The Transporter

by Maverick, Liz

  Watching it happen made Shane want to be sick. What the fuck are you doing, sweetling? Then Shane remembered Rothgar had told her not to let James think she was 100 percent sold on getting clear of him. Fuck!

  James’s hand crept back toward his gun; Cecily looked back over her shoulder as she took another hesitant step. “I don’t think there’s really anything left to say, do you?” she asked James. “My brother doesn’t want me to see you anymore.”

  That’s the answer right there. Shane sprinted forward, and intercepted James before he could raise his gun, literally lifting James by the scruff of his neck. Tea splattered everywhere. Shane bodily yanked James into the darkest shadows behind the rows of columns, scraping the tips of his expensive wing tips across the concrete.

  “Hi, James,” Shane said into his ear as he pressed his face against the cement. “I’m feeling . . . oh, let’s just, say, very unhappy.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” James managed to say. He wasn’t a small guy, but Shane had the jump on him, and his arms were trapped beneath Shane’s.

  Shane squeezed tighter.

  James grunted, struggling for air.

  Shane jacked his right arm, about to punch James in the gut, a move that would have merely been an amuse-bouche to the complete process of showing the fucker exactly what Shane thought about his treatment of Cecily.

  “She’s not your girlfriend anymore, not after all the shit you said to her. Sure as hell not after you hit her,” Shane clarified. “She’s nobody to you anymore. I’m going to make this very clear. You don’t ever bother her again. You don’t call Cecily. You don’t text, e-mail, walk, run, drive, nothing. She doesn’t see your face. Ever. Again. Because if I find out that you’ve tried to contact her again, I’m going to damage you in a way that you will never come back from. I’m not even going to describe what happens if you actually try and touch her. She told me you were good with numbers; does what I’m saying compute?”

  Shane loosened his hold but didn’t let him turn, so the guy never saw his face; James fell to his knees, wheezing for air.

  Shane jammed the toe of his shitkicker into the side of James’s stomach and pressed. “Man, I would sorely love to beat the crap out of you right now, but”—he gestured to the sunny area out front where a young family was adjusting a baby in a baby carrier—“what I have to give you I just don’t think this is the place. Now, you catch your breath, and this time I want an answer so’s I know we have an understanding. Does what I’m saying compute?”

  James tried to look up, one hand at his throat, one hand at his stomach. Shane wouldn’t let him turn his head. The fucker nodded and whispered yes.

  Shane looked around for Cecily. She’d turned white. His stomach dropped. She’d seen only a fraction of what he was capable of, and she looked horrified. Can’t change this part, Shane thought. This is what I do, who I am. The Hudson Kings.

  With one hand keeping James’s face pressed to the ground, Shane used the other to grab his keys from his pocket and toss them at Cecily’s feet. Her eyes widened, her entire expression a question, a shock. She looked down the steps toward the street, undoubtedly saw his car there, driver’s side door still open.

  Yeah, I want you to drive my car, sweetling. He signaled to her using his fingers. Drive away. James struggled in his grasp, and for a minute Shane thought she wasn’t going to get it, but then he saw the light go on.

  She grabbed his keys and ran down the steps, not sparing a glance for James cowering on the ground.

  The minute Cecily was out of sight, Shane slammed James’s face into the ground. The blood spatter from the guy’s nose was a nasty reminder of just how much more he’d like to do to him—and just how stupid that would be in the big picture. Keep your eye on the big picture. Pretend you don’t see the gun. He couldn’t let on that he knew that James was something more than a girlfriend-beating shitbag banker, and those kinds of men didn’t generally carry loose weapons around New York City.

  “You keep your face down, eating shit for a ten count, got that? I go, then you go, and we don’t see each other again. You don’t see Cecily again. Clear?”

  “Clear,” muttered James.

  “One,” Shane said, starting the count, then he disappeared himself into the shadows and ran. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed. His heart pounded, his head clouding with paranoia and fear. It was too much, what she saw me do. She’s gonna hand me the keys and get out and walk away.

