Weston's Treasure

by Riley Edwards

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, are you crazy?”

  “No, I’m not. But you sure as fuck are.”

  “You think maybe we can take this into the house before the neighbors hear the two of you shouting?” Nixon asked.

  I looked around, saw two pickups, an old Jeep Wrangler with the top off—vaguely thought that it was cool as hell—then to a sexy black Charger. What I couldn’t see because of the corn was if there were neighbors who could hear. I also thought about how I didn’t want to go into the house. No way, no how. Weston would continue to berate me and I’d had enough of him.

  Hell, I’d had enough of him months ago when I’d met him in DC and his smug ass had recommended me being taken off the team to take down the drug traffickers. Further, I’d had enough of my body’s reaction to him. He was a dick, but somehow my girly parts hadn’t gotten the memo we hated him and they tingled with awareness every time he was around.

  I’d convinced myself I’d been imagining the twinges in the time I hadn’t seen him. But when we’d been on the yacht and I heard gunshots, in a serious moment of weakness and fear I’d hidden behind his huge frame. My front was plastered to his muscled back and for some unknown reason, which I was going to blame on distress, my pussy clenched. It was insane but I’d heard in extreme situations your body went haywire and I was going with that theory.

  So, no, I wasn’t going into the house. I wasn’t spending more time with Weston Beil and his pheromones that oozed like a signal pulling me in, yet warning me he was all man and I couldn’t handle his vitality. Hell to the no, I was going home.

  I just didn’t know how I was getting there considering my car was back at the dock in the employee lot and I didn’t think Uber was available all the way out here in the middle of nowhere.

  Yet I still announced, “I’m going home.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  I ignored Weston and turned to the men huddled close to tell them thank you for rescuing me, but stopped dead. Four overly large men stood with identical looks of amusement.

  “What’s funny?” I snapped.

  “Nothing.” Holden chuckled.

  “Then why are you smiling?”

  “No reason.”

  “No reason? So you all normally just stand around looking badass with smiles on your faces?”

  “We look like badasses, huh?” Chasin quipped, adding a wink for good measure.

  Whatever, I didn’t have time to stand around embarrassed by my blunder. They all knew they were hot, and standing with their feet shoulder-width apart, their arms crossed over their chests displaying their biceps, made them hotter. All except Weston. His arms weren’t over his chest, they were on his hips, which not only made his biceps bulge but also drew my attention to his waist, which then drew my eyes to his stomach where I was sure a six-pack hid under his shirt.

  It was a vicious cycle, my gaze not knowing where to land. There was no part of Weston that was safe to look at. His male beauty was overwhelming no matter where I looked.

  Damn him for being so hot. Dickheads should not be allowed to be good-looking. This was why women were always getting themselves into trouble, picking the wrong men, overlooking an asshole’s attitude because he was big and had muscles. Weston was a prime example of sexy as all hell but off-limits.

  “Before I go—” I started but Weston cut me off.

  “You’re not goin’ anywhere.”

  “I wanted to thank you all for saving me,” I told the group and ignored Weston.

  “Once again, you’re not fucking listening.”

  “I’m ignoring you, Weston, there’s a difference.”

  “Christ,” he growled. “Get your sweet little ass in the house before I toss you over my shoulder and carry you in there.”

  “You touch me, asshole, and we’ll have problems.”

  “Problems? Sweetheart, you’ve already got problems.” His hands went from his hips and crossed over his chest and I was wrong—Weston, like the rest of the guys, could get hotter. Stupid, stupid, stupid girly parts not understanding the difference between hot and plain old jerk. “And how exactly are you gonna stop me, Silver? Throw some more bricks of coke at me?”

  Asshole.

  “The only problem I have is you. One I’ll forget all about as soon as I leave here.”

  “If you think that, then you’re naïve and haven’t been paying attention.”

  Gah. He was annoying.

  “Then tell me, Mr. Know-It-All, what am I missing?”

