Handling Neve (NCIS Series Book 6)

by Zoe Dawson

  He intended to be there when she engaged the enemy. She might try to keep him out of this, but that’s not how a Marine handled things.

  As the key turned in the lock, he was ready for an all-out war.

  He expected nothing less from Neve.

  That sweetheart was packing. He just hoped that safety stayed on the M9.

  When she saw him, her eyes narrowed, and her mouth tightened into a hard line. “Russell.” Her eyes cut to her laptop and narrowed some more.

  “Why don’t you sit down and tell me whose ass we’re kicking, baby?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  It was his turn.

  “Why do you need so much gear and firepower, and who are you hunting in Panama?”

  Her shoulders slumped, and she set down her bag and the gun case. That was a good sign. “Can I get you something to drink? This is going to take a while.”

  He’d finished his cup of coffee by the time she’d started telling her story. It was only later he realized she’d been stalling.

  He wasn’t sure, but the sleepless nights of watching her like a hawk must be getting to him. He rubbed his temple as a wave of lethargy washed through him.

  His eyes felt heavy, and that’s when he knew. Damn her.

  “Just let me go.”

  Her voice snagged Rock, those serious black eyes penetrating any wall he put between them. She was damn righteous and determined, and the chips were stacked so high against her, he knew this wouldn’t be pretty.

  Suddenly, she leaned close to his face, touched his jaw. He clenched it beneath her palm. He was furious.

  “I know you think I can’t do this on my own, that I need you to handle it. Well, I don’t. Just stay out of it.”

  I can help,” he said slowly. “I’ve been down there…in the Darién for several missions when I was on active duty. I know people.”

  “I don’t want to involve anyone else. Just stay here and let me do what I have to do.”

  He’d get to her. Drag her back here and sit on her if necessary.

  “I’m coming after you.”

  “Good luck finding me, Russell.”

  The tenderness in her voice slayed him, had him reaching for something he could never have because it was impossible. Yet he hungered for it.

  “I won’t need luck,” he whispered softly. “I’ll find you.” His voice thickened, slowed; the drugs slurred his speech and movements. “But that’s a dangerous part of the world, Neve. Nasty jungle with disagreeable wildlife, impenetrable swamps, crazed drug traffickers, pissed-off guerrillas, greedy kidnappers, paranoid government police, no marked trails. I’m trained for that kind of thing and you’re not. You need me.”

  She watched his mouth as his brain fogged over, and he wasn’t sure if his reaction was the drug in his system or her.

  Neve closed the nonexistent gap between them, pressing a fervent, lingering kiss to his cheek.

  This kiss was so much more than a goodbye. The woman had more weapons than he thought. She didn’t need the M9 to slay him.

  Then suddenly she was gone, leaving his heart aching, even as anger slammed through him. Dammit. He could kick his own ass for being an idiot.

  “Goodbye, Russell,” she said and moved away as the gray fog turned into a thick, sooty night and took him under.

  She tried not to think as she boarded the Navy transport, a no-frills cargo plane with the bare necessities, a metal seat bolted to the side of the aircraft and a seatbelt. But any active duty member could use one at no cost and traveling this way would keep her off the radar and make it harder for anyone to track her movements. She tried not to remember how she had leaned over Russell, kissed his cheek while he succumbed to her powerful pain meds, dropping into slumber.

  Neve swallowed, her heart hurt at having to use such an underhanded way of getting him to butt out.

  She’d discovered it wasn’t enough.

  Neve had to forget about him, forget that she had betrayed him, drugged him and left him behind. It would sap her strength, give him power, and she wanted control in her fist, to exploit her environment, the people in it. She needed an edge, every shred of it.

  She knew her path was right, and she’d have to do this without any help. Get to her enemy first before he got to her.

  The plane took off from San Diego airport on time, though, in the middle of the trip it was delayed for six long hours, but then finally took off again.