  “I just kept driving,” Cecily said, her voice nervous and thin. “I’m double-parked outside a place called Gray’s Papaya. Seventy-second and . . . um . . .”

  Shane started laughing. “The hot dog joint on Seventy-second and Broadway.”

  Cecily actually giggled. “Yes. I was looking for a landmark, but nothing obvious. Guess I figured cops like doughnut shops, mercenaries prefer hot dog joints?”

  “I’m already on the way,” Shane said. “Hold tight.”

  “Don’t hang up!” she blurted.

  Shane softened. “I’m right here,” he said, running past the old-school cobblers and dry cleaners tucked in next to the newer chain stores that dotted the Upper West Side. “Not going anywhere.” His throat was on fire from running, but he booked it until he could see the distinctive yellow Gray’s Papaya sign and the slogan NO GIMMICKS! NO BULL!

  Truth, that.

  And then there was the car, double-parked outside, Cecily craning her neck out the window. She saw him, flipped open the driver’s side door, and moved herself to the passenger seat.

  He jumped in, fire in his lungs.

  She held out her hand, the keys in her palm; she had to have no idea what a lifeline that was. He took the keys and she leaned over. Holding trembling fingers to his jaw, she kissed him.

  Jaysus. She gets it. She gets me. “You okay?” he asked.

  “Not even a little bit,” she confessed. “What about you?”

  He knew she meant physically; she couldn’t know he was ripped up inside in a way that didn’t draw blood but hurt all the same. I thought he was going to take you. He shook his head.

  “That was—”

  “Just about killed me not to tell him I’m your man, but I didn’t want him to connect any dots. We need him to still think Dex is only on him because he’s a candidate for Worst Boyfriend of the Year. If he realizes other Hudson Kings are in on his business, he’ll suspect we know who he really is.”

  Cecily’s eyes widened.

  “Couldn’t out the mission, couldn’t let him . . .” Shit, he couldn’t say what he thought James might be capable of—that he worried James might actually kidnap and try to get Hudson Kings intel out of her. It was just too much to put on her. “I couldn’t let him be around you. Tell me next time if you’re leaving the Armory,” Shane added, trying not to let on how seriously torqued he was over this. “You know, just until this thing settles down. He drop any hints in voice mail or e-mail that he knows you’re with us?”

  “No,” Cecily said. She looked bewildered, glancing into the rearview mirror, then the side mirror. “I used to talk about taking classes here, though. If his side has what your side has, they could hack into the registration computers and see the classes I’m trying out.”

  “Listen to you,” Shane said, shaking his head.

  “I know,” Cecily said. She bit her lip and looked out the window.

  “What’s wrong?” Shane asked.

  “I’m trying to figure out when it’s going to be over,” she said quietly. “It’s not over until James thinks I’m not useful anymore. But how do I know when that will be? I’m more useful to him now than I ever was.”

  “He doesn’t know that,” Shane said, praying it was true.

  Cecily’s hands were clasped together so tightly he could see white at her knuckles. “The only time I feel safe is when I’m standing next to you.”

  Shane loosened her hands and took one in his. “I’ll be standing next to you a lot. You’re not moving out of the Armory right
now. Listen, I know you hate being told what to do. I know you want that normal life out here. So you do what you want to do, when you want to do it . . . and I do what I want to do to make sure you’re safe doing it. I decide what that means, and you gotta fill me in on stuff like this. And you gotta stick with the Armory for a little longer.”

  “Okay,” she said, not giving him a lick of sass, which confirmed just how much James’s visit spooked her. “I won’t move out of the Armory right now. But Rothgar—”

  “He was the one who gave me the heads-up you were going into town.”

  “Oh.” Cecily took a moment to absorb that piece of information. “Well, he did say he was planning to keep me in his sights.” She bit her lip, smiling, and added, “All the same, I think he’d just as soon I go ahead and move in with Ally.”

  Shane went silent for a minute and then said, “Not surprised. He’s used to extending the invitation, not to mention that having a civilian around is always added security risk. You being in the Armory is unusual.”

