The Deadly Series Boxed Set

by Jaycee Clark

  So she had. “I just wasn’t thinking,” she tried.

  He tsked. “No, this time you were finally thinking with your heart and not with that keen intelligence. Fate moves us in ways we should go if we’re too stubborn to go there ourselves.”

  “Nikko, you’re starting to annoy me.”

  “Denial is a terrible thing. Now, what are you going to do about Mr. Kinncaid?”

  She shook her head. “I have no idea.”

  “He’s keeping the girl?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “I like this man. If he hurts you, I’d have to kill him, but I think I like him. He makes you feel, truly feel, and that is much. Plus, he didn’t have to take the child, but he did. That’s a good man.”

  “He reminds me of you, I think.” She rubbed her forehead and watched Darya shift to her back, still asleep.

  “That is lovely. But love him for who he is, not because he reminds you of someone. I must go, cara. Take care and call me.”

  “I will.”

  “Oh, by the way, your two fish, Frank and Henry, or whatever their names were—”

  “Frank and Fred.”

  “Yes, well, they are no more.”

  “It’s sad, Nikko, when you’ve reached the point to kill fish.”

  He said something not very flattering. “Ti amour, cara.” And he hung up.

  She realized he’d never answered her on where he was.

  • • •

  8:04 p.m.

  Quinlan said good-bye to his mother and father and promised to be home tomorrow night for a family dinner. He set the vase of flowers on the shelf in the hospital and looked again at the newest little Kinncaid. Another girl. Seemed like there were girls everywhere. Miss Anna Marie was seven pounds and thirteen ounces and twenty inches long.

  Everyone else oohed and ahhed over her, and though she was cute, he supposed, she looked like all babies looked to him. He’d already brought in a big pink chenille elephant and Gavin had only shaken his head. Ryan had been talking ninety miles an hour. He’d just missed Aiden, who was returning home, where Jesslyn was with the twins.

  He had no idea Ian had even left until his mother mentioned it, and he was stupid enough to comment on his lack of knowledge. “If you’d come home more, interact more with your family than with the hotel guests, you might know what’s going on.”

  For a moment, he’d thought she’d meant something altogether different. Then he shook his head and placated her by saying, “I’ll come out to dinner tomorrow.”

  “And cancel at the last moment.” She patted his hand.

  “No, I won’t.” He would try not to.

  “You know, Marylin Pladdock’s daughter is staying with them for a bit. You remember the Pladdocks.”

  A shudder danced down his spine. “Mother, I have to go. If a date is required, I will find my own, thank you.”

  “At the hotel?”

  Shaking his head, he slapped Gavin on the back again. Kissed Taylor’s cheek. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you, Quinlan.”

  “Isn’t she just the coolest, Uncle Quin?” Ryan asked him.

  “That she is, Ryan.”

  “Anne Marie.” Ryan stood smiling beside his dad.

  Jock was busy taking pictures with the digital camera. It was time for him to go.

  “Tomorrow night,” his mother reminded him.

  “Yes, Mom.”

  He hurried from the hospital room before anyone else could grab him.

  Once in his car, he breathed a sigh of relief and drove to the hotel.

  A date. God, why couldn’t Mom just leave well enough alone.

  Back at the hotel, he walked to his office, checked his messages. No messages from Alla.

  His stomach grumbled and he figured he’d go eat.

  In the restaurant things were going smoothly for a Friday evening. The place was packed, people waited to be seated, but it was normal with no snags.

  He glanced at the bar and saw her at once.

  She sat again, dressed in a dark suit of plum, still sexy as hell, the dark V showing off something lacy and black. She stared at him, her slanted eyes promising delights that haunted him, her lips curved seductively in her come-and-get-me smile.

  And why did he want to?

  He remembered the feel of her on him, against him, under him. Her tight muscles, her beautiful breasts. The way she moved, tight as steel and fluid as water.

