“How’s that?”
Her smile was sad, but her eyes looked far away, almost unfocused. “My mama’s words. When I was a little girl, she used to make up stories. One of my favorites was about a cricket named Horatio. He was a talented violinist, and whenever he played, it would move all the hearts of nature, including the night. Together, they would weep at the lovely music he made.
“So whenever it rained, my mother would tell me that Horatio was playing music for his family and friends.” She shrugged. “It made me feel less lonely.”
And that loneliness had only increased for her. Had Fletcher seen that loneliness? Had he spotted a lonely and vulnerable young woman, preyed upon her? And when he’d discovered, somehow, that she was the daughter of a convicted felon, he had used that, used her.
Her soft voice cut into his thoughts. “I guess you had a lot of loneliness, too. Growing up, I mean.”
Had he? He didn’t remember being alone as much as being determined to get away from all that he had known.
“It was different for me. I had choices. Places I could go, things I wanted to do.”
“We’ve led different lives. Before and after.”
“And now we’re parents together.”
“I don’t know how many times I can say I’m sorry.”
“No, we’re past that. That’s not what I’m looking for.”
“Then what?” She took his hand, squeezed it. “What can I do? What do I need to do?”
Unable to resist the temptation, he pulled her into his arms. Burying his face in her hair, he stifled a groan at her familiar scent. How he had missed it.
“When this is over…when Giovanni is safe, we’ll figure things out.”
“Will we?” Pulling slightly away so she could see his face, she said softly, “Raphael?” There was a wealth of meaning in her voice. It was an invitation, a plea.
He looked down at her for the longest time, his need for her fighting against the sense of betrayal he still felt. It would be so easy to lose himself in her soft, giving body, to forget, even for a little while. Every instinct told him to take what she offered. He saw no guile in her eyes. They were open, honest. She wanted him. The expression on her face told him that whatever he decided, she understood.
His jaw clenched with need. Yes, he wanted her. Had never stopped. But if he did this, it would be for purely selfish reasons, and though he was no saint, he wasn’t a user either. The gulf they had between them was too wide, too fraught with hurt and misunderstandings. Giving in to his needs would solve nothing more than easing a physical ache. The problems would still be there.
Taking a steadying breath, he stepped back, away from temptation. “Get some sleep. We’ll start again tomorrow.”
“No.”
“What?”
Her voice, her entire demeanor, held resolve. “You heard me. It’s taken me a long time to realize something. Something I’m profoundly ashamed to admit. I don’t speak up for myself. Don’t tell others what I want. If I did, maybe I could have done something to help my mother all those years we were stuck on Reddington’s island. If I had spoken up for us, fought for us, we never would have been apart. And I most certainly could have prevented what my son is going through now.
“Every time I accepted what others said without fighting for what I wanted, I lost. Those I care about lost. I’m tired of losing, Raphael. I want you. I want this. If you don’t, then say so. But I—”
She never got to finish her sentence. His mouth was on hers, ravishing it tenderly, thoroughly. Hard, steely arms wrapped around her, and he said her name, part growl, part groan, causing a flood of need to swamp her senses, almost swallow her whole.
She pulled away, breathing heavily, wanting to make sure he knew. “I’m not asking for promises. I know that we have a lot to get through.”
“Hush. This is what I want. You are what I want. Hang on.”
Surprising her with both his speed and strength, he swung her into his arms and carried her into the house. Giselle’s heart was pounding so hard, she could barely hear the hard rain that was now pouring from the heavens. They entered the bedroom and closed the world out. Soft darkness surrounded them as he laid her on the bed. She reached for him, and he said thickly, “Let me love you.”
He started at her feet, taking off her shoes and socks, tenderly kissing each naked foot. His hands slid up the outside of her legs, amping up the anticipation. Quickly unzipping her jeans, he slid them off but left her underwear. Going back to her feet, he started all over, his mouth moving up one leg, stopping close to her core. When he went back to her feet again, Giselle groaned and twisted on the bed.
Raphael chuckled, the sexy sound vibrating through her. “Raphael…please.”
“Patience, sweetheart.”
“I’ve been waiting too long already. I need you.”
“Shh.” Proving that his self-control was much stronger than hers, he started at her other foot, moving slowly up her leg. When he stopped once again, she reached for him. He took advantage of her arms being raised and slipped her shirt over her head. Now wearing only panties and a bra, Giselle was sure the delicious torture was almost over. She was wrong.
His fingers hooked in her panties, dragging them from her legs, and then slowly, leisurely his caressing hands moved up to unclasp her bra. She was so lost in need, she hardly realized she was completely nude until his mouth covered her left breast and at the same time one of his long, hard fingers gently penetrated her. The twin sensations sent her soaring.
She wasn’t sure how long it was before he finally slid into her. She had lost count of the number of times she had climaxed. Lost count of the times she begged him to come inside her. When he finally did, Giselle wrapped her legs around him and held on tight. But the torture she had thought was over had only begun. Showing once again that his self-control had grown through the years, Raphael set up a series of hard, fast thrusts and then tempered them with the occasional long, slow glides. Just when she didn’t think she could take it anymore, he would withdraw and then start again.