  Cecily frowned. “Now I really feel like I’m staying in a house with a host who doesn’t want me.”

  “It’s not like that. You are a liability, but that just means that there are people inside the Hudson Kings who . . . care about you. Understand?”

  Cecily didn’t answer.

  “Think I told you I went through a time so dark I didn’t mind if I died. Every day I’d wake up and try to figure out what the point was of getting dressed, and if I got dressed, all I had to think about was what nasty shit I was gonna get hired to pull off. And then Rothgar asked me to be part of the team he was building, a fully formed mercenary team. Said he had something to offer me I hadn’t ever really thought about.”

  Shane squeezed her hand. “Loyalty. A sense of family. A sense of honor. You want to be part of it, live on the inside, you play Rothgar’s game with Rothgar’s rules. Someone like you wants to live on the outside, it’s probably easier for him to keep things smooth in the Armory, but you’ve still got family to come home to, and he’s still going to be looking out for you. Liability’s maybe not the right word. What I mean is you’ve become someone who matters. To Dex. To Rothgar.” Shane took a deep breath and finished with, “To me.”

  “My man,” she said softly.

  “Damn straight,” Shane said.

  He kissed her, watching the sides of her mouth curl up and wondering if her toes did the same. “And Cecily?”

  “Yeah, Shane?”

  “You drive a mean getaway car.”

  Cecily gave him a full-on grin. “I know.”

  CHAPTER 23

  The handouts from the classes Cecily was sampling before committing to a study track were cool. But not as cool as she expected them to be. Or maybe as she wanted them to be.

  Missy sat at the desk next to her, working on a blueprint for the next piece of surveillance to bring down a Russian sleeper agent.

  Cecily’s school material was about how to layer a picture of a customer service agent, complete with headset and irritating smile, into a photo of an office desk chair.

  The Hudson Kings were also trying to locate James, who had gone quiet since Shane’s little talk. Rothgar wasn’t too happy about that, but Cecily got the idea he accepted it was the better of two bad outcomes. She didn’t like to think what the worst outcome was in their mind, because she suspected it had something to do with the fact that James had been carrying a gun when he came to see her at the school.

  Cecily lay on the twin bed thinking about how her classes were becoming something that just gave her an excuse to leave the Armory. Maybe she didn’t want to leave as much as she thought she did. They only had one girl on the team, and, obviously, sometimes they needed a girl just to be a girl, regardless of her other skills.

  She looked over at Missy, who was enthusiastically pounding spy-catching plans into the keyboard. “Why didn’t you go with Shane or Chase to the restaurant to take pictures that night?” Cecily asked.

  Missy looked up.

  “How come no one ever suggested you go with one of the guys?”

  Missy blinked.

  “They know you’re the shit. So, why didn’t your name come up?” Cecily rolled over onto her side and leaned on her elbow. “Don’t tell me Rothgar thinks you aren’t good enough to go out in the field because you’re a girl.”

  “Rothgar knows I’m good enough,” Missy snapped.

  Cecily sat up. “I’m sorry. Did I just push a button?”

  Missy visibly forced herself to stand down. “He had a bad experience.”

  He did? Or you did? Cecily waited for her to continue. She didn’t. And then Cecily recalled that she’d never seen or heard about Missy actually leaving the Armory.

  “Shit! What time is it?” Missy asked, looking relieved to have an excuse to divert the conversation. She answered her own question with a flick of her phone. “If we’re gonna cheer you up, we need to get going.”

  “I’m not sad!” Cecily said, laughing.

  “I’m not either, but believe me, we’re gonna be a helluva lot happier if we make it to the garage on time.”

  “On time for what?” Cecily asked.

  “Car wash, my friend. Car wash.”

  Cecily should have had more faith.

  The garage was as amazing in the day as it had been on their date night, but nothing Cecily could see trumped the spectacle of Shane and Chase standing half-naked and dripping on the garage floor next to a bucket of soapy water, and a table holding a mess of beer empties.

  They were wearing nothing but jeans.

