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on the back, and I coughed.
    Then I belatedly wiped a grimy palm on my pants before pressing it against her still extended one. “Justice, Miss Lawless. Ma’am.”
    She laughed with throaty ease—a sound that was pure sin—remarkable for one who’d almost been on the receiving end of death’s blade for over twenty-four hours.
    “Ma’am?” Her nose crinkled, highlighting the soft copper freckles. “Tilly’s what I’m called.”
    Tilly.
    Didn’t that just roll off the tongue when I tried it out?
    “Tilly. I’m Justice, this here’s Walker, Bane, and Storm.” I pointed to each man, thankful none of them stared at her the way I did, like she was an oasis of female flesh after decades of celibacy.
    A lick of sweat trickled down the side of my face, and—sweet Christ—Tilly’s seafoam green eyes tracked it all the way as it dripped off my jaw and followed the straining cords of my neck.
    I wiped the drop away with my thumb, and her head snapped up. At the same time we became aware of the hum of quiet conversation behind us.
    Ambassador Lawless hooked her around the shoulders and drew her to his side while we finished the short introductions.
    With his shirtsleeves rolled up, his bearing military, and appearing strong as an ox, Lawless stood tall as as me—a good six foot three—and despite being thirty years my senior, it showed only in his sterling silver hair that might’ve once been just a few shades more red than Tilly’s.
    Tilly.
    Fuck.
    This time the mission might not be the most dangerous thing I encountered.
    I kept my gaze trained completely off her when I grasped her father’s hand, his paw as big as mine. “Ambassador.”
    “I think we can dispense with Ambassador Lawless under these circumstances, don’t you, men? Just call me James.”
    I didn’t relax my stance. Couldn’t when he looked at me with strict eyes, a darker, mossier green than Tilly’s .
    We inspected the door and its near destruction, listened to the collapsed tunnel shifting on the far side of it.
    “Fuck, Ambassador. Who the hell’d you piss off?” Storm hooked his finger in his gun belt.
    Lawless smoothed gray hair off his brow. “The usual, it appears.”
    “Well”—I leaned a shoulder against the wall—“there goes our escape route.”

Chapter Six
    Head Games
     
     
     
    JESUS CHRIST, JUSTICE, GET your head in the fucking game .
    The head on top of your shoulders.
    I got back on mission, charging forward. “Storm, weld that door tight. I don’t even want a damn speck of air coming through any cracks.”
    He saluted me with two fingers at his forehead and a lopsided smirk. But at least he didn’t give me any lip.
    Marching up to Lawless, I clapped a hand on his shoulder. The starch may have dissolved from his wrinkled dress shirt, but there was plenty of backbone left in his stature and bearing.
    “Hear you know our Miss Carmichael personally. She put me in charge of this op, sir, and I won’t let her, or you, down.” And definitely not your daughter.
    My gaze skittered to Tilly with unstoppable force then quickly away again.
    “Blaize Carmichael, huh ?” Lawless scratched a white-whiskered jaw he was probably used to having clean-shaven with military precision. “Now there’s a fine young woman with an excellent work ethic. I guess that means I have to trust you boys.”
    “Boys?” Walker’s eyebrows shot up.
    Lawless gestured at me. “Well, this one here doesn’t look old enough to tie his own shoelaces.”
    Bane smirked. Walker guffawed until I glared him into silence. Lawless hit me with a drill sergeant’s flinty stare.
    Considering we were here to save his ass, he didn’t seem inclined to go easy on us.
    “And of course you four don’t officially exist. Is that right?” He skewered that stern look at me again.
    “We’re officially unofficial,” I concurred, willing the tension to ease from my tight shoulders. “How about you show us the set up so we can get squared away?”
    Storm