Free Garrison's Creed (Titan) by Cristin Harber Page A

your woman card or something? You don’t want to shop?”
    “I don’t want to—”
    “Look at it this way: I still need time to cool down. You don’t want me to pop your buddy, do you?”
    “You’re calm, Cash. Cool-collected-Cash. It took you about fifteen seconds to power down to lazy cowboy.”
    “Lazy?” Nothing about this morning had been lazy.
    She laughed and tossed her hair over her shoulder. It looked as soft as he remembered. Her laugh warmed him from the inside, as if they were sitting fireside under the covers.
    “You know what I mean. Chilled out, nothing’s ever wrong,” she said. “But seriously, we need to head back soon.”
    “Relax, Nic. Dude will be there when we get back, and if we’re running late, well, they can’t leave without us.”
    Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up at the Galleria. It was everything he wanted, though he didn’t know why he cared. Signing up for a shopping trip would be classified as out of character. Hell, maybe he did know why. Taking care of her wasn’t out of character, even if he was years out of practice. It once topped his list of favorite activities, and what a list that was…
    She parked and waltzed in, not noticing anyone noticing her. She rocked his sweatpants and gym shirt, making them the sexiest things he’d ever seen. Even barefoot with a limp, the woman carried her head high, walking straight into the hoity-toity store.
    Catching the raised eyebrows of sales clerks as he followed Nicola in, Cash gave them I-see-you-watching-me waves of his hand. No doubt, he was a sight to see. Black eyes. Swollen lip. Gun holstered on his hip. Sure as Kathy Lee and Hoda were about their Wednesday wine selections, he knew they flavored the water cooler gossip with a shot of, “oh my god, did you see that?”
    Nicola bee-lined it for the shoe department, and he trailed behind, watching the tsunami effect of her presence. Nicola grabbed a pair of overstuffed, pink bunny slippers, walked over to the clerk and said, “I need these now. I’ll be back for different shoes in a minute.” She looked over her shoulder, pointed, and smiled. “And that beauty of a man over there plans on paying.”
    That he did. He smiled his split lip. It stung as the fresh scab ripped open. She could have called him a lot worse than a beauty.
    ***
    Decent shoes and a well-fitting outfit did more for Nicola’s mental state than she cared to admit. Cash glancing sideways a couple times to check her out was even more of a boost. Problem was, giggling like a school girl didn’t fit the persona she’d created at the CIA. Nope. Those who knew Nicola thought she was married to the job and needed to get out more. At least she assumed that’s what they thought.
    Leaving the mall and heading to the airport was easy. Overthinking what Cash and Roman would say and do—that was a headache.
    Not a lot of women did the whole intel operative routine, and fewer did it out in the field. Men assumed she played the game for a rush and that they’d swoop in to save the day just like Cash did, though, true enough, she had needed a hand in the Main Street rumble. Barroom brawls, even in broad daylight, weren’t her forte. She might be tall and strong, but she wasn’t oblivious to her physical limitations. There was a difference between knowing what might bring you down and being strong enough to say, “Fuck it. Let’s try anyway.”
    Cash wasn’t keen on her doing field work. She could tell. He hadn’t said it word for word, but she got the gist. Every time his eyebrows hit his hair line, she translated it to, “Nicola, go home and watch Jeopardy !” Roman would be even worse. He didn’t like her to take out the trash at night. Well, ten years ago, he didn’t.
    They breezed onto the private airstrip, sidled up to the plane, then Cash gave her a look. She foresaw an intervention in her future.
    Nicola made a point to walk up the staircase in front of Cash. Roman and Rocco were already on