Rules In Defiance. Nichole Severn

you, Doc.” And not because it was his job to know. He’d spent the last year as a private investigator for Blackhawk Security, uncovering the secrets his targets hid from the world, declassifying documents for his own curiosity. Hell, he kept files on every one of his teammates. His former navy SEAL boss, Sullivan Bishop, and the fact he’d killed his own serial killer father, forensics expert Vincent Kalani and the accusations filed against him back in New York, their resident computer geek, Elizabeth Bosch—Dawson, whatever she went by now—Anthony Harris’s classified missions for the army, and the saddest of them all, their psychologist, Kate Monroe. But digging into Waylynn’s past had never crossed his mind.

      The light turned green in his peripheral vision. Car horns blared for him to get moving, but he didn’t give a damn. “You’re a scientist. You’ve spent your entire life in search of the truth and there’s no way I’m going to let you get yourself killed going after this guy on your own.”

      “My boss was right.” She hugged herself a bit tighter and stared out the windshield. “You and I spend way too much time together.”

      “Or maybe Dr. Stover wants you all for himself.” Couldn’t blame the guy. Waylynn had a pull to her, a sort of gravity that was hard to fight. Even now, something about her urged Elliot to close the small distance between them, but he’d never cross that line. Not with Waylynn. She needed his help now and that was as far as it would go between them. Ever. He stepped on the accelerator, barely making it through the light. Her mouth parted as though she intended to deny it. “Trust me, Doc. Bosses don’t usually call lawyers when their employees are being charged with murder.”

      Helping them escape out of an Iraqi prison was another thing.

      “I think Matt is more interested in my research than what’s under my lab coat.” Fingers spread wide, a combination of passion and excitement controlled her hands as she spoke. She did that a lot—spoke with her hands and he couldn’t do anything but pay attention. “The research we’re doing is important. Have you heard of the warrior gene before?”

      “Is that the movie about the boxer?” he asked.

      “The warrior gene,” she said. “Nearly every human being alive has a monoamine oxidase A gene, but, in several cases, individuals with low activity in that specific gene were found to have higher aggression in certain high-stress situations. It’s a variant and has come to be known as the warrior gene. Identifying the subjects who possess the warrior gene has the potential to save thousands of lives a year. Active shooters could be stopped before they picked up a gun because they wouldn’t be able to get one in the first place. Homicide rates would plummet. Army, navy, air force, the entire military would benefit from our research.”

      “What? No psychic telling you who to arrest before the vision comes true?” Elliot made a sharp right turn and floored the accelerator as they climbed Seward Highway’s on-ramp. Couldn’t take her to Blackhawk Security. Despite the fact its founder and CEO, Sullivan Bishop, had turned it into a fortress, Elliot wasn’t willing to take the risk while the building was still under construction. It’d been five months since a bomb had ripped apart the conference room, but the best place for Waylynn right now was with him. “What you’re talking about sounds like science fiction.”

      “It’s not like that.” Her hands fell into her lap as they left the city limits.

      Greenery bled together in his peripheral vision, the sunlight glimmering off the Turnagain Arm waterway almost blinding. He hadn’t chosen Alaska. If it were up to him, he’d have left a long time ago, but he’d keep his promise to his employer. He’d work off his debt.

      “And, no, we don’t have a psychic predicting violent events and the justice system would never convict a person of a crime before the actual crime was committed,” she said. “But knowing who carries the gene will be a huge step forward in genetic engineering and protecting lives.”

      “What you’re saying is everyone with the warrior gene will eventually snap when put in a high-stress situation.” Elliot turned off the highway, throwing them deep into the middle of the Alaskan wilderness just before the Potter Creek trailhead that led into Chugach State Park. The property wasn’t much and he’d bought it for close to nothing, but he could keep Waylynn safe out here. And that was all that mattered. “Good thing I’m prepared for the zombie apocalypse.”

      “Not…everyone. But, according to the studies I’ve done, it’s a possibility.” Her voice wavered on that last part and he narrowed in on the slight twitch on the left side of her mouth. A tell. Waylynn cleared her throat as a rush of pink climbed up her neck and into her cheeks. She tipped her chin up, studying the surrounding trees as the SUV climbed up the dirt trail. Waylynn Hargraves was hiding something. “Why are you helping me?”

      She could keep her secrets. For now. As long as they didn’t get him killed. Because he sure as hell wasn’t the sharing type. Besides, he had ways of uncovering the truth. No matter how deep it was buried. Elliot pulled off the main road, driving deeper into wilderness. No one would find them out here. And if they did, he’d come prepared. “I don’t think you killed your assistant. If you had, you would’ve asked me for help burying the body.”

      A smile overwhelmed the exhaustion in her features and, for a split second, Elliot couldn’t take his eyes off her. He’d never been the type to stick around long. A month here, a few weeks there. He’d made some enemies along the way, but having Waylynn next door settled the restlessness singing through his veins most days. “You have experience with that kind of thing?”

      Elliot leveraged his palm against the steering wheel and stretched back in the seat. “Did I ever tell you why I came to Anchorage?”

      She shook her head as the SUV bounced over fallen branches and dead foliage. He made one last turn, forcing her to reach for the handle above her seat before he brought the vehicle to a stop and hiked it into Park.

      “I ran a con that ended with me on the wrong side of the Iraqi government.” Reaching back behind her seat, close enough to get a lungful of her light perfume, he grabbed the duffel bag he kept stocked full of supplies and hauled it into the front. “Turns out being paid for assassination contracts you never intended to carry out constitutes fraud when the people paying you work for the government.”

      A weak laugh escaped from her lips as those blue eyes of hers widened. “You’re not serious, are you?”

      “My boss, Sullivan, was starting a security firm here in Anchorage. Needed a private investigator. I was recruited for the job.” Elliot shouldered his way out of the SUV, hiking the duffel over his shoulder. He clamped his hand on top of the roof of the vehicle. “And by recruited, I mean he made a deal with the people who had me arrested and is forcing me to pay back the money I conned out of those nice killers until we’re even. After that, who knows. Maybe my next project will be getting paid to bury bodies for people with your warrior gene.”

      “You don’t strike me as a professional con man,” she said.

      “That’s what makes me so good at it.” He winked at her, a smile pulling at one side of his mouth, and motioned her out with a single nod. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”

      Waylynn focused on their surroundings through his open door. He noted the exact moment she realized where he’d brought her as her mouth parted. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

      He couldn’t hold back the laugh rumbling through him and turned toward the dark green cabin. “Not this time, Doc.”

      A TINY CABIN.

      Not an oh-this-is-so-cute-and-perfect cabin, but a real, featured-on-the-Travel-Channel tiny cabin in the middle of the freaking woods. Broken twigs and foliage crunched under her feet as she rounded the hood of his company SUV. Dark green paint chipping off wood planks, a single window above the shack-like door. She ran her fingers through her matted, blood-tinted hair, then cringed at the thought of what she might look like. He couldn’t be