, or transfer this book, in whole or in part, to anyone, in any format, via methods either currently known or yet to be invented, or upload to a file sharing peer to peer program. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If you no longer want this book, you may not give your copy to someone else. Delete it from your computer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Trademarks: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders. The authors acknowledge the trademarked status in this work of fiction. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

This book contains mature content not suitable for readers under the age of 18. This book contains content with strong language, violence, and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual situations are over the age of 18.

Other Titles from Jessie Lane

Ex Ops Series

Secret Maneuvers

Stripping Her Defenses

Mission Delivery

Sweet Agony

Sweet Recovery

Sweet Eternity

Bullets and Bluebonnets

Regulators MC Series

(co-written with Chelsea Camaron)

Ice

Hammer

Coal

Big Bad Bite Series

Big Bad Bite

Walk On The Striped Side

Big Bad Bite Returned

The Demon Who Loved Me

Star Series

(co-written with M.L. Pahl)

The Burning Star

The Frozen Star

Standalone Stories

Close Encounters of the Sexy Kind

(co-written with Abbie Zanders)

Purrfect Santa

(co-written with Chasity Bowlin)

The Alpha's Secret Family

Lone Wolf Wanted

Sassy and a little Bad-Assy

Bears Do It Better

Bullets and Bluebonnets

Ex Ops Series Book 6

&

A Cristin Harber Titan World Story

Jessie Lane

Dedication

To Cristin Harber,

Thank you so much for the privilege of working on this project with you. It was a dream come true for me.

Acknowledgements

As always, there's a few ladies I want to thank for helping me with this book. Chelsea Camaron, Angie Stanton and Anna Bishop Barker, your feedback was everything a girl could ask for. Thank you so much! I'd also like to say another huge thank you to my editors C&D Editing and Shannon Webb. I don't know what I would do without you.

Dear Readers,

Welcome to the Titan World books with stories ranging from military romance to paranormal to contemporary romance. There's something for everyone—action-packed romance, swoon-worthy moments, and happily ever after!

When I started the Titan series, I wanted to combine my love of steamy romance and action-packed suspense. I wrote strong men and women who I hoped readers would fall in love with. I can't think of anything more exciting than opening my world up to very talented authors to extend that experience so that you, the reader, can have a deeper connection to more than one book series at a time.

You will meet new characters and see them interact with familiar ones; you will also see the interpretation of the Titan universe through another author's eyes. I hope that you take the time to experience each book in the Titan World series!

I can't wait for you to read Jessie Lane's Bullets and Bluebonnets, where her Ex Ops characters meet the Titan Group as bullets fly and attraction sizzles. I will always remember the book signing where I first met Jessie. Little did I know that as our series would grow, so would our friendship. I'm thrilled that our characters have found a way to "meet" on the pages.

Thank you to Jessie and all the authors who took time out of their busy writing schedules to participate in this project. I think the result is something truly special for our readers.

Titan Hugs and Happy Reading,

Cristin Harber

Table of Contents

Letter from Cristin Harber

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

Note From The Author

About the Author

Connected Books

You Might Also Like

Titan World Stories

Prologue

Jared Westin

Sitting in my office at Titan Headquarters, I held my sleeping infant daughter in one arm while contemplating my options. The paper in front of me would either be the exact contact I needed at this moment, or it would get me a gun to the head... again.

Staring at the paper, my mind went back to years ago...

The hotel room wasn't a shithole, but it wasn't a luxury suite, either. Oh well, shit, shower, and sleep.

I passed out to get some shut eye, completely wiped the fuck out from my long day of surveillance, when I felt cold metal hit my cheek.

"Don't move. Don't speak," a man's voice whispered in the dark of night. "I know who you are, Jared Westin."

"Is that so? Why don't you let me know what name to put on your death certificate when we finish here?"

"Only one name you need to know, and remember to stay away from." He paused to make sure my eyes met his. "Billie Jean Beasely is off limits to you and to Titan."

Damn women. I always seemed to find myself in trouble when it came to a woman, and Billie Jean and all her talents landed me in some without even having met her.

"How do you know about Ms. Beasely?" I asked to keep him talking as I moved my side piece from under the pillow, my hand in place and ready to pull the trigger.

"I'm her godfather."

I wanted to laugh. Actually, I did laugh. I laughed, and I laughed hard and loud as I moved the gun to where his femoral artery ran through his thigh.

"Seems we've found ourselves at a stand-off, Godfather."

"I didn't come here to kill you, but to give you the one warning you'll ever get, Westin. You go near Billie Jean in any capacity, I'll string you up by the nuts and let all the blood drain from your body one drop at a time from a thousand cuts that I personally inflict, along with her SEAL father and four brothers. As you can see, I can get to you when necessary."

As far as threats went, his was sort of theatrical. The look on his face, though, told me he would absolutely follow through on it. The man wouldn't back down.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness enough to make out some of his features. Blond buzzed hair. Tall, lean frame. Dark eyes. Or perhaps they just seemed dark because he was halfway concealed in shadows.

Well, if this wasn't a situation. Two elite badasses both with their guns aimed at each other with a mentality to shoot to kill.

In my whole career, this was the only time I could say I wasn't sure if either of us would come out on top.

I had definitely met a man to respect that night in the form of a visit from Commander Jaxon Wall. It had been an interesting Mexican standoff for almost twenty minutes that had led to a reluctant truce where we had sat across from each other and had a little chat.

A chat I would come to regret.

I should have shot the asshole and let him bleed out because the little information he had given me kept me from recruiting Beasely.

Hell, could I even call our little chat informative? It was more of a full verbal assault, warning me away from the talented, extraordinary sniper who was his goddaughter.

Before that night, there weren't many men I could say were walk on ready to join Titan if I invited them to. After having some info dug up on him, I now knew Beasely's guardian was one of the few who could.

Jaxon Wall was a former Navy SEAL who had, for all intents and purposes, gone off the grid. Make no mistake, the man wasn't dead. I knew that for a fact after he had not so nicely warned me away from recruiting his goddaughter. That meant there was only one reason for Wall to be as untraceable as Titan if you didn't have a computer guru hacker named Parker Black. The man was working some sort of black ops gig, probably much like Titan.

That was the thing Black couldn't dig up—who exactly Wall worked for.

Even with all our government connections, after Wall's time in the military, the man was good as ghost. Anyone that squeaky clean had to be working for Uncle Sam in some capacity, meaning I didn't have a shot in hell at recruiting Wall or his goddaughter.

Hell, if he was as good as what I thought he might be, whatever five star general or stuck up alphabet suit that managed him would more than likely never let him go. And I was pretty fucking sure he had some serious skills if he could sneak up on me.

The biggest thing that had made an impression on me from that night had been the man's tenacity to protect his goddaughter. He had made it very clear that he didn't doubt Beasely's abilities, but if she was going to work for any sort of operation like Titan's, it would be his.

It was hard not to respect a man who would go out of his way to protect his family. That was the sort of man you wanted at your back in bad places, not with a gun to your head in a hotel room.

If I hadn't learned later that he was one of the good guys, I would have really fucking hated Wall.

The papers on my desk were going to be the reason Jaxon Wall would wish he had killed me when he had the chance. I just knew it. However, I couldn't ignore my situation and what Billie Jean could do for all of us.

The request had come from the highest-ranking officer of the New York Police Department. Over the years of running Titan, we had never come across a request from a police department. And this wasn't just any police department; this was the fucking NYPD, the largest municipal force in the United States. With close to fifty thousand employees, their own criminal intelligence and counter terrorism departments, they were a force to be reckoned with.

Which was probably why there was a sniper that had taken out all the NYPD sharp shooters, ten SWAT officers, and at least three high-ranking officers, including the police chief. The entire organization was scrambling to protect their high-value targets.

With all their experienced sharp shooters out of commission, they were in desperate need of snipers who knew what the fuck they were doing. The NYPD was dealing with a highly intelligent, expertly skilled assassin. Just the sort of thing myself and the members of Titan lived for.

There was a problem, though.

All my guys qualified for this mission were tied up on other cases. Fuck, I hated not being able to put my boys' boots on the ground in the Big Apple to take care of this. As far as I was concerned, law enforcement was just an extended branch of brotherhood to the military. There wasn't a doubt in my mind that every single one of Titan or Delta's men would agree with that assessment. So, to know that some renegade sniper was taking out mission-critical NYPD personnel and I couldn't put my own experts on the case burned my ass.

It was a good thing I knew just the person for the job.

Billie Jean Beasely.

She was an expert sniper who worked for the FBI's Hostage Rescue Team. She was also under-appreciated and often disregarded because she carried her giant brass balls on her chest instead of dangling between her legs. It was utter bullshit.

I had come across her after monitoring a countrywide manhunt for a man who had kidnapped a sixteen-year-old girl after murdering her entire family in 2013. Although no one had called Titan, we had all kept our eyes glued to the information coming in through our intelligence about the situation in case our help had been needed. HRT and other law enforcement agencies had rescued the girl without our help because Billie Jean Beasely had put a bullet through the man's forehead from outside the house he had been hiding in.

That teenager was alive today because Beasely had climbed a tree while the rest of her team had tried to maneuver around the house for a clear shot. She had only been balanced on her barely adequate branch for about fifteen minutes when she had caught sight of the target holding a hunting knife poised high in the air above him through a one-foot by two-foot window in a back bathroom. Before he could bring that knife down, she had taken the shot.

The media had hailed it a team effort by the entire FBI HRT. And I halfway believed it until I heard mumblings through our contacts about a female sniper who hailed from Texas, held numerous awards for marksmanship, but had a seriously bad attitude. Needless to say, it had piqued my interest.

She was the one person who could easily dissect the mentality of a sharp shooter of the caliber we were looking at in NY. She also would have the skillset the level of any member of Titan to handle this request for us.

It was a win-win for all parties.

Except for Jaxon Wall.

I could only guess Wall didn't want his goddaughter anywhere near Titan for two reasons. One, he wanted to keep her out of black ops altogether; hence, why he was okay with her working for the FBI. Or two, he wanted Beasely on his team if she ever left the FBI. Either way, he sure as shit wasn't letting her within reach of me.

Which was why the paper in front of me with his contact information had me hesitating. I had given my word that I would let his goddaughter be. I had kept her off Titan's radar in exchange for a marker from Wall for a later date.

Only, that date was now, and the favor went against what the man originally asked of me.

Respect was earned. The man had paid his dues, served his country. This was bigger than me, him, or any one individual, though. I could only hope he would see reason and give me the pass I was requesting.

Looking down at my sweet, little Vivi, making sure she was still sound asleep, I watched as my daughter snoozed on as I pulled a burner phone out of my desk drawer and dialed Jaxon's contact number.

It rang twice, and then I was treated to the curt greeting from the former SEAL. "Wall."

Not wasting time for pleasantries, I jumped right in. "Wall, it's Westin. We need to talk."

Silence ensued from the other end. I couldn't help holding my breath as I waited for an answer.

"What do you need, Westin?" The question was short, sweet, and to the point. Just how I liked them.

"There's a top priority mission that my organization can't take on due to being short-manned. The only person I can think of that's just as good as my guys is your girl."

"I told you to keep Billie Jean out of your bullshit, Westin."

"It's not my bullshit, Wall. There's a sniper taking out high-value targets in the NYPD at a genocidal rate. Unless you have someone who's just as good or better than her, then you need to pull your head out of your ass and help me talk to the FBI powers that be to send her in."

"How do I know you're not exaggerating the situation just to find a way to get your hands on my girl?"

Rolling my eyes, I grumbled, "There's no way in hell you don't know about what's been going down in New York. Hell, every major news channel in the US covered the homicide of NYPD's Police Chief Stanton yesterday. If that's not good enough for you, contact whatever crap system you call an intelligence service and ask them about the double-digit number of NYPD officers who have been KIA in the past couple of weeks."

There was another short pause of silence before Wall asked, "Why do you think my intelligence is crap?"

"Because you don't have my intelligence guy. Therefore, they're crap."

Wall snorted a laugh through the line but sobered quickly. "I need time before I give you an answer."

Time was a no go.

"You have two hours before I contact her myself. I'd really hate to step on your toes like this, Wall, but I'm not willing to put any more officers' lives on the line. I back the blue one hundred fucking percent. Ten good men down is ten too many, so get your knickers out of their twist and call her before I do."

"Listen, Westin, I support any man or woman who wears a uniform—military, police, firefighter, paramedic. Hell, I'd even step up for my fucking mail man. But when it comes to Billie Jean, she'll always be my first priority. You're going to give me more than two hours. I need to sort through the info on this shit and do what I need to do. You're not going to contact my goddaughter, because I'm still more than willing to string you up by your balls. From here on out, I've got this situation covered." With that, Wall hung up on me.

Calling him had been a gamble. It was a damn good thing I was confident enough to know he would do the right thing. It wasn't money I was gambling with here; it was lives.

There was no higher price that could be paid.

Chapter One

1

Billie

"Come on, Beasely. Grow some balls! I want you to pull that trigger and pop his head like a pimple."

Staring down the scope of my rifle, I ignored the overbearing jackass I had to work with daily. Jim Calhoun was my assigned partner and designated spotter. And he was a grade-A, bonified, misogynic asshole who let me know every day that he didn't approve of women working in our field.

I had learned to tune him out long ago. All my concentration needed to be on the situation in front of me, not on the giant sack of bullshit lying on the concrete rooftop next to me.

Reaching up, I turned the dial on my NXS 8-32x56 scope, tweaking it until the view on my target became absolute clarity. High magnification equaled high definition on the masked hostile holding a woman hostage in the bank eight hundred plus yards below.

I pulled my arm back down, curling it in front of my chest in such a manner that I could wrap my hand around the stock of my .300 Winchester Magnum rifle. My cheek was pressed to the saddle-style, adjustable cheek piece that I had added. Its lightly textured surface was a more comfortable resting place for the side of my face while also resistant to getting slippery on hot days when I might be camped out for hours on a hunt. Thankfully, today was not one of those days. It stayed a balmy eighty degrees with the wind blowing, so I mentally calculated the difference that would make in my bullet's trajectory.

The rest of the FBI's Hostage Rescue Team had surrounded the bank at various points to secure entry. One team would send a man in through the oversized ventilation shaft while team two made themselves slightly visible to keep the suspects attention focused on them. It was a classic distraction maneuver. Team one's goal was straight forward: penetrate the bank, take out the bank robbers, and save the innocent civilians.

Through my scope, I watched the four men wearing clown masks, searching for what was referred to as my "targets of opportunity," since I hadn't been given a specific subject to take out.

One was standing in front of the bank's main entrance, which happened to be a glass door, with an old man in front of him, holding a pistol to his hostage's temple. That suspect listened to the local police department's hostage negotiator through a bull horn. I tuned out the sound of the officer's voice after he started pleading with the robbers to let the women and children go. Now the man's voice was just a baritone buzz in the background.

"Team one has their man in. Beasely, get ready for the go sign," my supervisor, Special Agent Jones, said through my ear piece.

I could hear Calhoun's clothes rustling and knew he was making himself comfortable with his own scope. It's his job to be my extra set of eyes for shooting coordinates and kill confirmations. We work as a pair, even if we can't stand each other.

"Shooter locked, loaded, and ready?" Calhoun started our sequence.

"10-4, spotter."

Scanning the bank's lobby, I observed the other three assailant's positions. I knew Calhoun was doing the same beside me, getting coordinates down and readying shooting targets. Two of the three suspects had broad shoulders and bulky statures. It was easy to tell they were men. They were also part of the crew standing guard with assault rifles over their captives. The third assailant, who moved from one cash drawer to the next, had a lankier form and could be either a man or woman. I couldn't see their weapon, but I knew they probably had one stashed away on their person.

I found myself with a clear shot of two of them, but my orders were to hold until given the greenlight. The first objective of this mission was to free the hostages unharmed. The second was to arrest the perpetrators. When bullets start flying, you couldn't guarantee the safety of the hostages, nor could you give the prosecutor's office someone to take to trial. That was hard to do if there was no one left alive because someone had pulled a trigger when they shouldn't have.

The sound of Calhoun hissing raised the hair on the back of my neck. That noise couldn't mean anything good.

"By eye, go to your twelve o'clock."

Following his directions, I moved my scope until my vision landed on one of the suspects dragging a woman by her hair across the floor. The victim was kicking and screaming, trying to fight off her attacker, as a little boy held his hands out toward her, screaming in fear. It looked like the suspect might be dragging her toward a back room. Once out of sight, there was no guaranteeing anyone would find her alive later. Or worse, she could still be alive yet wishing she wasn't because of whatever he had done to her.

I couldn't stand the thought of the woman being beaten, raped, or tortured. We were trained to block those sorts of thoughts out, but sometimes I couldn't. I'd just had to get really good at not letting others know my emotions were sometimes way more involved than they should have been.

