by Tess Summers
Means to an end. That’s all she is.
He needed to keep telling himself that. His own dumb, hairy brother’s life depended on it.
****
Reagan
Her head was pounding from the worst hangover she’d ever had. How was that possible from one mimosa?
She ventured into the living room on her way to the kitchen in search of painkillers. It was so fucking bright out. Shielding her eyes, she stumbled toward the kitchen—then it occurred to her that there was still no one else onboard.
Squinting hard, she glanced around and realized they were no longer at the dock. They were out to sea, with no land in sight.
A million thoughts raced through her head at once, the most prevalent being that she was on the ship alone, and it had somehow floated out into the ocean on its own. She needed to find where the wheel was and figure out how to get back to shore. But first, she needed to take something for this damn headache.
Reagan entered the galley and stopped short when she found Mason standing at the island, preparing a meal in a more casual t-shirt and jeans than the suit he’d been in earlier. The dark blue in his shirt brought out the cornflower color in his eyes, and his smile disarmed her. Did he know they were no longer at the dock?
“Hey, how are you feeling?”
“Like I got run over by a truck, then it backed up and ran over me again. Um, did you know we’re like, in the ocean? No land in sight?”
“Yeah,” was all he said as he washed peppers and cucumbers in the sink.
So, being in the middle of the Pacific, just the two of us, isn’t a problem? Maybe in her fantasy, but her sister was going to kill her. What am I missing?
“What’s going on? I’m so confused right now. I swear I can usually handle my liquor. I don’t know what happened.”
He simply replied, “You need to hydrate,” then offered a placating smile like he didn’t believe she wasn’t a total lightweight—although she kind of really was. Still, he didn’t know that and was being rude. She’d only had one mimosa, for Chrissake. It didn’t even equate to one glass of champagne.
“I’m serious! What’s happening? Where are we? Where is everyone else?”
He paused his dicing and looked at her, his expression solemn.
“I drugged you. You need to drink some water to help get it out of your system,” he said, then resumed his veggie preparation like he had just given her an update on the weather.
Her hand went to her chest. “You—you drugged me?”
He nodded soberly.
“Why?” she whispered. “Did you—rape me?”
That made him set his knife down with a thud.
“Absolutely not. I prefer my partners to be active participants when I fuck them.”
Well, that was crude.
“Then why?”
He started chopping again with a sigh.
“It was either that or tie you up and gag you until we got of the marina and on our journey. I thought drugging you was the easier, more pleasant, option.”
“But why? I—I don’t understand.”
“Because, my dear, you’re now my hostage.” He then picked up the salad bowl like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Are you hungry?”
Chapter Three
Mason
Her calm voice did not match the panic on her face, and that worried him. He would have preferred she go batshit crazy—it felt safer that way. As it stood, she was unpredictable, and that was dangerous.
“I’m your hostage? Why? This makes no sense. I’m a nobody. I don’t even have a full-time job, I work two part-time jobs just to pay my bills. I barely have any savings. My mom…” The realization came to her, and she jerked like he’d struck her, then stumbled backward toward the doorway, frantically looked around as if trying to find an escape.
He hoped she wouldn’t dive overboard like her sister had done. They were a hell of a lot farther from shore than when Kennedy had taken the plunge.
Mason came around the galley island and walked carefully toward her, speaking softly and calmly like she was a cornered, wounded animal he was trying to soothe.
“Reagan, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re just a way to get to your sister.”
Tears were streaming down her face, and he had to jam his hands in his front pockets to keep from pulling her into him and holding her. He hated it, but he needed her upset and scared when she made the call to Kennedy. And she needed to stay afraid of him so he could keep her under control.
Then the little sprite lifted her chin in defiance, even as the tears continued to flow, and set her jaw while shaking her head.
“No. My sister deserves to be happy. She’s a new mom. I’m not going to let her sacrifice her life for mine. You’re just going to have to kill me.”
Dammit. Not the best time for his dick to move, but it did. Little Red was spunky and adorable.
“Sweetheart, I’m not going to hurt her. I just need her help.”
“So why don’t you just ask her then? Why did you have to kidnap me?”
“Well… I don’t think she’s going to be very amenable to helping me without some incentive.”
She furrowed her brows. “Why not?”
“Let’s just say we used to work together and had a bit of a falling out.”
She turned white as a ghost as she scrambled backward. He knew she was getting ready to rabbit.
“You’re one of the men who were going to kill her,” she hissed just before turning and bolting.
Fuck. You did not plan this through very well, he chided himself, then took off after her. In his defense, he hadn’t thought she knew about that. He really needed to stop underestimating the Jones sisters.
Mason got to her before she reached the deck, wrapping his arms around her from behind and pulling her into him. She was a tiny little thing, and his six-foot-one frame completely engulfed her. Damn, she smells good.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she whimpered before going totally limp, a move he was sure she’d learned in a self-defense course. It probably would have worked better if she weren’t so little, because the only thing it did was surprise him, then make him scoop her up in his arms.