  Hell. He sighed and shoved his hand through his hair. He’d been in meetings most of the day, spent the evening at the hospital and had planned to eat, and later work out on his treadmill.

  Then again . . .

  An image of her riding him, those lips of hers curved and demanding, her muscles squeezing, squeezing. Quinlan closed his eyes and shook his head. What the hell was with him? Women were nice, he enjoyed a good lay as well as the next guy, but this . . .

  This was like a craving. A hum under his skin that itched to the surface.

  She arched one brow.

  Some inner voice said he should just turn around and walk away . . .

  He walked toward her and figured why not enjoy that which was offered.

  When he was even to her, he said, “You’re back.”

  Her eyes ran the length of him, her nail raked down his tie, and he felt the tug straight to his groin.

  He narrowed his gaze at her. “Staying the night?”

  She licked her lips, grazing her teeth over the plump bottom lip. “Depends.”

  He leaned closer, smelled that enchanting swirl of floral and something he could never put his finger on. His hand on the small of her back, he whispered against her ear, “On what?”

  Her lashes swept up as she stared at him. “You.”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her behind him, her husky laughter floating out and tightening around his control as surely as her fist on his dick.

  “I just so happen to have a room.”

  “I remember.”

  Tonight, so would he.

  Chapter 28

  8:55 p.m.

  Ian sat, the D.C. night glittering beyond the window of his boss’s office. The Capitol building shone white, beckoning.

  This was it.

  “I can’t believe you’re actually leaving,” Pete said yet again.

  Ian turned from his study of the nightlife and looked across to the man he’d met so many years ago after he successfully completed a mission in the 75th. This man had found him and recruited him. His life was never the same.

  “You regret it?” Pete asked, lighting a cigar.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You could offer me a departing cigar.” He opened his eyes. “Like a celebration.”

  “Or a death.” Pete didn’t offer him the humidor. “Besides, you’ve quit. If you slid now, you’d have to start all over again.”

  Ian shook his head. “You always were a hard-ass.”

  Those hard lips flashed into a rare smile, or what could only pass as a smile on Pete Jones.

  “If you ever need a job . . .” Pete left it open.

  Ian shook his head. “No, thank you. I’ve had enough of shadows and games to last me way past this lifetime.” He wanted to pace or tap his foot. He did neither.

  Pete nodded and blew out a plume of smoke. “Well, you’ll be delighted to know the remains of Dimitri Petrolov, his guard, Jean Tabeier, and another guard, belonging to a local club owner, were all identified.”

  “And?”

  Pete shrugged. “The remains were cremated tonight.”

  Ian grunted. It was over . . . almost.

  He scratched the side of his mouth with his index finger. “Guess I need to turn my gun in.”

  Pete raised a brow. “What gun?”

  Ian waited a moment, then smiled. “Only one last loose end to tie up.”

  “Two,” Pete corrected and leaned up, his maroon leather chair squeaking. He pursed his lips, tapped the desk and leaned back again. “About to becom
e one.”

  “Really? Care to expound on that, Pete?”

  Something shifted in his hazel eyes and he huffed a breath out. “Don’t ever get married.”

  Ian frowned, wondering what the hell that had to do with anything. Pete had been married now for . . . well, several years to his second wife. Quiet woman who worked in an accounting firm.

  “Pete, I want a name,” he said, returning to the topic. “I want to know who blew my cover.”

  Pete stood and walked to the window, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, the shirtsleeves rolled up. “You’ll get one, when I know for certain. Until then, you’ll wait. You’ll be notified if I find out anything for certain.” He glanced at Ian, and those eyes were as hard as he’d ever seen. “I don’t take the fact your cover, and others’, was blown way the hell open any more lightly than you do. And probably a hell of a lot more serious than even you would imagine. It’s not just you, we’re learning. There were others, are others . . .” He rubbed his forehead. “Christ.” Without looking at Ian, he said, “Go home to your family, Ian Kinncaid. Your work here is done.”

  Ian stood, slapped Pete on the back. “Why do I feel like you left off the ‘until we need you’ bit?”