  Cecily knew this was going to be good for more than one reason, but certainly because from what she’d heard from Dex and gleaned from observation, Chase was a prankster, seemed to have few inhibitions, and liked to . . . perform.

  This was also going to be good because Chase was used to building things, lifting things, making things, and moving things, which did very productive things to the region above his waistband, at least.

  This was also going to be good because, well, Shane.

  Music blasted from speakers. Missy put her finger to her lips and Cecily nodded. She had no intention of interrupting the show.

  And what a show it was. The guys were talking about something she couldn’t hear over the beat, and they were doing exactly what Missy’d promised. Washing cars. From their view on the side of the bleachers mostly hidden from sight, Shane’s tattoo looked more badass than ever.

  His body was a thing of beauty, muscles rippling as he worked. He turned away and sucked down the last of a bottle and then turned suddenly and leaped like he was shooting a three-pointer. The bottle smashed hard into a recycling can.

  When he turned back to the car, Chase caught him with the spray hose and then followed it up by nailing Shane in the chest with a massive soapy sponge.

  A string of curse words followed, punctuated beautifully by the end of the playlist. In the sudden silence, Chase said, “Lost your edge, Shane? Never turn your back, eh?”

  Shane looked pissed. He grabbed his sponge and plunged it down into the bucket, sending soapy water everywhere. Chase backed up. “Come on, dude, let’s just finish up.”

  “We’ll get right on that. Let me shove this down your throat first,” Shane growled. He jumped. Chase dodged. Shane attacked. Chase’s foot hit the bucket, and both guys went down in a mess of water, soap, and hotness.

  As they wrestled it out on the garage floor, Missy muttered, “Thinkin’ maybe I’d like to be reincarnated as a Hudson Kings towel.”

  Cecily snorted, a little too loud.

  “Shit, we’ve been made,” Missy yelped.

  It wasn’t clear who’d won—other than Cecily and Missy—but the men were off the floor, looking up at them. “You two going to stand up there staring, or are you going to help?” Chase called out.

  Cecily stood up, her hands on her hips. “I’m wearing a white T-shirt.”

  “I won’t complain,” Shane said.

  �
�How ’bout you, Missy?” Chase asked.

  “Washing cars is like the one thing that is definitely not my job around here. But, by all means, don’t let us put you behind schedule. Keep on soaping and . . . yeah, just keep with that . . . touching and wrestling.” Missy crossed her legs and settled back into the bleacher rack.

  Chase messed with the music, and a new song started, one that was undoubtedly linked to a playlist called something like “Get Some.”

  “I know this song,” Missy murmured. “I know this song well.”

  Cecily only had eyes for Shane. He was looking up at her, a spark in his eyes, a quirky set to his mouth. She wanted to kiss that mouth so badly.

  “Oh-h-h-h, I think something’s gonna ha-a-a-a-appen!” Chase swiveled his pelvis.

  Missy’s eyebrows flew up. She shifted in her seat, part fascination and part discomfort. “I’ve seen you do amazing things with tools, Chase, but this is new.”

  “You know my momma was a dance instructor.”

  “You going to dance for me, Shane?” Cecily called down.

  “My momma was definitely not a dance instructor,” Shane said.

  “And yet,” Chase said, adding a moonwalk and running his fingers down the arrow of chest hair leading south. “I believe every single man on this squad knows a particular routine of mine.”

  Missy burst into peals of laughter. “I remember that job. I think that was the best day of my life.”

  “The guys had to pretend to be dancers? Strippers? You are not serious,” Cecily said, her jaw dropping.

  “Serious,” Missy said. “I auditioned them so Rothgar could make placements. Shane impressed, but in the end we needed him in the car, so I never saw his performance. All that talent just . . . wasted.” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “There’s surveillance vid somewhere with Romeo, Nick, and Chase.”

  “They couldn’t handle this,” Shane said, completely expressionless, but motioning to his body. “Woulda broke the tape.”

  When they’d stopped laughing long enough to breathe, Cecily asked, “How many beers are you in, anyway?”

  “Just enough,” Chase said.