That was a big no-no in the sniper world. If they knew that, they would say it was because I was a female with raging hormones. Their macho bullshit was why I had to make sure everything I did was above par. Including right now, when I had to shove my worried thoughts for the woman away and stay focused. However, I wasn't going to let her out of my sight, so nothing more would happen to her than being dragged around by her hair. She was part of my mission, and failure was not an option.

"Shit's about to hit the fan, Beasely. Get that trigger finger ready."

Calhoun didn't need to tell me twice. I was armed and ready with my sights set on the dickwad dragging that woman. They were almost out of eyesight, and I had to stop myself from pulling the trigger.

"Tell me what your crosshairs are on," Calhoun ordered.

"Contact on suspect dragging female victim."

"10-4. You have additional targets at three o'clock; six o'clock, who has the hostage as a shield; and ten o'clock from your contact target."

"10-4 and ready," I confirmed hearing the information.

Suddenly, a distinctive crack echoed through the air, followed by the crackling shouts in both our earpieces.

"You've got greenlight!" Special Agent Jones snapped harshly.

"Fire!" Calhoun barked.

Before he finished getting the word out, I had already pulled the trigger, watching through my scope as glass shattered and, milliseconds later, a body jerked viciously. His grip on the woman had loosened, and as soon as his body hit the floor, she scrambled back toward the crowd of hostages.

"Target down," my spotter said without remorse. "Move to ten o'clock target. Wind is picking up, holdover is 7.8."

Targeting my scope on the other meathead with a high-powered weapon, I took my aim as the suspect started screaming at the crowd of hostages. His weapon was up and ready to fire, waving about, probably scared out of his mind that his buddy had just dropped dead feet away. I could easily tell his fear was climbing fast. Any second now, and he would let his bullets fly on innocent people.

I would never let that happen.

"Contact," I confirmed with Calhoun.

"Check your parallax and MIL," he ordered.

Bringing the suspect into focus with my parallax scope knob, I gave Calhoun my numbers. "1.79." From there, he would do some quick calculations while I got in my zone.

The entire world disappeared around me. All I could see was my target palming his gun, getting ready to pull the trigger.

"Check level. Holdover 5.5," Calhoun gave me the information I needed to take my next shot.

"Ready," I confirmed.

"Fire."

One second, the suspect was yelling at the woman his buddy had tried to drag away, and the next, more glass shattered as my bullet hit another window, followed by a spray of blood exploding from his body as my bullet made impact.

"Hit. Target down. Nice vapor trail on that bullet, Beasely."

I didn't watch and relish in the kill. Instead, I used my scope to survey the area for the remaining two suspects, who were both moving. The small one held a bag bulging with presumable cash while the other kept the old man as a body shield.

While both perpetrators took off in the same direction toward the back of the building, the subject with the bag moved a hell of a lot faster than his friend. All because the old man dragged his feet, doing whatever he could to survive.

"Three o'clock target is on the move at a fast clip. Aim one o'clock. Holdover 5.5."

Moving my scope again, I found the target Calhoun wanted me to take out. I had also found that my six o'clock target was moving fast, too, with his human shield in tow.

"Contact," I confirmed with Calhoun.

"Fire! Take out the money man!" Calhoun roared.

Both suspects were moving fast enough that I only had time for one shot. By the time I fired, the other would be gone. It was a shit situation where I had to choose between the suspect who more than likely had a bag full of cash or the other suspect who would more than likely kill that old man. No matter who I shot, I would still lose in a way.

Training my sights on my target, I pulled the trigger one more time to do what needed to be done.

My rifle recoiled, sending the large .50 caliber bullet slicing through the air, shattering the glass, and then impacting my target's head, knocking them flat the fuck out on the floor. I didn't need to go down there to know there would be blood, bone fragments, and brain matter everywhere.

The sight of his partner's head exploding didn't stop the suspect with the cash bag from turning the corner and moving out of sight.

It was another hit. Three out of four suspects I took down. I should have been happy with those results. Instead, I was already dreading what was going to come of this situation for me.

Calhoun automatically started cussing up a storm about how I had fucked up and how he wasn't going to put his ass on the line for me.

I had ignored a direct order from the powers that be. And I couldn't care less if this might get me fired, or that I pissed off my spotter. In the end, I did what really mattered.

I saved a life.

Chapter

2

Billie

After filling out what felt like a million reports, and six hours later, I stood in front of my supervisor in a borrowed interrogation room at the local police department. I had crossed all my t's and dotted all my i's, knowing they could possibly be the last reports I ever completed with the FBI. They weren't exactly fond of agents who disregarded direct orders, something my spotter had told me repeatedly with undisguised glee before he had gone home for the night. That guy was such an asshole, that if I dipped him in Preparation H, he still wouldn't disappear.

The sound of the door opening behind me cut any further thoughts I might have had about Calhoun. Sitting silently in a chair in front of the table, I watched as my supervisor, Special Agent Jones, pulled out a chair to sit across from me.

The man was the very definition of average. Average height; average build. He even had what I considered average proof of stress in the way he was balding and sporting a bad comb-over. In my opinion, he also had what I thought to be the average male mentality of a female working in our field—a bad one.

Teammates such as Calhoun made no bones about letting me know they didn't think a woman belonged on the FBI's Hostage Rescue Team or working as a sniper. Special Agent Jones, however, was much sneakier about it. He didn't outright say anything; he just didn't let me shine. Anything I accomplished was pushed under the proverbial rug. All my evaluations came back like him: average. Even the ones in areas I knew I had performed above average.

The man might not like me on his team, but he was smart like a chess player. He knew there would be bureaucratic bullshit to talk his way out of if I told someone he was discriminating against me. Therefore, he made sure to make it look like he treated me fairly while secretly giving me the metaphorical middle finger.

Right now, his features were schooled into a blank mask so I couldn't even guess what was about to happen. If Jones wanted me off his team, now was his chance. I had handed it to him on a silver platter.

Nervousness swamped me, making my stomach churn. My palms began to sweat from where they rested on top of my thighs, and I could feel a stress headache coming on.

What the hell would I do if I got fired? Being a sniper was all I had ever wanted, and the FBI was the only place that would hire a woman to do it. At least, legally.

Jones sat closemouthed for a long minute or two, tapping his pointer finger on the table and propping his chin up on the other hand. It was unnerving to be watched this way. I knew he was analyzing me, trying to see if I would crack or something. Thing was, I didn't feel that there was anything for me to be ashamed of. I had done the morally right thing. Therefore, Jones could sit there all day, staring at me, but I refused to apologize for saving a life.

Finally, my supervisor pulled his hand away from his chin and spoke. "Agent Beasely, please explain to me why you disregarded a direct order." Reaching across the table, he slid the report I had finished in front of him so he could scan it.

"There was a life at stake, sir. If I had followed orders and taken out the suspect allegedly holding a bag of cash, then the other fleeing suspect would have probably killed the innocent civilian he was holding hostage. Since we couldn't be one hundred percent sure that the bag in question actually did have cash in it, I felt it was more prudent to save the hostage instead of saving a bag that may or may not have stolen funds inside it."

I was rapidly losing control of my temper. I needed to rein it in so I didn't do something stupid, like go off on my boss.

Jones snorted. "Oh, there's no allegedly to it, Beasely. That bag did, in fact, have the bank's money in it. Just over a hundred thousand dollars that you let walk away. If it weren't for your teammates in the back of the building, the suspect might have escaped with the money."

"But he didn't escape, sir," I interrupted. "He was apprehended."

Jones shook his head. "That's not the point here. What matters is that you disobeyed a direct order that could have cost the bank a lot of money."

"Respectfully, sir, the bank can go fuck itself. What if they would have lost one hundred thousand dollars? You know what they didn't lose? A customer. A human being who's living, breathing existence is more important than their money will ever be."

So much for keeping my temper in check. After what I had just spouted off, I would lose my job for sure.

There was a vein pulsing in Jones's forehead, and the blank mask he had been wearing disappeared. His jaw clenched tightly, and I could practically hear his teeth grinding in agitation. Now he looked like he wanted to reach across the table and strangle the hell out of me.

I held my breath, waiting for the words that would end my career, when Jones took a deep breath then slowly blew it out.

Leveling an irate glare at me, he finally spoke. "Hand over your badge and service weapon. You're suspended for a month, pending a disciplinary hearing."

I didn't bother arguing or trying to plead my case. If the FBI was willing to punish me because I had rescued a human being instead of securing a bag of money, then maybe this wasn't the sort of organization I wanted to work for anymore.

Pulling my badge off my hip where I usually kept it clipped to my pants, I slid it across the table toward my boss.

I didn't bother to stop and think about what I was about to do. It would only give me heartburn, anyway. Instead, I did what my father always raised me to do and went with what my gut told me.

"You can take that badge and shove it up your ass, sir. Don't worry about it being stuck there for too long, though, Jones; you're so full of shit and hot air that I figure it'll come flying back out in no time. Oh, and fuck your disciplinary hearing, too—I quit."

Standing up too quickly, I accidentally tipped my chair over, but I didn't bother fixing it. Nope, I just stormed out the door with Special Agent Jones yelling at me. Threats of ruining my record. Promises that I would never get another decent job again by the time he was done with me.

Whatever.

Sometimes, the hardest things you had to do in life were the right things. This was one of those times.

As I walked through the building, ignoring everyone around me and a few agents who tried to get my attention, all I could think about was how I had just flushed my dream job down the toilet. At least I had done it for all the right reasons, though. That old man was still alive because I held human life more valuable than a bank's bag of cash. I was A-OK with that.

Not to mention, I had some money saved up. My father had raised five children as a single parent. He had taught all of us how to be frugal so when times got tough, we could still get by. Now was going to be one of those times until I found another job.

My only regret was that I would have to cut down on my guilty pleasures.

I was really going to miss my damn Oreo cookies and Gun World magazines.

Chapter

3

Chase

Running my hand through my shaggy hair, I tried not to be nervous over the fact that Commander Wall had called me into his office... on my day off. It wouldn't be the first time, especially in our line of work, but it was the first time I had been called in by myself.

When I had asked if this was about a mission, he had curtly told me no, and to get my ass there as fast as possible.

What in the world could Wall want if this wasn't a mission?

Stopping in front of the wooden door that led into Wall's office, I knocked twice, and he immediately said, "Come in."

As I opened the door and stepped through it, I used all my former CIA training to size up my boss and try to get a clue as to what was going on.

The normally easy-going man had lines of stress around his mouth that was pressed into an unhappy tight line. His eyes were bright and focused as if he were hyper alert. Plus, his entire body was tense as he sat in his chair, waiting. Whatever this impromptu meeting was about, I had a bad feeling that nothing but a load of trouble was heading in my direction.

"Close the door behind you. Come in and sit, Anderson. We need to have a talk."

Jesus. That phrase coming from his mouth sounded a fuck of a lot worse than when my last girlfriend said it to me right before she broke up with me... on my birthday.

Not liking this unusually serious side of my boss, I cracked a joke. " 'Sup, boss. Got a quick joke for you. A boat is out to sea when a rough storm hits. When the captain realizes his ship is sinking fast, he calls out, 'Anyone here know how to pray?'

"One man steps forward. 'Aye, Captain, I know how to pray.'

" 'Good,' says the captain. 'You pray while the rest of us put on our life jackets—we're short one.' "

I smiled big, waiting for the commander to at least smile back. Nothing. Wall didn't verbally respond at all, choosing to simply lift one impatient eyebrow at me.

Shifting uncomfortably in my chair, I muttered, "I see you're not in a joking mood today. Gotcha. What's up, boss man?"

Wall leaned back in his chair and rubbed a finger over his lips, obviously thinking for a few seconds before he spoke. "I have a job for you, and you alone."

My eyebrows shot up my forehead in surprise. The man had never sent one of us on a solo mission before. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why he had cryptically told me over the phone that it wasn't a mission.

"Unusual, but okay. What do you need me to do? Hack into the Russian president's network? Track someone down through the web?" Snapping my fingers, I pointed at him like a kid who had figured out what his Christmas present was. "Wait, wait, I know! You're finally going to let me go play around in the Syrian's system. If anyone can find an electronic trail on plans for weapons of mass destruction, it's me!"

"If you don't shut the fuck up, Anderson, I'm going to super glue your lips shut."

Well then.

I couldn't help thinking that someone was more than a tad bit cranky today.

Of course I wasn't going to say that out loud and take the chance of pissing off the commander. He might seem like an easy-going guy to everyone else, but I had him pegged for one of those silent yet crazy motherfuckers.

I stayed quiet and waited for the boss man to drop the bomb on me. Whatever had his panties in a twist this bad had to be interesting. And I could use a good dose of interesting. Shit had been monotonous around here since we had come back from our last mission, and a man could only play so much Call of Duty before he died of boredom.

Wall ran a hand over his face, then leveled another glare at me. "I'm sending you to New York to help with a case up there."

My interest was piqued.

"You're going to meet up with someone named Billie Jean Beasely," Wall continued. "Your task is two-fold. Keep her alive, and help her with the case she's working on with the NYPD."

"What am I going to be doing to help her, boss? Computer forensics? Tracking money trails? Going over scrubbed hard drives?"

As I watched him slowly shake his head, my stomach dropped.

"I need you to utilize your other skills, Anderson. The ones you refuse to use anymore."

My good mood vanished faster than a hooker who had just been paid by her John.

He had to be fucking kidding. The man knew damn well I didn't do that anymore.

"I'm sorry, but you must have me mixed up with someone else. My skills involve computers and kicking ass. Both of which, I do on a regular basis. Beyond that, I have no other skills to offer you, something I damn well know I made clear when I left the CIA and joined Ex Ops."

If I wasn't so fucking mad right now, I would swear that pity flashed through my commander's eyes.

Leaning forward, he fisted his hands atop the desk and tried again. "It's time to let the past go, Chase."

I was shaking my head before he even said my name, not that he let that stop him.

"It's been seven years since it happened; it's time to get over it." I started to refute his words, but he didn't let me get a word in. "Listen to me, Chase; you and I both know what happened on that mountainside was not your fucking fault. You were at war, son, and sometimes, whether we like it or not, people we care about die when we're at war."

Slapping my hand down on the desk in frustration, I growled, "I don't want to fucking talk about this!"

Leaning back in his chair again, Wall let his next words drop like small atomic bombs, set to blow me to pieces. "Like it or not, I need you to do this. If it weren't of the highest importance, I wouldn't ask you. But here I am, not asking, but ordering you to do it for two reasons."

"They better be damn good reasons, Wall, or I'm walking out that fucking door and not coming back."

Holding up one finger, he said, "You're one of the best spotters I've ever come across, even if you're rusty. Beasely needs someone like you watching her six while she does what she does best in NYC." He put up a second finger. "Which brings us to reason two. There's a rogue sniper, possibly a terrorist, taking out high-value targets in the NYPD. I can only think of one reason someone would pick off the best of the best in New York's Police Department; how about you?"

The sense of dread I had in my stomach multiplied by a thousand until I thought I was going to throw up all over Jaxon and his desk.

"You think someone might be plotting another big terrorist attack on New York City?"

Wall nodded, lacing his hands together on his desk. "Beasely's mission is to go in there and take him out. I want—no, I need—you there to protect her. Consider it a personal favor if you have to, and I'll owe you one."

"This is off the Ex Ops books?" I asked, more than a little confused.

Wall nodded again. "If you do this, you do it for me. That being said, if you get up there and feel like you need help, all you have to do is pick up the phone, and we'll come running."

Unable to stop myself from asking, I took the bait he was so conspicuously dangling in front of me. "Why is this personal, Wall?"

He took a deep breath, as if it could fortify him somehow. "Beasely is my goddaughter."

Shut. The fuck. Up.

My mind was blown. I had never heard Wall talk about any family, except for his deceased mother. Since when did he have a goddaughter?

That was when my brain started firing on all synapses.

"Wait a second here. Beasely is a girl?"

Once again, my commander's face fell into an unreadable mask. "She's not a girl; she's a woman. A strong, capable woman. And if you have a problem working with a woman, I'll let you walk out of this office and away from this job, but I'll tell you right now, I'll be seriously fucking disappointed in you."

"Oh, stow your feminist shit, Commander! I don't give two flying fucks if she's a woman. I'm only surprised you have a goddaughter since you've never mentioned her before."

If I didn't know any better, I might have thought I saw Wall's cheeks turn a little red. But it was probably just a trick of the light.

"Great, now you know. Do me a favor and don't spread that tidbit around. I try to keep my private life just that—private. Now, are you going to take this stint or not? I could send in someone else, but I feel you're the best fit for this."

Wall had thrown a ton of information my way in a short amount of time. It was hard to process it all. I guessed in the end, though, I didn't really need to process anything. Not if I stopped and thought about the one thing that did matter.

Looking back at Wall, I just wanted to confirm one thing. "I'll go, because I'll be damned if I let some motherfucker take out good men and women in the NYPD. But understand this, this is it. After this, you never ask me to take on a spotter assignment ever again. Agreed?"