  “You sure you didn’t ask any questions today?”

  “Positive.”

  “You didn’t snoop around? Spook the men moving the drugs? Didn’t look at them funny? Didn’t act weird?”

  “No to all of that.”

  I seriously wished he’d move this along so I could go home.

  “Then you’ve been compromised.”

  Say what? Compromised?

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “You’ve been burned, sweetheart. The traffickers were tipped off, that you tipped off the authorities. Which means you got problems.”

  It took my brain a moment to fully comprehend what Weston was saying. It was impossible. No one knew I’d been talking to the Coast Guard or Homeland Security. I hadn’t taken any time off of work to go to DC, I only went when I was off rotation. I hadn’t kept any documentation of what I’d found and hadn’t written anything down. There was no way anyone knew.

  “You’re wrong,” I told Weston. “And stop calling me sweetheart, it’s condescending.”

  “Serious as fuck, that’s what you’re gonna bitch about? Someone tried to kill you today and you’re worried about me being condescending?”

  Well, when he put it like that, it seemed I did indeed have bigger fish to fry. However, me being me, meaning I was stubborn as all-hell, I was latching on to the part about him being a jerk rather than freak out that someone had tried to off me.

  “Yes, that’s what I’m bitchin’ about, sweetheart. And if you don’t like it there’s a way to put an end—”

  I didn’t have a chance to finish my hissy fit because Weston moved, and he did it so fast I didn’t have time to prepare before his shoulder hit my stomach and I was airborne. Surprisingly he hadn’t hurt me in his endeavor but it did piss me right the fuck off.

  “Put me down.”

  He didn’t. He kept walking toward the house and when I lifted my head I saw Holden behind me with a broad smile.

  “This isn’t funny, Holden.”

  “It sure as fuck is.” He shook his head, still smiling.

  “If you think so, then you’re just as much of a jerk as Weston.”

  “Right.”

  The brick walkway gave way to wooden steps, then a porch, and finally Weston stepped over the threshold but didn’t put me down. He continued into the living room and set me on my feet.

  “I don’t even know what to say to you,” I told him once I was steady and staring at his angry face.

  “You can start by saying thank you for saving your ass today. Then you can promise me you’ll stop being stupid. After that, you can give me your word you’re not gonna run and get yourself into more trouble.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.”

  “Fucking stubborn,” he snarled.

  Damn right, I was.

  It was also my biggest problem. I blamed it on my mother. It was because of her incessant belittling I was hell-bent on proving my worth. Her constant nagging had made me hard-headed, always out to do the opposite of what she’d told me. She hated my dad, hated that I loved him, hated that I wanted to be like him, hated that I loved the water. Basically, she hated everything about me and told me so.

  But more than all of that, it was because of her, my self-esteem was shit and I over-compensated by setting out to do things that would show her I was more than who she’d said I’d turn out to be.

  Only right now, the one thing I was trying to do was protect myself against a man who had s
aved my life, was continuing to try to protect me, even if he was doing it the only way a jerk knew how and that was to be a bossy, condescending prick.

  So I was grateful I was so obstinate. A weaker woman would’ve caved under the intensity of his stare, she would’ve allowed her gratitude to outweigh her sensibility. But lucky for me, my hard head was screwed on tight and I wouldn’t budge no matter how tingly I got.

  And damn if every nerve ending in my body was rapid firing just from the look in his eyes.

  Down, girl. Stay strong.

  3

  Weston had been wrong. Silver couldn’t write a book—she could fill a motherfucking library to the brim.

  Never in his life had he met a woman who had no idea when it was time to stop with the pig-headed bullshit and admit she was in trouble. And what the hell was it about her eyes that shone the truth, yet her mouth ran away like a train headed straight for Bullshitville, but she couldn’t stop the derailment.

  Weston knew she understood she was in trouble, he saw it the moment it happened, when his words had finally penetrated her thick skull and it had settled over her that she’d been targeted—that the drug dealers knew she was the one to give up the Dora B.

