Free Mercy by HelenKay Dimon

lack of control pissed him off. Made him long to hate her.
    Maybe hearing whatever tale she wanted to sell him would restoke his rage. He didn’t even bother to pull up his pants. He just lay there, bare assed with his pants shoved down to his upper thighs. Ready to laugh off whatever bullshit line she planned to feed him.
    “I’m listening,” he said as he forced his mind off her body and back to her lying words.
    “This isn’t a secret.” Her hair drifted over her shoulder. “I need somewhere to hide while I figure this out.”
    “So, I’m your landlord and we’re trading sex for rent.” He should want that, demand it even. Yet he hated the thought of being used by her for nothing more than a release and a roof.
    She clenched the pillow tighter against her bare chest. “I didn’t say that.”
    “While I admit I don’t know you—you proved that eight months ago—I did learn something living with you.”
    “Like?”
    “You aren’t the hang-around-the-house type.” Now he knew she’d been too busy snooping and reporting back to her superiors.
    “Maybe I am now.”
    He scoffed. “Sure.”
    “I’m tired of running, Jarrett. It started as a kid and I still haven’t stopped.”
    Jarrett knew her history. The custody case that blew up into a kidnapping and international race. Years of hiding, changing names and moving around. It all ended with her father dying at the end of a police officer’s gun and Becca blaming her mother.
    The fact that Becca dealt with the upheaval by picking a career that put her on the run fascinated Jarrett. When he first found out her life was a lie he expected her childhood history to be part of the concocted cover, but the file he collected on her backed it all up. It was quite possible her upbringing was the one truth she’d told him.
    But no way would he let the sad story or the exhaustion in her voice pull at him. This was all about acting for her. About carefully throwing out a word for maximum impact and getting what she wanted, regardless of what that did to him. “I’m betting you have a safe house and stored money. Yet here you are with not even an extra shirt to your name.”
    She rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t let me wear it if I did.”
    Seemed the wariness that followed her when she first arrived was now gone, and sarcasm moved into its place. Wasn’t that just fucking great? “Tell me about the safe house.”
    She fiddled with the bottom edge of the pillow, rubbing it between two fingers. “Exactly why would you think I have one?”
    “Humor me.”
    “I kind of am.”
    His temper flared and he had to clamp down hard to keep his back against the pillows and his indifference in place. “Rebecca.”
    “The safe house was a rendezvous spot for the team. Since most of the team members are now dead,
hanging out
there seemed like a bad idea.”
    “Probably a good call.”
    “Someone cleaned out two of the drops where I kept money and identification documents.” She exhaled, letting her head drop back and treating him to the enticing length of her neck. “The crash pad I had on my own could be compromised because I have no idea who knows what or how.”
    “I’m betting there’s more to this story.”
    “I know everyone thinks operatives have passports hidden in every country, but I don’t.” She lowered her head and faced him again. “And what I do have hidden I have to be able to get to without being shot or set on fire, so there’s that.”
    He ignored the fire part. “So you came to me.”
    She shook her head and her mouth moved, all before her shoulders fell. “Okay, yes.”
    “The man you betrayed.” This time he moved. He couldn’t stand to sit still one more second.
    The point was to reduce their interaction to sex, distant yet satisfying. In-depth conversations and unaccounted for time together would only lead to trouble. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and the bottom two holding his shirt closed.
    “Again, not how I would