Vivian Arend - High Risk

She paused. Nodded. “You’re right. You’re right, and I said I was going to face the future and move on. Damn yo-yo emotions.”

“Girl stuff. Can’t help you there.”

Another laugh escaped her. “Don’t be an ass.”

“What?” He slapped her on the shoulder lightly, guiding her toward the offices. “In the interest of teamwork, I have a suggestion. We talked yesterday about the schedule for training Lifeline. How about we do the same for our training sessions, so you have that in place?”

Becki looked him over with a wide-eyed wonder, as if she were surprised he hadn’t also spouted off some sexual innuendo, as he’d done at every other opportunity up to now.

“If you’re serious, that would be wonderful. Occasionally doing things last minute is fun, but I like being organized. Thank you.”

He ignored the sexual side of the equation for a moment. Taking advantage of the attraction between them seemed a very . . . selfish . . . thing. After her sermon on the matter, perhaps focusing on the teamwork they needed was the right thing to do.

At least for now. He still planned on getting them back into bed. On trapping all her wild energy and excitement, and soaking in it. But not today.

Agendas didn’t have to be abandoned. Sometimes they could simply be delayed.

The phone rang.

Marcus ignored it.

His cell phone rang, and he let it go to messages.

The curtains were drawn, the room was dark, and he wanted to crawl under something and hide.

The fact that he had heard the ring was probably a good sign. Only probably, because along with awareness of the pain came the realization that while it was dark in the room, there was light sneaking around the edges of the curtains. Daytime—no interior lights on—and together that could only mean one thing.

His ghosts had taken over. Now the question was, how long had he been gone this time?

The landline rang again. He reached over the edge of the couch to the side table, picked up the receiver, thumbed the mute button, and slammed the phone back on the table.

The pounding in his head was nothing new. He dimly remembered that searing pain in his left hand had woken him in the middle of the night—and wasn’t that just fucking great? That something that wasn’t even there anymore could still hurt that damn much.

Marcus grabbed a drink from the fridge and dropped back onto the couch, stared at the shadows on the walls, and waited for the darkness inside to go away.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. Minutes? Hours?

The front door opened.

He moved instinctively. The crash of the bottle hitting the door frame sang out the same moment his brother swore.

“Shit, stop. It’s me. David. What the hell?”

God. He didn’t want to explain ever again. Didn’t want to talk. Marcus grabbed the arm of the couch and held on for dear life. “Get out.”

David was already stooping to pick up the broken glass from the floor. “No can do. You’ve been MIA for three full days. According to our agreement, I’m allowed to come kick your butt at this point.”

Shit. Three days meant Thursday. Still, he wasn’t ready to move. “I can throw something else at you if you want. I’m changing the goddamn rules. Get out. Now.”

David laughed, the glass echoing as it hit the sides of the metal garbage can, sending shards of pain through Marcus’s temples. “Nice try. I’m not listening.”

He came and sat on the coffee table directly in front of Marcus.

Marcus’s jaw ached from grinding his teeth. He glared at David, hoping his expression alone would be enough to persuade his brother to turn and walk away.

David raised a brow. “Interesting. Does the caveman-slash-madman look work well on women?”

“Fuck. You.” Marcus dragged his hand through his hair, then changed his mind, pointing at the door instead. “I’m not ready for an intervention. Tomorrow.”

David’s cocky smile faded, replaced with sympathy. “Look, normally I’d leave you alone. I understand you have . . . issues. But this time is different. No extensions. Deal with it.”

“Dammit, David.”

“She’s threatening to come over here.”

Marcus stopped cold. “Who?”

“Becki. When you didn’t show up at training a couple days back, I covered for you. Hoped you’d be out of your funk quicker than usual. This time you have to choose to drag yourself back to the real world, bro. Once I assured her you weren’t deathly sick or something, she got royally pissed. She’s ready to kick my ass, your ass. Hell, she’s been kicking your team’s ass—you might want to consider pulling yourself together for their sake.”

“What the hell has she been doing with the team?” He slid forward in his seat.

David hesitated, then spat it out. “She’s kind of taken them over. You had all the rest of their training organized, but when you didn’t show up, she stepped in and has been running the show. She thinks you jammed out on her. Something about missing training plans, and ignorant assholes . . . and there was more, but I was trying to keep far enough away from her that she couldn’t hit me, so I might have missed a few of the more choice swear words.”

Marcus laughed before he realized what he was doing. Her actions were twisted enough to break through the pain. Only Becki.

David nodded. “I thought that might get your attention. Come on. I get it that you need time, but grab a shower. I’ll make you some food. You need to get moving or don’t blame me when Genghis Khan shows up here to haul you out to the training centre.”

The idea of anyone calling sweet Becki terrible names was funny as shit. “In spite of the fact I still feel like crap, fine. I’ll be there.”

His brother stood and pulled him off the couch, shoving him toward the back of the house. “Shower. You’re currently the nearest thing Canada’s got to a nuclear meltdown situation.”

“Get the fuck out. I can wash my own ass.” Marcus paused in the doorway to his bedroom to confirm that his brother hadn’t followed him or did something stupid. Fortunately, David had headed to the kitchen and was ignoring him. “You’re a bloody pain, you know that?”