  She headed for the entrance to Tocumen International Airport, and as soon as she hit the pavement, Marco drove up in a tricked-out jeep.

  She was at home here in Panama City, having worked here for purposes of training the Panamanian Coast Guard years ago. She loved the city, the friendly and helpful people, and the food. She was apprehensive about tracking down Set, but she was determined to follow through on her own. She put on her game face, the one she used when she had to deploy alone into the nightmare conditions of a raging sea.

  As she jumped inside and he said, “Good timing. Nice ride, huh?”

  Marco was a bona fide lost boy, one of a gang of them that ran the streets of Panama City when they’d been younger but were making a difference now that they were older. He had been all of eighteen when she’d first met him, and he was what now…twenty-one? And he was simply beautiful. Silky black hair that tended to curl on the ends, flashing, dreamy dark eyes and a blinding smile, honey-colored skin and a lean, muscular build.

  He had the kind of charm and enthusiasm of Peter Pan, the fighting style of Rambo, and the chops of a con man on steroids. He was adorable—young still, but adorable.

  He drove sedately through the darkened streets of Panama City until they reached his place of business, a small warehouse with his apartment above.

  He closed and locked the door behind them and flicked on the lights.

  Marco’s adorably admiring gaze gave her a once-over—twice, his smile lighting up his model features. “How’s it shaking? You look good, mama.”

  “No toques,” she said and followed her words with a very cool, very steady gaze at him. Her message was clear. No touching.

  “Sí, bella.” The young man’s smile disappeared but was back in full dazzle when she started to survey the gear laid out.

  “Am I all set?” she asked.

  “You are locked and loaded, like a badass commando. Bring on the death wings. You’re ready.”

  She was worried about Russell catching up to her in Panama, but Marco guaranteed that he was incognito. That didn’t reassure her. Russell was a pit bull—a pissed off pit bull. First and foremost, he was a warrior, a Marine through and through, and just because he had “retired” after his name didn’t mean squat.

  By dawn’s early light, she was tooling down the Pan-American Highway in the solid but old pickup truck Marco had provided her, heading toward the Darién Gap, a remote, roadless swath of jungle on the border of Panama and Colombia known as a drug-smuggling corridor between the two countries. She couldn’t exactly let down her guard, but as for eluding Russell, that looked like it was in the bag. He had been right, though; this area was dangerous, and it rankled that he thought she didn’t know what she was walking into. She might be Coast Guard, but she knew what she was doing and had the skills to pull this off. But the area was hell on earth, and she was driving right into it.

  Her first obstacle was a police checkpoint in the village of Agua Fría. Access into the area was highly restricted. Marco had been instrumental in getting her cover as a missionary nun. Her forged papers and her Inuit coloring made it easy for her to pass as a native and local. She was fluent in the language as well, so she breezed easily through the first checkpoint. Her main destination was Yaviza, a small town that marked the break in the twenty-nine thousand miles of the Pan-American Highway. Thirty miles from the Colombian border, it was known as a haven for smugglers, prostitutes, and fugitives.

  Once she arrived at Yaviza, she got out of the beat-up pick up and locked the door
s. She’d get a quick refreshment and come back and load up to move out. Crossing a narrow pedestrian bridge spanning the Chucunaque River, she entered the town and immediately went to a place that resembled a cantina with hopes of getting a quick meal.

  The interior was rustic and dark, and she went up to the bar.

  “What will you have?”

  She asked for a menu and ordered fried fish and rice with a Balboa beer to wash it down.

  Before she could turn away and find a table, a deep, male voice rasped in her ear. “Hello, Neve.”

  She whirled to find Russell, still pissed off and looking like a rabid pit bull off the leash.

  Dios mío.

  Chapter Four

  “Russell,” she said a little breathlessly, as if she’d just been kissing him. But she must have miscalculated how much of her pain meds would keep him under. After all, a pill designed for a five-eight woman who weighed no more than 120 pounds soaking wet, couldn’t keep down a six-five, 240-pound man.

