Chapter 6

Agios Nikolaos, Crete.

“Kalispera.” Atlas greeted the friendly lady behind the desk.

He’d made it back in time, and waited for Elana in the cool foyer of the Lato Hotel. He’d chosen clean and cheerful accommodations over the luxurious resorts decorating the coastline. Atlas wasn’t one for fancy trappings, and too many people clustering in one place always made him a little nervous. He preferred flying under the radar. If this were a personal trip, he’d probably have stayed in a commune or at a hostel. He did that regularly when backpacking in remote countries. That saved a good chunk of change, and he wasn’t fussy about sleeping quarters as long as he had a shower and a cot. In a pinch, he’d pull out his bedroll.

The reception area had an airy feel—decorated in pale yellows, whites, and lime greens. It wasn’t precisely contemporary and had a slightly dated vibe, but it felt homey. Situating himself to face the doors, Atlas felt for his piece, tucked into a holster under his shirt. Yeah… he’d gone there. After the giant clusterfuck he’d lived through in Morocco, he wasn’t taking any chances. As soon as he’d landed, he’d checked in with the MIT4 team who’d arranged a package drop off at his hotel. The Colt M45 pistol calmed his restless worry somewhat. MIT4 worked an extremist angle in Paris, and Atlas planned to meet up with them at some point.

He’d already sent the surveillance photos he’s taken earlier in the alley to Garrett Kent Cornell—the analyst on MIT4. Atlas needed a few leads before he confronted Elana because unless she was into illegal or dangerous shit, it was technically none of his business.

Still, his neck prickled whenever he thought of her cryptic meeting at the diner, and he’d left it too long. Five months of stagnant investigation while he’d been squatting in East Africa. His deployment had taken all of his energy. It hadn’t gone smoothly, leaving his team frustrated with their progress. And God, they’d seen things…

Elana stepped through the door, and his heart paused in its perpetual rhythm. She was spectacular. Her hazel eyes scanned the room with determination before spotting him leaning against the wall, and as she turned in his direction, her thick wavy hair swayed against her shoulders. Her blond mane had grown in length since he’d last seen her and now hung almost to her waist. She wore a plum-colored sleeveless dress that flowed to the floor. A thin gold belt that matched casual flat Greek sandals cinched the silky dress to her slim waist.

He knew she had a wardrobe that rivaled the Kardashians. She’d grown up surrounded by wealth and lived as a global nomad. Atlas was the opposite and came from a middle-class family from the suburbs. Fashion wasn’t his thing—when he wasn’t in the field, he wore surf-style clothing, which was well worn. Still, he’d made an effort to at least wear jeans—even though they had a rugged feel—with a long-sleeve henley t-shirt and worn leather boots.

“Well, don’t you look like a Greek tigress.” He pushed off the wall and immediately pulled her into his arms.

Elana stiffened before relaxing into his hold. It had been a long time since he’d held her. Even though it was a casual hug between friends, he took in her familiar scent. She smelled like flowers and sunshine. Pulling back, she rolled her eyes. “Greek tigress… really? And holy shit, you pack on more muscle with every deployment!”

Atlas shrugged. True… he’d gained more bulk, but he didn’t resemble some meathead. It was all functional muscle, and thanks to his height of six-foot-four, he held it well. Atlas had never felt this healthy before—even while competing professionally as a snowboarder, before joining the military. He was a well-oiled machine. His calf had healed nicely, and aside from his worry over Elana, life seemed pretty darn good.

He grinned. “I’m a danger hound, babes. Do you like what you see?”

“You’re definitely a hound… like all men.”

“You wound me with your savagery.” Atlas clutched at his chest, staggering back dramatically.

Elana laughed. “God, you haven’t changed. Now, are we standing here all day? I’m starving.” She turned and headed for the door.

Atlas caught up in two strides. “Where are we heading?”

“To the best fish and chips shop on the island.”

He managed to make it to the door first to let her through. As usual, she walked at a blistering pace. “Wait... isn’t ‘fish and chips’ an English thing?”

