The cold concrete wall feels hella good as I lean my shoulders against it and close my eyes. Beaux’s face flashes in my mind, and I wonder if she’s why I feel so restless. Maybe I just need to see her, set some guidelines for this fucked-up situation I’ve been forced into, and then maybe I’ll get back into my groove a little quicker. What the fuck kind of way is it to start a working relationship when you’ve seen the other person naked and heard that sound they make as they climax? Talk about stepping out on the wrong foot.

I don’t like her. Plain and simple. I had a moment of bad judgment, a lot of alcohol, and wanted some sex. Little did I know the woman I chose would be the new partner I don’t want.

Fuck.

The quicker I rectify the situation the better. I need structure in my life – I thrive on it – to function in this tumultuous country where every day is something different and yet the exact same. But having Beaux here adds an unpredictability element, and so the quicker I let her know how I operate, the better off we’ll be in the long run.

Maybe I’ll even suck it up for the sake of calming the churning waters and apologize for the one-night stand.

Nah. Fuck it. She came with me willingly, left on her own accord. No need to set the precedent that I’m in the wrong when I know I’ve done nothing of the sort. Now I just need to decide whether I believe that she purposefully slept with me or whether it was purely a coincidence.

The jury’s still out on that one.

I glance at my watch and figure it’s okay to go knocking on her door since it is seven thirty. Maybe that’s a little dick-ish, but at least I’ll learn if she’s a morning person or not; I can play it off like I want to make sure she can be up and ready if we get a call on a lead.

I’m winded by the time I leave the hotel’s basement where the makeshift gym is located and jog up the thirteen flights of steps to the twelfth floor. Once I walk into the hallway, I realize I have no clue which room is Beaux’s. Only one way to find out.

I grab my cell phone from my pocket and pull up her number, walking the short distance of the hallway as the ring fills my ear. It takes a few moments, but I hear the faint ring on my right-hand side and follow it until I’m standing outside room twelve thirteen.

My hesitation over having the wrong room is fleeting as my knock resonates through the empty corridor. Beaux’s voice mail picks up, her throaty voice filling my ear at the same time the ringing on the other side of the door I’m standing at ceases. At least I know I have the right room.

I rap on the door again and listen for any sign of movement behind the door but hear nothing. I call again, almost determined to wake her up now, prove a point that she thinks she can handle this job but that she can’t. Fuck yeah, I’m being a prick, but I don’t care.

Her voice mail picks up again. I pound one more time and press my ear to the door. I tell myself I just want to wake her up, but unease begins to creep up on me. Why isn’t she answering? Is she that dead-to-the-world tired?

Or is something wrong?

I fist my hand against the door to prevent myself from pounding it down as the same worries I always had over Stella’s safety in this godforsaken land come back with a vengeance.

She has to be asleep. No one leaves their cell behind anymore these days. Maybe she sleeps with earplugs in or music on or some other lame excuse for being unable to hear me. I accept the attempt at rationalization but can’t ignore that feeling in my gut that tells me otherwise.

“Let it go, Thomas,” I mutter as I turn away and head into the stairwell, despite all of the horrible images flashing through my mind of what could be wrong. And then I become angry. I’m not a worrier. I’m not some overdramatic guy who worries about people I don’t care about. If I were, I wouldn’t be able to do my job. I see death and destruction all the time in all sorts of unfathomable ways, so I’ve learned to not think about those possibilities.

So why the fuck am I thinking along those lines when it comes to Beaux? The last thing I want is to be thinking about her.

Shit. This whole thing with Stella has affected me. The thought pisses me off even further because that means the brass at work might just be right. And I won’t let them be right. Now I’m pissed both at Beaux and myself, so it seems my little venture to set things right just put me back on the goddamn Tilt-A-Whirl.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that when I fling open the stairwell door to my floor, I collide solidly with another person going just as fast as I am. We both cry out as we stumble backward, and I know before I even look down whose biceps my hands are gripping. I push Beaux away like she’s a hot coal.

