by Cassie Miles
Noah found cover behind a tree and fired a couple of shots. She took the moment to reload and peered up the hill toward the rock where he’d been hiding. Adrenaline flowed through her system, and her heart was pumping hard as she looked for Warrick.
He didn’t seem to be returning fire. Had she scored a hit? What if she’d shot him? What if he was dead and she had killed him? In angry fantasies, she’d imagined this triumphant moment of revenge when she’d pay him back for all the pain and humiliation. But she felt no satisfaction, no joy. She was empty.
Noah motioned for her to move forward. In a crouch, she ran across the open space while Noah fired his gun. She joined him.
“I don’t see him,” Noah said.
“He might be injured.” There was an unexplainable catch in her voice. “Or he might be dead.”
“We’ll proceed with caution. Maintain cover. I’ll go right. You go left.”
From her military training, she was familiar with this sort of exercise. She shoved the angst from her mind and concentrated on using the boulders and trees for cover as she climbed the hillside. What if I killed him? She couldn’t think about that now.
Glancing across the forest, she saw Noah. He was wearing his sports jacket again—not the appropriate outfit for a chase through the forest, but he looked strong and tough. She was glad to have him for a partner and hoped he’d feel the same about her. She’d made a lot of mistakes today. Behind her back, she heard other people from the lodge approaching. She’d expected Murano’s security team to respond to this disturbance.
And then, she recognized the unmistakable roar of a motorcycle starting up. Warrick was getting away.
Noah bolted upright and ran toward the sound. She followed.
They found a cluttered stack of branches that were probably used to hide the bike and tire tracks in the dirt. That was their only evidence. In the rustle of the wind through the boughs, she imagined she could hear Warrick laughing at her.
She lowered her Beretta. “I should have killed him when I had the chance.”
* * *
INSTEAD OF RETURNING to his condo, Noah took her to his mountain home, the place where she’d picked the lock and kicked his ass. Though it was after nine o’clock and raining, he didn’t mind spending the extra forty minutes on the road. At the cabin, he’d find the space, distance and uninterrupted time he needed to figure out what was happening. Warrick had said he was in trouble. Noah didn’t know how and didn’t know why, but he believed that lying bastard was telling the truth for once. Warrick didn’t know him and didn’t have a reason to lie. Noah accepted the strong possibility that somebody was out to get him.
As soon as he stepped across the threshold, turned on the light and glanced around his comfortable living room, a sense of calm and confidence descended over him. This property had been in his family for as long as he could remember. The logs were imbued with the indomitable Sheridan spirit. He and his brothers had collected the stones for the fireplace. After his brothers’ deaths, Noah had come up here every weekend and every spare moment. His hard work on renovations and additions helped him manage his grief.
Gennie trooped through the door behind him, dropped the small suitcase she’d taken from her house yesterday and went straight to the kitchen. She’d been here twice before and knew where everything was. “I’ll help myself,” she said.
“I expected you would.”
She grabbed a beer from the fridge, screwed off the top and took a long pull. During the hours they’d spent in the car, she’d been mostly silent, but that didn’t mean she was passive. It had been a stressful day. Emotion seethed within her.
“I’m glad we came here,” she said. “Murano might think his Institute is a beacon of serenity, but it doesn’t hold a candle to this place. I can feel the happy memories.”
“Plus there’s a well-equipped gym upstairs.”
“I could use a workout.”
He got a beer for himself and opened the freezer unit, which was as big as the fridge and stocked with meat and frozen stuff that could be heated and served. They hadn’t stopped for food on the way up here, and he was hungry. “Steak or veggie lasagna?”
“Is the lasagna homemade?”
“Not by me,” he readily admitted. “I buy a lot of premade, frozen stuff from the diner down the road because I’m too lazy to cook. It’s usually tasty.”
“Let’s try it.”
She meandered over to the kitchen table and sat while he messed around with the oven and followed the directions that came with the pasta dish. They’d accomplished a great deal after they left Murano with profuse apologies for firing their weapons in a place dedicated to meditation and enlightenment. Never mind that the guru had been harboring a fugitive. Never mind that his security team was armed to the teeth. Guys like Murano could get away with bending the law.
As soon as Noah and Gennie were back in his SUV, he put through a call to the FBI agent in charge of the Slocum murder, informed him of what Warrick had said and told him where the FBI should start looking for a scumbag on a dirt bike. He also arranged to stop by the Haymarket mansion and drop off Loretta’s phone.
Their return to the mansion had been uncomfortable on several levels. First of all, Noah was accustomed to being in charge and Tony Vega had taken over the senior position. Secondly, the positive relationship Noah had built with the general had crumbled when it became more apparent that Warrick wasn’t smuggling arms and Slocum’s death was related to a sleazy blackmail scheme that might tarnish reputations. Third, there were questions from the FBI.