“Don’t tell a Greek that—this restaurant fries the chips in an ouzo batter, served with tomato salad, feta cheese, and beer. What more could you ask for?”

Atlas’s mouth was already watering. “That sounds epic. How far away is this place?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Nice wheels.” Atlas pretended like he’d seen her convertible for the first time. “Is it a rental?”

“A family car that we all take turns using when on the island.”

Atlas forgot about her extended family that lived all over Europe, and from what he’d gathered, they were a close-knit group.

The short trip to the eatery didn’t allow for much conversation. Elana had asked how his flight went; they chatted briefly about her best friend, Charlie Quinn, who was married to Atlas’s teammate. Elana pulled into a pretty cove. The minimal decor and lack of tourists was a plus as far as Atlas was concerned. It was still busy. The café also had a gorgeous view—situated on the edge of a cliff, facing the water.

The orange rays of the setting sun not only set the ocean on fire but also lit Elana’s face in dusky warmth. She smiled at a couple of locals, and Atlas had an intense urge to crush her mouth to his. She was his Achilles Heel. God. Never mind realizing that he was in over his head, Atlas was a dead man floating in the water. Her fingers brushed over his arm as they stepped to the counter, and he swallowed, focusing on the menu.

The café was a family-run establishment, and he couldn’t help smiling at the good-natured yelling emanating from the busy kitchen.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” he said to Elana, producing cash before she could protest. They always argued about the check whenever they went out together. He hated her paying for anything.

Once they held their plastic baskets of wrapped fish and chips, Elana led him to a table that faced the ocean. The café was his kind of place, and he loved everything from the food to the location. Setting down his beer, Atlas relaxed into the plastic chair. Elana hummed as she ate, and Atlas couldn’t help grinning.

“What?” she said between mouthfuls.

“Good food makes you moan.”

She made the sexiest sounds and always ate with gusto.

“I like food, and these potato chips are incredible. They’re freshly cut—never frozen. Here, sprinkle vinegar over them.”

Elana handed him the bottle, and Atlas cautiously followed her instruction before digging in.

“Oh, my heck, that’s damn shitting good.”

“Right?”

They ate in companionable silence. Finally, Atlas shoved the remaining fish away and leaned back, groaning with satisfaction. She stared across the table at him with glittering eyes. He stared back, as tension built. Something felt different between them like they were back in Morocco and isolated from reality.

As if she’d read his thoughts, Elana asked, “Do you ever have nightmares about what we experienced in North Africa?”

“No. Do you?”

Elana shrugged. “I dream about the man who shot me—the one who tried to execute me in that nightmarish maze.”

The Crimson Quarter—a Serbian gang who was sent to kill the two women— had hunted Elana and her friend Charlie and caught up to the two women in an old earthen village in Northern Morocco. Thankfully, Atlas and Donnie had gotten to them in time. Except a bad guy had shot Elana, and Atlas was tasked with exfiling her out of Morocco. That had taken longer than he’d thought when her wound had gotten infected and she’d come down with a fever.

“It helps to talk about it.”

“I’m fine; dredging up old memories. I suppose you’ve lived through worse.”

She wasn’t okay, but knowing Elana, she’d bury those flashbacks behind her impenetrable walls. The thing was, Atlas didn’t want to toss away those memories. He’d fallen deeply in love with Elana as she’d lain in his arms in a fevered haze, and now he sat firmly in the friend zone. It didn’t look like he’d escape anytime soon.

“I have.” His last deployment was a giant shit-show. He couldn’t help recalling his recon mission into slaughtered villages and seeing women and children lying naked in mass graves. Atlas closed his eyes, breathing through the horror.

“I’m sorry, I never meant—”

Atlas shook his head and met her gaze, surprised to see haunted eyes staring back.

“Elana?”

She forced a smile and shifted back her chair. “Give me your leg.”

“Uh. What?”

“I want to hold it.”

She wanted to hold his leg?

Seeing his confusion, Elana elaborated. “Your calf muscle. Can I see it?”

“Why? And I’m wearing jeans, besides it’s gnarly.”