“I am not going to hurt you,” he barked, a little harsher than he’d meant to, as he stormed through the yacht toward the captain’s quarters, still holding her.
“I’m sure you said that to my sister, too,” she snarled back, straining against his hold on her.
Having her in his arms was turning him on, which pissed him off, and he unceremoniously dumped her on the bed with a thud. Picking up her cell phone from the nightstand, he tried to hand it to her.
“Call your sister.”
“No,” she said boldly and scrambled to sit upright on the edge of the bed, even as tears streamed down her cheeks again.
He shoved the cell at her. “Call. Your. Sister.”
She stood up defiantly with her hands on her hips.
“I will not.”
Mason invaded her personal space, towering over her. Unable to help himself, he brought his mouth inches from hers while staring at her lips. Those luscious pink, kissable lips.
“Goddammit, Reagan, don’t make me hurt you.”
“Go ahead,” she taunted, refusing to avert her stare, but he could see the pulse in her neck beating a mile a minute and couldn’t help but notice how her chest heaved.
The CIA agent wanted to grab a fistful of her hair and slam her against the wall to kiss some sense into her. His cock was screaming, Do it! Fortunately, his training kicked in, and he restrained himself to try another approach.
“Video call your sister so she knows you’re all right. Otherwise I’m going to drug you again and call her myself and let her think you’re dead. You remember what an awful feeling that was, don’t you? Thinking your only sibling has been taken from you?”
He knew he had struck a nerve when she began to sob.
“Call Kennedy,” Mason reiterate
d softly and handed her the phone.
To his relief, she did as she was told. He heard the phone ringing, then a woman answered with concern in her voice, “Hi baby sister, where are you? Is everything okay?”
“No.” Reagan’s voice shuddered, then squeaked. “I’m so sorry, Keni.”
“Hey, whatever it is, it’s okay. Tell me what’s wrong. Where are you?”
She could only repeatedly mutter ‘I’m sorry,’ she was crying so hard. Taking the phone from her, he turned the screen to face himself and smirked.
“Hello, Agent Jones. Glad to see you’re alive and well.”
Kennedy was cool as a cucumber, not a bit of shock registering on her expression when she responded, “Mr. East Coast, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Well, we need to talk about you coming out of your… retirement. I need some help in a delicate matter, and you’re the first person I thought of.”
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What kind of help?”
“The kind you’re an expert in.”
She nodded in understanding. “So what does my sister have to do with this?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. Other than assuring your assistance. Once you help me, she’ll be released unharmed. If not, well… let’s just say I hope sweet little sis is as good a swimmer as you are.”
“Tell me what you need,” she replied, unflinching.
****
Reagan
Watching Kennedy on the screen over Mason’s shoulder, Reagan realized her sister was kind of a badass. She’d always sort of known that, but had never truly seen it firsthand. Keni wasn’t the least bit intimidated by Mason. On the contrary, she made as many demands of him as he did her, and her tone let him know they weren’t requests.
Mason’s brother, Marcus, was also in the CIA, but had apparently gone rogue on an assignment in Colombia and was now missing. The agency had disavowed him and was not willing to go in to find him.
Kennedy snorted in derision. “Funny how they pick and choose who they’re willing to just let disappear.”
“Except he didn’t go willingly. Intelligence suggests the Colombian cartel has him.”
Her sister pursed her lips. “How long has he been missing?”
“Thirty-six hours.”
“And you don’t think he’s dead yet?”
“No, not their style. They’re going to ransom him.”
“Why did he go rogue?”
Mason cocked his head and sighed. “Why do you think.”
“Money? Drugs?” Her smirk suggested that wasn’t really what she was thinking.
“What’s your next guess.”
Kennedy’s face became serious. “Who is she?”
“Someone the cartel was trafficking. Marc went in undercover, but the agency pulled the plug on the assignment. He refused to leave without her. It appears his cover was blown, and since he didn’t get out when he was ordered to, no one’s going in to help him. Except me. And you. And possibly some members from his team.”
“I’m assuming this isn’t sanctioned, then.”
“You would be correct.”
“So who knows I’m alive, East Coast?”
“It’s Mason. Agent Mason Hughes, and no one. Robinson said he shot you—on your instructions, I’m betting. The team had no reason to doubt it, and the agency signed off with no questions asked. Unfortunately for him, but fortunately for me, I watched your escape on the live surveillance camera feed.”
Kennedy huffed out a mirthless chuckle. “I wondered if there were cameras, but didn’t have time to worry about them. Does Robinson know you know?”
He shook his head. “Nope. I decided to hang onto this information to use as a bargaining chip, should the need ever arise. I guess you could say I’m calling it in—with you, at least.”
“Why not with him, too?”
“Agent Jones, I wouldn’t trust that idiot to save my neighbor’s cat, let alone my brother’s life.”
Kennedy gave a genuine smile. “Probably a good idea.” Her smile fell. “I’ll help you, Hughes, but you have to let Reagan go first.”