Jaxon nodded his head one last time, and I took that as my cue to leave. Right before I walked out the door, though, he called my name, and I turned my head to look back at him.

"She's got four brothers the size of linebackers, a father who was a Navy SEAL, and a godfather who's your boss. Don't fuck with my girl, or you'll find yourself beaten to a pulp, shot full of holes, and then fired."

Rolling my eyes, I left Wall's office and made my way toward the exit with just one thing on my mind.

Guns don't kill people. Dads, brothers, and godfathers with pretty women in their lives kill people.

Chapter

4

Billie

Why do people go on talk shows to get paternity tests?

I couldn't help pondering that mystery as I sat in my pajama shorts that were covered in ducks and a tank top, stuffing my face with what could be my last bag of Oreos and watching TV. Part of me was still in denial that I had quit my job yesterday. The other part of me was super pissed at myself for not having any milk to go with my Oreos. Rectifying the situation, though, would require leaving my apartment, something I was too lazy to do right now.

Normally, I was the girl always on the go. Sitting on my couch, eating junk food and watching television was a rare thing for me. When I had woken up this morning, though, I had told myself it was okay to try new things now that I didn't have a job. That included wallowing in my own self-induced pity as I sat here in the dark, watching two women cat fight over a man who had supposedly knocked them both up.

This was the dumbest shit I had ever seen on TV. No one would ever catch me going on a television show to confront a potential baby daddy. And even though I knew I was probably losing a vast amount of brain cells by watching this idiocy, I couldn't make myself change the channel.

Brenda was pulling Jennifer's hair out in clumps as both women screeched about the other staying away from "her man." Meanwhile, said man was sitting on the stage, flirting with a third woman in the audience and not so discreetly trying to get her number. It was like a train wreck waiting to happen. Absolutely horrible to watch, yet I couldn't take my eyes off it.

I was so engrossed in the ridiculous shit that, when my cell phone started to ring on the end table next to me, I jumped in surprise.

Some highly-trained agent I was. Scared by the telephone.

Picking up the offending object, I took one look at the caller ID and cringed.

My godfather was a crazy intuitive guy who always seemed to know when something was wrong. Him calling the day after I quit my job was not a good sign.

Swiping my finger across the screen, I tried to make myself sound chipper. "Hi, Uncle Jax! How are you doing?"

"At the moment, I'm a little confused."

I cringed again. The way he had said that didn't bode well for me.

"Why are you confused?" I tried to ask innocently.

"Well, goddaughter, I'm confused because I happened to contact my source at the FBI to see if I could get you leave for a certain situation, and they proceeded to tell me that shouldn't be a problem, seeing as you just quit your job. Would you care to explain to me why you quit your job?"

"Well—"

"The one you worked incredibly hard for."

"See—"

"The job you said was perfect for you since you could do what you love, which is shoot your rifle."

"But—"

"Shut it, Billie Jean Beasely. I don't want to hear excuses. Your father and I didn't raise you to just walk away from something you busted your ass for. The only thing I really want to know is this: Did you at least have a good reason?"

I stayed silent for a second, unsure if he was going to cut me off again. When I was assured he wouldn't, I answered, "When it comes down to my morals versus their objectives, I'll go with my morals every damn time, Uncle Jax. So, yes, it was for a good reason."

"Good answer, little girl." This time, his voice was warm.

I had a sneaking suspicion Uncle Jax had known all along why I had walked off the job. I wouldn't be surprised. However, I decided not to focus on that point and chose to address another one.

"I'm not a little girl, Uncle Jax. Haven't been a little girl since that one fall when we were hunting and I got my first period, and you had to take me to the store to buy pads."

I smiled in pure feminine, vindictive glee when a male groan of pain came through the line.

"Why did you have to bring that shit up? There are some things a man would like to forget."

"Just my way of reminding you that I've gone through my growing pains and earned the title of woman."

"Got news for you, sweetheart. To me and your father, you'll always be our little girl. Don't care if you're fifty years old; we'll always see you as that eleven-year-old with pigtails, wearing camo as she shot her first buck. Just wish your mama had lived so you would have had more girly things growing up and not just guns."

My heart ached at the mention of the mother I had never gotten to know. It also hurt because the men in my life had always worried they hadn't done enough raising me as a child. Everyone from my father, to my godfather Uncle Jax, down to my four brothers, always assumed I had missed out on something in life because I never grew up with a woman figure in my life. I wished I could make them understand how wonderful they had made my childhood.

"Why can't I get you guys to understand that I love my life just the way it is? You and Daddy did everything you could to give me a great childhood. Besides Daddy losing Mom, there's not a thing I regret."

My godfather gave me a derisive snort. "Your brothers bought you cases of bullets for your birthday, Billie Jean. The least they could have done was buy you a bouquet of your favorite flowers or something to go with them. Somehow, I think your father and I went wrong with those boys." I could basically hear him shaking his head.

Even though he couldn't see me, I was shaking my head, too, but for a different reason.

"No, my brothers understand what you and Daddy don't."

"What's that?"

"That I love my bullets as much as I love my bluebonnets. I love being a strong-willed woman who knows how to take care of herself, and there's not a damn thing I would change about that."

Uncle Jax remained silent on the other end for a few seconds, making me wonder if he believed me or not. Then he finally said, "Whatever you say, little girl. Now let's get to the real reason I called."

"Which is...?"

"I need you to do a job for me. Since you're no longer working for the FBI, we'll say you're working for me."

Working for Uncle Jax?

I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. The man had always said I would work for an outfit like his over his dead body.

"Ow."

"What happened?" An irritated male voice snapped from the other end of the phone line.

"I pinched myself."

"Why in the hell would you do that, Billie Jean?"

"To make sure I wasn't dreaming."

"Goddaughter, I love you, but sometimes, I just want to smack some sense into you."

"Well, you're not dead, Uncle Jax."

"Why the fuck would you think I was dead?" he asked in disbelief.

"Because you said I would work for you over your dead body. Unless you're a zombie that can talk, you're not dead. Ergo, I should not be able to work for you."

He growled in frustration. "Stop fucking around, Billie Jean Beasely, and get your ass to my office. I expect you here in thirty minutes. Don't. Make. Me. Wait. Little girl."

"But I don't know where your off—"

Click.

He hung up on me! My jaw dropped as I stared at my cell phone's now black screen in disbelief. How in the hell was I going to be somewhere in thirty minutes when I didn't even know where it was?

Suddenly, my phone's screen lit up with an incoming text.

Look under your bedroom nightstand.

What in the ever lovin' hell is Uncle Jax talking about now?

Getting off my sofa, I walked down my apartment's hall to my bedroom. Switching on the light, I then walked over to my nightstand, dropped to my knees, and looked under the small piece of wooden furniture. Nothing.

Utterly confused now, I started to get up, when a flash of white against dark wood caught my eye. Cranking my head sideways, I looked at the bottom of my nightstand's drawer, visible from beneath, and saw a small white envelope taped to the bottom. On the front of the envelope was my name written in Uncle Jax's handwriting.

Grabbing the envelope, I saw that it was taped closed, so I had to rip it open but made sure not to tear apart the note inside. Then I took out a folded piece of paper, and on the outside of the folds, it said, "In case you need to find me." Unfolding the paper, I saw an address scrawled in masculine script with the words "Memorize then burn me" beneath them.

I did what the note said and burned it in my bathroom sink with the air vent on so I didn't set off the smoke detectors. Then I quickly brushed my teeth, hair, threw on a pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt over my sports bra. After I put on my tennis shoes, I grabbed my wallet with a little bit of cash, my driver's license, and my car keys, and then ran out the door.

I had twenty minutes to get to an address I had never been to before.

The only good thing about this address? It was right next-door to my old job, the FBI Academy.

But, why was Uncle Jax working from an address on Quantico Marine Corps Base?

Chase

Sitting here in my commander's office, my mind wasn't on the present, the mission ahead in New York, nor was it on Wall's goddaughter. It was lost in the past, on a mission that had taken place over ten years ago in the Valley of Death, otherwise known as Korengal Valley, Afghanistan...

I was a young scout sniper spotter in the army. The training we did was intense. Dalton Werthers and I were paired during training, and within the time we had worked together, he had become my best friend and brother in arms.

The two of us together, out in the field, sometimes hunkered down for days as we waited for a target to come into sight, made it so we had to depend upon each other. There was no one to watch my back besides Dalton, and vice versa. It had become this unbreakable bond.

I could still remember the day we had received the orders that would end up changing both our lives forever. We were coming out of field training with desert sand stuck in our boots when our supervising officer called us into his office.

"Werthers, Anderson, get your asses in here and have a seat."

Dalton and I quickly followed through with his orders, shooting each other a look. We could read each other like that, and something about this smelled of change.

"Although you two only have about a year under your belts in the field together, it hasn't gone unnoticed from the powers that be just how damn good you are. In fact, the base commander mentioned how the two of you are quickly becoming known as a team the Army can count on here in Afghanistan, which is why you're getting new orders today.

"You're going to the Korengal Valley to support the"—he looks down at a paper in his hand—"Second Platoon, A Company, 1st Battalion of the 503rd Infantry Regiment in the 173rd Airborne Brigade Combat Team. They patrol the mountains and valleys in the area, looking for hidden insurgents. The soldiers there regularly find themselves under fire, and no one has managed to make it through the six miles of the valley there. Therefore, you two will catch a ride on a helo that's coming in to transport supplies and head out to Death Valley. Your objective is to keep the men there alive. Think you can handle that?"

"Yes, sir!" we both answered him simultaneously.

I didn't need Dalton to tell me he was excited about seeing some more action. I could hear it in his voice. I knew how he felt, too. There was nothing like the rush of being in the middle of the action. It sure as hell beat sitting on the fucking sidelines.

We flew out later that day and ended up at Outpost Restrepo.

Upon meeting the CO there, where he gruffly greeted us, he then gave us our exact orders.

"It's your job to try to give my men cover while they do their patrols. I need them to come back alive for their missions to be successful, and so far, those odds haven't been good. We've lost at least a soldier a month since we were stationed here nine months ago. I'm hoping you boys can help us stop sending my men back Stateside in body bags."

"We'll do our best, sir," Dalton told him.

Then we were dismissed to settle in to the crudely built, small wooden shack that held the cramped sleeping quarters for the men. When we saw there was only one crate-like wooden bed pallet left, Dalton and I did what we always did.

Sticking my hand out in a fist, I said, "Rock, paper, scissors, motherfucker."

Dalton stuck his fist out next to mine, and then we bounced them once, twice, then a third time before I left my hand as rock and he flattened his out to paper.

Slapping me upside my head, Dalton laughed. "You lose, jackass. I get the bed tonight, and you get it tomorrow."

The game was never to arrange who would get the bed all the time, but who got it first. That was what you did when you had your battle brother's back.

It didn't take us long to settle into the routine of going out a day or two before the planned patrols to set up shop, blend into the landscape, and then provide coverage for the men. That was usually done from well-hidden spots along their patrol routes, with Dalton and I covered in ghillie suits or using the mountainside around us as camouflage.

One day, all of that changed.

The same gruff CO came up to give us new orders, saying, "We need a couple of extra guns on hand while doing a humanitarian mission in the Obi Naw Village today. One of the village leaders came up to us last night under the cover of darkness and begged for our help. Apparently, one of their water wells collapsed due to mortar fire meant for us. They are in desperate need of help to rebuild the well and need a quick supply of clean water until they can rebuild the well. That means I need you two with the patrol this time, instead of covering them from the mountainside."

I didn't say a word, yet unease spread throughout me. Dalton, on the other hand, jumped right in like he always did.

"Yes, sir. We can be ready to go in thirty."

"Make it twenty," the CO replied before walking out of the sleeping shack.

Dalton took one look at my face and knew I didn't like this mission.

"Buck the fuck up, Chase. We got a job to do, and I don't want some little kid going thirsty because some cocksucker tried to hit us and missed."

Although Dalton and I had always suspected there might be some insurgents hiding out in the village, we couldn't prove it. And Dalton was right; there were innocent women and children who would suffer without access to fresh water. Without a word, I followed Dalton to join the small company of troops, including a couple of engineers who were going into the village to help.

On the way down our section of the mountainside, making our way toward the village, Dalton and I flanked the small troop to cover their backs, but for the first time, not from a distance.

Dalton didn't worry about my ability to pick up my gun and provide cover, because to become a scout sniper spotter, you also had to be proficient as a sniper yourself, meaning I could damn well hold my own. I just couldn't tell if the back of my neck was itching from paranoia, or because we really did have eyes on us.

It was unnerving for me to be out in the open like this with my partner when we were more accustomed to disappearing into the landscape around us. It was not entirely unheard of; snipers went in with units all the time. However, this was a first for us. Plus, something about this mission made my gut churn.

"It's too fucking quiet, Dalton," I tried to warn my partner as we made our way down the mountain. "Something's not right."

Dalton ignored my warning. Grinning back at me, he teased, "Get your panties out of their fucking twist and buck the fuck up, Chase."

If only I could make him understand that I had this soul deep feeling that something was very wrong here. Still, there was no way I would let him finish going down that mountainside without me, so I shut my trap and followed him on the mission.

Twenty minutes later, I had my proof that I should have followed my fucking gut. Maybe then Dalton would still be alive.

We followed the troop until we were about a mile outside the village, and then, all hell broke loose.

Dalton was the first to hear the whistle of the incoming round, screaming out, "Hit the deck!"

Everyone threw themselves to the ground as the mortar round hit a hundred feet to our left. Then, as soon as the world stopped shaking around us, we put our boots back on solid ground and readied our weapons, waiting for the dust to settle so we could find our enemy.

"Everyone, take cover!" I shouted at the troops. Some already had, but there were a few who looked shell-shocked and needed the reminder.

Dalton and I hunkered down behind two good sized trees and started scanning the landscape for signs of the enemy.

"I can't see shit, Chase. What about you?" Dalton had his rifle up, using his scope to check the area where the mortar round had potentially come from.

I had my own rifle up, looking through the scope and searching also. "It's hard to see through the dust still in the air. Hold on a sec."

The eerie silence that descended around us made the hairs on my arms stand up in warning. My gut was talking again, saying something big was coming. That was when I heard the second whistle.

"Hit the deck!" I screamed again.

We all hunkered down, covering our heads as the round hit a little closer this time. My ears rang from the impact as dust and debris once again filled the air around us. This time we started coughing, breathing it in.

As soon as the earth stopped shaking again, Dalton and I were back to looking for the enemy who were shooting big-ass fucking rounds at us from somewhere to the Northwest. That was why we never saw the threat coming to us from behind until it was too late.

A volley of shots rang out. My instincts kicked in as I ducked my head for cover. A stinging burn to my leg let me know I had been hit, but it felt like only a graze.

When the shots finally stopped, I heard a foreign voice call out in the distance, "Allah Akbar!"

It was at that sound that my head snapped up, and my eyes landed on Dalton next to me... filled with bullet holes.

"Fuck!" I roared before moving to his side. Then I screamed as loud as I could, "Man down. We need a medic! And somebody call in for some fucking backup!"

The sound of a frantic voice speaking into the troops' sat phone wasn't enough to take my attention away from what I was doing. Pulling my first-aid kit out of my pack, I applied bandages and used pressure with both hands on the two visible bullet holes in Dalton's torso. I might not have been a medic, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that Dalton had been shot in the gut.

I have no idea how long I stayed there, on my knees, next to the body of my best friend, trying to keep him alive. It could have been long minutes. It could have been hours. All I did know was that I went through every bandage I had, plus some extras that were given to me before the helicopter finally showed up to air lift him out. Meanwhile, we were still under attack from two sides, until air support flew in and bombed where the mortar shells had been coming from. Then there was the sound of the chopper's blades... and Dalton's labored breaths as the medics put him on the chopper.

Later, I sat on the bed in the shack back at Restrepo, my hands still covered in Dalton's blood. I couldn't seem to make myself move to go wash it off. That helicopter with my best friend had taken off, and I hadn't been on it with him. There was no way for me to know if he was going to make it or not, but by the grim looks on the medics' faces, I had this feeling he wasn't going to.

What I did know was that we had been set up. I would bet my entire bank account there had never been a well that needed fixing, or a humanitarian mission that needed to be performed, period. The locals had set us up all so they could send in insurgents to take the base's snipers out.

Fuck! I had failed in protecting my sniper's back.

I had failed in keeping my best friend alive.

"Chase, pull your head out of the fucking clouds." Wall's order snapped me to attention.

I saw him now standing on the other side of his desk, when a minute ago, I was alone. Shit, I really must have been out of it.

Looking at Wall, I gave him my usual, easy going attitude. "What's happenin', cap'n?"

