Beg For Me by Sierra Cartwright

Chapter Eight

Pain shredded through Mira, glazing her vision and throwing waves of nausea through her. But they did nothing to stop her determination.

With focus borne from months of relentless training, she shoved aside survival instinct and put all of her kinetic energy into taking the brunette down. Blood dripped everywhere, and her upper arm burned, but Mira fought through it to pin the frantically struggling would-be murderer. “Fucking stay down,” Mira warned.

It took forever, but it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, before Torin’s reassuring voice penetrated her brain.

“It’s okay, mo shearc. Laurents is here. We’ve got her. You can let go.”

Her arms shook as she pushed herself off the brunette. She collapsed instantly, the adrenaline no longer supporting her.

She rolled onto her back, panting, not able to draw a breath.

“Take care of Araceli.”

That was a woman’s voice. Inamorata? Mira blinked, staring at the ceiling, unable to see anything. Panic unfurled in the pit of her stomach.

Torin stroked her forehead. She had no doubt it was him. No one else’s touch reassured her like that.

“Hang tough, Araceli. An ambulance is on the way.”

She tried to nod, and fresh pain rocketed her. “Sinclair?”

“Safe. Back at his hotel, no doubt.”

“And the brunette?”

“You got her. Good job, Araceli.” When he spoke again, his voice cracked. “Fucking exceptional.”

Over the radio, Barstow spoke, his words breathless. “The unidentified blond male is on the move. Now out the back door. I’m in pursuit.”

She pushed out a breath. “He’s going to get away.” All the man had to do was dodge into a bar, then out the rear entrance. “Goddamn it.”

“The brunette is in custody,” Torin reassured her. “We’ll figure out the rest.”

That wasn’t good enough. They needed the blond man as well.

The frustration smacked up against her pain. Then her world went black.

When she was able to open her eyes again, the room spun. It took her long seconds to realize she was strapped onto a stretcher in the hotel ballroom. An IV drip ran into a vein, and Torin stood next to her, his jaw set in a brooding, frightening line.

“You scared the shit out of me, Araceli.”

Her too.

Activity buzzed around her. New Orleans’s finest officers were taking statements from those who’d been close enough to witness the events.

“We’re going to need a statement,” one of the policemen said.

“It can wait,” Torin snapped.

“Sir—”

“Take it up the with the mayor if you need to. She’s not talking to you until she’s been seen by a doctor.”

“But—”

Torin snarled. “Back off, Officer.”

Inamorata showed up, as if by magic. “Our man, Laurents, saw the whole thing. I suggest you interview him.”

Her words were a command, not a suggestion. No doubt she would call the mayor if necessary.

While their boss was occupied with the police, Torin took her hand.

Lines of anguish were trenched between his eyebrows.

“I’ll be okay,” she whispered. If it had been him who had been injured, how would she have reacted?

Their jobs came with risk, and they accepted that. In the lobby at Hawkeye’s main headquarters near Denver, there was a glass wall etched with names of their compatriots who’d died in the line of duty. It was impossible to enter the offices or command center without walking past the silent, stark reminder of the danger every agent faced.

But what would she do if things had been reversed tonight?

Damn it. She loved him.

“We need to get her to the hospital,” one of the paramedics said.

“I’m riding along,” Torin said, voice holding no compromise.

“Nice work, Araceli,” Inamorata said.

“Except for the part where she got shot,” Torin countered.

Inamorata ignored him. “A commendation will go in your file.”

“It was my job. Following my training.” It was no small feat to teach someone to move toward danger instead of fleeing from it. “I had a good commander.” She glanced at Torin. He didn’t smile. In fact, his blue eyes chilled, reminding her of a glacier. The earlier concern had vanished. Now he was as remote as he had been when she was his student at Aiken.

The paramedics wheeled her from the ballroom, with Inamorata and Torin flanking the stretcher. “I want to exit through the rear entrance.” She didn’t want to be a focus or a spectacle.

Inamorata and Torin flanked the stretcher. “Already arranged,” Inamorata assured her.

Outside, Torin climbed into the ambulance alongside her.

“Commander Carter…”

His gaze was remote, and he didn’t touch her. “We’ll talk later.”

She pressed her lips together. For the first time since her mother’s death, tears threatened.

Something had happened in the ballroom, something she could never undo. It changed what was between them. “We—”

“Later, Araceli.”

Her heart fractured at the harsh coldness in his tone.

* * *

“Barstow got his man,”Inamorata said.

“Good.” Normally, Torin would care. This morning, however, his thoughts were consumed with Araceli.

“Neither he nor the brunette are saying much. They lawyered up.” She shrugged. “It’s a job for the police now.”

An uncomfortable silence hung between them. Narrowing his eyes, Torin stared across the kitchen table at his boss. Five minutes ago, she’d arrived at the carriage house, just as he was ready to leave for the hospital. “There’s something you’re not saying.”

“I’m sending Araceli home.”

“Home?”

“As in, we’ve placed her on medical leave. She needs to rest, and she isn’t going to do it here. She’ll want to work, and you know it.”

Fuck.

“Hawkeye will be giving her a commendation. She did well.”

He pushed back from the table to stalked the length of the living area. He stopped in front of a window and stared out, unseeingly “She got shot.” I could have lost her. Though Mira hadn’t required surgery, she faced weeks, if not months, of rehab before she could return to duty.

“You’ll have a new partner in a couple of days, three at the most.”

“What?” Barely restraining his sudden anger, he pivoted. “I need to be with her.”

“That’s not possible. With the Memorial Day weekend coming up, we need all the coverage that we can have.”

“You’re not separating us.”

She raised one of her eyebrows. “Something I need to know, Commander Cater?”

Damnation. Was there? Love. Shit. He’d fallen in love with Araceli. He hadn’t meant to fall in love with her. But from the beginning, there’d been an undeniable sexual attraction. She’d been too damn young, too innocent, and his student.

And now…?

She was a perfect sub. Still with something to prove.

“Is it possible you need some time, also?”

He snarled at his boss and fought for control over his fraying temper.

Mindless of the danger, much like Araceli, Inamorata continued. “After Ekaterina—”

“I’m warning you, Inamorata. Don’t go there.” A red haze blurred his vision.

“No?” She folded her arms over her cream-colored blazer. “How did you sleep last night?”

Unconsciously, he scrubbed a hand across his face.

More gently, she asked, “Did you sleep?”

He didn’t need to answer.

The nightmare had been garish. But the reality of not knowing whether Mira was dead or alive—even for a few seconds—had been a thousand times more brutal. Blood was everywhere. And he’d stood there, paralyzed. Laurents pushed past Torin, and it had taken that jolt to make him move.

Now there were harsh truths to face.

“Risk is a hazard of the job. This is for Araceli’s benefit. And yours. We need you, Commander, back at Aiken, but we need the best version of you that’s possible. You’re compromised…lost your edge.”

She’d seen him freeze.

Inamorata was right.

Goddamn it to hell.

Ironic. When Araceli reported for training three years ago, he’d been concerned about her. In the end, he’d been the one to fail.

Inamorata stood. “One of our associates will be by in about an hour to collect her belongings.”

“I’ll pack them.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I said I’ll do it.” After she left, he slammed the door so hard it rattled in its casing.

Torin had always believed he was incapable of love and that his heart couldn’t shatter. He was wrong.