Burning Ache

by Adrienne Giordano

  “I might be. But I’m sane enough to have checked you out. You think I’d come in here without background? You’ve had an exemplary military career. You come from a good family. Your finances check out—congratulations, by the way, for taking your talent to another level.”

  Nuts. The woman was straight up nuts. But, with Clay not calling him back, she might be his intel source with the agency.

  He backed up a step, a quick time-out to organize his thoughts. He needed to know what she knew. “You’re not the only one with contacts. I know you’re a psych trainer, which is a totally different department from science and development. What I don’t know is why you’re here and what you have to do with my bullets.”

  Three, maybe four seconds passed. The mouthy brunette who’d stormed into his workspace stood, shoulders back, spine ramrod straight, and chin tilted in defiance.

  Then it hit him. “Maggie,” he said. “You used my sister to get to me.”

  * * *

  Stalling.

  That’s all Roni was doing. Worse, they both knew it. Her silence only proved it. But what the hell was a girl to do when her plan crumbled into a million bitty pieces? From the second Way had revealed his knowledge of her CIA connection, she’d been bested. Her stint with the FBI wouldn’t be hard to find, but he’d basically rolled out her résumé. In record time.

  Damn, he was good.

  Now he leaned in, getting right in her face, where the soapy, clean smell of a fresh shower flooded her system and sparked…something. The full force of her dream—and the vision of a shirtless Way—came back to her. She inched closer, wanting all that heat and male energy.

  He tilted his head, bringing his lips to her ear, skimming her skin, and sending another shot of zinging energy straight to her nipples.

  Way Kingston.

  Major sexy.

  “I don’t like people using my family,” he whispered.

  The words hit her like a wrecking ball, shattering her. She was no angel when it came to her job. Yes, she lied and used people if justice required it.

  But her friends?

  Never. She didn’t have enough of them to risk the loss.

  From the start of this assignment, she’d made sure she didn’t lie to Maggie. Maybe Roni hadn’t been forthcoming on certain things, but…

  Oh, hell. A lie by omission was still a lie.

  She shook her head. Blurring lines. Never good.

  She stepped back, setting her hand on his chest, gently forcing Way back and out of her space. “I didn’t use Maggie.”

  “Sure you did. You’re here aren’t you?”

  Damn him. “I’ll give you that. But everything I said about Maggie is true. We worked together, we’re friends—and, believe me, there are only a handful of people I say that about. Not telling her was as much to protect her as anything. If this thing goes sideways, I don’t want her implicated. By the time it’s over, she’ll be able to truthfully say she knew nothing about the CIA operating on US soil.”

  “At least you have a conscience.”

  “When it comes to people I care about, you know it.”

  He stood for a few long seconds, his lips slightly puckered and—mmm, mmm, mmm—she desperately itched to touch them. Just run the tips of her fingers over his skin.

  But the way he looked at her. The steady, suspicious gaze that hid unspoken questions.

  What was going on with him?

  More than anger, more than mistrust. This was…pain.

  And people in pain, she couldn’t handle. She’d had too much of it herself. “Are you all right?”

  He spun away, walked to his worktable and settled on a stool, shaking his head. “Goddamn headshrinkers.”

  Inquiring about his well-being made her a headshrinker? “All I asked is if you were all right. Forgive me for giving a shit.”

  “Please. Now you care about me? What the hell am I supposed to think? You used my sister to get to me and then spewed some crap about your dead friend. You expect me to not wonder about your motives?”

  “People are dying. And it appears it’s by a bullet you designed. I’ve been tasked with figuring out how that happened. There’s not a manual on this type of investigation.”

  “I didn’t sell that design. And since you’re bent on finding the truth, newsflash, babe, Langley doesn’t have the specs. Until they buy them, those details stay locked in my safe.”

  Terrific. If it looks like a duck… One of her foster mothers used to say that all the time and, until this day, she had never completely experienced the truth of it. “So you’re the only one who has the specs?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you expect the CIA to believe this is a coincidence?”

  “Not on your life. I’ve put a ton of time into this project. Having those murders crop up within miles of me? It’s gotta be my design. It didn’t come from me, though. Someone at Langley screwed me.”

  “The test bullets are accounted for. If you’re the only one with the specs, how did you get screwed?”

  “Have you seen all the test bullets?”

  “No. Some have been fired.”

  “Then I guess there’s no way to really know if one got out.”

  True.

  He folded his arms and studied her for a second. “You think I’m lying.”

  “I’m not sure what I think about ninety percent of this. I don’t think you leaked that design, though. It’s a start.”

  “At least we’re getting somewhere. Are you gonna tell me what you know?” He stepped forward again, crowding her space. Smart man that he was, he sensed he’d unnerved her the last time he tried it.

  Well, lust or no lust, Roni wouldn’t be that easy again. She lifted her chin.

  “This is my ass on the line,” he said. “I have information I can share. Help me figure it out.”

  A partnership. Might not be a bad idea. She already knew he had one or more excellent contacts. “Some of it’s classified.”

  “Fine. Don’t tell me that stuff. Chances are, I can get it on my own. I already got the related cases.”