Elana pointed to her lap. “Now, Atlas.”

As usual, he complied without thinking. Atlas was a lethal warrior in the field. He may not be a large as life alpha, like his team leader Max Andersen, but as a tier-one operator, Atlas was a scary-ass MOFO. Yet, when it came to Elana, he caved whenever she crooked her pretty finger. That annoyed the hell out of him. Yes, she was bossy, direct, and determined, but he wasn’t her puppy dog.

Unable to stop himself, Atlas lifted his leg onto her lap. She ran a hand slowly over his knee, and he jerked in surprise. She didn’t seem to notice. Elana’s fingers traced a path to his ankle before hovering at the opening to his jeans.

“Does it still hurt?”

“No, honey.” Sensing her hesitancy, Atlas shifted. “What’s wrong?”

“I should be dead or maimed from a sniper’s bullet. If you hadn’t shoved me to the ground…”

Atlas didn’t want to think about that deadly day from seven months ago.

“I’m keeping a tally… you saved my life three times since I’ve known you.” She smiled.

“And you saved my teammate’s children and wives. You charged into the open as a madman took potshots at your sweet ass. I think we’re even.”

Dismissing the past with a shake of her head, Elana slipped her hand under his jeans. Her cool fingers wrapped around his ankle, and Atlas suppressed a shiver. His dick stirred at her touch, and he imagined her running that same hand along his thigh…

A thumb stroked over his scar. Atlas couldn’t feel the actual contact, but the surrounding skin welcomed her electric touch. Her hand stilled, and Atlas held his breath.

“I’m sorry if I’ve seemed distant.”

She hadn’t seemed distant. She had avoided Atlas altogether for months. He elected to smile reassuringly instead of pointing out that minor detail.

“I’ve been busy with family stuff.”

Family stuff, my ass. He lifted his leg off her lap, retreating from her touch. He couldn’t think while splayed out like her potential boy toy. Although that wasn’t her intention. She’d genuinely cared about his leg—like a damn friend.

***

Missing the warmth of his leg resting across her lap, Elana crossed her arms against the sudden chill. What had gotten into her? She was never touchy-feely or sentimental. Sharing a candlelit table with Atlas brought back too many memories. He could only ever be a friend. She had to keep reminding herself. But, hell, he looked good. Tall, tanned, and so approachable. He’d quickly become a reliable refuge, and now that she swum with sharks, she craved that safe harbor. She knew in her gut that Atlas would shelter her against any threat, but if he ever got hurt, she wouldn’t forgive herself. And that was a real possibility. He stared at her with those gleaming eyes…

“What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” he asked, re-situating himself in his chair.

“Since I’m playing tour guide, I’ll offer you three choices. We can visit Spinalonga—a fort on a tiny island that used to house a leper colony. Or we can hike the Lasithi Plateau—White-sailed windmills cover the landscape. At the same time, we could also explore the Diktean Caves.”

“What’s the final choice?”

“We travel to Palm Beach. It’s a two-hour drive to an exotic beach surrounded by thick palm groves. It’s pretty isolated, as the Preveli monastery owns the land. It can get crowded in the summer, but off-season, and on a weekday, we’ll have the beach to ourselves.”

Atlas considered the options. “I’ll drive—let’s do Palm Beach.”

His choice surprised her. As an avid hiker and mountain climber, she’d expected him to choose the plateau and the caves.

He must’ve picked up on her confusion. “I’m tired of walking for miles every day. I did enough of that in East Africa, and I need a break. Lying on a golden stretch of sand sounds epic.”

“Sea and sand, it is. I’ll pick you up early—like at the crack of dawn.” Elana stood, and he joined her.

After Elana dropped him off at the hotel, Atlas circled to the lot and climbed into his rental truck. Thanks to the tracker he’d slipped under her fender, he picked up her trail, following at a discreet distance. She returned to her family’s villa. After watching the home for the next few hours and concluding that she’d retired for the night, Atlas returned to his hotel. He looked forward to lying on a beach beside Elana but had to remember why he was in Crete. He would uncover all her secrets, and he had limited time and resources.