Free CROSSFIRE by Jenna Mills Page A

practiced." He looked at the Derringer in her hand. The sight of her long fingers curled around the weapon disturbed him, but nowhere near as mud as the knowledge of what would happen if she had no means of protecting herself. "I won't be long."
    Rather than turning away, like he expected, she pushed up on her toes and lifted a hand to his face. He braced for the feel of her touch, of cool fingers feathering against his jaw of her mouth pressed to his, open and seeking. But instead she narrowed her eyes and moved in with fingernails. "What the—"
    "Glass," she said blithely, easing back to reveal the jagged shard of the airshield now in her palm. "It looked painful."
    She had no idea what pain was. Grimacing, he brought his own hand to his face and felt the rush of fresh blood mixing with whiskers. "Not another word," he said, motioning for her to sink into the underbrush.
    Surprisingly she did.
    Off to the west, the sun edged toward the tops of the mountains, indicating the beginning of the end. Only a few hours of sunlight remained, and with the vanishing light, the warmth of the day would drain away, as well. Nighttime in the mountains could be brutal, particularly this time of year.
    Abruptly he shrugged out of his well-worn bomber jacket and dropped it around her shoulders. "I'll be back before you have time to miss me."
    "I'm holding you to that," she said quietly.
    The promise blasted through him, triggering the ridiculous impulse to pull her to him and finish off some of those nasty loose ends. But just because he was willing to walk through the fire didn't mean he wasn't cautious. Or smart. Elizabeth Carrington would neither miss him upon his departure, nor hold him upon his return.
    He turned from her before he did something he'd regret and strode through the thicket of pine, pausing several feet away to turn back and inspect her hiding place. Hazy sunlight slanted through needles of pine, creating an otherworldly feel to the forest. The air was cooler here, damper. Sound more compressed. She would be able to hear the enemy long before they could see her. She would be ready. She would be safe.
    And yet, walking away from her, leaving her alone in the dense undergrowth, with a gun in her hand, resolve in her eyes and bloodthirsty criminals on the prowl, was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. Despite the past.
    Despite the present.
    Despite everything.
    The reality of that ground deep. He'd made a vow that cold, rainy night two years before. That night when she'd stood warm and cozy and dry in her chic little black dress, watching two security guards drag him through the drizzle.
    Elizabeth , don't do this. We need to talk!
    Self-respect was not something he'd come by easily, but never again would he let anyone slash at the threads he'd meticulously woven together. Never again let anyone rattle his sense of purpose. And that included now. There would be no more reckless kisses, no more memories, no more impossible fantasies. Just because she fired his blood didn't mean anything had changed. He was only human, after all, and with her tall, willowy frame, that silky sable hair and those wide eyes, she was a striking woman. His response to her was perfectly normal and purely physical.
    Nothing more.
    A chill permeated the pine forest, oozing up from the damp floor and whispering around the massive tree trunks. His shoulder ached more than usual, reminding him of the time in Portugal, when he'd come obscenely close to meeting his maker. The sniper's bullet had penetrated a crease in his flack jacket, ripping through muscle before exiting his body. For a few blinding seconds, he'd seen nothing but scalding white light.
    And thought of Elizabeth.
    Hawk stopped abruptly, but the memory kept coming. He'd been taken to a hospital, where upon his return to consciousness, he'd found Ambassador Peter Carrington sitting by his bed. The older man had flown to Portugal the second he'd learned of the shooting. He'd stayed with