  Whatever the CIA had thought of Way Kingston, they’d underestimated him. “You identified the related cases? How?”

  He grinned. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

  Oh, he was a sassy one.

  She might have to fuck him. Literally, not figuratively.

  Once again, her nipples got hard. Thank goodness for padded bras, because her body sure wasn’t doing her any favors. “You want to be partners?”

  He lifted one shoulder. “Call it whatever you want. But if we pool our intel, we might figure out who’s blowing people away with my bullets.”

  8

  Crazy as it was, Roni walked back to her rental and popped the trunk to retrieve the file Karl and Don had given her.

  Talk about going off-script. If either one of them knew she’d just outed the CIA’s Way Kingston investigation, she’d undoubtedly be fired. No explanation necessary.

  Now that she’d done it, the next logical step would be to gather info and see where it led.

  While outside, she grabbed the two shopping bags filled with dog and cat food she’d picked up the day before. Being a busy, single woman living in a high-rise didn’t make her an ideal candidate for the dog she’d always wanted, but she could follow Way’s lead and make donations to shelters. Why she’d never thought of it before eluded her, but now she’d become a regular donor.

  Plus, it might score her some points with Way. Loosen him up a bit.

  She set the bags on the ground and closed the trunk, double-checking that it had latched since she’d stored her nine-millimeter in there for safekeeping. The crunch of tires on gravel drew her gaze to the spiffy BMW she’d seen the day before.

  Way’s assistant. Sam. Might as well cuddle up in case she needed her at some point.

  Bags in hand, Roni paused at her front bumper while Sam parked in the same spot as yesterday.

  Sam, all tal
l, elegant blonde, slid from the car and slung her Fendi tote over her shoulder. That tote probably cost more than Roni made in a week. Besides, all that finery would be wasted on her. She barely carried a purse most days, opting for her vintage leather messenger bag.

  “Good morning,” Sam said.

  “Good morning.”

  “You and my boss are at it early today.”

  They sure were. “Something like that.” Roni smiled. “He’s already inside.”

  “He usually beats me here. Unless he’s out of town.” She gestured to the bags. “Do you need help there?”

  “I’ve got it. Thanks. Does that happen a lot? Way out of town?”

  Sam shrugged. “I wouldn’t say a lot. He likes his road trips.” She pointed to the corner of the barn, at a bulky motorcycle with storage compartments on the back. “I like to joke that the motorcycle is my job security.”

  Road trips. A slight niggling crept up Roni’s neck. Hadn’t she read that two of the murders had been in South Carolina?

  Sam started toward the door while Roni’s mind exploded with questions. Could Way be playing her, the one who’d survived the foster care system by learning how not to be fooled?

  No chance. She’d sense it. If not from her experience, from her training. Nothing about Waylon Kingston indicated deception.

  But—God—she’d never had naughty fantasies about a suspect before. Particularly when that suspect was the brother of a close friend.

  Roni paused at the door when Sam swung it open, holding it for her. She glanced down at the folder tucked under her arm. All that classified info she’d just agreed to share. She should turn around. Walk away and forget this. Tell Don and Karl she’d been compromised.

  She peered through the door.

  Four victims so far. If she turned tail, chances were whoever had that bullet design would kill again.

  And that, she couldn’t let happen.

  * * *

  Way took the two filled shopping bags from Roni and set them near the door. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I wanted to. I don’t have a dog, yet, but I can help out. Let me know if there’s anything else they need and I’ll pick it up.”

  A woman after his own heart. He’d been toying with the idea of a dog, but dogs needed tending and big ones didn’t fit in the custom carriers made for motorcycles.

  And he wanted a big guy. A shepherd he could teach to play frisbee. Eventually. “There’s a wish list online. I’ll give you the website, but they always need paper towels. And bleach.”

  Putting the idea of pets out of his mind, Way cleared a large area on his worktable and grabbed a second stool from the opposite side. Shelter supplies or not, if Roni thought he’d give her intel without her doing the same, she’d be wrong. Colossally wrong. Did he respect her for taking the time to shop for the shelter? Hell, yeah. But she could also be fucking with his mind and ten years as a recon Marine hadn’t resulted in an idiot who let a pair of nice tits and dog food distract him.

  From his front pocket, his phone rang. Shep. He’d call him back. He set the phone on the table, went back to Roni, and pointed to the stool. “Have a seat.”

  “Do you need to deal with that call?”

  “No. It’s my brother.” His phone whistled. “That would be him texting me.”

  Just in case, he tapped the screen and skimmed the message telling him to call back. Nothing urgent.

  “A call and a text. You can call him. I don’t mind.”

  “It’s nothing urgent. I’ll turn the ringer down because this is when the fun begins.”

  “Fun?”

  “Yep. Since Shep didn’t connect, my mother or Maggie will also call.”

  Roni let out a soft snort. At least someone found it funny.

  “Do they do that often?”

  “Every damned day. I’m not married or in a relationship, so they apparently have to be in constant contact. Makes me nuts.”

  “Well, the psychologist in me would advise you to speak to them about your boundaries. You’re running a business. If it’s not an emergency, they should respect that and allow you the opportunity to complete your workday and then call them back.”

