around. "Tripp?"
He was mentally in another time zone, standing there shaking his head. "I'm not so sure."
What! She literally stomped her foot. " Dammit , Shaughnessey . What're you waiting for?"
"For a time when we need the upper hand."
"We need it now!" she wailed.
He shook his head. He'd turned into this robotic machine. Thinking, not feeling. "We'll need it later more than we need it now."
"Later? I don't want to be here later. I want to get out of here now."
The only sound she heard in response was the click as he closed up the knife.
"Tripp," she whined, begged, entreated. "Don't do this to me, please?"
But he ignored her and her pleas, his gaze canvassing the room at hip level as he searched for a place to stash the knife. An easily accessible place for the "later" when he expected to need it.
That place turned out to be an open box of Advil packets she provided for her employees. The lip of the box slanted at enough of an angle to hide the contents. The knife disappeared beneath the plastic squares of white and peacock blue.
Now it was her turn to snag his attention. She approached until she stood full in his face, then approached further, backing him into the wall as she spoke. "If you don't tell me who the hell you are and what the hell is going on, I'll use that knife on you myself."
A grin spread over his mouth, easing the tense lines into which he'd set his jaw. But the tendons in his neck did not relax. And his eyes remained strangely distant.
"You promised," she goaded when still he didn't speak.
"I'm not so sure I promised," he hedged.
"You told me you'd tell me what you thought was going on here. So I wouldn't go to my grave wondering."
"I should've let you cut me free."
"Change of heart?"
"Yeah." He sighed heavily. "I'd really like to hold you."
"Oh, Tripp." The sting of tears threatened to blind her. She pressed herself to him; he was the one solid thing in the room that gave her hope.
"I'm not going to let you go to your grave, Glory." He paused, she waited, the punch line came. "Not till I've gotten mine."
She shook her head. His chest beneath her cheek vibrated with his chuckle when she stuck out her tongue. "Blackmail works both ways, you know."
"That's what I was afraid of. Besides, I was lying. I'm not going to let you die whether I get in your pants again or not. I'm not going to let anything happen to either of us."
The segue was perfect. "You sound pretty confident there for an engineering project consultant."
"Yeah, well, that's the thing. Besides the military background, I have a lot of other, uh, outside training."
Her ears perked up, as did her intuition, which told her this armed forces thing was something Tripp rarely talked about. That he hesitated telling her even now—and wouldn't have if not for this anomalic situation in which they found themselves.
"What sort of training?" she prodded when it became obvious he thought he was done. As if she was going to let him off that easily.
"You think we can sit?" he asked, distracting her again.
"Saving your strength along with the knife?"
"Something like that," he answered and slid down the wall to sit, knees bent and spread.
She settled between, leaning her shoulder into his chest and giving herself the visual advantage of being able to look into his eyes.
She wanted to make sure he didn't try to pull anything over on her. Like some big fat lie of a story to make her feel better, hoping she'd forget that in the next moment they both might die.
Eight
Figuring out how much to say about who he was and what he did had never come easy to Tripp. Keeping the existence of SG-5 off the public radar was essential. Keeping it off all military and law enforcement scopes was paramount.
The Smithson Group righted a lot of wrongs bound up in legal red tape along with others that went largely ignored for a variety of political reasons.
SG-5 wouldn't be able to guarantee many happy endings with Big Brother breathing down
He was mentally in another time zone, standing there shaking his head. "I'm not so sure."
What! She literally stomped her foot. " Dammit , Shaughnessey . What're you waiting for?"
"For a time when we need the upper hand."
"We need it now!" she wailed.
He shook his head. He'd turned into this robotic machine. Thinking, not feeling. "We'll need it later more than we need it now."
"Later? I don't want to be here later. I want to get out of here now."
The only sound she heard in response was the click as he closed up the knife.
"Tripp," she whined, begged, entreated. "Don't do this to me, please?"
But he ignored her and her pleas, his gaze canvassing the room at hip level as he searched for a place to stash the knife. An easily accessible place for the "later" when he expected to need it.
That place turned out to be an open box of Advil packets she provided for her employees. The lip of the box slanted at enough of an angle to hide the contents. The knife disappeared beneath the plastic squares of white and peacock blue.
Now it was her turn to snag his attention. She approached until she stood full in his face, then approached further, backing him into the wall as she spoke. "If you don't tell me who the hell you are and what the hell is going on, I'll use that knife on you myself."
A grin spread over his mouth, easing the tense lines into which he'd set his jaw. But the tendons in his neck did not relax. And his eyes remained strangely distant.
"You promised," she goaded when still he didn't speak.
"I'm not so sure I promised," he hedged.
"You told me you'd tell me what you thought was going on here. So I wouldn't go to my grave wondering."
"I should've let you cut me free."
"Change of heart?"
"Yeah." He sighed heavily. "I'd really like to hold you."
"Oh, Tripp." The sting of tears threatened to blind her. She pressed herself to him; he was the one solid thing in the room that gave her hope.
"I'm not going to let you go to your grave, Glory." He paused, she waited, the punch line came. "Not till I've gotten mine."
She shook her head. His chest beneath her cheek vibrated with his chuckle when she stuck out her tongue. "Blackmail works both ways, you know."
"That's what I was afraid of. Besides, I was lying. I'm not going to let you die whether I get in your pants again or not. I'm not going to let anything happen to either of us."
The segue was perfect. "You sound pretty confident there for an engineering project consultant."
"Yeah, well, that's the thing. Besides the military background, I have a lot of other, uh, outside training."
Her ears perked up, as did her intuition, which told her this armed forces thing was something Tripp rarely talked about. That he hesitated telling her even now—and wouldn't have if not for this anomalic situation in which they found themselves.
"What sort of training?" she prodded when it became obvious he thought he was done. As if she was going to let him off that easily.
"You think we can sit?" he asked, distracting her again.
"Saving your strength along with the knife?"
"Something like that," he answered and slid down the wall to sit, knees bent and spread.
She settled between, leaning her shoulder into his chest and giving herself the visual advantage of being able to look into his eyes.
She wanted to make sure he didn't try to pull anything over on her. Like some big fat lie of a story to make her feel better, hoping she'd forget that in the next moment they both might die.
Eight
Figuring out how much to say about who he was and what he did had never come easy to Tripp. Keeping the existence of SG-5 off the public radar was essential. Keeping it off all military and law enforcement scopes was paramount.
The Smithson Group righted a lot of wrongs bound up in legal red tape along with others that went largely ignored for a variety of political reasons.
SG-5 wouldn't be able to guarantee many happy endings with Big Brother breathing down
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