Breach of Trust by Jodie Bailey Page A

of, obviously, and one losing members without giving her a chance to grieve.
    Tate pulled in a deep breath and released it slowly, his green eyes dark with barely sheathed anger. “He was taken off an outpost during the night. Tortured before he was killed.”
    No. Meghan fought against the horrors trying to clog her vision. She’d seen torture victims. Never, ever was it pretty. “When?”
    â€œAbout a year after you left.”
    â€œAfter you were supposedly killed.” Wait. Maybe... One dying ember of hope flared. Meghan rounded the front of the truck, stepping between Tate and the vehicle, brushing his hand from the hood. “Is he dead the way you were dead or—”
    Tate shook his head, meeting her gaze. “No.”
    After all the news she’d been smacked with in the past twenty-four hours, this might’ve been the lethal blow. It was too much. Too much death, life, pain. It laid over her like a blanket soaked in cold water, frigid, heavy and suffocating.
    She swallowed twice, trying to shove the lump down, but it stuck hard. No. She could grieve Sergeant Reynolds later, when she was alone. She lowered her voice, trying to squeeze it out without letting him hear her pain. “Where have you been?”
    â€œYou wouldn’t believe the story.”
    â€œTry me.”
    He shifted away and leaned against the door of the nearest stall, bracing on the rough wood behind him. There was a tinge of a smile on his face, but the amusement was twisted, rueful. “Running a bed-and-breakfast in Sackets Harbor, New York.”
    Meghan’s laugh barked loud, bounced off the rough wood of the barn and hit her ears with a grating harshness. “You?” She dropped her fists against the truck with a dull thud. “A bed-and-breakfast? Get real. You’d never go for something so mundane. You’re too active, too in charge of everything. What’s the truth?”
    There was a long silence. Tate shifted, dragged his hands along the edge of the door, then stuffed them into his pockets, staring at the toes of his old hiking boots. Finally, he looked up with a sadness she hadn’t known lurked inside him. “That is the truth. But the whole story is bigger than you can imagine.”

FIVE
    M eghan McGuire hadn’t changed a bit. She was still outspoken, every thought in her mind a word on her tongue. He’d always marveled at the fact that she’d survived in their unit. But somehow, when an op was on, Meghan became a whole other person, focused and able to become anyone her cover demanded she become. A chameleon the likes of which he’d never worked with since.
    When it came to who she really was, there was no filter. Her candor was something he admired equally as much. This woman had never played games.
    He bit back a frown. Unlike others.
    Meghan leaned against the truck, stretching her legs until her paint-splashed running shoes came into view beside his boots, her posture a little more relaxed than it had been a few minutes before. Maybe she was starting to trust him. Finally.
    She kicked her toe against his. “I saw you frown.”
    She could read him. Always had been able to. It made them partners that worked. In the middle of any fight, even with their lives in the balance, all he’d had to do was look at her and she knew exactly what to do.
    Of course, she’d bucked his seniority more than once, but never in the trenches.
    It had never made sense, the way she’d abandoned the job. Simply walked away one day without an explanation. Even Ethan—who’d seemed to be the most in the know—had been mute about her reasons.
    Still, time hadn’t dulled her ability to tell exactly what was going on in his brain. Right now, her intuition might be a liability. He had to be selective with what he revealed, to keep reminding himself she’d landed smack in the middle of the most pivotal undercover op of his life.
    For the