That was the reason he now stood outside Chase’s office, fully prepared to take whatever punishment he was due.
He’d placed his own selfish wants above his greater responsibility to his brethren last night. He couldn’t regret a moment of the hours he’d spent in Jordana’s bed, but the fact he’d done it in spite of the hard-won discipline he prided himself on—worse, that he pursued Jordana at the expense of his duty to his teammates—was a failure he intended to rectify by any means possible.
He read Jordana’s message again and groaned at his loss.
He would call her after his meeting with Chase and tell her not to expect him.
Dammit. He was going to have to try to explain to her that the next time she saw him, it would likely be on instructions to collect her and hold her at the command center as a witness until the Order felt she was of no further use in their investigation.
He could only hope she wouldn’t despise him for not having that conversation with her before she surrendered to him so openly last night.
As he berated himself for that further failure, his comm vibrated with another incoming transmission.
No message this time. Just an image.
Jordana, in a red dress.
A sexy, back-baring, curve-hugging, stupefyingly hot red dress.
And she had to know how incredible she looked in it. Posed from behind in front of a full-length mirror inside her dressing room, she looked over her shoulder at the camera with an expression that was confident, provocative, utterly sensual.
And meant just for him.
Nathan’s fangs punched out of his gums and his already uncomfortable hard-on became unbearable. He stared at her photo in abject lust, his fingers clamped so tight around his comm unit, it was a wonder the device didn’t shatter. All the air left his lungs on a ragged exhalation.
“Holy. Fucking. Hell.”
Without warning, the door to Commander Chase’s study opened.
“Shit.” Nathan jerked his head up, at the same time casually but quickly stowing his comm unit in the pocket of his fatigues. As an afterthought, he shoved his hands into both pockets too, hoping the added bulk would conceal the very obvious evidence of his arousal.
His fangs and amber-flecked irises were equally difficult to hide.
“Nathan.” Sterling Chase’s shrewd blue eyes hit him like twin-focused laser beams, missing nothing. The commander’s deep voice was low, his mouth grave and unsmiling. “I reviewed the reports from your team’s patrol last night. I was just about to call you in here to discuss them.”
Nathan gave a grim nod. “I thought you might, sir.”
“Come in.” Chase turned and strode back to his desk inside the spacious office. “Close the door and sit down.”
Nathan did as instructed, taking a seat in one of a pair of leather chairs on the opposite side of Chase’s desk. Even though he’d arrived there of his own volition, he knew full well that this was a reprimand waiting to happen.
More than likely, Chase had already spoken with Lucan and the two Order elders had discussed his failing … and his fate.
Nathan waited in respectful silence for his commander to address him. And he was glad for the opportunity to wrestle his libido into submission—no easy feat when that image of Jordana dressed in flame red silk was burned indelibly into his mind.
Chase put his elbows on the surface of his desk and studied Nathan for a long moment. “We’ll talk about what the hell you think you’re doing with her—and why she’s messaging you on a secure comm port—after we cover our other business this morning.”
With that, Chase leaned back and pulled up Nathan’s patrol report on the touch-screen monitor perched on the edge of his desk. “As I said, I reviewed the team’s reports on Cassian Gray’s slaying last night. Disappointing, to say the least. Not only did he manage to elude our sweeps and shakedowns these past several nights, but his death provides the public with a story they’ll be talking about for years. A beheading in the middle of the goddamned city of Boston?” Chase’s eyes crackled with angry sparks. “Fortunately, JUSTIS is operating in typical head-up-the-ass fashion, so they’ve officially declared it a random homicide, subject and motive undetermined. We know that kind of killing, not to mention the victim, was anything but random.”
Nathan inclined his head in agreement. “Whoever killed Cass knew what it would take to end him. They had to understand what he was.” Chase’s mouth pressed flat. “Or they are the same as he was. Atlantean.”
“That would be my guess,” Nathan said. “The question remains, why would someone—particularly one of Cass’s own kind—want him dead?” Chase grunted, his stare unwavering. “I’m informed there is a witness who saw Cassian Gray just hours before his death was discovered. A witness who did not seem to warrant a mention in any of the patrol reports. I wouldn’t have heard about this at all if Rafe hadn’t come to me with the information earlier this morning. Seems he wanted to shield a friend, so he omitted this crucial detail from his findings.”
Nathan struggled to keep his face neutral, but inside he was kicking himself. Damn Rafe for trying to protect him. Nathan hadn’t asked it of him; he would never have expected it.
“Fortunately for Rafe, his loyalty to the Order won out before the breach of trust was discovered on its own, or the consequences for him could be severe,” Chase said. He glanced over at the patrol report still displayed on the monitor. “I’ll deal with Rafe later. Right now, I want to know why this same witness isn’t noted on my patrol team captain’s report—which also wasn’t filed until daybreak this morning. I want to know why one of my best men, a warrior who’s served this unit faithfully, flawlessly, for more than a decade, suddenly decides to defy protocol.” Chase slammed his fist on the desk. “Dammit, I want to know why you’re practically forcing me to remove you from your command of the team.”