Giselle groaned with both frustration and need. “Why are you torturing me like this?”
“I don’t want it to end. Do you know how I’ve dreamed of this night? How many nights I’d go to bed, aching and hurting, needing you?”
“I’m here now, Raphael. I’m not going anywhere.” She pulled him down and whispered against his ear, “Let go.”
His breath rattled through his lungs as he fought for control. “I don’t have any protection.”
“It’s not a problem. It’s taken care of.”
She barely got the words out before Raphael plunged deep again, pounding and thrusting. This time they exploded together.
Other than their heavy breathing, the room was silent. If at all possible, she would be holding her breath because she really didn’t know what she should say. Had this been just a momentary moment of madness for him? For her, she had no doubts. She had never stopped loving him. No matter how much time passed, that would never change.
From Raphael’s perspective, things were understandably different. Not only had she left him, she had kept their son from him. He had so much to forgive, and she didn’t know if he would ever get there. She didn’t blame him for his anger, but that didn’t negate her wishing he could get past it. They’d once had something remarkable between them. She had messed that up, but did that have to be the end?
Unable to bear the suspense any longer, she said, “Raphael, I—”
The buzz of Raphael’s cellphone came at an opportune moment. They both scrambled in the dark, trying to find its location. Giggling at how silly they must look, Giselle groped for the light but couldn’t find it. Raphael gave a grunt, and she turned to see he’d found the thing and was answering it.
She heard what sounded like someone yelling. Was that Noah’s voice? She reached again for the bedside light and froze at Raphael’s bark, “Don’t turn on the light.”
“What’
s wrong?”
“Our location has been compromised. Get your clothes on. I’ll get our go bags. We’ve got to get out of here.”
The urgency in his voice kept her from questioning him. Grabbing her clothes from the floor, she slid into them.
Just as she finished tying the laces on her track shoes, Raphael came to the door. Holding a bag in one hand and his gun in the other, he snapped, “Let’s go.”
Sweeping her hair up in a messy ponytail, she followed him out the door and through the house.
“We’ll drive to—” He jerked to a stop.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
Instead of answering, he grabbed hold of her hand and pushed open the back door. They were halfway across the porch when she heard a buzzing noise above them.
“What’s that sound?”
Cursing, Raphael grabbed her by the waist and hauled her down the steps.
They were only a few yards away when the house behind them exploded.
Chapter Twenty-nine
LCR Headquarters
“I’m so damn sorry, McCall. I believed they’d be safe there.”
The fury burning in Declan Steele’s eyes was the only thing holding Noah back from shouting with rage. Steele was just as pissed as Noah.
“What the hell happened?” Noah asked.
“One of my techs intercepted a text. Thought it looked fishy. Sent it up to me. I agreed, so we checked the guy out. Found texts going back several weeks, relating to a target not yet identified. This man doesn’t have the clearance or the intelligence for that kind of intel or op. We dug more, found where he’d communicated with someone yesterday, revealing the location of the target.”
“The safe house in New Orleans.”
“Yes.”
“Raphael’s not answering his cell.”
“He’s likely on the move, evading. He’ll get in touch when he’s able.”
The sick feeling in Noah’s gut said something else. Something was wrong, he knew it.
Declan’s cellphone rang, and as he answered, Noah tried once more to reach Raphael. When there was still no answer, he texted him, asking him to call. Stupid, really. He knew Raphael would call as soon as he could, but it made him feel better, so what the hell.
“Trouble,” Steele said.
Noah whirled around. “What?”
“Somehow, someway, there was a drone strike on the house. It’s demolished.”
No, he refused to believe it had hit while they were still inside. “Raphael would have gotten out before then. I’m sure of it.” As he texted a message to operatives closest to New Orleans, he said, “I’m sending a team there. We should know soon.”
“They’ll have someone there, making sure they hit their target.”
“Yeah. Maybe we can pull some of them in, have a chat.”
He stared out the window, barely able to form the next words. “He’s still not answering his cell.”
A hand landed on his shoulder. “You trained him, McCall. Sabrina says he’s one of your best. He’s fine…they’re both fine.”
Steele was right. Raphael was trained, had excellent instincts and great survival skills. He and Giselle had escaped in time. Any other option was not acceptable.
“Who the hell are these people, McCall?”
Noah rarely invited other organizations, especially governmental ones, into LCR operations. Declan Steele was the exception. Not only was he married to Sabrina Fox, one of his most-talented Elite team members, Declan was the team leader of a clandestine government agency. The man had intel even those in high government positions never knew.
By necessity, Noah had shared intel on the Fletchers, but he would share more. He was long past treating these bastards like ordinary evil. They had both power and influence, evidenced by what had happened at the safe house. Who had that much influence that they could commandeer a drone strike on American soil?