My commander rolled his eyes. "Beasely will be here in a few minutes. You should know, we are liaising with Titan on this op. I should have known, after we ran into them on that one operation a couple of years ago, that they might show up again one day." He shook his head, seeming to brush off the thought. "Parker Black works for them and will get you whatever intelligence you need. I understand you know him from some of the technology conventions you go to?"

"Parker, eh?" I nodded. "Yeah, I haven't seen him in a while. Why is he giving me the intel? Where's our intel guy from the CIA?"

Wall rolled his eyes. "According to Titan's owner, Jared Westin, my intelligence guy is crap. Anyway, do you have anything you want to ask me before Beasely arrives, and I brief you two on the task ahead?"

Hello, opportunity! Thank you for knockin'.

"Well, now that you mention it, how about you tell me a little more about her? Like, how old is she? Frankly, I didn't think you were that much of an old man to have a grown goddaughter to begin with, Wall."

My commander sat down behind his desk and steepled his fingers together, resting his hands on the wooden surface. He looked a bit like an evil villain doing that shit, and I considered telling him that his impression of Dr. Evil sucked. That might be awkward, though, if Beasely showed up and ended up looking like his Mini-Me.

"Simple. A good friend of mine, who happens to be a little older than myself, asked me to be the godfather to his children in case something happened to him. Thus, I am Beasely's godfather."

"Really?" I asked in surprise. "That's all you're gonna give me?"

Wall shrugged. "It's a need to know thing. Right now, that's all you need to know about my personal life. Anything you want to know about Billie Jean, you can ask her."

Hearing her name again brought up a certain song that was going to get stuck in my head. It made me want to fuck with Wall about it, too.

"Is she like a beauty queen from a movie scene?"

Wall's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "I don't think anyone has ever described Billie as a beauty queen."

It took everything I had not to laugh. The man didn't get what I had done. That just meant I could mess with his head even more.

Leaning forward, plastering a serious look on my face, I asked my boss, "Does she dance on the floor in the round?"

Wall looked completely perplexed now. "What the fuck are you talking about, Anderson?"

"Does she cause a scene when she tells people her name is Billie Jean?"

"Anderson, I don't know what you're running your mouth about, but you're gettin' on my damn nerves."

"Don't worry, boss; people always told me to be careful of breaking young girls' hearts."

Wall opened his mouth to say something when a feminine southern drawl from behind me cut him off. "No worries, guy; you're definitely not the one."

I froze, and my cock hardened so fast behind my zipper that I was afraid I might bust out of my pants. It was her voice. It had to be the most perfect cross between call girl and sweet southern belle I had ever come across. I was almost afraid to turn around and have my fantasy shattered since Wall had said no one would mistake his goddaughter for a beauty queen. Jesus, but with a voice like that, I wanted her to be a beauty queen. My queen, so I could hear a voice like that while I was buried deep inside her as she called my name.

I probably should have been embarrassed, but to be honest, I was too fucking turned on to be ashamed of being caught in my antics.

Of course Wall had to go and shatter all those sweet daydreams with his godawful voice.

"Billie Jean, you know what this jackass is talking about?"

"Sure do. He was serenading you with the King of Pop. Isn't that sweet?"

Wall's left eye twitched as he sent me a death glare. "Stop fucking around, Anderson. I'm in no mood for your games. Now get your head on the fucking mission before I get annoyed and send you on some other one. Like the one Baker went on in the jungle where monkeys flung shit at him half the time he was there."

Oh, hell no.

Years later, and Baker was still complaining about his monkey shit flinging mission. It was time to be a good boy for a little while.

The chair next to me scraped against the floor as Wall's goddaughter pulled it out. A flash of white shirt caught the corner of my eye, but I still hadn't turned my head to look at her. It was nice to daydream about a chick, but it was probably time to face reality. She probably looked more like a Billy goat than a sweet, little southern Billie Jean prom queen.

I braced myself for all my daydream fantasies dying a tragic death as I turned my head in her direction. And when my eyes landed on her, there was only one thing I could muster up in my head.

The King of Pop singing, "Billie Jean is not my lover..."

And that was when my dick decided to start talking to me, singing back, "But she sure as fuck needs to be!"

Bright mahogany brown eyes, slightly slanted at the ends and framed in thick lashes stared back at me from a sweetheart-shaped face framed with long, straight black hair. Her skin was not quite fair, but a few shades paler than a light copper based tan. It spoke of some sort of mixed heritage. Perhaps she had Hispanic or Native American in her family lines.

Whatever it was, it gave her something more than the girl next-door look. No, she had this slightly exotic appearance, but the white T-shirt, blue jeans, and attitude written all over her face said she was a solid, southern, I'll-kick-your-ass kind of woman.

I think I'm in lust.

There was my dick talking again. The fucking thing needed to shut up, because I needed to concentrate right now if I was going to get out more than two words without sounding like an idiot.

Somewhere in the background, my heartbeat banging away so hard I could hear it echoing in my head, I heard Wall introduce her.

"Anderson, this is Billie Jean Beasely. Billie Jean, this is Chase Anderson. He's one of the men on my team, and I would like him to work with you on a project that requires your special skillset."

Billie Jean took her eyes off mine to look at her godfather. "You mean, you want me to shoot somebody? Damn, Uncle Jax, who pissed you off?"

Wall said something back at her, but I didn't hear a word. Instead, everything that came out of his mouth sounded like that cartoon character that, when they spoke, sounded like, "Wah-wah wow wah-ah-ah."

It didn't take long to realize Wall must have been talking to me when I watched as Billie Jean turned her face back to look at me with one eyebrow cocked up in question.

Suddenly, I could hear my commander loud and clear. Probably because he was yelling.

"Jesus, Anderson! Did you hear a fucking word I said?" A pause when I still didn't respond, and then, "Are you just going to sit there and stare at Billie Jean all day, or are you actually going to say something to her?"

"Marry me."

So much for saying more than two words without sounding like an idiot.

Chapter

5

Billie Jean

Hello, Tall, Cute, and Muscled.

Or, at least that was what Chase Anderson made me think of when I first laid eyes on him. He looked like one of those tattooed California surfer boys.

His hair was a bit messy as if he had just run his hands through it after rolling out of bed. Plus, he had this amazing beard that made me want to ask if it was his flavor savor. However, my godfather was sitting right there, so I would have to save that question for another time. And his tattoos... Damn. I did love a man with ink, and he was covered in them. I could see them from the pale skin of his neck, down to what was visible of his arms, all the way to his knuckles. He was the total package, making my girly parts stand up at attention.

My first thoughts after hearing him speak were altogether different from my reaction to his looks. Why did the good-looking ones always have to be short a lightbulb upstairs? It was so sad, because he was just so damn lick-able. Not that I would lick him because, according to Uncle Jax, Chase here was going to be my partner for a little while. Perhaps when our mission was over, though, I could give him a good ride.

Thankfully, I didn't have to answer his ridiculous proposal.

My godfather reached over his desk and smacked the answer hard upside the back of his head.

"Stop fucking around, Anderson," he growled as he settled back into his seat.

The crazy man with the bad name jokes smiled at my uncle, while I just shook my head at their shenanigans. Then I turned my gaze back over to my godfather as Chase did the same. It was time to get down to business.

As Uncle Jax pushed a set of papers across the desk, I took in the headline at the top.

NEW YORK POLICE CHIEF ASSASSINATED

"They have a suspect yet?" I asked, my years of training automatically kicking in.

Uncle Jax shook his head, putting his whole palm over the paper as if to cover it, which was strange. "Before we go any further, Billie Jean, I need you to agree to signing a Non-Disclosure Agreement about everything that is said in this room."

Not liking his sudden severe tone, I tried to lighten the mood. "It was Chase's bad jokes when I came into the room, wasn't it? You want me to forget them forever and ever, amen."

"Billie Jean Beasely" my godfather growled, "don't start with me. Anderson is bad enough, I don't need your shit, too. Just tell me you'll sign the fuckin' form."

"All right, all right. Calm down," I tried to assuage him.

It seemed to work since he flipped the page over to show the next one. It was a list of names. Ten of them to be exact, and Police Chief Stanton's name was among them.

"Not only do they not have a suspect, but this is the work of a serial killer who is taking out high-value targets on the NYPD."

"What's stopping them from tracking whoever it is down? I'm sure they have forensics from the scenes."

Jax shook his head again. "You have to be able to find the other half of the scene first. They can't even pinpoint where he's shooting from."

My brows furrowed in concern. "The only way that's possible would be if—"

"The suspect is a sniper," Chase finished for me.

Uncle Jax nodded this time. "That's exactly what they're dealing with. And all of their experienced officers who were former military or SWAT trained for this sort of thing?" He tapped his finger on the sheet with the list of names. "You'll find their names right here."

"So, they have no one who knows how to deal with a sniper?" I murmured as I pondered the ramifications of such a situation.

"Exactly," Uncle Jax replied.

I thought of all the implications of how the shooter would take the targets out. He or she certainly knew what they were doing enough to take out the experienced sniper trained officers. Now the police chief was gone?

Leaning forward, I nodded toward the list. "How many of those names were the officers with training and/or experience with sniper shooters?"

I watched as my godfather opened a desk drawer and pulled out a stack of file folders. Slapping them down on the desk, he answered, "All of them, with the exception of the police chief. Here's the service records of the officers killed if you want more information."

Setting my hand hesitantly on the stack of files, I glanced back at my godfather. "What exactly are you asking me to do here?"

He motioned a finger between me and Chase. "I want the two of you to go to New York City and figure out who's taken these officers out and why. Since you're no longer working for the FBI, Billie Jean, we can call this an official mission on my end. For the time being, you're working for me."

Cocking my head to the side, I took in Uncle Jax's unwavering demeanor. He had never talked about who he worked for beyond the fact that it was "above my paygrade." I knew he was no longer active duty military, but not much else. That left me with one burning question.

"And who exactly am I working for here, besides you, that is?"

My godfather, the man who had helped my father raise me, immediately changed. The air around him went static with tension as he leaned forward, bracing his arms on his desk as he watched me intently. Next thing I knew, he slid a piece of paper that had been in front of him across the desk toward me.

"Before I can discuss who I work for, and what we do, I need you to sign this Non-Disclosure Agreement. What you need to understand is: should you decide to work for this organization or not, if you ever tell a soul about anything you see, hear, or do while in this building or on a mission for us, you can and will be arrested and prosecuted for treason against the United States of America."

After my jaw dropped, I tried to collect my wits. It didn't work out very well for me. I ended up blurting out, "Holy shit, Uncle Jax! You're 007!"

My godfather hung his head, probably slightly ashamed of me, but there was a snort of laughter from Chase next to me. I didn't bother to look over at him, though, as Uncle Jax picked his head back up and glared at me.

"Sign the fucking form, Billie Jean, and stop being a pain in my ass."

Throwing my hands up in surrender, I griped, "All right, all right. No need to be cranky about it, old man."

Uncle Jax growled deeply in his throat. "Call me old man again and see what happens, little girl."

I gave him a mock snarl as I picked up the ink pen in front of me.

After I signed the form, I sat back in my chair. "Now that I've signed my life away, tell me who I'm working for on this job."

When Chase snorted, I gave him an inquiring look.

Chase shook his head. "Trust me, sweetheart; you haven't signed your life away yet. That's only if you officially join the team."

"Don't call me sweetheart. And is that what you did?" I asked.

Surfer boy gave me a devilish grin. "When I was eighteen, I told my mom I signed a million papers and my life away to the Army. Then, when I was twenty-six, I called her and told her the Army had jackshit on the CIA, and this time I knew I had really and truly signed my life away."

Curiosity might have killed the cat, but hell, I just couldn't help myself. "If you have already signed your life away twice, what did you sign over to this team?"

The man was suddenly as serious as a dead body. "My soul."

With that, he got up and walked out of the room.

Chase

Closing Wall's office door behind me, I walked down the corridor and toward the usual conference room. I stepped into the pitch-black room, hit the light switch, and then walked over to the table. Instead of my fellow Ex Ops teammates, there sat a bag and a hard case. One was a large duffle with my clothes and any go-bag supplies for the trip. The other held two items I hadn't used in a long time.

One was my Leupold Mark 4 spotting scope with Tactical Milling Reticle, which I had used in my time with the Army. The other item was my own sniper rifle, a TAC-338 Lapua. It had been a gift from Dalton for my birthday the year after we had been paired together, right before we had been sent to Afghanistan.

I didn't shoot it often, and not just because I no longer considered myself a sniper or a scout, but because holding that gun reminded me of holding Dalton's bleeding body. The Lapua hadn't been a brand-new rifle; it had been one of his own guns. A gun we had shot together at the range where we had laughed because the concussion was enough to blow out your eardrums if you happened to be in a small room with it.

For a sniper to give you his gun, it meant he trusted you with more than just getting a job done. He trusted you with his life. Because, more often than not, a sniper's gun was his lifeline.

Looking down at that black case, I thought about how I would give anything to give Dalton his lifeline back. Even my own life. That was just not the way things had worked out.

Footsteps echoing down the hall brought me out of my thoughts. Looking over my shoulder, I watched as a shell-shocked Billie Jean followed the commander into the conference room.

"You give her the 411, boss?"

"I hate it when you talk that slang shit, Chase."

"And I hate it when you talk your Sun Tazo shit, but you don't see me bitchin' about it... much."

Wall palmed his face while Billie Jean put a hand over her mouth to cover a giggle. Fuck, but that giggle was cute coming from her.

"What's so funny?" I asked them.

Wall peeked at me through his fingers then dropped his hand back to his side. "You're a disgrace to your history teacher, Anderson. It's Sun Tzu. Tazo is a tea, dipshit."

"Boss, you drink hot tea?" I asked, playing oblivious.

"Honest to God, Anderson; I'm about to deck you. Now shut up so we can go over the last of this so you can get the hell out of here." Walking over, he dropped a folder onto the table next to my bag. "That's the information I've collected for you about the situation in New York. Billie Jean is going home to pack a bag, and then she'll meet you back here in an hour. You need to be at the runway in two hours. I expect contact once you've set down in New York and an update three times a day. Any questions?"

"Yep," I answered back automatically.

"What?" Wall asked warily.

"If I talk Beasely into marrying me, does that mean I get to call you Uncle Jax, too?"

My commander raised his hand as if he was going to slap me, but Billie Jean grabbed it. "Come on, Uncle Jax; walk me out." As they made their way toward the exit, she looked back. "See you in a few, Anderson."

I didn't say anything back verbally, but silently, I made her a promise.