  Huh. Boundaries. Had he ever even told them the calls were out of hand? He thought about it. No. Never once had he told them to back off. He ran his palms up his forehead, then banged himself on the skull. “I created this monster. I should have nixed it from the get-go.”

  “It’s hard. At first it probably seemed like they were being nice and then you don’t want to look like a jerk by telling them to stop. Then the behavior continues and sometimes gets worse, but there’s still that underlying guilt so you let it continue. It’s a vicious cycle.”

  Wow. She’d just nailed his entire family dynamic. “You are scary good at this shit.”

  “I do try. Anyway.” She slapped a manila folder down, slid onto the stool, and swiveled to face him. “Talk to them. Keep it short, friendly, and to the point. They’ll understand.”

  “I’ll do that. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  They sat staring at each other for a few seconds, which, truth be told, he didn’t much mind. Beautiful women, especially cunning ones, had never been a problem for him.

  Twisted fucker that he was, he got high on the brutal mental workout. He’d sit here all day and look at her.

  The first to flinch loses. That was his motto.

  Which might be hers, too, since they sat—and sat and sat—while the thump-thump-thump of his pulse drowned out any sound.

  Oh, oh, oh, he’d love to touch her. Run his fingers through her hair, over her face, down her neck to…other places.

  And then her full lips spread into a slow, sexy smile that left his pulse hammering for completely different reasons.

  “Clearly,” she said, “one of us has to give in.”

  “Clearly.”

  “You’re kinda maddening.”

  He grinned. “Thank you.”

  That made her laugh, a slow, throaty sound that Way wanted to hear more of. Man-oh-man, he liked the sound of it.

  “I know we’re supposed to be all serious here, but gotta say, your laugh is killer. Feel free to do it more.”

  She raised one eyebrow, giving him a definite you-must-be-stoned look. He leaned forward, tapped her nose lightly. “I’m not playing you. Just say thank you.”

  At that she nodded. “All right. Thank you.” She set her hand on the folder in front of her. “Now, back to work. I’ll show you what I have and I trust you’ll stick to our deal and do the same.”

  And lookie here. She flinched first. Way should have been doing mental backflips over the win. He’d taken a tough, headstrong woman down a notch.

  Somehow it left him…flat.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” he said.

  “You’re full of deals today.”

  “Honey, I’ve barely started.” He picked up the envelope containing everything Micki had gathered and held it to her. “In the spirit of partnership, how about we do it together? You read mine while I read yours.”

  Roni did the same with her folder. “Excellent idea.”

  Flipping open the folder, he found a sheet of notebook paper on top. The handwriting, a mix of print and cursive, filled the entire page with bulleted notes. The first murder—at least the first they’d connected to his ammo design—occurred four and a half months ago. Two months after he’d sent the first batch of bullets to the CIA. All these months, he’d been waiting on an answer from Langley. No clue what the holdup was, he’d assumed it was government bureaucracy at work.

  He homed in on the name Jeff Ambrose—the dead ATF agent. “Talk to me about Ambrose.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “My sister included him on this task force. I know Maggie. My guess is she handpicked all of you. And Maggie thinks every decision damned near to death.”

  “She’s thorough, for sure.”

  “She
’s a pain in the ass.”

  Roni’s full-on laugh sent his mind, once again, straight to the gutter. But, hey, he was a guy and she was a damned fine-looking woman with a porn-star worthy laugh.

  “Well,” Roni said, “pain in the ass or not, she put together a hell of a team. Jeff was a good man. Undercover work came naturally—”

  “A good liar.”

  “I don’t know that I’d say that, but he knew how to play a shady guy.”

  “What was he working on when he died?”

  “An informant turned us on to a distributor. The informant didn’t have any hard evidence, but he’d heard on the street that the distributor and manufacturer were making side deals on cigarettes to avoid paying taxes.”

  “They must have been stashing the cigarettes.”

  “Exactly. We’d established a cover for Jeff as a convenience store owner. He started buying small quantities at wholesale from the distributor and then kept increasing his order. It took six months for him to cozy up enough to ask the guy if he’d consider doing a side deal.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “Jeff would sell the cigarettes on the black market—i.e., tax-free—and give the guy a share of the profit. After a week, the guy came back saying he wanted in. We were a few months into him making these black-market deals and getting chummy with the distributor when he got killed.”

  “Chummy how?”

  “Socializing, fishing weekends, tooling around in the guy’s Maserati.”

  Way let out a low whistle. “And you’re sure Jeff was clean?”

  Roni gave him a pissy look. “Squeaky. Our personal accounts were monitored monthly. If he was on the take, he did a bang-up job of hiding it.”

  Hiding money overseas didn’t take a rocket scientist. “How did the actual operation work?”

  “We leased a warehouse to store the cigarettes he bought.”

  “Where’d the money come from to buy?”

  “Maggie worked it out. I assume from asset forfeitures. When a drug dealer gets busted, any assets used during the commission of a crime are seized.”

  Way nodded. “They sell the assets and use the money to fund undercover ops?”