  Without waiting for a response, he walked out of the office. The secretary wasn’t at her normal post.

  An armed guard nodded to him and let him out the door. It shut and locked behind him.

  John leaned against the wall by a bank of elevators, two carry-on bags at his feet. They walked through the lobby, across the Defense Intelligence Agency’s seal, and out into the cold November night.

  John waited as Ian flagged down a cab. As they stepped off the curb, John slapped him on the shoulder. “Feels different, doesn’t it?” He grinned. “Ready to really get to work now, partner?”

  • • •

  10:34 p.m.

  Ian Kinncaid shut the cab door. John climbed out the other side.

  “I’m so bloody jet-lagged,” John complained.

  “Could have stayed in London.”

  He raised a brow. “And miss all this? What do you take me for?”

  Ian shoved some bills at the cabby and grabbed his bag. The paper on the cheap convenience-store flowers crinkled in his hand. He’d made the cabby stop and bought two bundles. He looked at them. One was rather a sad case of mums and lilies, the other colored daisies. Looking at his friend as they walked up the lighted walkway, he said, “Johnno, be honest. You just can’t stand not being part of whatever shit I have going on.”

  “Oh, that’s most definitely it.”

  They walked up the steps and Ian unlocked the door.

  “You could ask your parents for a key instead of picking the bloody locks.”

  “Where,” he asked, “is the fun in that?”

  They’d left Amsterdam at ten a.m. and arrived in D.C. at six p.m. local time. The next two hours were meetings with Pete. The leak issue still bothered him on more levels than one.

  Pete hadn’t really answered him. Which was odd. He thought back over the conversation and wished he wasn’t so damn tired. He’d asked about the leak, and Pete had mentioned marriage. Why?

  He knew Pete was with his second wife. They’d been married for . . . six years? Wasn’t it? At the time, back in Pete’s office, Ian had assumed his boss had merely been trying to change the topic.

  But something . . .

  Unless . . .

  No. Surely not.

  Ian shook off the thoughts and stepped into the darkened hallway.

  Forget it. He was tired. Pete said he’d call. Pete would call.

  Ian, on the other hand, hadn’t called Rori, and maybe he should have, but he wanted to surprise her too.

  The house was dark and quiet.

  “They turned in early tonight,” Ian muttered, figuring someone would still be up.

  “Did you let Roth know we were coming?” John asked him.

  “No,” said a voice from the shadows. Roth stepped out and holstered his firearm. “Idiots. I could have shot you.”

  Ian smiled. “You wouldn’t have. You don’t shoot first and ask questions later unless the situation warrants that. And this didn’t.”

  Roth grunted. “Lucky for you.”

  “Where is everyone?”

  Roth glared at him. “Trying to get some sleep.”

  “Why, what’s been going on?”

  Roth said, “First off, your brother and sister-in-law had their baby. Girl, get the details from your mother. Or your dad.” Roth shook his head. “Never seen such a camera-happy man. Secondly, Darya’s usually up several times a night screaming.”

  Ian didn’t wait for the rest, but hurried up the stairs, the bag in one hand, the flowers in the other. At the top, he walked quickly down the hallway to his daughter’s door. Pushing it gently open, he saw that the lamp on the dresser cast a soft glow on the room. Rori slept in a chair beside the bed, half lying on the bed, her hand on Darya’s chest. On the nightstand stood bottles of medicine and tissues. A thermometer. Quietly, he set the bag down by the door, laid the flowers on top of it. He walked across the room and stood beside the bed looking down at his daughter, covered with the blue comforter.

  Her cheeks were flushed, and in her hand, atop the cover, was clasped the photo he’d given her. From the crinkled edges, it appeared she’d never let go of the thing. He reached out and put his hand to her forehead. She was burning up. Worry thrummed through him.

  Rori jerked.

  “Easy,” he whispered, laying his hand atop hers.

  Rori’s eyes opened and she sat up, stretching. “You’re home.”