I'm going to see you real soon, sweetheart. All of you if I can help it.

~~~

Two hours later, Billie Jean and I were walking up the steps to the private plane that carried my team around on missions. Going up those steps might have been the closest I had ever been to heaven, because Billie Jean's ass was right in my face.

And what a glorious ass it was.

I couldn't help thinking about what her ass would look like bare, bent over for me so that I could take her from behind.

Yes! Let's do it now, on the plane.

Jesus, my dick was going to get me in trouble with all its ideas. I couldn't very well try to seduce the woman to join me in the mile-high club when I hadn't gotten to know her yet. But man, did I really want to try. She was a knockout who knew her way around guns; could anything be sexier?

However, I didn't want Billie Jean to think I was one of those assholes who wanted to take advantage of her. I needed to get my dick to calm the fuck down so maybe I could get to know the woman on this flight. My dick wasn't the only one who wanted to get to know her.

She genuinely intrigued me. There weren't a lot of women who wanted to be snipers. It made me want to figure out what made her tick.

Once we stowed our bags, sat down, and buckled up, the plane took off and awkward silence ensued. She sat on one side of the aisle, while I sat on the other. I had a little over an hour to get to know my newest obsession.

I couldn't remember being this fascinated with anything since the last encrypted and secured website the team had needed me to crack a little over a year ago.

Leaning back, I stretched my legs out and turned my head to look at Billie Jean. It was time to get the woman talking.

"Tell me, Billie Jean—"

"Sorry, Chase, you're still not the one, and the kid is not your son."

I choked on my own spit for half a second at the mention of kids. I knew she was joking with me about the song, but it made me wonder: did she have children?

"I know there's no Chase Juniors running around. I keep my shit wrapped up, sweetheart. Now, my question to you is: are there any little Billie Jeans running around?"

She shook her head. "No kids."

"Ah, a woman with a sense of humor is a rare find. You sure you don't want to marry me?"

Billie Jean gave me a droll, are-you-fucking-stupid look. Somehow, I smothered a laugh.

"No worries." I shrugged. "I'll try again later." Before she could object to that statement, I moved on. "How did you end up a sniper?"

"Why do you ask? Because I'm a woman?" she gritted out through her teeth.

All my internal man alarms started blaring, WARNING! DANGER, CHASE ANDERSON! She obviously had a chip on her shoulder the size of her home state.

"Now, now, Billie Jean, no need to get your I-am-woman-hear-me-roar snit going on. I don't have a damn thing against female snipers, or even women in the military. As long as you can do the job just as well or better than the person next to you, that's all that matters to me. I was more interested in your chosen profession because I have a hard time believing that any little girl Jaxon Wall helped raise would want in a dangerous field. Knowing him, he would probably rather wrap you in about a thousand yards of bubble wrap and then put you in a padded room somewhere just to be safe."

I watched her as she visibly calmed down from her snit, then shrugged a shoulder. "I'm sure my father and Uncle Jax do wish I was more of the girly-girl type. It's just not who I am. Maybe it was being raised with four older brothers and both a father and godfather who were in the military, but all that camo and war paint just seemed normal to me.

"Dad bought me a Barbie once, and I told him to take it back and get me GI Joes like my brothers had. For my tenth birthday, I asked him for my first gun. My father bought my four brothers their first rifles at that age, so I thought for sure I would get one, too. He told me no, so I kept asking him for that gun until he finally bought me one for my twelfth birthday. It didn't take Daddy and Uncle Jax long to realize after they started to teach me to shoot that I was a natural."

Oh, she was selling herself short, and she had no idea that I knew that. Jaxon had already told me Billie Jean was a fucking prodigy with a gun. He had even said she could put Annie Oakley to shame. But if she didn't want to toot her own horn, that just made me respect her more.

I had met too many guys out in the field who were quick to spout their statistics, shooting averages, and distances successfully shot. If Billie Jean wasn't every bit as good as Wall said she was, then he wouldn't have put her on an Ex Ops mission.

Which made me suddenly wonder how Jaxon had come across this mission. It wasn't our usual, and the commander had been acting squirrelly enough from the get-go that it seemed to me perhaps this job hadn't come down through our usual channels. I would have to look into that when I had a chance. I didn't like anything I was involved in to have any sort of surprises, and knowing everything meant no damn surprises.

Looking back at Billie Jean, that damn song started playing through my head again. I had to start calling this woman by something else, or I was going to have the King of Pop dancing through my head like a broken record.

"What do your friends call you, Billie Jean?"

She turned her head and looked at me with a raised, skeptical eyebrow. "We're friends now?"

"Sweetheart, anytime you want to be more than friends, you just let me know. Until then, I'm trying not to pressure you into being the one and only future Mrs. Anderson."

She put a finger down her throat and playfully gagged. "You use that line on all the women you hit on, Chase?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Only once, and I don't plan to use it on anyone else ever again. Now stop fucking around and give me a nickname, babe."

Billie Jean held up a finger, all prim and proper like. "First of all, I'm not babe. Babe was a pig in movie. While I like to eat, I'm not Babe the pig, got me?"

I couldn't help laughing a little, even as I nodded back. "Okay, no babe. But you don't seem to have a problem with sweetheart, now do you?"

A pretty blush hit her cheeks as she held up a second prim-looking finger. "Secondly, my friends call me BB. Now stop bugging me for a nickname, Anderson; it's getting old."

Before I could stop myself to think about what I was about to say, it was coming out of my mouth like some untrained schoolboy. "How come BB, sweetheart? If your name is Billie Jean, why not BJ?"

Once the words were out of my mouth, it was as if I had dropped a verbal nuclear bomb between us and I was now enduring the eerily silent fallout. I knew the answer to my question before she could even say a word.

What woman would want to be nicknamed BJ when that meant blow job to a lot of men? Jesus, but sometimes I really was a dumbass.

Her jaw was moving as she ground her teeth together. I held up a hand to stop the incoming verbal shit storm she was probably about to throw my way.

"Annnnd that was loads of awkward. My bad, woman. I'll never say that again. Sorry for the stupid mistake. BB, it is."

Her jaw stopped grinding, and the murderous look in her eyes started to fade. I took that as a good sign to move on.

Reaching over to the seat next to me, I picked up the folder of information I had laid there before takeoff. "How about we go over these files and start looking for clues?"

She held out her hand for the folder, and I flipped through it before giving her half the reports inside.

"I'll start on my half, and when you're done with your half, we'll meet in the middle and compare notes."

"I think that might be the smartest thing you've said all day," she said sweetly. As in, sarcastically sweet.

Well, with a reaction like that, I just couldn't fucking help myself. "That's where you're wrong, sweetheart. Smartest thing I've said all day was when I asked you to marry me." I gave her a wink as her blush came back with a vengeance.

BB looked like she absolutely wanted to strangle me.

I sighed inwardly in appreciation. I did so love a feisty woman.

I like them, too! my dick piped in.

Damn, I really needed him to stop talking to me. It was starting to get weird.

Chapter

6

Billie Jean

New York City was hustle and bustle.

The streets had so many people moving through them you could barely make out an individual in the crowd. The mobs moved like ants scurrying here and there until my eyes wanted to cross from all the movements. If I had ever thought Washington, DC was crazy, now I knew that New York was a thousand times crazier.

In all honesty, it was the perfect hiding spot for a sniper on the run.

I studied the many tall buildings lining the streets as our cab inched its way down the road in the congested traffic. There had to be a million windows a sniper could take a shot from on this street alone. How were we ever going to track this guy down?

I couldn't allow myself to become overwhelmed. I had to stay calm, cool, and collected. This mission was just like any other. Lives were at stake, and I didn't want to let anyone down.

Looking over at Chase in the backseat next to me, I asked, "What do you think about us scouting the locations after we drop our bags off at the hotel?"

He nodded. "Just what I was thinking."

Ten blocks and thirty minutes later, the cab finally dropped us off in front of our hotel.

Getting out of the cab, I took in a deep breath and tried to calm my nerves. There had been quite a few times I had wanted to jump out of that cab and just walk to our hotel, but somehow, I didn't think carrying my rifle case through New York City while the police were actively looking for a serial killer was such a good idea.

When Chase got out, we grabbed our luggage out of the trunk then walked into the hotel where I couldn't help being nervous since we were carrying our weapons. Would the staff try and stop us? That didn't happen, though, as Chase took the lead, booking us into our one-room suite with double beds.

From the look on his face after he collected our hotel room keys, Chase must have thought I would object to sharing a suite with him. Guys were silly like that. Meanwhile, I couldn't care less if we shared a suite. We were here for a job, and that was it. Once the job was over, though? Well, that was a different story.

The more time I spent around Chase, the more I wanted him. It was irrational and sort of crazy, but my libido didn't care about crazy.

Our suite was on the tenth floor, what I considered the perfect floor. High up enough to get a bird's eye view of our surroundings; low enough to run down the stairs in case of an emergency.

After stowing our gear, I grabbed my light back pack that held the case notes, a small scope for measurements, a water bottle, and then followed Chase back out of our suite and out onto the busy city street.

Chase looked over at me in question. "Which one you want to go to first?"

That was an easy answer. "Let's start at the beginning."

Chase hailed down another cab for us, and we rode in companionable silence, something I was thankful for since all too often I was annoyed by people who felt the need to talk. I wasn't a "talker." I was more of a "people watcher." Therefore, being around someone who could be quiet for more than five minutes was a blessing.

I did take the opportunity to study the man next to me covertly out of the corner of my eye. There was just something about him that made me want to watch him, even get to know him. I wondered if he would want to get to know me after the mission. I sure hoped so.

The cabbie soon pulled over to let us out at almost the exact spot Captain William Douglas, a twenty-year veteran on the SWAT team, had been shot and killed in plain view during mid-day, just blocks from the police substation where he worked.

I heard Chase ask the cabbie to wait for us as I got out of the vehicle and started scoping out the area. Like much of what I had already seen of New York, high rise buildings surrounded us. It was my gut instinct to look up toward those upper floors across the street for a spot where the shooter could have taken a shot. I had to remind myself that the objective wasn't to look for where I would have shot from, but from where the shooter more than likely took the shot.

The file on Douglas said the trajectory of the bullet hadn't come from an upper floor. It had come from a standing position from the ground, somewhere south of where Douglas had been walking away from his substation.

When I looked in that general direction, all I saw was movement. Vehicles drove slowly up and down the street. People were walking everywhere. There were perhaps two small alley entrances the sniper could have used for coverage, but the man had to have been out in the open. That took a set of serious balls to make a shot like that, surrounded by people, and have the confidence not to get caught.

"What do you see?" Chase asked as he came up behind me.

"The signs of a madman," was all I could think to say in answer.

"What do you mean?"

I waved my hand down the street. "Look around us. No matter where the shooter took that shot from down there, civilians surrounded him. Whoever took that shot must have a set of brass balls that would rival an elephant's, because I would never take a shot being so exposed like that."

"And yet he wasn't seen or caught," Chase murmured.

"Exactly."

"So, you think he has more skill than luck?"

"Absolutely. But I'm sure you already came to the same conclusion." I looked over to see Chase smiling at me.

He nodded his head toward the cab. "Come on; let's go to the next location."

As we headed in the direction of our next location, I kept imagining how the sniper would have taken that shot on Douglas.

Turning to Chase, I said, "If they used one of those two alleyways, they could have simply walked off to blend in with the panicked crowd."

Chase shook his head. "I don't think so. His weapon wasn't found at the scene, and I don't care how big his balls might be, no one would walk off with their rifle in hand, thinking they wouldn't get caught. He had to have left by car."

I cocked my head while thinking the scenario over. "Took the shot, got in a car parked in the alleyway, then drove off calmly while everyone was panicking at the scene?"

Chase nodded. "That's what I was thinking."

A few minutes later, the cab pulled over to the subway station entrance, and I got out of the car irritated.

Chase paid the cabbie then joined me on the sidewalk. I could feel him staring at me before he asked, "What's wrong?"

I nodded my head in the direction of the cab that was now driving off. "We could have walked here faster. We're wasting time if we're sitting in traffic, not moving, and I'm not big on wasting time when there's a madman on the loose."

Chase held his hands up in surrender. "All right, reel it in, woman. Next time, we'll walk."

Sighing in frustration, I waved toward the subway entrance. He might be cute as hell, but that didn't mean I wouldn't punch him in the nuts if he got on my last nerve. "Let's get this over with."

We walked down the steps and emerged into a sea of people. Some were getting off a subway, while others were waiting to get on one. It was damn near claustrophobic, which made me wonder how in the hell the perp had gotten a shot off in this crowded place, and again with no one seeing him.

"This shooter must be a fucking chameleon," I grumbled.

"Not too far off what I was just thinking," Chase mumbled back.

We walked down a quarter of a mile to the next platform over, then stood by one of the walls as Chase went over the case facts. I let the murder of Sergeant Brian Garcia, another sniper on the SWAT team under Douglas's command play out in my mind.

"Sergeant Garcia was waiting for the D train to take him home to his girlfriend when he was shot from behind at a distance. The distance part was determined because no one within a hundred-foot radius saw anyone who looked suspicious or carrying a gun."

"Same gun?" I asked.

"Yep. Ballistics matched it as the same gun."

"He sure is ballsy using a rifle in a crowded area like this." I looked over at Chase. "He must have a silencer. There's no way he's shooting a .308 Winchester bullet without making sound. You and I both know that a round of that caliber, in an enclosed space like this, even with a silencer, everyone within a mile would have heard that shot go off."

Chase rubbed a hand over his chin. "Now the question is: how is he taking the shot, yet getting away with not being seen?"

I scanned the area in the direction that the reports had told us the shot had been taken from. I couldn't see much with all the people walking by, so I motioned to Chase. "Let's walk it."

We made our way in that direction, scanning the subway tunnel as we went. Small, dark corners; bathrooms—any place big enough to hide a man with a gun was what we were looking for.

We passed a street musician sitting on the ground, playing his acoustic guitar while singing one of the latest country songs. His case was propped open against the wall, and every now and then someone would throw a dollar in it. I wanted to stop to listen, but I had to keep going. I was a woman on a mission.

I took about another seven steps when we walked past a women's bathroom and Chase nodded toward it.

I shook my head in answer. "A man coming out of there would be noticed right away."

Chase cocked an eyebrow at me. "Who said the shooter has to be a man? Discriminating against your own gender, Miss Beasely?"

I couldn't help smiling as I shook my head. "Not discriminating one bit, Chase. But you and I both know that female snipers don't exactly come along every day. Statistically speaking, the shooter is more likely to be a man."

Chase leaned in until his face was right next to mine. Then he spoke softly in my ear. "Maybe you're just one of a kind, Billie Jean."

Pulling back, it was my turn to cock an eyebrow at him. "Absolutely. And you're full of shit. See how fast we're getting to know each other?"

I might have given him a sassy reply—that was me after all. What Chase couldn't see, though, was the way his comment made me tremble in pleasure. I liked the idea that he thought I was special. Just maybe he was going to be special to me, too.

Chase

Damn, but the woman had wit. I fucking loved it.

Unable to hide my grin, I motioned for us to keep moving against the flow of the crowd.

We had taken about fifteen more steps when she shot her hand out, barred against my chest, stopping me. Then she pointed at a small, dark alcove underneath the stairs that led to the city above.

We walked over to stand underneath it and examined a bench that looked like it had been abandoned long ago. It was metal, rusty, but usable, and it was backed up into the extremely dark corner of the alcove. On the wall above it was a light fixture with no bulbs. It was easy enough to see that, if someone had sat there, no one would pay them much attention to them since there wouldn't be much you could see of them.

Squatting down next to the bench, I pulled out my cell phone and used the flashlight function to look it over for any evidence. Unfortunately, I found nothing that stuck out.

Looking back up at Billie Jean, I asked, "What are you thinking?"

She had her hands planted on her hips as she studied the scene. Then she spun on her heels to look at the area where the cop had been shot. I didn't need to be in her head to know what she was doing. She was taking mental calculations, lining up the shot with the projection theories in the report.

Looking back at me, she said, "It lines up. I have no doubt he took the shot from here. The only question I have is: how did he have his rifle here, out in the open? Even if it was in a dark alcove, and he took a shot without anyone noticing him, he had to be hiding his gun somehow."

"Oversized briefcase?" I threw out, knowing it was unlikely. "Duffle bag?"

Billie Jean shrugged. "Possibly. But even a duffle bag might look suspicious to passersby." Her gaze scanned back the way we had come and landed on the musician. She stared long and hard at the man, and I thought perhaps she might have gotten lost in his song, when I realized she wasn't staring at the musician. She was staring at his guitar case.

Walking over to stand next to her again, I started to ask, "You think...?"

She looked over her shoulder at me. "Only one way to find out. Let's go."

We walked at a fast clip back the way we had come and out of the subway station. This time, Billie Jean flagged down a cab.

I didn't miss how the cabs seemed to want to stop for her a fuck of a lot faster than they had for me. Couldn't say I blamed them. A pretty woman like her could flag me down anytime, and I would slam on my breaks for her.

Once we got into our new cab, I took out my cell phone and dialed my commander's secure phone as Billie Jean gave our driver the address to our next location. It rang twice before he picked it up.

"Wall."

"Just finished scouting two of the work sites, boss. Wanted to know if you could find any tape for the subway job?" I told him in code without any preamble since the cabbie didn't need to hear or know what we were doing.