Mason tilted his head with his mouth turned down. “Come on, you’ve been around long enough to know I can’t do that.”
“Yeah, well, you were going to kill me, so—”
He interrupted her. “So you know I won’t hesitate to kill your sister if you don’t play ball.”
Keni stared at him for a minute, as if assessing the validity of his threat, then sighed. Not a good sign for Reagan.
“Send me what you have, then call me back in an hour. We’ll talk strategy after I’ve had a chance to look over everything. Now, let me talk to my sister.”
Reagan peeked her face into the camera again. She’d long since stopped crying and had observed the whole exchange between her captor and her sibling, utterly fascinated with it all. No wonder Kennedy had loved her job so much—right up until they’d decided to kill her for falling in love with Dante, who, Reagan was guessing, was part of the cartel.
She was naïve, not stupid.
Chapter Four
Mason
At least his sassy hostage had calmed down and was being compliant. She seemed to have realized he had no intention of hurting her—unless Kennedy didn’t cooperate. And fuck if he could hurt her regardless, but she didn’t need to know that.
He took her soft hand, and surprisingly, she didn’t pull away.
Leading her toward the living room, he teased, “Come on, sassy pants, let’s get some real food in you. And you need to be drinking water.”
She snorted as she plopped down on the couch. “Like I’m going to eat or drink anything you offer.”
He couldn’t say that he blamed her, although he acted like she was being silly.
“There’s no need to drug you now; you’re not going anywhere.” Except to my bed, and you’re definitely not going to be drugged for that.
Mason scolded himself as he walked onto the deck and fired up the grill. That thought should not be popping up in his head—but then again, his dick should not be popping up in his pants. Too bad neither was cooperating with him.
He brought a big tray into the living room with the salad he’d been preparing when she woke up, along with a bottle of unopened water, bowls, silverware, and dressing.
Setting the tray down on the coffee table, he handed her the water, which she reluctantly took but didn’t open.
“You need to hydrate and get the drugs out of your system.”
He then scooped a bowl of salad for her, but she didn’t take it, so he set it down in front of her, then scooped a bowl for himself.
“The steaks are still marinating, but they won’t take long to cook once I put them on the grill.” He eyed her not eating and sighed. “Come on, Reagan, you’ve got to be hungry. You have my word I won’t drug you again.”
Wordlessly, she reached over and took the bowl of greens he’d dished for himself and switched them with the bowl he’d given her, then waited until he poured the dressing and used the same one.
He winked at her with a grin as he took a bite. She rolled her eyes, but a smile escaped her lips. He wished they weren’t having to go full throttle to Colombia; it would have been nice to take the scenic route and get to know her. Every inch of her.
Too bad things weren’t different. But if they had been, they’d never have met in the first place. He didn’t spend his down time in Fargo, and he doubted she’d been anywhere he did spend his free days.
“So are you really a hockey fan or were you just making that up to throw me off guard?”
“Boston Bruins, baby,” he said with a big grin.
She rolled her eyes—again, something that made him to want to kiss her.
“What? Who’s your team?”
“The Fargo Force.”
Now it was his turn to roll his eyes.
“I mean, a real team. A team in a league that could actually win the Stanley Cup.”
“Oh, well,
as far as NHL, the Wild, of course.”
“Call me when they’ve won a championship.”
“Pffft. Whatever. Because Boston’s done so much since 2011.”
The fact that she knew her hockey and was verbally sparring with him about his team was making his dick hard. Hell, everything about this woman made his cock ache. It was going to be a long fucking four nights, and yet he knew it wasn’t going to be nearly long enough.
“Eat your salad,” he growled with amusement.
“You’re just mad because you know it’s true.”
“I’ve got two words—six championships. How many have the Wild won again?” He held his hand up to his ear. “What’s that? Do I hear crickets?”
“Whatever,” she huffed, but ate her salad, which he was happy to see. “Just you wait,” Reagan told him confidently, emphasizing her words while waving her fork in small circles at him. “Our time’s coming.”
Oh, sassy pants, I wish our time was coming, too.
****
Reagan
They finished eating, and she helped him clean up before he locked her in the captain’s quarters while he took food to the skeleton crew. Then, she knew, he was going to call Kennedy back.
“You need to rest. You’re going to be groggy until the drugs are out of your system,” he told her with a smile when she protested being made to return to her room.
Reagan was a little miffed when he closed the door behind him, but he was right—she was still tired. The soft pajamas she found in the drawers, along with the comfy bed, calmed her ire—although not for long, since having to pee every fifteen minutes from all the water he’d made her drink at dinner was not conducive to sleeping.
It was odd how concerned he was about her. Odd, yet charming, and kind. The man confused her. She was actually enjoying her time with him, and that felt like a betrayal to her sister. Then there was the matter of him threatening to kill her.
And he would have killed Kennedy, there was no doubt about that.
So, no—she couldn’t really like him, she was just pretending to keep herself safe until he released her. That’s all.