  Home . . .

  He looked at her, sitting here exhausted beside their sick daughter.

  He nodded. “Yeah, I’m home.”

  “Thank God. Everything went all right, then?” she asked, putting her hand to Darya’s forehead and then checking her watch. “Another hour and we can give her something else.”

  “What the hell is going on?” he asked quietly, sitting on Darya’s other side.

  “Well, your daughter hasn’t eaten a single bite since you left. We’ve managed to get some water in her and now meds, but she wouldn’t eat. Hardly slept. Just kept watching for you.”

  He ran his hand over Darya’s dark curls scattered over the white pillowcase. His daughter . . .

  “I’ve been gone for over forty-eight hours. She was that sick?”

  Rori chuckled. “We don’t know if she was already coming down with something or if the combination of stress, her not eating, and not sleeping triggered the illness.” She shrugged and brushed her hand down Darya’s flannel-clad arm. “Your mother mentioned it could have been anything.”

  He frowned and felt Darya’s face again. “She’s too hot.”

  Rori nodded. “Yeah, goes up and down. Anywhere from ninety-nine to one-oh-three or four.”

  “What?” The worry turned to fear. “Did you take her to the doctor?”

  Both her brows rose. “I called your mother, who did her doctor thing, called some antibiotics in this afternoon and told me what to do.”

  His mother. He relaxed slightly.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered, worry still winding through his blood.

  “S’all right. I just didn’t know what the hell to do. Asked Becky, called your mom. Vented to Nikko and then to Roth.” Her hands rubbed her short hair. “I didn’t know what the bloody hell to do. I mean, she’s so little, and what do I know of kids?”

  He reached across the bed and pulled her to him, kissing her softly on the mouth. “You did fine. Go get some sleep. I’ll watch her for a while.”

  Rori frowned. “You’re jet-lagged. I can see it.” She shook her head. “You rest. I’ll give her the grape medicine in another forty-five minutes, and then when it goes back down, I’ll catch a few z’s.”

  Ian just watched her, noted her eyes were shadowed, the skin on her own cheeks a bit pale. “I slept on the plane. Fourteen hours and I was tired. I got at least
six, which looks like more than you.”

  She looked exhausted, disgruntled, and adorable. He smiled.

  “What?” she snapped, frowning.

  “You look wonderful.” And she did. “And I missed you.”

  Shaking her head, she stood, then walked around the bed, leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Wake me in four hours.”

  He nodded. “I will.”

  “Night.”

  “Night.”

  He looked at his daughter. Sitting on the bed, he pulled her into his lap and held her. Her hot face and head heated his neck and collarbone. He kissed the curls atop her head.

  It was good to be home. And he’d make certain she got better as soon as possible.

  “Hey, sweetie, Daddy’s home.”

  Chapter 29

  November 20, 7:29 a.m.

  The next morning after breakfast, his phone rang. Ian answered.

  “Hello?”

  “You wanted an update.” Pete’s voice, always devoid of emotion, seemed hollow, even for him.

  “Just a minute.” He nodded to Rori and walked out the double doors leading outside. “Okay.”

  “That loose end we discussed has just been cut.”

  Just like that. Anger and the fact he was denied justice licked through him, quick as a rattler. “You promised me a name.” He raked his hands through his hair. “Damn it, Pete. I had a right to know.”

  “Yes, you did. And so did others.”

  “Pete.”

  “Ian.”

  “What?”

  For a moment, the man didn’t answer him, then he said, “I don’t have time for this. I have a funeral to plan.”

  Ian blinked, shook his head. “What? I mean. Hell, I’m sorry, Pete. For wh-who?” Strange, they’d worked so long together, knew such dark things about the other, and yet knew so little.

  Again the silence.

  “The woman I trusted . . . my wife.”

  Ian frowned, then pulled back. The loose end . . . Pete’s wife? Ian wasn’t exactly surprised. Sometimes it was those closest, but still . . .