"If it's out there, I'll have it found. Carry on until then." Wall hung up without another word.

Putting my phone away, I looked over at Billie Jean. "Where we headed to now?"

"Lieutenant Rossi's scene."

Nodding, I sat back and enjoyed our quiet cab ride. It took around forty-five minutes and a ridiculous cab fare, but we finally arrived at the little hotel where the third SWAT officer had been killed.

I went ahead and paid the cabbie, and then asked him to wait fifteen minutes. This cabbie needed a bribe of fifty bucks to stay, but it got the job done.

I walked over to where Billie Jean already stood in the parking lot of the rundown hotel. "What do we know?"

I already knew the specifics of the case, but I liked to watch her dissect a scene. The woman had a keen mind, and it was fascinating to watch her use it.

She pointed at a third-floor walkway. "Lieutenant Francesco Rossi was meeting his mistress for a regularly scheduled rendezvous. Around three o'clock in the morning, he stepped out of the room to smoke an after-sex cigarette and took a bullet through the heart. Just like the other murders, it was a one shot, one kill situation. Think we're dealing with someone with military training?"

I shook my head. "Not necessarily. Even snipers outside of the military can be that good. Or, at least that's what I hear about a certain sniper from Texas." I gave her a pointed look, once again enjoying the blush that spread through her cheeks.

As I looked back at the walkway, I took in the trajectory of the shot. "Now we're seeing our shooter's range. Unlike the previous two, moving out of a no elevation shot. Where do you think they shot from this time?"

We looked around the surrounding area. There was a restaurant across the street with a back entrance just visible from the side, along with a dumpster.

"Dumpster coverage is a possibility. But if they parked a car along the street, they could have taken the shot from it, and then fled right away."

She made good points.

"Anything else?"

Billie Jean shook her head. "The report said the shot came from that direction." She pointed toward the dumpster. "Nothing else to hide in or around is in range, unless you consider the car theory."

"Which is very plausible. Want to check anything else out?"

She shook her head again. "Let's go check out the room where the shot that killed Chief Stanton came from. It's the only location with a known shooter spot."

We headed back to our cab then back into the inner city.

Twenty minutes later, our cabbie dropped us off in front of the twenty-third precinct, where Police Chief Stanton maintained an office, a different precinct than the SWAT officers. Instead of heading into the precinct, though, we turned and walked to the high-rise across the intersection.

The building was owned and operated by a software company. According to every employee interviewed by the police, not a single person saw a suspicious person or an individual with a gun. That made me pause in thought. I should have asked Wall for any surveillance tape from this shooting, too.

Oh well, I would ask the boss after we checked the place out.

I followed Billie Jean into the building, where security in the form of a big, burly man in a white button-up shirt with a gun holstered on his hip stopped us almost immediately.

"Can I help you two?"

"Just thought we would check the building out. I was thinking of applying here for a job." Billie Jean's lie came smoothly off her lips.

The security guard wasn't buying it, though.

"Sorry, ma'am, no one is allowed in without a work pass. If you want to check the place out, you'll have to get a job first. Have a nice day."

Just like that, we had been dismissed.

I grabbed Billie Jean by her hand and pulled her along with me toward the exit. "Come on, honey; let's go get our resume ready."

After we got outside, she tried to pull her hand out of mine, but I wouldn't let go.

"Have to keep up appearances, sweetheart. Let's walk across the intersection and scope the place out from the exterior."

She didn't fight me holding her hand as we crossed the street, and I didn't let go until we reached the other side and stood on the sidewalk outside the police precinct.

We both looked up toward the eighth floor where the killer had taken their shot from.

"They would have had wind and rotation to calculate," she murmured, and I nodded in agreement.

"One shot through the chest again.. That makes a pattern since all were shot in the chest. You think it's significant?"

"No," Billie Jean answered. "That's standard protocol. Chest makes a bigger target area than the head, so it probably doesn't mean anything special."

"Or maybe it does," I replied. When Billie Jean gave me a questioning look, I explained my train of thought. "What if the shooter is sending some sort of message? What if these people hurt the perp somehow, and so now he's hurting them back with shots aimed at their hearts?"

She nibbled on her bottom lip while she thought that over. "It's a possibility, but most snipers don't shoot off emotion. It's business. One shot, one kill, in and out, which our perp is very good at if they got by the security in that building." She pointed back at said building across the street.

"Or maybe the security came after the shooting?"

Billie Jean shrugged. "It's a possibility either way. Question is: how did they get their rifle in and out without notice? Even if we're right about the guitar case, that would stick out at a software company."

"How would you do it?" I asked.

She was silent for a few minutes as she stared at the software company's building. Then I saw her eyes light up. "A janitor would be able to push their cart around, and no one would think twice about them. A rifle could be hidden on the cart."

"Good idea, sweetheart."

Billie Jean scowled at me. "Who said you could call me sweetheart? I let you get away with it over there because we were keeping up the façade. Now you can take your sweetheart and shove it, buddy."

Leaning toward her, I said in a low, playful voice, "You tell me where to shove it anytime. I think I'd have fun doing it."

Her jaw dropped, and I took pleasure in taking one of my fingers and using it to shut it.

"Now, let's go back to the hotel while we wait for the surveillance footage."

Chapter

7

Billie Jean

"Shall we go over the facts of the cases and what we think of the scenes while we wait to hear about any surveillance videos?" I asked Chase as we sat in the hotel room with the news on. While I might like the quiet, that didn't mean I liked to sit idle when shit needed to be done. I was itching to figure this sniper case out.

Or jump Chase's bones. Now wasn't the time to do that, though.

"Sounds like a plan. I'll order us some lunch before we start. What do you want? A salad?"

I could tell he was joking about the salad from his tone and the twinkle in his eyes, but that didn't stop me from giving him the bird.

"I want a cheeseburger, with nothing but ketchup. And some french fries. Oh, and a root beer to drink."

Chase grabbed his chest over his heart as if he was going to swoon or some shit. "A woman who likes her calories. I think I'm in love."

I rolled my eyes at the big idiot, though his jokes did give me butterflies. However, I couldn't let him know that. Getting involved with someone my godfather worked with was probably not a good idea, even if I did want to try out his bearded flavor savor.

"And I think I'm hungry, so hurry the hell up."

I moved over to the four-person dining room table and started spreading out the reports on the different victims. We hadn't visited all the crime scenes, but we had seen enough to glean a few facts about our shooter. It was a start, yet getting our hands on any possible surveillance tape would ultimately be the biggest help.

Chase joined me at the table once he had finished ordering, saying, "All right, so let's go over what you think about the shooter."

Tapping my finger against the table top, I considered the scenes. "Shooter is okay with tight spaces. Otherwise, they wouldn't have shot from the darkened alcove. It's also likely that they have a more compact rifle so it's more easily hidden."

He nodded. "I also want to add that I think they're of a smaller stature. Not necessarily a woman, but if it's a man, he's less than average size. Anyone my height would have never been able to fit in the shadows of that alcove comfortably to take a shot."

"Intelligent enough to preplan the crimes. They obviously did their homework on the victims to know where they were going."

"Not necessarily," Chase objected. "If the shooter had them under surveillance, any of those shots could have been opportunity shots."

I shook my head. "I don't think so. If the shooter hid their rifle in a disguise, then he or she walked into the scenarios knowing they were going to take the shot according to the victims' routines. Anyone can walk around with a handgun hidden in their waistband. Almost nobody walks around with a sniper rifle without the intent to use it. Too hard to hide, no matter the disguise."

Chase shrugged. "We'll see if there's any surveillance videos for us to watch. If there is, and we can spot the perp, then we'll know about disguise and approximate size."

A hard knock on the door interrupted us.

"Food. Thank God, I'm starving," Chase muttered.

The comment made me laugh. The man's biceps were at least twice the size of my own. I doubt he had starved a day in his life.

The door opened and closed. Then Chase was back, carrying a tray laden with food.

"Time to chow down, sweetheart."

I gave him a dirty look about the nickname, but I secretly loved it. There was something about a man with all those alpha male tendencies that threw my libido into overdrive. And Chase seemed to have many of those qualities. Add in humor, and he almost seemed too good to be true.

I watched as he spread out our meals, and then dug in without waiting for me to start. When you had once lived with five men, you didn't care much about dinner manners. Instead, you learned to grab the last roll before anyone else could. It was a survival thing, and not a trait I was ashamed of.

Chase didn't exactly scarf down his food the way my brothers did, but he did eat in a quick, efficient manner that told me he had been in the military. When a soldier was told to eat, he ate when he had the damn chance. You never knew what shit was waiting for you around the corner, so you fueled up when you could.

I took my attention off him to eat some of my french fries. Smothered in ketchup, they were one of my favorite things to eat.

Four fries in, I had the feeling I was being watched. It was that sixth sense you got when you felt like prey.

I looked up to find Chase watching me intently, a hungry look on his face. Only, he didn't look hungry for food. He looked hungry for me.

He stared at my lips as I put the next fry into my mouth and licked his own. The action spurred a strong desire in me to lick his lip in the same spot, right across his bottom one, and then I wanted to bite it for good measure. I was contemplating doing it, too, when his eyebrows furrowed, and he looked down at his lap in consternation.

The man stared at his groin for so long that I was worried something had happened, like he had pissed himself or something.

"You okay, Chase?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yep."

"Why are you staring at your pants?"

Chase held up a finger, indicating to wait, never lifting his head. "Shh, sweetheart, I'm having a conversation with myself. I'll have to get back to you in a second."

"Why in the world are you talking to yourself? Are you off your fucking rocker or something?"

He snorted a laugh, then slightly shook his head. "If only being crazy explained it."

"Well, what does explain it then?"

He finally looked back up at me, and the hunger in his eyes was so strong, so demanding, that I felt myself dampen, readying for him when he hadn't made a move toward me. He didn't need to, though. His eyes said it all. He wanted to strip me down and fuck me senseless, and just from watching me eat french fries.

The crazy thing was, I really wanted him to.

To hell with not knowing him enough, or having just met him. There was something about him that drew primal urges out of me, demanding me to take him.

It was more than a want; it was a need that almost went soul deep. I had to touch and taste him. I had to lick him from head to toe, and then take him deep in my mouth. By the time I was finished with him, there wouldn't be one inch of him I hadn't caressed.

My panties were now fucking soaked, and it wasn't like I could excuse myself to go change. Who knew eating a meal could be so dangerous to my libido?

Damn, I needed to get this case over with. The man didn't know it yet, but as soon as we were done with this case, I was going to jump his bones.

"BB? Sweetheart? You all right over there?"

As Chase's voice brought me out of my thoughts, I focused back on his face. "Yeah, why?"

The side of his mouth tipped up, making my girl parts clench.

"Because, I think for a second there, I wasn't the only one having a conversation with myself."

"I plead the fifth." I was unwilling to admit I had to talk myself out of jumping across the table to kiss him. Frankly, this attraction was just plumb crazy? Who acted like this after just meeting someone?

Billie Jean the ho, apparently.

"I would love to know whatever you're thinking, sweetheart," he murmured in a sexual purr that curled my toes.

"Only if you tell me about the conversation you were having with yourself," I volleyed back.

"Well, to be honest, I was talking to my dick."

"What!" I shouted back, my eyes bugging out in shock. "You really are nuts, aren't you?"

Chase let his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling with a look of despair. "I'll be honest, if he keeps talking, I might have to admit myself in the nearest hospital."

Unable to stop myself, I asked, "What the hell is he saying to you?"

Chase brought his face back down to look at me. "That you're the best thing I've seen in my entire life. That I want to be inside you more than I want my next breath. Hell, he even says that you liking to shoot guns is the hottest thing he's ever heard of, and we want to see you do it in a bikini."

"That's sort of sexist, you know?" I told him dryly.

Chase nodded. "Yeah, I know. Are you going to report me to your godfather?"

I pretended to think it over, just to make him sweat a bit. Then I finally gave him the truth when he nervously took a sip of his drink. "Nope, but only because I want to see you shoot my gun wearing nothing but a banana hammock."

Soda sprayed everywhere in a fine mist as he choked.

I probably should have slapped him on the back as he choked on the soda, but his phone rang, and I figured it might be Uncle Jax, so I decided to answer it instead.

"Hello?"

"Is this Beasely?" a man, who was definitely not my godfather, asked. Who in the world would be calling Chase's phone and asking about me?

"Depends on who's asking," I replied curiously.

"I'm the man who's going to give you the surveillance coverage you're waiting for."

"Oh? And what's your name? Just in case I need it for a report later."

I was totally blowing smoke up the guy's ass, simply wanting to know who I was talking to.

He must have figured out I was messing with him, though, because he laughed. "Tell your godfather that I'm the reason Jared Westin says his intelligence guy is crap."

"Oh, so you're intelligence, then?"

At that, Chase went deadly still and silent, watching me with a hawk's eye.

"Something like that," mystery man replied.

"You're not military intelligence, are you?"

"That would be a negative, darlin'. Why do you ask?"

"Because military intelligence is an oxymoron. It would have been fascinating to talk to a real live, breathing one of thos—"

Chase snatched the phone from me and snapped into the line, "Who is this?" Two seconds later, he deflated from his tense stature as he said, "Oh, hey, Black. How's the wife?" There were male "Mhmms," followed by "Aha's," and then Chase finally said, "So, where did you send the video feed?"

He went over to his bag to dig out a laptop, and I couldn't help noticing the considerable bulge he was sporting. It made me wonder just what kind of chat he had been having with himself.

I watched as he walked back and set the laptop on the table before opening the password protected screen. Faster than I could track, he plugged in the password and the page opened up to a background screen of a skull and crossbones.

I didn't bother from refraining an eye roll. It figured this overgrown man-child would have a pirate flag as his backdrop.

"So, will I see you and the missus at the next tech convention...? Yeah, sweet... Thanks, man. See you then." He hung up the phone like he totally hadn't left me hanging in the conversation.

"Who was that, Chase?"

"Hmm?" he hummed as he looked up from furiously typing away on his laptop. "Oh, that was Parker Black."

That was it? That was all he had to say?

I wanted to smack him.

With a saccharine sweet tone, I asked, "And who is Parker Black?"

"Black works for a group like Ex Ops, called Titan," Chase replied, still banging away at his keyboard. It was seriously a miracle the man didn't break the damn thing with as hard as he pounded on the keys. "You should know, if Jaxon didn't trust you to be on this mission with me, I wouldn't be telling you information like that, even if it is just a name."

"And who is Titan?"

Chase barked a laugh. "Who is Titan, that's funny. Want to sign more nondisclosure papers, sweetheart? I'm sure Parker's boss would love to throw a stack of them at you for that question."

"Never mind," I grumbled unhappily. If I could help it, I was done with signing those things for a while. My godfather had made me sign plenty already, dammit.

Chase pointed at the screen as a window popped up. "Here we go, Billie Jean. This is the feed from the subway."

I pushed away all my questions and concentrated on what was playing out in front of me—footage of the subway during its usual rush hour.

People were moving to and from the platform, but it was two certain people we were looking for.

The cop and his killer.

Sergeant Garcia came into view, distracted by his cell phone as he moved from the crowd, obviously familiar with his surroundings by the way he was walking without looking up. Then, one second he was walking forward, and the next, his body jerked, red exploding from his back as the bullet exited his body. Civilians started running and screaming, making it hard to concentrate on any one individual.

"Can you replay that?" I asked.

"Sure can, sweetheart."

He started the video over, but this time, I wasn't looking at Garcia. I was looking in the direction of that alcove.

Right after the shot was fired and people started running scared, a lean, short figure in dark, baggy clothes and a ballcap emerged from the alcove, carrying a guitar case.

"I knew it!" I shouted in glee. "He totally used a guitar case to hide his gun."

"Or she," Chase said.

I was super concentrated on the feed, so it took me a second to realize what he had said. "You think?"

Chase replayed the feed again, and we watched the slight figure emerge for a second time.

Honestly, there was no way to tell if it was a man or woman. The video was too far away and grainy to zoom in and see details, such as an Adam's apple. And there were no blaring features, such as big breasts.

"Goldilocks says that the shooter is neither too big, nor too small."

Picking up his train of thought, I finished for him, "Until we catch him, we won't know what's just right: man or woman."

"My dick just said that you're ten times hotter now that we know you get my jokes."

I rolled my eyes in despair.

Great, now Chase's dick was talking to me, too.

And the sad thing was, just the thought of Chase's dick made my panties dampen further, if that was even possible.

Chapter

8

Chase

We're on a mission, asshole. Stop talking to me.

That was what I was telling my dick, who wouldn't stop throbbing for the woman who just seemed to get more desirable by the minute. I needed to keep my head on the mission and not on all the things I wanted to do to Billie Jean. It sure as shit didn't help that the woman could get me hard by eating a french fry. It was time to change the topic.

"Eat up, woman, while we wait for Black to get us surveillance on the police chief's shooting."

Reaching over for the television remote, I turned on the device and flipped through the channels until I found the local news. I hadn't been looking for that particular channel, but even if I had, I would have stopped on it, anyway, because of what I saw on the screen.

Hundreds of protestors were outside of the deceased Captain Douglas's precinct. The same precinct we had been at just hours before.

How in the hell had that many people amassed so quickly?

Turning up the volume, I hoped to find the answer.

"Diana Chung here, in front of the 77th New York Police Department Precinct where Blue Lives Matter advocates are gathered in support after the recent murders of several police officers. They started early this morning by marching from City Hall to here, their final destination." The reporter motioned to a woman standing next to her. "This is Frances Wallace, the organizer behind this particular rally."