  According to her fax he’d found while snooping, she’d taken a military transport that was notorious for delays. His commercial jet down to Panama was much quicker. He knew she was going to the Darién Gap from all her computer research; therefore, she had to show up in Yaviza sooner or later. With the thick growth of the Gap, she would have to trek it on foot, and this was the end of the highway.

  He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her toward the rooms in the back. Too many eyes on them. Hauling her into the room he’d paid for, he said, his voice low and lethal, “That was underhanded and beneath you to drug me like that.” He dragged her up against him, his hands around her upper arms, his face tight, his voice snapping with energy and defiance. “What is it with you? You let everyone else know what’s going on but me.”

  “Yes, and still, here you are,” she said, struggling against him, but he was too afraid to let her go. With anger eating away at him, he swore savagely, so damned mad he could barely see straight. If there had been a bar fight handy, he would be pummeling people right now.

  “Can’t you understand that being around me is dangerous?” she shouted, then glared at him. Splotches of color bloomed in her cheeks, but her eyes were still guarded, and her mouth pinched at the corners. “I have a hit out on me.” She took a deep unsteady breath. “I can’t stand by while my family is murdered. No one can guarantee that Ammon Set will be caught and brought to justice, and even if he is…he can still make his plans from prison. He’s not going to rest until me and my family are dead. He has to be neutralized,” she whispered.

  His expression grim, Rock wouldn’t give an inch. He held her gaze, trying to rein in his anger. “Neve, you don’t have to do this alone. I'm a Marine, for Christ’s sake. We are stronger as a pair watching each other’s back,” he growled. Then he released a breath, real fear unfolding in him, his voice going soft and husky. “If anything happened to you…how do you think I could look Tristan in the eye?” He shook her slightly. “It would destroy me.” It was true. He would never be able to face Tristan again or look at himself in the mirror if he left her here to fend for herself when he knew he was capable, had already handled these kinds of situations.

  She stubbornly shook her head, not giving an inch. Her eyes and voice softened, and she looked resigned. “Russell, don’t. Please just go back to San Diego. I can handle this on my own.”

  His anger spiked again, pushing out those tender feelings and replacing them with fear for her safety, making him almost crazy with worry that she was going to get herself killed. “We can handle this even better! I’m all you need. I have experience in supplying absurdly accurate intelligence on the enemy and can take them out if need be. Recon and targeted strikes. That’s what I trained for and can execute with precision.”

  She sighed and broke away from him, her arms folding around her as she rubbed her skin. “You don’t trust in my abilities,” she said, her voice clearly accusatory. She looked away, her eyes sad.

  He swore softly, took two steps and tipped her chin up with his finger. “I think your abilities are damned impressive,” he said. “But you’re a rescue swimmer, Neve, and don’t have the kind of experience I have.”

  She had flawless skin, no makeup. Her face all moist with a sheen of perspiration, she looked younger than she was. Her long, dark hair was pulled back off her face into a tight braid that hung over her shoulder, and the pack she carried looked like it weighed more than she did. She was locked and loaded, and ready to kick ass and take names. She looked up at him, her black, almond-shaped eyes wary and determined.

  Then, he lost his train of thought as he stared into that enticing gaze. With her this close, that’s when it usually happened. Neve always made things topsy-turvy and mangled, and he’d forget his goals—in life, in love, in everything. She was a force that destroyed him—and his training to boot. Following her hadn’t been easy, but being here, here with her, was the only place on the planet he could be. Wanted to be…ah, dammit.

  Her breath hitched, and he worked hard at not responding to that little, sexy sound. “There’s another reason, and this is the most important. The reason why I drugged you.”

  “It better be good, ’cause I’m thoroughly pissed off right now, Neve.” He had to admire her courage to actually try to lose him. Him. Swift, silent, deadly. He might be out of the game, but he was capable of doing this whole damn thing by himself.