  Yet Silver continued to be combative.

  He was seriously considering handcuffing her in his bedroom so she couldn’t go out and find more trouble when he remembered she’d been cuffed earlier.

  “How’d you get out of the cuffs?” he inquired.

  “Picked the lock,” she said proudly.

  Weston was almost impressed until her smile turned smug and he was reminded she was exasperating.

  “Picked it, with what?”

  “With a bobby pin.”

  It wasn’t difficult to pick handcuffs—one of the reasons the team preferred zip ties with securing a prisoner. But it wasn’t necessarily easy either. It would be something she would’ve known how to do or she wouldn’t have figured it out so quickly, and she’d had herself uncuffed and hiding before Weston had entered the room.

  “You got random cuffs laying around at home to practice with?”

  Weston’s back shot straight at Chasin’s bad attempt at flirting with Silver.

  “Bet you’d like to know,” she sassed.

  “Damn right, I would,” Chasin continued, and ire turned into jealousy, which only further pissed Weston off.

  He didn’t get jealous, never had looked at anyone—male or female—with envy of any sort. Yet there he was, standing in front of Silver jealous as fuck that his friend was playing with a woman who he had no interest in. Yet he was resentful of the easy banter.

  It was time to move on before Weston did something regretful, like tell his friend to back the hell up and stop talking to Silver like she was some chick he was trying to pick up. And if that’s what Chasin was trying to do, Weston would shut that shit down.

  He didn’t want her, but he didn’t want any of his friends hooking up with her either. He told himself it was because he didn’t like her, therefore he didn’t want her around, but Weston knew that was a lie.

  “Before you boarded the Dora B was anyone acting funny?” Weston asked, in an effort to move the conversation away from Chasin.

  Without missing a beat, Chasin chuckled, catching on immediately that Weston didn’t like the banter.

  “What do you mean?” Silver asked.

  Gone was the playful tone she’d used with his teammate and back was the bitchy snarl. And Weston couldn’t help thinking there was something seriously wrong with his head and his dick. The more spiteful Silver was the more turned-on he became. He wanted to blame it on his recent dry spell, but he knew that was bullshit. He’d gone longer without sex and had still had full control over his dick. But not now. Not when Silver had a scowl on her face and fire in her belly.

  She was downright hostile and all Weston could think about was if they ever found themselves naked in his bed, it would be explosive. No, it would be uncontrollable. Volatile. A chain reaction of obscene passion that would have catastrophic consequences. Weston knew without a doubt one time with her wouldn’t be enough.

  She’d ruin him.

  Hell, she already had.

  His dick now thought bitchy was the new sexy.

  “Any of your coworkers? Your boss? Was someone watching you when you parked? Anything,” Weston prompted.

  “No. I was on day two of my rotation and everything was normal. Matt and Rodger were on with me and they both were acting normal.” Silver stopped speaking but jerked her body to attention. “Oh my God.”

  “What?” Nix snapped.

  “Work… Matt and Rodger… the ship. That’s beyond dangerous, that ship cannot just be left there, a cargo—”

  “Relax, Silver—”

  “Relax? Have you lost your mind? The cargo traffic through the canal is heavy. A yacht cannot be left unattended to drift down—”

  “If you would stop interrupting me, I could explain. Alec Hall has already taken possession of the ship,” Weston explained.

  “But my job—”

  “As of today, you’re taking a leave of absence.”

  Silver’s gaze cut to Weston and she tried her best to intimidate him. Silly woman. It would take more than her pretty hazel eyes and dirty look to make him back down. But it was a cute try.

  “I’m not taking a leave of absence. And Matt and Rodger have to be wondering where I’m at.”

  “Alec took care of that, too,” Nixon cut in. “As far as your coworkers are concerned, you got sick and were rushed to the hospital. And Weston’s right, as of now you’re on sabbatical. We’ll figure out what excuse you’re gonna give, but I think you should go with illness, since they already think you’re in the hospital.”