We stare at each other, chests heaving, eyes guarded. Her hair is a mess and her makeup is smudged under her eyes, lips nude, but Christ she’s still absolutely beautiful. I shove the unwelcome thought away and manage to drag my eyes from hers to notice she has on the same clothes as yesterday, camera bag dropped on the ground behind her from our collision.

“Where the hell have you been?” She looks at me like I’m crazy for asking. Maybe I am, but I still want an answer.

“None of your damn business.”

“Actually, it is.” Still, I ask myself, why the fuck do I care? I shouldn’t. I don’t want to. But damn it to hell, this woman calls to me on all kinds of levels.

“Screw you.” She pins me with a nasty look as she steps to one side, and I mirror her motions to prevent her from leaving. The truth is I’m looking for a fight, and she just walked headfirst into one.

“Well, you got the screwing part down pat.” I make a show of looking up and down her body, connecting the dots I don’t want to connect: same clothes, different floor of the hotel, a tired woman. She spent the night with someone else. “It seems you like to play with all the boys on the block, huh?” The words are out of my mouth before I can see through my disregard for her. Sure, I don’t want anything more from her, but at the same time, my ego is bruised to think she didn’t think more of me – or any other man for that matter – to at least wait a day before moving to the next warm bed.

I’m such an asshat. I was sitting up at her door worried that something was wrong with her because she wasn’t answering, when instead she was busy ringing up her own bedpost tally. Serves me goddamn right for caring. Lesson learned.

Beaux stares me down, blatant derision mixed with embarrassment playing out all over her flushed cheeks, while my disbelief at my earlier concern skyrockets.

“I don’t believe it’s any of your business what I do or don’t do, Tanner. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m exhausted and want some sleep.” Her gaze flickers down to my bare chest and the T-shirt bundled in my hand before reaching my eyes again. She raises her eyebrows as she waits for me to move, and the irony isn’t lost on me how the positions were reversed just yesterday.

“What if we had a lead? What if I was just up at your room pounding on your door because you didn’t answer your phone? How would you handle it then, huh?” Honestly I know I’m being a prick by baiting her with my questions, but I’m past the point of caring. “This isn’t sorority row. It’s best you start acting like the professional you claim to be instead of some two-bit —”

She’s in my face so fast, the rest of the words don’t have a chance to leave my mouth. “Who and what I am is none of your goddamn business so long as I do my job properly! It’s best you start remembering that as well.”

The heat of her body is pressed against my bare skin, and I hate the ache that stirs deep in my lower belly. Her breath mingles with mine from our proximity, and I want to step back from her, give us the distance I most definitely need to keep this on the professional level, but somehow I can’t make my feet move.

“Good to know. I’ll believe it when I see it.” My gaze travels down to her lips and then back up to her eyes, a half-cocked smirk on my lips. “But I think you’ve forgotten one important thing.”

“What’s that?” she huffs out, and I love that I’m irritating her. Serves her right.

“If I can’t get hold of you, then you can’t do your job properly. It’s best you start remembering that as well,” I say, throwing her words back in her face.

“How long are you going to play the asshole card, Tanner?”

My only response is to raise my eyebrows and purse my lips. “Long as it takes.”

“Lucky me.” Her green eyes blaze into mine, but I just look back at her like I don’t give two fucks. “This conversation has been absolutely scintillating, but I’m sure watching the back of my eyelids is much more exciting. If you’ll excuse me…”

And there she goes again walking away from me, taunting me with what I most definitely don’t want, but what man wouldn’t enjoy watching her ass as it goes?

I’m dialing Rafe before she’s up the first flight of stairs.

“Hey.” He answers just as I unlock the door to my room, and I wait until I close it behind me before I respond.

“What gives? Where are all of the embed missions you said you were setting up for me?” I’m antsy as fuck to get out in the field, get that buzz again.

“It’s only been forty-eight hours since wheels down, Thomas. Cool your jets.” Rafe tries to placate me with exasperation.

“It may be only two days, but you had a few months to set shit up for me while you were making me jump through your circus hoops to get back here.” He was so adamant that he be the ringmaster.