The pen-twirling special agent who had irritated Gennie before didn’t waste any time before lighting into her. He scolded about stealing crucial evidence and hampering their investigation. Noah shut him down...happily. He reminded the FBI team that Gennie had a Purple Heart, had served two and a half tours of duty and had trained at Quantico. Instead of getting on her case, they should thank her for seizing the phone from Loretta and squeezing out more information from Warrick. They’d be better served doing their jobs and tracking him down than griping at her. He hadn’t made any friends with that little speech.
With the lasagna in the oven, he went to the kitchen table. Gennie had already contacted Anna Rose on the phone, and the sweet-faced grandma with her blue-streaked hair and polka-dot glasses stared at him from the screen.
“You two are going to be busy tonight,” she said. “I sent a file with the data on Loretta’s phone to your computer. Print it and read it. Start with Ruby’s letter to the man she kissed.”
“Why?” he asked.
“I have reason to believe she lied.”
He went to the fridge and got another beer. This was going to be a very long night.
Chapter Fifteen
“Before we get started on the files,” Gennie said, “there’s something I need to talk about.”
Noah sat across from her at the kitchen table, hoping he wouldn’t hear about more trouble. “I’m listening.”
“I’ve made some bad decisions today.” She picked at the label on her beer bottle with her thumbnail. “It was my fault that Warrick got away. When he first walked up to me, he hadn’t drawn his weapons. I could have winged him right then.”
“You know as well as I do that an injured adversary is more dangerous.”
“Don’t make excuses for me, Noah. I had the opportunity to bring him down, but something stopped me. Shooting him didn’t seem right.”
In most cases, he believed that holding fire was usually prudent. “Why didn’t it seem right?”
“Even though I hate the guy, I don’t believe he killed Slocum.”
“I agree.”
“Still, I shouldn’t have let him get away.”
He agreed with that, too. But he understood her hesitation. In a similar circumstance, he might have done the same thing, and the end result of
her conversation with Warrick was helpful. She got him to verify that there were two people in the library when Noah entered: Warrick and the killer. And Warrick admitted that he was the getaway man on horseback who lured them away from the house and allowed the real killer to escape. “You did a good job getting information from him.”
“Shocking when you consider that interrogation isn’t my strong point.”
He sipped his beer to keep from laughing out loud. Gennie gave new meaning to blunt. She questioned people with all the subtlety of a bulldozer. “You charge right in, taking no prisoners.”
“Psychology isn’t my strong suit,” she said. “I’d make a lousy profiler.”
“There’s a time for shrinks, and a time for soldiers.” He looked through the window at the sheets of rain pouring down on the cedar deck. The warmth from the oven made the kitchen cozy and pleasant.
“Another mistake was stealing Loretta’s phone and not telling the FBI about it right away.”
“No harm done,” he said. “We got the information to them, and we’ve got a copy. If they’d gotten their hands on it first, they never would have shared. Kudos on that mistake.”
She stood and rolled her shoulders. “By far, the most wrong-minded thing I did all day was to go along with Ruby and Loretta when they hopped into her SUV and took off for Slocum’s house.”
He didn’t want to undermine her confidence, but he couldn’t tell her that she’d been wise. Gennie had been guarding those two women and should have been responsible for them. Instead, she let them call the shots and allowed them to charge headlong into a potentially dangerous situation.
She paced around his kitchen, energy shooting from her in bursts. “I’m lucky we didn’t interrupt the person who tossed the house, lucky I didn’t get both of them murdered. And I let Loretta steal Ruby’s car. Have they located her?”
“Not yet.”
She walked faster, back and forth, back and forth, spinning her wheels. “I tried to talk them out of it, but they were determined. Loretta in her silver platform heels and Ruby dressed like an episode from I Love Lucy, they wouldn’t listen to me. They are the ones I should have shot—nothing serious, just a flesh wound.”
“Stop.” He stepped in her path and halted her by grasping her shoulders. “Don’t blame yourself.”
She leaned forward and collapsed against his chest. Her forehead rested on his collarbone as she inhaled and exhaled in ragged breaths. “I’m not crying.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
“This sort of rash behavior isn’t like me. I was trained to take orders and complete a mission. It seems like when I’m left to make decisions for myself, I mess up.”
His instinct was to hold her, but he forced himself to exercise restraint. His feelings for Gennie were complicated, and he didn’t want to give her the wrong idea. Clumsily, he patted her on the back. “You’re new at this. You’ll learn.”
She slipped her hands inside his jacket and pulled him closer. Her breasts rubbed against his chest. He couldn’t resist her, didn’t want to hold himself apart. His arms encircled her. With a mutual sigh, they melted into the most satisfying embrace he’d ever experienced. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her hair, still damp from their dash through the rain to his front door.
“I know something about decision-making,” she said. “I had training in the military where it was my responsibility to lead four to twelve other soldiers and negotiate with villagers...and run from warlords.”
He gave a murmur to show he was listening, but he didn’t want a conversation, especially not about her military background. Why couldn’t they lighten up and talk about flowers?
She snuggled against him. “In Afghanistan, I had time to figure things out and people I could talk to before I made a decision. My objectives were clear. It was our job to build things.”
“Your work wasn’t simple,” he whispered into her ear. “You were on the other side of the world. The culture was different. There was a strong element of risk.”