Noah gave Steele everything he knew on Daniel Fletcher. All the while, in the back of his mind, was the worry. Had Raphael and Giselle made it out? Were they still alive?
***
Louisiana
The sound of someone urgently saying his name woke Raphael. Blinking rapidly, he struggled to get his bearings. Pain throbbed in several areas of his body, but they were distant and bearable.
“Raphael? Can you hear me?”
“Giselle?” He blinked again. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just a few cuts and bruises.”
He tried to rise, groaned as the pain went from a dull thud to a herd of a thousand cattle stampeding in his head.
“Take it easy. You’re bleeding from a wound on your temple. You’ve been unconscious.”
“How long?”
“It’s hard to say. Maybe two or three minutes. I don’t—”
Gritting his teeth, he sat up.
“What are you doing?”
When he tried to get to his feet, she pulled on his arm to stop him. “Raphael, no. You can’t move. You may have internal injuries. We need—”
“We need to get the hell out of here. Whoever blew up the house will be here soon, checking to make sure the job was done. We have to be long gone before that happens.”
He got to his feet, felt a little shaky, but he’d hold. Reaching his hand out, he pulled her up. She swayed and caught herself.
“You’re hurt.”
“No. Just kind of wobbly. I’m fine. I just…” She turned to look at the burning embers, all that was left of the house. “Someone blew up the house?”
The house continued to burn, but the steady rain was slowing its progress, which meant things would be easily identifiable, revealing no people had died there.
Turning back to her, he roamed his gaze over her. Her hair hung in wet tangles around her pale face. Something dark, besides the mud, gleamed dully on her face. He reached out, touched her, and she flinched.
“You’re cut.”
“It’s nothing. Just a scrape. I’m fine.”
Treating the cut, whether it was nothing or serious, would have to wait. They needed to be gone from this place. Taking her hand, he led her into the woods. Going down the road would have been preferable but more dangerous. If Fletcher’s people were brazen enough to bomb a house, they would damn well check to make sure there were no survivors.
They’d been walking for several moments when he heard the distinct sound of trucks. “Get down,” he whispered.
Seconds later, lights from powerful flashlights shone in the distance. Yeah, they were searching, and when they didn’t find bodies, they’d come looking.
“Let’s get the hell out of here.” Still holding her hand, he took off at a run. For right now, speed was their priority. It would take a while, maybe half an hour or so, before the assholes discovered no one had been inside the house when the bomb hit. And then the search would be on. They needed to be as far away as possible when that happened.
He had his Glock and his cellphone. The go bag was filled with food, water, medical supplies, a change of clothing for each of them, and a thermal blanket. It could’ve been a helluva lot worse.
Without warning, the rain that had been quiet and steady earlier came down on them in torrents, hard and mean. Stopping wasn’t an option, but the last thing either of them needed was to break a leg trying to get away.
“Hold on.” He stopped and turned. Could see no lights behind them. Risking light was less of a concern than a broken limb. Pulling out his phone, he noted he had a full charge, but also saw what he expected. No signal. No way was he going to be able to contact Noah until they got closer to civilization. He could, however, use the flashlight.
Turning the light on, he first looked at Giselle, wanting to assure himself she was really all right. Her clothes and hair were soaked, and she was shivering. Putting on dry clothes would be pointless, but he could help out a little. Stooping down, he unzipped the duffel and pulled out a rain hat. For no good reason, he’d picked it up a year or so a
go when he’d been in Colombia. It was too small for his head, obviously made for a smaller person. “Here.” He settled the hat on her head. If he’d been in a better frame of mind, he might’ve laughed. She looked both ridiculous and adorable.
His fingers touched the bloody scrape on her cheek. “Does it hurt?”
“No. Not really.”
“I’ll clean and bandage it as soon as it’s safe to stop.” He looked around at their location. Mostly just dense woods now, but the deeper they went, the swampier it would get.
“Let’s keep going.” Taking her hand, he pulled her with him.
“Can’t we call someone?”
“No signal yet.”
“How can anyone get hold of a drone that would drop a bomb?”
“I think we can both agree that the Fletchers’ tentacles reach pretty damn far. They’re not getting away with it, though. We’ll make sure of that.”
“I’m so sorry, Raphael. I brought all this trouble to your door.”
“Stop blaming yourself, Giselle. You don’t deserve what they’re putting you through, and you sure as hell don’t deserve to have your son taken away from you.”
“Our son.”
Despite himself, a flood of warmth went through him. What they had shared tonight had gone a long way in healing their rift. There were still plenty of issues to get through, plenty of blame on both sides, but tonight felt like a new beginning.
And now they were running for their lives.
Fletcher’s ruthlessness was matched only by his ability to know things he shouldn’t. Daniel might be providing the money and pulling the strings, but there was someone else in charge of orchestrating all the events. If they could get to him, maybe they could tear away their foundation.
Question was, who the hell was it?
***
Rockwell, New Jersey
“House was empty,” a deep voice drawled.
Cato ground his teeth till his jaws ached. “You’re sure?”
Running Strong Page 22
