Free a Touch of Intrigue by L. j. Charles

his caution outweighed my curiosity and enthusiasm. “Okay, but just for a couple minutes. It’s Millie and Harlan, Pierce, not a black ops mission.”
    He pushed me behind a banana tree. “Feels off,” he said sotto voce, and palmed the gun from his ankle holster.

SEVEN

    IT DIDN’T FEEL OFF TO me. And that scared me right down to my purple toenails. I touched Pierce’s arm, fingers turned on high. Tension, a burst of my kind of intuitive energy, and the dead calm of a seasoned black ops professional bathed my senses, but no images appeared. “Are you sure? Because I’m not sensing anything unusual.” I shook my head. “Maybe because the last twenty-four hours has topped my unusual experiences list.”
    His grin bordered on cocky. “Sex with me is unusual?”
    “Perfection hasn’t been prevalent in my life.” The words were out before I realized what I’d said. “Don’t let that go to your head.”
    “Never. And yes, something’s off about that cottage.” He motioned toward a narrow side trail, and then followed it…with me close behind.
    I’d left the house without a weapon because Pierce was armed, and because my plan was to use my fingers on this expedition. “Dumb,” I mumbled under my breath.
    He tossed a questioning glare at me.
    “Not you. Me. No weapon.” I hated confessing because it was such a rookie mistake.
    We’d circled to the back of the cottage, and hunkered down behind a couple large bushes. Waiting wasn’t working for me. “There’s a back door. I should touch it.”
    Deep creases took over his forehead. “Stay here. I’m going in.”
    It was the kind of order that usually pushed my temper to boiling, but much as I want to experience a SWAT-like building entry, I plunked cross-legged on the ground like I was going to spend the next few hours doing nothing but communing with nature. What the hell was wrong with me?
    Pierce moved farther down the path, approached the cottage from the far corner, and eased up to a small window. He peeked inside, shook his head. I took it to mean no one was inside.
    But he was wrong.
    Sure as I was sitting there, someone was watching. Waiting. I desperately wanted to run after him and warn him, but I couldn’t move. My legs were interlocked like an arthritic yogi, and no matter what message my brain sent, I couldn’t untangle them.
    Adrenaline and panic took over. I shoved my hands against the earth, determined to get my ass off the ground. One inch. Three. Four. And I was up, but it took monumental willpower to force my feet to move. Pierce had reached the back door; his hand rested on the knob.
    I slapped my hand over my mouth to keep from shouting out a warning. Not only would such a stupid move alert Pierce, but whoever was inside the cottage would have a heads-up to his presence. Much better for me to follow him silently, and at least make an attempt to back him up. Frustrated beyond any semblance of patience, I curled my hands into fists and pounded my thighs. Why wouldn’t my legs work right?
    Pierce slipped inside the door. I’d only made it as far as the grassy area surrounding the cottage—major backup fail. I was focused on the scene in front of me, so the footsteps didn’t hit my cognitive awareness until I was flat on my stomach. “Damn it all to blue bloody hell.” I swiped leaves off my face, and out of my mouth, then twisted to face my attacker.
    And there Fred stood. Grinning. “Owed you one.”
    I scooted to sitting. “What in the bloody freaking hell, Fred?”
    Pierce jogged up behind me, lifted me to my feet, and had Fred face down in a hammerlock before I caught a breath.
    I nudged him. “Ease up little.” It wasn’t a request. “I want to hear his explanation for this, and his bones are probably arthritic.”
    Fred mumbled something.
    Pain shot through my neck, dropping me to my knees.
    And then Fred’s voice came through loud and clear. “I said, I have control. I’ll hurt her if you don’t let me the fuck