“I was never in combat,” she said. “I never shot another human being.”
She tilted her head to look up at him, and her eyes sparkled. Her lips were as delicate as rose petals. How could she be so angelic and tough at the same time? He stroked a strand of hair off her cheek. “No more talk of war.”
“If I’d been on the front lines, if I had that experience, I might not have hesitated to shoot Warrick.”
“Or the opposite,” he said. “You might have decided to never touch a gun again.”
“Have you ever shot anyone?” she asked.
“Twice, they both survived.” And he refused to think about death and violence while he was holding a warm, beautiful woman in his arms. “Relax, Gennie. Listen to the rain. Smell the lasagna in the oven. There’s nothing you can do to change what happened today. Just let it go.”
“And how do I do that? How can I turn off my brain?”
“Breathe,” he said.
After one short inhale and exhale, she gave a snort. “If this is something you learned from the MIME brochure, I wouldn’t sign up for any lectures.”
“For someone who’s spent her whole life denying her feelings and claiming that nothing hurts, you’ve got a lot to say.”
“I hadn’t thought about it like that,” she said. “What’s wrong with me? Am I different from other people?”
“Maybe or maybe not.” He stroked down her back to her slender waist. “Either way, I’m on your side. I’ll stand by you.”
As she continued to gaze up at him, her expression went from confrontational to agreeable to something else. The tension around her mouth relaxed, not that she was smiling but not snarling. The fire in her eyes turned into seductive warmth. Her eyelids lowered to half closed. She looked completely kissable. And so he did.
After a gentle taste of her lips, he separated from her. Searching her face, he looked for a signal. Had he stepped over a line? Turning back would be hell. His pulse had accelerated into high gear. He heard his heart banging like a snare. Blood rushed to his groin. He wanted more from her, needed more. “Gennie?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, yes, yes.”
There was nothing tentative about his second kiss. His tongue penetrated her mouth, and she engaged with him, kissing him back. Her passion nearly matched his.
She tightened her embrace. When he touched her breast, she gave an excited moan. He kissed her harder. Her legs tangled with his, putting pressure on his erection. She pushed so hard that he found himself pinned against the kitchen counter. And then, abruptly, she broke away from him.
Breathing hard, she stood a foot apart and clutched her hands against her breasts. “It’s hot in here,” she said.
You bet it is. “Take off your jacket.”
She peeled off the olive green top. Her sleeveless cream blouse had come completely untucked and hung loosely over her fitted olive trousers. In spite of the holster attached to her belt, she was incredibly sexy. She exhaled a long sigh. “I’m burning up.”
He took off his own sports coat and tossed it over the back of a chair. “Another beer?”
She fluttered her hand near her face like a fan. “I need air.”
She charged at the sliding glass door that led to the patio, and he had to move quickly to deactivate the alarm system and unfasten the lock. She glided the door open. Rain battered the deck, the roof and the surrounding trees.
The weather didn’t deter her. She stepped out into the storm, opened her arms wide and turned her face upward, allowing the water to sluice through her hair and down her body. Slowly, she turned one hundred and eighty degrees. “Hooah,” she shouted the US Army battle cry. She spun more quickly and shouted louder, “Hooah! Hooah!”
Laughing, she scampered back into the house. “Well, that was crazy.”
Noah wouldn’
t dispute that call. “I’ll get you a towel.”
As he went down the hall to the linen closet beside the bathroom, he tried to figure out what had just happened. Expressing her confusion, frustration and self-doubt had somehow led to the kiss, which he liked very much. Then she dashed outside in the rain, screamed a battle cry and ended the whole thing with semi-hysterical laughter. Not his favorite moment with her.
Returning to the kitchen, he saw that she’d taken off her holster, placed the Beretta on the counter and was bent down to check the oven. He handed her two towels.
“I think the lasagna is done,” she said as she rubbed the wetness from her hair. Did she really think they weren’t going to talk about what had happened?
“I’ll take care of the food. You sit at the table, unless you want to change clothes.”
“I’m fine.” She dried her bare arms and placed one of the towels on the chair before she sat. The other towel, she draped around her shoulders like a shawl. “I love a spring rain, don’t you?”
The weather lashing his cabin windows wasn’t a charming spring shower. This was the type of killer storm that caused mudslides and flash floods. “You’re not cold?”
She thought for a moment and then shook her head. “I feel refreshed.”
What the hell? He filled their water glasses, served the reheated lasagna and sat at the table beside her. Surely there was a psychologically correct way to talk to her about what appeared to be the onset of a nervous breakdown, but he opted for her preferred interrogation method: blunt.
“You had an emotional explosion,” he said, “a big one.”
“Uh-huh.” She shoved a big bite of pasta into her mouth.
“Has anything like that ever happened to you before?”
“Nope.”
“What the hell, Gennie?”
She washed down her lasagna with a gulp of water. “I’ve seen a lot of therapists, and they’d probably diagnose post-traumatic stress, but I think you said it better.”
“Me?”
