“The TEAM?” she asked, not sure she’d read it right.
His head bobbed. “Yup. I’m an authorized private agent, not a cop. Alex Stewart owns The TEAM. Stupid name, I know. Ever heard of him?”
She cocked her head, thinking. “That name sounds familiar. Where did you say his business is?”
“King Street, across from the metro station. You’d like him. He does good work. Hires mostly vets. You ready to go?”
“Sure.” Ashley left her bag where it lay, but slipped her keycard to the apartment complex and her apartment key into her rear pocket, before she took hold of Tripp’s hand. It was so much larger and rougher than hers, and he was a good foot taller. Made her feel like a little girl.
“Where’s your coat?”
She shrugged. “It’s still warm. I won’t need one.”
“Are you sure? I’ve got a couple extra hoodies. You can sure borrow one.”
“I’m fine. Let’s go.”
Back on the street, he helped her climb up into his monster truck, but not once did he touch her butt. Which was too bad. By then, she wished he would.
Chapter Eleven
Tripp paused when the elevator doors opened to TEAM HQ. He’d been so pleased to have Ashley along, he hadn’t considered what entering a predominantly male office, where a bunch of aggressive, alpha-types worked, joked, and argued, might do to her. Also, because of what he’d done just a couple nights ago.
He’d turned the radio on during the drive over, to discover that those two young men had blabbed about the hate-crime that had nearly happened to them, and the strange appearance of a giant man in black who’d prevented it. How they would’ve died if not for him. How he’d appeared out of nowhere, then flown across the bridge like he had super powers. How he’d overcome five brawny bikers with his bare hands. How, when the fight was over and the bad guys were dead or dying—which wasn’t true—he’d promised he’d always watch over guys like them.
As much as those two morons had embellished and fictionalized what really happened, they ought to go into journalism. Because Tripp didn’t remember flying or promising or killing. Cussing, yes. Beating the shit out of a couple assholes, you betcha. But him a giant? Hell, no. Compared to some of the guys he worked with, like Mark, Zack, Lee, and Beau, he was a titch on the puny side. Plus, he hadn’t killed anyone, not even in Seattle. Just gave them something, as in a few broken bones, noses, and fingers, to remember him by. But he had scuffed his knuckles over the weekend. His eye hadn’t blackened, but he was sporting a butterfly bandage on his forehead. God help him if anyone asked what happened. He’d have to lie, and he hated liars.
He punched the elevator’s close door button. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
“Why not?” she asked, while the car sealed itself for the ride back down to the street.
Tripp hit the hold button. “Because everyone I work with is former military, and they’re mostly guys. Lots of big, dumb, loud-mouth Marines. A couple know-it-all Navy SEALs.”
“Oka-a-a-ay...” Ashley pursed her lips and expelled a measured breath. “So, you’re not throwing me to a pack of wolves. That’s good.”
“More like a herd of wild donkeys. Some of these guys can be real asses. A couple of the women are, too.”
That made her smile. “Donkeys, really? Sounds like a fun office. I’ll be okay.”
“You sure?”
Ashley confirmed her conviction with a nod. “I deal better in group settings. It’s the single situations where I freak.”
“If I ever get my hands on the guy who hurt you—” Tripp didn’t mean to, but he growled, wishing he could tell her who’d saved her, that he was the guy who’d showed up in time Friday. That for her, he’d do it again.
“Don’t.” She stopped his rant with a firm grip on his wrist. “Please. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Tripp knew then he’d overstepped her capacity to deal with what had happened, and that she liked when he complied without arguing. He hit the button and the door reopened. “Okay then. Let’s see what Mark wants. He’s standing in for the boss tonight. Sorry, but I might have to park you at our customer service desk until I’m through talking with him. You’ll be okay there. Mother doesn’t bite.”
“Everyone else does?” Ashley asked, the sassy sparkle finally back in her sapphire blues.
“Mostly they bray,” he grumbled, steering her through a maze of walls, none more than three feet high, at the center of which loomed a tall bank of computer equipment and the customer service desk.
Connor Maher peered over his monitor and waved, his head tucked into the phone on his shoulder. Tripp gave him his chin. Ashley fluttered her fingers at him.
“You’re new,” a growly masculine voice said behind them.
“Hey, Beau,” Tripp replied easily. “Mark called me in. Thought you guys would be in the Sit Room. Am I late?”
“Nah, he’s still in his office talking with Director Chase. Guess the FBI needs an assist on a case they’re working.” He turned his gaze to Ashley. “Who’s your friend?”
“Hello, I’m Ashley Cox,” she said brightly, as she presented her hand. There she was again. The real Ashley Cox, Tripp’s confident girl next door. “I’m Tripp’s neighbor. We live in the same apartment complex.”
Her fingers all but disappeared inside Beau’s big, bear-like paw. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. Agent Beau Villanueva at your service. You need anything while you’re here, you be sure to let me know. Just ask, and I’ll come running.”
Enough already. Tripp rolled his shoulder to shake off the green-eyed monster suddenly sitting there and poking the shit out of him. “Beau’s one of The TEAM’s best snipers, Ashley. He also