  “That’s crazy,” she protested.

  “No. What’s crazy is you not taking the threat seriously,” Weston told her.

  “But we don’t know…” Silver stopped speaking and frowned.

  As shocking as it was, and it was astonishing, she looked like she was at a loss for words.

  “You’re right,” she relented, and it looked painful for her to admit.

  So, the woman did have it in her to be reasonable, she just chose to be a pain in the ass.

  Good to know.

  Weston wasn’t sure what to do with this piece of information and as much as he wanted to celebrate that he’d won, he knew better. Silver was like a opossum—playing dead, but really she was lying in wait so she could claw you and scratch your eyeballs out when your defenses were down.

  For now, he’d keep his mouth shut and eyes open.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “Now we wait for Alec,” Nixon interjected. “The only good part about today is someone’s gonna be pissed their coke wasn’t delivered. Hopefully, they’re pissed enough to slip up.”

  “What does slip up mean?” Silver continued.

  “It means, so far whoever’s on the receiving end of the shipments has been careful and we can’t get a lock on the leader. A lieutenant picks it up from the dock, distributes it to the captains, from there it gets cut, packaged, then given to the street soldiers for distribution,” Weston explained. “We’ve identified everyone but the head of the organization and until we do we can’t move in.”

  “And you think someone knows I figured out what they’re doing?”

  This time when Silver asked there was a hint of trepidation in her voice. Weston hated the sound but was relieved she was finally understanding she’d placed herself in the middle of a serious shitstorm.

  “Wouldn’t take much,” Holden told her. “The men we’re dealing with are not stupid, they pay attention. And if they have someone on the inside, helping them move the drugs down the canal and into the harbor, it would be even easier.”

  “You think someone I work with is in on it?”

  “Absolutely. You don’t move millions of dollars of coke unless you know you have safe passage,” Chasin weighed in.

  Weston hadn’t ta
ken his eyes off Silver. She was clever—hell, she’d been the one who’d put the pieces together and brought it to the Coast Guard and the DHS. He was waiting for her to come to her own conclusions about the situation and when her brows pinched together, Weston knew she was closing in on the reality of the state of play.

  “If it’s an employee they’ll have my address,” she blurted out.

  There it was, she was figuring it out.

  “And if it’s someone in the Coast Guard…” Silver didn’t finish her sentence and she didn’t need to, the men in the room all understood what that meant.

  Silver hadn’t gone in quietly, she hadn’t anonymously reported the issues. She’d marched her happy ass straight into the Coast Guard station in Baltimore, uncaring the station was actually a repair yard, and she’d demanded to speak to the Captain. It wasn’t her best play but luckily Captain Stewart had taken her concerns to heart and used his contacts at Homeland to help her.

  “Captain Stewart is on the up-and-up and no one on Alec Hall’s team would turn on you,” Nixon commented. “It’s someone you work with.”

  “I can—”

  “You’re staying here,” Weston told her before his brain had fully engaged, allowing his mouth to speak without thinking of the ramifications.

  Weston felt his teammates staring. They hadn’t talked about what to do with Silver or where they were going to stash her until the operation was over, but the more Weston thought about it the more he realized staying at the farmhouse with the team was her best option.

  Though he wasn’t sure he’d make it through the first twenty-four hours of her being in his space.

  A gag or hearing protection might be a worthy investment if he had to be around her for any lengthy period of time.

  “I am not staying here,” Silver protested. “I can find a hotel.”

  “Actually, Weston’s right,” Chasin agreed. “You staying here means we don’t have to rotate security detail.”

  “Security detail?” She gaped. “I don’t need a detail.”

  Christ, just when Weston thought Silver was finally taking the situation seriously she sank back into her stubborn ways. Only this wasn’t her being pig-headed, it was her being careless and stupid. And since Weston knew she wasn’t stupid he was back to thinking she was obstinate and careless.