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She shouldn’t try an escape

This morning, he had had his forearm pressed into her back, anchoring her to his car while he kicked at her legs, unfastened her pants, and yanked them down none to gently, making his point that she shouldn’t try an escape. 
This evening, he was welcoming her into his arms to sleep. 
He’d learned from the battlefield – things changed in the blink of an eye. Loyalties. Coalitions. Alliances were often made of the moment instead of any deep conviction. Though, Finley didn’t normally cozy up with criminal elements.
That’s an utter lie.
Just look at all the cozying up he had done when he was working undercover to take down the East Coast cell of the Zoric family last year. Not just cozying up with the women on that case, sleeping with them.
He’d paid the price, too. He’d let his heart get involved with Lacey Stewart, his asset, making him an A-number-one, moron scum bucket. It was a cardinal rule for undercover agents: Keep an emotional distance.
Finley was going to hell for the choices he’d made on that case. He wasn’t just paying a professional price for those choices - being anchored to his desk - he’d paid an emotional price, too.
Here was the question, though: If he was already bound for hell, why did he feel like such cad for sharing body heat with a prisoner? This was about survival.
Had to be the head injury.
Zelda moved forward and settled in against him. Pulling her legs to her chest, she tucked the blanket in securely to guard their heat.
“Good?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
“We have problems,” Finley reminded her, smoothing down the flyaway strands of blonde that tickled his nose as she shifted around. She tipped her head to use his shoulder as a pillow.
Little mewling sounds came from under her breath, and he could feel a hot tear slip off her cheek and down his chest.
He held back the kiss he almost dropped into her hair. There it was, again – the squeeze of his heart and he knew he was in trouble.


Except from Cold Red
By Fiona Quinn
Included in Love Under Fire


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