“Dickhead,” David shouted back easily. “God, what died in your fridge?”

Marcus retreated to the shower. His head still throbbed, but his curiosity was high enough to drag himself out of the house. After he’d shoveled in whatever David managed to drop before him.

He hadn’t tasted a thing, too intent on discovering what kind of punishment he would have to take for disappearing without an explanation. Because he had a feeling Becki hadn’t liked it one bit.

There was no sign of anyone in the gym, even though he recognized the cars in the parking lot. Marcus checked the pool, the weight room, the boardroom. No one. Frustrated, he pulled out his phone and called her.

“Marcus. How nice. Where the hell have you been?”

The chill in her voice shouldn’t have made his dick harden. “Taking a vacation. The palm trees were calling my name. Where are you, and what’s this bullshit I hear about you taking over my team?”

“Well, you weren’t there. Someone had to do it. And if you have any more ideas of talking smack to me, shut up now, because I won’t take it. You left without a word. I did my job and you weren’t there, which means I’m not the one who’s a bastard. Also? I don’t care about excuses. You’re three days behind on the training you and I specifically sat down and planned, and if you think I’m going to let you fuck with my head anymore in terms of spouting off about teamwork and shit? Dream on.”

The violent sexual attraction he felt as she called him out wasn’t right. His urge to track her down and fold her over the nearest flat object so he could fuck the hell out of her wasn’t normal.

But he was honest enough to admit he wanted to. “Issues of you and my training aside, you didn’t answer the question. Where are you?”

“Outside.”

“Oh, that’s helpful. We’re in the middle of a one-and-a-half-million-acre national park. It’s damn big outside, Becki. How about a more specific clue?”

“You’re the goddamn search-and-rescue ace, so search.”

The line went dead, and he swore. Stomped out the gym doors to start a calculated hunt.

He found them at the far end of the building. Or more accurately, he found them on the far end of the building. Running across the roof. Marcus bit back the shout that wanted to escape, ordering them all to the ground.

Couldn’t interrupt like that, not only because it wasn’t safe. Frightening one of them into a wrong move could send them tipping toward the earth—no crash mats, no protective gear.

He was going to find Becki and rip her a new one for whatever the hell game she was playing with his team.

He was spotted before he took more than two paces into their line of sight. Tripp’s call was followed by brief waves from the squad before they ignored him and continued moving forward, the entire group bunched up and hanging on to each other.

Marcus hurried his step, trying not to stomp like some pissed-off juvenile. He got to the edge of the parking lot in time to observe them forming a human chain, lowering Tripp from the top of the two-story building to the narrow flat-topped roof over the entrance doors to the gym. With him acting as anchor, one by one the team crawled their way to the ground. Alisha was the last to be lowered, dropping from his hands into the outstretched reach of Devon.

She settled against him for a second, face to face, before they flew apart like two positive magnetic charges. They jerked around to gaze intently back at Tripp, last man on the building.

He made as if to jump, and Becki sang out, “Forget it. You want to start all over? Don’t be impatient and blow it now.”

Marcus hadn’t seen her, leaning against the smooth wood of a birch as she stared at Tripp, glancing at her stopwatch.

Xavier and Anders rushed forward and formed a cradle with their arms. Alisha stepped into it and stood, instantly lifted high enough to catch hold of Tripp’s fingers as the man reached down from his sitting position.

Somehow they pulled him off the roof and caught them both, Tripp changing places with Alisha, Devon there to help them both to the ground, like some intricate cheerleading routine. The five of them rushed forward to tag the tree Becki leaned on.

She clicked off the stopwatch and sighed heavily, totally ignoring Marcus as he stomped over to join their circle.

“No. Please, no—tell me we did it faster this time,” Xavier groaned.

The others added their pleas, Anders dropping to sit next to Devon in a heap. “If we messed up again, I’d like to suggest something easy instead. Like a five-mile run.”

Becki spun the stopwatch around, and they all leaned forward to peer at it.

Their shrieks of delight nearly drowned out her words.

“Good job. You’re done. Showers, stretch, and tomorrow I’ll let you play with ropes.”

“Thanks, Becki,” Alisha called, already racing toward the change room doors. “Hi, Marcus. We missed you.”

Sure they had. The team scattered quickly enough he managed to contain his anger until the last one was gone.

Becki grabbed her bag from her feet, turning without a word toward the building.

“Oh no, you don’t walk away from me without telling me what the hell you were doing with my team.”

“Training them,” Becki shouted over her shoulder as she kept going.

“They were on the fucking roof with no gear.”

Becki planted a hand on the door handle and tossed him an evil glare. “They were never allowed to be more than two feet from another team member any time they moved. They were each other’s protective gear. They were being a team, which, if you had been here at the start, you would have known was the goal of the session.” She bolted through the door before he could stop her.

He was going to go out of his goddamn mind.

Marcus jerked the handle to discover she’d locked it. By the time he’d dug in his pocket and found the correct key to open the stupid thing, she’d disappeared. The gym was completely empty.

He marched across to the women’s change room and stormed in.

Becki turned from the lockers and dropped her fists to her hips. “Excuse me? Get out. Alisha is showering.”

“Climbing the outside of buildings is illegal and dangerous. I thought you’d gotten that kind of immature stunt out of your system years ago.”