Turning toward the woman, who was a later forties blonde wearing a shirt that read, 'I BACK THE BLUE DO YOU?' she asked, "Frances, can you tell us what made you set up this gathering?"

"Hi, Diana. We've gathered here today to show our support and love for the men and women who put on a badge every day to help keep our communities safe. There have been ten officers killed in the past month, and no one has been brought to justice. I find that completely unacceptable. We, as a community, need to come together to show the law enforcement departments that we care and support them. That we're grateful for everything that they do for us."

"Is there a personal reason law enforcement means so much to you?"

Frances nodded. "My brother is a NYPD officer, and so was my father before him."

The reporter pulled her microphone back. "What are you hoping to accomplish today, Frances?"

"In short, we hope that by us being here, showing our support, our presence makes people aware of the situation. There has to be someone out there who knows who this shooter is, and it's time they come forward."

Diana Chung pulled the microphone back again. "So, you're putting the pressure on?"

Frances nodded again. "That's why we're here today. And I encourage everyone who sees this to come and do the same."

The reporter faced the camera. "There you have it, folks. These advocates say blue lives matter, and they want to know if you think they do too. If anyone has any information in regards to the shooting deaths of ten New York City Police Department officers, please call this special tip hotlin—"

Billie Jean was eating her burger, and I was eating my fries, when time suddenly stood still as a shot rang out from the TV. It wasn't loud; more of a muffled sound, possibly because of the distance from the shooter to where the reporter was. Nonetheless, I knew what that sound was. And so did Billie Jean.

We looked at each other with surprised eyes for half a second, and then the screaming started coming from the TV.

I didn't hesitate. I picked up my phone and called my boss while Billie Jean hopped up and ran to her rifle bag.

"Wall," he answered after the first ring.

I didn't have any time for preamble. "We need a cop car here right now to take us to an active shooting scene."

"Understood. Gear up and head downstairs. Wait behind the building for pickup. The less amount of people who see you load up, the better. We don't want anyone to panic and think you're the bad guys."

We hung up, and I joined Billie Jean as she got ready. She already had her bulletproof vest strapped on and was now double checking her rifle. She slid the magazine clip into place with an audible snap then headed toward the door.

I was right behind her, strapping on my bulletproof vest. I already had my holster on my waist, ready for my handgun. My rifle, scope, and handgun were still in my bag, but there was no time to delay. I could finish gearing up in the car.

By the time we made it down the elevator and out the back, there was already a police cruiser pulling up.

The cop parked, rolled down his passenger side window, and shouted, "Beasely and Anderson?"

Billie Jean gave him a mock salute as an answer and opened the passenger side door to slide in. I got in the back with my bag.

My door wasn't even shut when the officer took off, hauling ass out of the hotel's back lot with lights and sirens on.

I slid around a little on the seat as I took my stuff out of my bag, but it didn't keep me from getting ready. I chambered a round into my pistol, and then holstered my weapon. Next, I pulled out my rifle, checked her over, and then snapped the magazine clip full of .50 caliber bullets into place. As the cruiser burned rubber turning one corner after another, I pulled out the last item I needed. My spotter scope.

There was a long band I had attached to it years ago so I could wear it around my neck in case I needed to haul ass and didn't have time to put it away. That band came in handy right now as I hung the scope around my neck.

I kept watch on Billie Jean from out of the corner of my eye during our ride. I expected to find her fidgeting with nervous energy, but she was utterly calm, which impressed me. That was the sort of thing seasoned warriors were taught in the military and failed at it on a mission.

We blew through red lights and passed cars like an action movie. It wasn't long before the man was skidding tires once again. Only this time, he brought his car to a stop behind the 77th precinct. The cop hadn't asked us one question, but I imagined his mind was on the poor, innocent civilians being fired upon.

Jumping out of the vehicle, he shouted, "This way!" as we heard two more shots ring out.

The screams of the trapped civilians were loud from all the way back here.

We followed the cop inside as Billie Jean shouted at him, "Do you know where he's shooting from yet?"

"The shots have been determined to come from the southwest," the cop shouted back as we ran against the flow of cops pouring out of the precinct to go to the scene. We were the only ones running into the building. "The shooter is holed up down the street in a parking garage. We think the third floor. I'm taking you to the top floor so you have clear visual, ma'am. Those were my orders."

And damn good orders they were. I would have to thank Wall for making this as easy as possible.

Taking an elevator, we went up to the fifth floor. Then, just as a third shot rang out, the officer rushed us out and took us to an empty office room that faced the parking garage across the distance.

Billie Jean and I immediately cleared away some of the furniture from the window so we could get to it better. Using the butts of our rifles, we then broke out the glass from the window, making a hole for her to shoot through.

Once the glass was out of her way, she took up station at the window and looked through her gun's scope toward the parking garage. I took up position right next to her and pulled up my scouter scope to help find the suspect as the officer hovered behind us.

"What's the distance to the parking garage, Chase?"

"Fuck, that has to be over sixteen football fields in length. I think you're looking at about two thousand yards." I was starting to worry she couldn't take a shot from here, meaning we would need to move closer, something we didn't have time for. Instead, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her reach up and adjust her scope.

I was sort of surprised she was going to attempt the shot from here, but I wasn't going to say a word. My commander had said she was one of the best. That meant I had to have faith in her.

"Got 'em," Billie Jean suddenly said. "Verify the target, Chase. Third floor of the parking garage, hidden behind second cement pillar to the right."

I looked at that spot through my scope and found the target she had acquired. Dressed in dark clothing again, a ski mask on their face, and their rifle pointed toward the crowd.

"Contact. Shooter verified. Get in your final firing position."

She moved forward and positioned herself at the window frame as I turned my attention back to the officer. "You guys already have men surrounding the shooter's location?"

The officer nodded jerkily. "They're closing in. But if you can take the shot, you have clearance to do it."

Turning my attention back to Billie Jean, I found her with one leg balanced on the windowsill and her posture braced perfectly to take the shot. Looking down the barrel of her rifle, she once again used her scope to make visual contact with our shooter.

I was putting my scouter scope back up when three shots rang out, and I watched as a pregnant woman fell to the ground below us. I didn't bother pointing that out to Billie Jean. I needed all her concentration on our shooter.

My gut was churning again, though, just as it had in Afghanistan when Dalton had died. She was wide open at the window, and if the shooter happened to see her, they could easily take Billie Jean down. The hell I was going to let that happen.

I made a last-minute decision and pulled my own rifle around my body, positioning myself at the window to take a shot if I had to cover her.

"Fire when ready," I told her as I visually made contact through my rifle's scope.

I heard Billie Jean take three deep breaths, blowing out all the air in her lungs on the last breath, and then she fired.

The sound echoed throughout the room as the suppression battered our eardrums. The pain was worth it, though, to see that sniper's body jerk after being hit then disappearing from view.

"Hit!" I yelled.

The cop behind us crowed in delight, but Billie Jean and I kept our positions. The half wall in the parking garage and the cement pillar were blocking our view of the body. I wasn't going to take a chance of the killer still being mobile.

Billie Jean must have had the same thought because she murmured, "Keep visual, Chase."

"Got it."

We stayed there, the cop trying to talk to us, seconds ticking by as police sirens wailed from all around us outside the building. People were still screaming out in pain from being wounded. Children were crying for their mothers. First responders were shouting orders as the EMTs and ambulances arrived. All within a matter of minutes. They were the longest minutes of my life.

We were still standing there, looking through the scopes of our rifles, waiting for the officers to close in on the shooter's spot, when I saw movement out of the very corner of my scope to the right. Moving my field of vision over, I saw the smallest amount of ski mask popping up over the cement wall.

"Half an inch to your three o' clock. Fire when ready," I told Billie.

No sooner than I heard Billie make the subtle position change, I heard the crack of a shot. Except, it wasn't Billie Jean who had made the shot.

The window frame exploded in front of us, small, sharp projectiles of wood flying around us, and then Billie was firing her gun.

I watched through my scope as the bullet hit true this time, and a splash of red misted out from behind the shooter's head before their body dropped out of sight for the second time.

From behind us, the police officer's radio crackled, "I have visual that the suspect is down. I repeat, the suspect is down."

Billie Jean and I both lowered our rifles and looked at one another.

"Good job, Beasely. You are one bad bitch," I said with a half-smile.

"Thanks for having my back, Chase."

"Anytime, sweetheart, anytime at all."

Chapter

9

Billie Jean

My hands were shaking as I opened the hotel room door hours later.

This wasn't normal for me. I was used to being in highly intense situations, so what had made today different? I had come close to dying. Just a few inches up, and the other sniper's bullet would have missed the windowsill and hit me. A .50 caliber bullet can do a lot of damage. Even a hit to the leg can be powerful enough to knock a fist-sized hole in it. A shot like that could take out an artery, no problem.

As I walked into our hotel suite, I stared sightlessly at the floor, unsure about what I should do next. A million things were rolling through my mind. Such as the fact that I had never been in love. Never wanted to settle down with a man, or perhaps one day have a family. All the girlish fantasies I kept hidden inside sprang to life, and for some odd reason, Chase was the leading man in all of them. I could see myself walking down the aisle in a wedding dress toward him. See myself spending endless days and nights with this man by my side.

The thoughts were on a whole different level of crazy. I had only known him for a day. Regardless, there was just something about Chase that clicked with me. I didn't know what it was—soul mates, animal magnetism—but whatever it was, we had it in spades.

Just the knowledge of that sent my head spinning with possibilities, which only caused more confusion for me. The only thing I was sure of was that I was going to eventually crash from this adrenaline high and it was going to be a bitch.

"You okay, Billie Jean?"

Chase's voice coming from behind me sent a shiver down my body.

"I'm not sure," I answered, still looking down. "Part of me feels like I could run a marathon, and the other half wants to fall into bed and sleep for two days straight."

"Not shot at often?"

I shook my head. "Oh, I've been shot at. I've just never had one come that close."

I could hear Chase moving around behind me, setting his gear down as he said, "It's not so bad. You'll get used to the adrenaline rush. Not to mention, when it wears off, it'll be the best sleep of your life."

"I'm totally down for the sleeping part; what's bothering me is wanting to run a marathon. What the hell do I do with all this extra energy?"

The next thing I knew, his breath was fanning my ear as he said, "How about we take care of that together, sweetheart?"

My breath hitched in need. Or maybe it was surprise. Whatever it was, it only seemed to amp up my adrenaline even more. "How do you propose we do that?"

His large hands landed on my hips, and he pulled me back into his body so I could feel his hard length against my ass. "You're not the only one with a case of adrenaline rush. I say we go to bed and burn it off together. You want to make that a marathon, we can do that. Afterward, we can crash and sleep as long as you want, as long as you're doing it in my arms."

I swear my entire body was trembling from his words. Something inside me said this moment had been coming since I had first laid eyes on Chase Anderson. I just had no idea that the moment would come so fast. Not that I could make myself care that it had. I wanted him, and now I was going to have him. I could see the two of us so clearly in my head—him inside me, making me feel something much better than what I was feeling now.

"You're awfully quiet, sweetheart. You say the word and I'll pretend this conversation never happened. No pressure."

Feeling the overwhelming need to feel something good, I took a chance on that desire.

"And if I don't want to forget this conversation...?"

Chase slowly ran his nose up the side of my neck, inhaling my scent until his teeth were close enough to nip my earlobe. Then he whispered, "Then I'm going to take you over to that bed over there and fuck you until the only thing you're thinking about is me and how full I make you feel."

Turning my head slowly, I looked into his eyes from over my shoulder and said exactly what I wanted more than my next breath, "Make me feel good, Chase, until I think you're the best I've ever had. I want to erase this day with you."

He surprised me by scooping me up into his arms, and I had to hold in a girlish squeal.

"I promise you, sweetheart, I'll make sure I'm the best you've ever had and will have." He carried me to the bed where he gently set me down as if I was precious cargo.

Had a man ever made me feel precious? I didn't think so.

Standing to his full height, he rubbed a hand over his hard length that was still covered by his jeans as he looked me over from head to toe. "You're so fucking perfect. I don't know where to start."

Well now, I could help him out with that. I wasn't exactly a shy girl.

Letting a devious smile spread across my face, I slowly licked my bottom lip as I ran my hands slowly over my breasts, down my abdomen, and then over my throbbing core. "I think you should start by getting naked."

Chase smiled. "You like having a show put on for you, sweetheart?"

"Not until now. You're so damn fine, though. I want to watch you take those clothes off piece by piece until you're down to your bare skin. Then I'll finally know if you can fill out a banana hammock."

He laughed, already pulling his shirt off over his head.

As he threw it on the floor, he murmured, "Oh, I could fill one. I'd much rather fill you, though."

Bringing my hands up to the hem of my shirt, I peeled it up and over my head, letting it drop to the floor by the bedside. "So far, Mr. Anderson, you're all talk and no action."

Chase was toeing off his boots. "I'm about to give you so much action you'll never be the same."

"Pretty words..." I taunted him.

Of course I stopped when I saw him unbuttoning his pants.

As he pushed them slowly over his hips, along with his underwear, his long, hard length popped out of his pants, and my mouth went dry with want.

Damn, the man could totally fill a banana hammock, and then some.

After he pushed his pants down and off his legs, leaving them on the floor at his feet, he stood back up and grabbed his considerable length. "What do you think, sweetheart? Big enough for your pretty boy toy underwear?"

I nodded, unable to get any words out.

He kept rubbing his length as he ordered, "Take off those pants, pretty girl. I want you to show me what I'm about to taste for the first time."

Cocking an eyebrow, I gave him a mocking smile as I unzipped my pants. "Never licked pussy before? You poor, poor deprived man." There was something about Chase that made me want to be playful with him.

He threw his head back and laughed. "I meant, this is going to be my first taste of you, Billie Jean. And you can bet your pretty ass that it won't be my last."

This time, it was my turn to give the orders. "Well, hurry up and get to it, then!"

Chase reached forward, grabbed the waistband of my pants and started pulling them down, leaving my panties on. When I tried to shimmy out of them, he put his hand on my waist to stop me as he continued to pull my pants down my legs and off, throwing them to the side.

"Stay still, woman, and let the man do the work for once."

I laughed at his insinuation of me being a strong woman who refused to let men do things for me.

"What if I told you that I have this overwhelming belief that nobody can 'love' me like me?"

Before I knew what was about to happen, he lifted his hand up and brought it down, smacking me right on my pussy and making me gasp in surprise.

"Billie Jean, by the time I'm done with you, I'm not only going to be your lover, proving to you that I can be the one, but I'm also going to show you that no one can want you, fuck you, or 'love' you like I can, sweetheart. Now reach up, grab the bars of that headboard, and hang the fuck on, woman."

He gave me a hard stare until I followed his directions, wrapping my fingers around the metal railings of the bed frame. Then he dropped to his knees at the end of the bed, putting himself face level with the juncture of my legs.

I should have been embarrassed that he was looking at my soaked panties, but I wasn't. It only made me want him more.

Without another word, he grabbed ahold of my left leg, put his tongue on the sensitive skin behind my knee, and then licked his way up until his nose was brushing my core through my panties. He rubbed me like that for a few seconds, inhaling deep as if he couldn't get enough of my smell while licking the crease of where my thigh met my groin. Then he grabbed the other leg and did the same damn thing all over again. Except this time, when his nose reached my pussy, he didn't rub his nose against it again. No, he moved his mouth over me and licked me through the cotton.

"So fuckin' wet, sweetheart. I can't wait to feel all that warm heat surrounding me." Chase gave me another lick then another slap to my now overstimulated, sensitive pussy lips. "Are you safe, Billie Jean? You on the pill, baby?"

"The shot," I gasped out. "And I'm clean. You?"

Chase used the palm of his hand to rub the sting of his slap away, and I rolled my hips so I could put more pressure against the touch.

"I haven't slept with a woman in over a year; I have health exams every six months for my job; and I've never taken a woman without a condom in my life. I know it's a lot to ask, but you going to trust me on that and let me take you bare, sweetheart? I've never wanted to feel a woman surrounding me the way I want to feel you right now. I'll understand if you say no. I can run down to the closest gas station to get some condoms."

"You don't have any with you?" I wailed in despair.

He shook his head. "Didn't come on this mission to get laid, sweetheart."

For the love of everything that was holy, I could not wait for him to go buy condoms. I needed him right now.

"Then you'll get me right now," Chase rumbled in pleasure.

I blushed as I realized I had said that out loud. Not that I had a chance to dwell on that for long.

He grabbed me by my hips and pulled my center closer to his face. "Time to taste what's going to be mine."

The comment threw me for a loop, but Chase didn't exactly pause so I could ask him what he had meant by that. No, he tore my underwear at its sides, pulled the tatters off, and then threw them over his shoulder. Next thing I knew, he was diving in, giving me one long lick from the bottom of my pussy to the top.

I inhaled sharply at the feel of his smooth tongue running over my lips, going down, and then back up, covering every bit of me with his silky, smooth-talking organ. He licked me so much, twirling his tongue over my clit and dipping it inside me, that I felt an orgasm slowly building. One wild wave of pleasure crashed on top of another, until it was a tidal wave threatening to drown me in more than I thought I could handle.