  She blinked a couple of times, then looked away. “I don’t want you involved in something illegal, Russell. That’s why I have tried to keep you in the dark. I know you and easily predicted how you would react.” She gently covered his wrist and pulled his hand away, then stepped back. “Just please go home. I don’t want to be the person who makes you a killer. You’re not that and never would be.” Her voice a soft plea, she went to leave.

  His hand shot out and slammed against the wall, blocking her path. He gritted his teeth. Okay, murder wasn’t exactly one of the things he’d ever contemplated doing. At least, not in the sense of the cold-blooded type. He was a warrior and had killed men on the battlefield. He was quite aware this was different.

  “There’s only one catch, sweetheart. This guy is gunning for you. As far as I’m concerned, this is a long-range case of self-protection, not premeditated, cold-blooded murder.”

  She covered her face and took a deep, irritated breath.

  “I have no qualms about killing him for you. I won’t hesitate a millisecond to put him down if it will keep you and your family safe.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t want you to have to kill him for me. That’s my mission. To take him down. He’s left me no choice, Russell. This is not something I decided on lightly. I just don’t want to be responsible for you having to do this…for me.”

  “I’ll sleep just fine at night. Don’t worry about that.”

  He would. He didn’t dwell on combat or the things that had to be done. Ammon Set wouldn’t even remain in his memory banks. He’d purge the man from them, just as he took his life to protect this beautiful, courageous, foolish woman and his best friend, business partner, and her brother Tristan, his fiancée Amber, her sister Nova, brother Thane and their parents. There was too much at stake here for her to be worried about him.

  She was determined not to be swayed, and it made his heart roll over that this was about him. She was refusing his help because she had some skewed notion that she was protecting his integrity or whatever. He was shameless where Neve was concerned.

  “My mind is made up,” she said, and tried to go under his arm. He reacted by stepping into her and pressing her up against the wall. Her startled expression made him realize that she hadn’t expected him to use physical force on her.

  “You’re not going anywhere without me. My mind is made up, too.” Then his stupid man parts started realizing that he was up against all the softness of her body, and he remembered the teasing and tantalizing view of that plump breast and the dark, puckered nipple, and heat balled up its fiery fist and p
unched him right in the gut and groin.

  For a moment suspended in time, they stared at each other; everything he was feeling was obviously on his stupid face because she looked just as aroused as he was. Then the confession he vowed not to share because it was just too damn volatile popped out of his mouth without so much as a by your leave. “You ripped out my heart when you left me like that,” he said, his voice a low rasp.

  She went still, then she drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I shouldn’t have, but I didn’t want you involved. It was possible I wouldn’t ever see you again and—I care about you, you big jerk. Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

  The stark truth was in her eyes, and the whole of him had wanted her for so long. To see her confess to the same need made him almost crazy. He’d held back because he was quite aware that Neve had no intention of staying in one place. Unlike him, she wanted to travel and see the world, go on to the next challenge. She wanted the wide-open spaces, and he wanted the white picket fence and the little rug rats. He wanted his children to understand permanency and roots. He wanted to give them a place to grow, learn, and live without dragging them to the next place, fish out of water, having to make friends all over again. He’d done that, and he had vowed he wouldn’t put his children through it. He had a business and was grounded in San Diego, a city he loved. She was only visiting until her orders changed.

  He and Neve were out of sync with what they wanted in their lives, but when their bodies touched, when their gazes met, it was almost uncontrollable.

  “We can’t—” he rasped out.

  “I know.”

  “Because you want more?” he asked, seeing the knowledge in her eyes, shattering his reason.

  His hand cupped the back of her head, her hair silky against his palm. She closed her eyes and nodded.

  Shifting so she was flat against him, he shut his eyes, the rush of sensation so intense that he had to grit his teeth, and his breathing constricted. She moved, sending a shock wave of heat through him, and he clutched her head, the feel of her almost too much to handle.