Free Garrison's Creed (Titan) by Cristin Harber

job.”
    “Why’s the CIA burning up the wires, trying to nail a commitment out of me? For something I know nothing about?”
    “Last night… we had an unexpected complication.”
    “Last night, you three stumbled upon a compromised female operative and wanted to play hero? That’s not a complication. That’s you boys getting ready to fucking sword fight over some pussy.”
    “Watch yourself, boss man.”
    “You—”
    “She’s Roman’s dead sister. My dead… ex. But the girl ain’t dead. So, like I said. Complicated.”
    Mark this one down in the record books. Crystal clear phone clarity and Mister Big Bad Balls was radio silent.
    Which lasted less time than it took to order a Big Mac, but it was still a record. “Fine. Complicated. I need updates on all complications.” He paused, clearly working something out in his head. “CIA knows about you two?”
    He looked at Nicola. “Does your handler know about me and Roman?”
    She shook her head. Cash went back to Jared. “Nope.”
    “And where’s her extraction team?”
    “Near dead at our safe house with Roman and Rocco.”
    “Because?”
    “We may or may not be dealing with a double agent.”
    “Goddamn it, Cash. I’ll hit you back.” And the line went dead.
    As convos with Jared go, that was smooth and productive. Nicola was driving laps around the sprawling upper-middle class neighborhood. Cash needed to make sure he saw the forest, away from the one big tree in the driver’s seat he kept focusing on.
    Before he could say anything to her, his phone rang. Jared. Again. That was fast.
    “Yeah?” Cash said.
    “Private airstrip about an hour from your safe house. A Titan jet will be there in three hours. You boys are headed to Langley with your three friends.”
    “Not exactly going to be a friendly ride back with two of my three friends.”
    “If you’ve got what you think you’ve got, I don’t care if they ride home in black hoods and hog tied. As long as they make it back alive. The Farm will handle their own. Have no doubt.”
    He didn’t either. They water boarded the way some offices doled out demerit write-ups.
    “Got ya.” Cash clicked off the phone, and looked at Nicola. “Looks like your favor is granted. Titan style. We’re jetting it back, babe. All six of us.”
    “Great. Two guys I can’t take my eyes off of in one plane.”

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    If Cash hadn’t been seated in the passenger seat of the Range Rover, he’d have fallen on his derrière. His face must have read like a billboard. Either that, or she could see that his stomach jumped into his throat, and he’d lost his breath for the teeniest of seconds.
    “Sorry. Just messing with you,” she said.
    She’d said sorry, but she didn’t look repentant as she maneuvered around another turn. Nah, not sorry by an inch. Can’t keep her eyes off me? He mumbled something incoherent, trying to mask that she was under his skin.
    “Look, I need to get some clothes. Do we have time before we’re wheels up?”
    Why was it endearing when she said ‘wheels up’ like one of the guys instead of some boring civilian verbiage like take off ? No, her jargon slinging shouldn’t be endearing. It was a warning with bright flashing lights. She’d seen too much, done too much, and didn’t have someone like him or Roman to tell her to keep her butt safe.
    He nodded, not ready to jump into that argument. “We got time. Not a lot. But enough.”
    “Good. Fire up that GPS, and show me the closest Walmart.”
    “Can do.” He paged through the list of shopping centers and saw Midland Galleria. Anything galleria had to be nice, right? “Let’s go here.” He selected their destination, and the direction-wielding lady in the GPS scolded them to make a U-turn at the nearest intersection.
    “That’s not Walmart. I need quick, cheap, throwaway clothes.”
    “Come on. We have some time. Let’s explore.”
    “We should shop and get back to the safe house.”
    “You turn in