"God, Chase... Please, I'm so fuckin' close. I need to come."

He put his hand on my lower abdomen, stopping me from continuing to roll my hips as I tried to get more friction against his tongue. What I couldn't see, but felt a few seconds later, were two fingers sliding into my depths.

He rubbed up and down, wiggling his fingers, until he found that spot deep inside of me that drove me wild. Once he found it, he didn't let it go, rubbing over the sensitive bundle of nerves until I was peaking the top of that tidal wave, crying out his name in ecstasy.

Once my inner walls stopped pulsating around him, he pulled his fingers out and licked them clean as I watched. It made me want to lick pieces of him, too.

I found the strength to move my spaghetti-feeling limbs, positioning myself on my hands and knees, nose to nose with him. Then I kissed him, savoring my taste on his lips.

We kissed deeply, exploring each other until I was burning for him again. Except, I wasn't ready for him to take me yet. It was my turn to play.

Pulling back from his kiss, I looked him in the eye and took my time to order him to, "Stand up."

The flush that spread across his cheeks and the lust in his eyes told me he knew exactly what I planned to do as he slowly got to his feet and stood in front of me, his cock only an inch from my face.

I leaned forward and licked the tip, relishing the sound of his hiss at the touch. I then licked his length up and down until I had tasted every inch of him, and then I swallowed him whole. No working up to it, just a straight deep throat. It wasn't easy, but as I listened to him cuss and moan, it was worth every bit of my struggle.

Moving my mouth over him, pulling back and then rushing forward again, I sucked him off. I could tell it was driving Chase wild by the way he fisted my hair in one hand and started thrusting.

I was working him up to a fever pitch, positive he was going to come down my throat, when he used my hair to pull my eager mouth off him.

"Fuck, I think I'm in love with that mouth of yours, but the first time I come is not going to be in your mouth. Get on your back, sweetheart."

I quickly flipped over and spread my legs wide, ready for him.

As he positioned himself between my legs, wrapping them around his waist as he put the tip of his cock to the mouth of my pussy, I told him, "Time to put up or shut up, Chase. Let's see who can love me better: you or me."

With that challenge issued, he surged forward, filling me more than any man had ever filled me before. I was literally full to bursting, edging on that thin line between pleasure and pain, and loving every minute of it.

He kissed me deeply as he slowly rocked out of me, only to plow his way back in, using slow strokes that were still strong enough to shake the whole bed. It was the most amazing thing I had ever felt while having sex.

Within minutes of having Chase inside of me, repeatedly filling me, I started to wonder if this man was going to ruin me for all others. At the moment, my girly parts were sure as shit inclined to agree with that assessment.

"Am I filling you up, sweetheart? Stretching that tight, little pussy to its limits?"

"Hell yes, you are, studmuffin!"

Chase paused his thrusting. "Studmuffin?"

"I could have called you Mr. Dickopolis, so quit your bitchin' and get movin' again, dammit!"

Chase snorted a laugh as he leaned down to kiss me again, thrusting back inside my body. After that, he picked up the pace until he was all but jackhammering into me in the most delicious way.

The man was better than any vibrator I had ever owned, not that I would admit that anytime soon. The only head of his I wanted getting bigger at the moment was the one rocking my world, one thrust at a time.

It didn't take long before I was on the precipice of an orgasm again. Damn, the man knew how to use his dick to make me feel good. Hell, better than good. This was fucking bliss in every sense of the word.

And as he buried himself into me again and again, I let that overwhelming tidal wave crash over me for a second time. I squeezed him with the contractions of my spasming pussy wrapped tightly around him, crying out in pleasure as Chase started grunting. I knew he was close to orgasm himself.

My legs were shaking uncontrollably, and I was scratching his back so hard he would have marks for at least a week.

After several more thrusts, Chase abruptly stopped, slamming into me one last time as he bellowed his release. The warmth of his seed filled me, which was a first for me since I had never slept with a man without a condom.

Something deep inside of me loved that he was filling me up this way.

The thought scared me a little. Or, at least it would have if I wasn't passing out from an epic adrenaline crash. Apparently, one too many orgasms was as good as taking a sleeping pill.

As Chase rolled to his side, keeping himself locked inside of me, my eyes started to close. There was no way I could have made them stay open a second longer.

Chase

Hours later, after Billie Jean and I had taken a short nap, I was lying on my back, in the middle of the bed, with my feet hanging off the side, using her stomach as a pillow, quietly trying to process about a dozen emotions.

Desire. Attraction. Lust.

To the bottom of my soul, I was shaken. There was something about this woman that got to me like that. And after what had just happened between us, there was no way in hell I ever wanted to let her go.

Suddenly, my comfortable pillow was gone as she moved so that her face was hanging over mine upside down. Billie Jean watched me silently for a few moments, then she stroked her fingers through my beard.

"You have some ginger highlights in your beard. Does that mean you're also sort of a feisty redhead?"

Grabbing her face gently between my hands, I brought her attention to my eyes as I told her the truth. "Something tells me, I'd be just about whatever you wanted me to be as long as I get to keep you in the bargain."

"Such a sweet talker," she playfully crooned back. "What if I told you I don't want your pretty words?"

"Then what do you want?"

"I want you to shut up and kiss me."

Tightening my grip on her face just enough to bring it down to my own, I kissed her, upside down, full of tongue and teeth, until we were both breathless. Then I flipped myself over until I was on my stomach, facing her head-on.

I started crawling toward her as she backed up until she was lying on her back. Making my way over her body, I caged her arms and legs with my own and brought my face down to hers, kissing her again until we were panting for each other.

When I pulled back to take a deep breath, she did the same and said, "I didn't realize you were good at following directions."

"Not always," I murmured back. "But I'd follow yours any day, sweetheart. What do you want me to do now?"

Billie Jean nibbled on her bottom lip in almost a shy way that made something inside of me melt for her. Then she said the words that would change our lives forever.

"I want you to fuck me stupid."

The woman was perfect. I was never going to let her go.

Billie Jean

I woke up from taking a nap after the best sex of my life to find Chase getting dressed.

My stomach dropped, and my heart did a little squeeze of pain. Was he leaving me? Had this just been a "one and done" situation for him?

"Where are you going?" I asked him softly.

He was buttoning up a light green shirt that matched his surfer boy appearance and made his green eyes stand out drastically in his handsome face.

"Going to get us some fuel, sweetheart. Then we can fuck again."

I couldn't help laughing at his blunt man logic.

It helped cover up the immense relief I felt that our time together hadn't been a "one and done" for him. I had a feeling he was going to be so much more to me than a one-night stand.

The emotions rolling through me left me with only one burning question in my mind.

Is this how my dad felt when he met my mom?

Chapter

10

Billie Jean

One month later...

I was sitting at a high-top pub table along the far wall, catty-corner from the bar, waiting for Chase to show up for our date, when a special report came across the television.

"Diana Chung here, reporting from the memorial service for the victims of the NYPD Sniper Case. As you can see, the streets are lined with supporters as most of the active duty New York police officers, joined by many of their retired officers, march down the street in silent commemoration for their fallen comrades and the innocent civilians who lost their lives.

"While the procession is making their way to the cemetery, I would like to summarize what we've learned about the NYPD Sniper Shootings.

"After the suspect was shot and killed during the last shooting, when four civilians were killed and another nine injured, we learned the shooter was none other than Rebecca McGillis.

"The community was shocked to learn that a middle-aged woman was the sniper, and they were very vocal in their beliefs that it must be some sort of mistake. However, after law enforcement secured her apartment and catalogued all the evidence found there, the new police chief, Richard Black, made a public statement about Ms. McGillis."

The reporter took a deep breath as she looked at the clipboard in her hand, preparing to read from it, then continued, "And I quote, 'Rebecca McGillis was a disgruntled rejected applicant of the NYPD. After being discharged from the Army, she applied to the NYPD's SWAT team and was denied due to her psychological exam. She leaves behind a brother who wishes not to be named and who has been cleared from our investigation."

The cameraman then showed the procession getting closer to Diana Chung's location as she carried on with her report. "Needless to say, the whole country is reeling in shock over the events that took place here in what's often considered 'the greatest city in the world.' " She turned her head to look at the procession of mourners, and then turned her body to the side so the cameraman could have a clear view. "Here comes the procession now. They'll pass us and head..."

"You did a good job that day, Beasely," a masculine voice spoke off to my left, damn near making me fall off my barstool.

I looked over to see two men standing there, staring at me.

"How the fuck do you know my name?"

The use of my potty mouth didn't seem to put them off like it did a lot of men. Instead, they both smiled at me.

The one closest to me had sapphire blue eyes and dirty blond hair peeking out from underneath his cowboy hat. I would guess him at over six feet tall, and he had a lean, muscular build. There was something in those sapphire eyes of his, though, that made me wary. He didn't seem like a dude anyone should mess with.

It was a good thing I wasn't just anyone.

I was Billie Jean fucking Beasely.

As Chase liked to put it, I was one bad bitch. That meant I didn't like it when strangers walked up knowing my name. It reminded me too much of that Parker Black incident on Chase's cell phone.

The cowboy stuck his hand out to shake, and when I reluctantly took it, he introduced himself. "Name is Cash Garrison." He pointed at the man beside him, who had brown eyes, brown hair, with a shorter and stockier build, and a dimple in his chin. "This is Roman Hart. We work together at Titan. I think you might've heard that name by now."

I couldn't help it; my eyebrows shot up to my hairline in surprise. "Yeah, I've heard of Titan. What I want to know is: how do you know I've heard of Titan? You bug my underwear or some shit, buddy? Or perhaps Parker Black has loose lips."

Cash narrowed his eyes at me in warning. "No one at Titan has loose lips, darlin'. We are good at sharing information with each other, though. Like the way Parker kept a pulse point on the situation in New York. He said you and Anderson did some damn good work there."

I wasn't going to preen like some puffed up peacock or anything, but I wouldn't deny a job well done, either.

Shrugging my shoulders, I said, "Anderson and I did our jobs."

Cash's friend, Roman, scoffed a laugh. "A good job? From what we hear, you took out that sniper at two thousand yards. I know men in the service who can't make that shot."

I gave him a wink. "That's because they're not me."

Just then, a very irritated Chase Anderson stormed over to my table with a strangled bouquet of bluebonnets in his hand.

With a jerk of his head, he asked, "Are these clowns bothering you?"

I cocked my head to the side. "And if they were, lover?"

A smile spread across his face. "I'd ask why the fuck you haven't taken care of them yet."

I couldn't help laughing.

"We can't take them out, Chase," I told him when I finally stopped laughing. "They're with Titan. Or, so they say."

Chase gave them a hard look. "You know Black?"

The stocky one named Hart nodded. "Yeah."

"Good. Tell him I'll be at next month's tech convention. Now you can get the fuck out of here; we're on a date."

Cash crossed his arms. "Maybe we came here to ask Billie Jean if she wanted to join Titan."

With the hand holding the bouquet of flowers, Chase pointed a finger in Cash's face. "No. Hell no... Fuck no even. Stay away from my woman."

Hart held his hands up in surrender before he grabbed Cash's shoulder. "Let's go, man. It was worth a try."

Cash gave me one last smile and a wink. "Your godfather knows how to get in touch with us if you want to join Titan. See ya later, darlin'."

With that, the two men left, and I sat there, staring at the poor wilting bluebonnets.

It had been a hell of a mission. But I didn't want to waste a second on Titan, on jobs, my godfather, or anything else. I just wanted a date with my man, Chase Anderson.

Never thought I would be the kind of woman hung up on a man, but the bearded man in front of me was my one.

"Are those for me?"

It was as if he had forgotten he was holding them. A small blush spread across his cheeks as he held them out to me. "I heard these were your favorite. I hope you like them, sweetheart."

Standing up, I stepped closer to Chase and kissed him on the lips. "Thank you, Chase. Does this mean I'm getting lucky tonight?"

He sighed in exasperation. "Damn, woman, I'm starting to think you only want me for my body."

"It is a nice body." I couldn't help teasing him just a little more.

Chase puffed up his chest and flexed an arm. "I'm so glad you noticed. I work out, you know."

"Does this mean you'll shoot my gun for me in nothing but a banana hammock?"

"Oh, hell no!"

I gave a mock sigh. "I guess that means I can't model that new bikini for you at the indoor range."

"Dammit! But I brought you bluebonnets to butter you up, woman."

I laughed. "Guess next time you better bring me my favorite bullets along with the bluebonnets."

Epilogue

Chase

Six months later...

Once again, for the second time in less than a year, I had been summoned alone to my commander's office.

I supposed there could be a chance that he would send me out on a mission again without the team, but somehow, I doubted that. In fact, I was pretty sure I was here because Billie Jean's father had given him some news.

Knocking on Wall's door, I waited for his gruff order to "Come in," and then walked through.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" I asked him nonchalantly, as if I didn't have a clue in the world as to why I was here.

"Have a seat, Anderson. We need to talk."

I sat in the chair in front of his desk as I watched the muscles in his tense jaw flex.

"Something wrong, Commander?"

"You asked Billie Jean's father for his permission to marry her," he said in an accusatory tone.

Jesus, he made it sound like I had stolen all her money and ran off on her in the middle of the night.

If I had thought talking to the father about marrying Billie Jean had been hard, I had obviously underestimated Wall's feelings for his goddaughter. It looked like he wanted to hang me from the ceiling by my nuts.

In the calmest tone I could muster, I replied, "I did, boss. Thought perhaps you might be a little happier about that."

"Happy!" Wall shouted. "Why the fuck would I be happy about that?"

Leaning forward, I braced my arms on his desk and looked him dead in the eye. "You can be happy about it because you'll know that, if she says yes, Billie Jean will have a man who loves her for the rest of her life. A man who appreciates the woman she is, from her bullets to her bluebonnets. You'll also know that she has a man who wants her to walk by his side, and not in his footsteps."

This time, it was Wall who leaned forward. "You're a good man, Anderson, but I need to know that you're going to protect her from everything. She's going to make enemies working for Ex Ops, and I want to know that you're willing to stand in front of her to protect her when the time comes that those enemies come after her."

I shook my head. The man just didn't get how much I loved his goddaughter.

"I'll stand in front of Billie Jean to be her shield, as she uses my shoulder as a prop for her rifle so she can shoot her own damn enemies. And I would do that instead of taking them out myself because I know she wouldn't want it any other way."

The harsh lines of Wall's face melted into a small grin as he silently nodded. "It's good to know you understand her that completely. I just want her to be happy, and if being with you is what makes her happy, I can accept that."

Unable to stop the smile from spreading across my face, I risked my life to ask him one last question. "Does this mean I can call you Uncle Jax now, too?"

"Don't make me shoot you, Anderson."

Note From The Author

Thank you for reading Bullets and Bluebonnets! You're the absolute best for giving little ol' me a chance. For every Indie Author you read, somewhere out there a fairy gets its wings! Okay, maybe not, but it still seems pretty magical.

For those of you wondering if Declan and the rest of the guys will ever get their story, the answer to that question is YES. It will be a while before you see them, but I promise that I will write them one day. Please forgive the delay that will be in between books as my muse has chosen to go in a different direction at the moment. Hopefully you won't give into the urge to strangle me for that. *wink wink*

I hope you enjoyed reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you did, please consider leaving a review at your favorite online retailers or review websites such as Goodreads. These are great ways to help spread the word about books to readers who have yet to discover them.

Happy reading!

Jessie Lane
About the Author

Jessie Lane is a best-selling author of Paranormal and Contemporary Romance, as well as, Upper YA Paranormal Romance/Fantasy. She lives in Kentucky with her two little Rock Chicks in-the-making and her over-protective alpha husband, who she's pretty sure is a latent grizzly bear shifter. She has a passionate love for reading and writing naughty romance, cliff hanging suspense, and out-of-this-world characters that demand your attention, or threaten to slap you around until you do pay attention to them.

For more information on Jessie Lane:

<http://jessielanebooks.com/>

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Titan World

A message from Cristin Harber, New York Times and USA Today bestselling romance author of the Titan Series: I am excited to announce the Titan World stories! From military romance and romantic suspense to contemporary romance and paranormal, a few of my favorite authors have jumped head first into our heart-pounding world and penned their stories with Titan twists. You will see familiar characters from popular, bestselling series as they collide in fantastic collaborations! Plus I'm excited to introduce two debut authors who you may already know if you are familiar with all things Team Titan. Please join me in welcoming the Titan World authors: Claudia Connor, Gennita Low, Jessie Lane, M. L. Buchman, Megan Mitcham, Sharon Kay, Karyn Lawrence (aka Nikki Sloane), Amber Addison, Anna Bishop Barker, and Tarina Deaton.

Complete list of Titan World Stories:

Flightpath by Amber Addison

Grab more info on the Author's Website HERE.

Going Under by Anna Bishop Barker

Grab more info on the Author's Website HERE.

Where I Belong by Claudia Connor

Grab more info on the Author's Website HERE.

Edge of Temptation by Gennita Low

Grab more info on the Author's Website HERE.

Bullets and Bluebonnets by Jessie Lane

Grab more info on the Author's Website HERE.

Downtime by Karyn Lawrence/Nikki Sloane

Grab more info on the Author's Website HERE.

Target of Mine by M.L. Buchman

Grab more info on the Author's Website HERE.

Never Mine by Megan Mitcham

Grab more info on the Author's Website HERE.

Twisted Desire by Sharon Kay

Grab more info on the Author's Website HERE.

Rescued Heart by Tarina Deaton

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Discover the series that inspired the World!

AUTHOR: Cristin Harber

TITLES: (listed in series order)

Winter's Heat | Garrison's Creed | Westin's Chase | Gambled | Chased | Savage Secrets | Hart Attack | Black Dawn | Sweet One | Live Wire | Bishop's Queen | Déjà Vu

WEBSITE: <http://cristinharber.com/>
