Clay gave him a massive eyeroll. “Seriously? You think Don Harding, with the crazy tech stuff he sees on the daily, gave Ambrose top-secret info about your design? Dude, if he was gonna sell a design, he’d do it a lot quieter than this.”
Way sat back in his chair. Nothing made sense. This whole time he’d been thinking Ambrose somehow got hold of his design and sold it.
However, given the friendship between Harding and Bernadette Ambrose, what if Harding himself had leaked the intel? But then why send Roni to investigate Way?
Easy. The agency needed a scapegoat. Who better than the guy who designed the bullet? If they intended on framing him, they’d send an agent to plant damning evidence.
“Someone might be setting me up. I need whatever intel I can get on Don Harding and who he told about that design.”
A thump came from the other room and Way shot a look down the hall. From the sound of it, Roni had woken up.
He went back to Clay. “And I need it fast.”
* * *
The sound of Way talking to someone roused Roni from her nap. Who the hell would he be talking to at this hour?
Straining to hear, she’d stayed curled up on that giant sofa, refusing to move just in case he came back.
In the spirit of partnership, she shouldn’t be eavesdropping. Or attempting to eavesdrop. Then again, if the conversation were private, he should have gone outside.
When a good two minutes passed without a sound from the kitchen, she got to her feet, gave her hair a finger comb, and moved down the hallway.
She found him sitting in the corner at the counter space he’d made into a desk. “Hi,” she said.
He shut his laptop and looked over at her, eyebrows slightly raised. “Hi, yourself. How was the nap?”
“Good.” She pointed at the phone sitting next to the computer. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“You didn’t.”
Oh, now they were going to play this game? The one where she pretended she didn’t just hear him tell someone he thought he might be getting set up. No doubt by the CIA.
Who could blame him for thinking that, given her timely appearance in Steele Ridge?
Still casually leaning on the doorframe, she tilted her head. Considered her options. Balls to the wall. At this point, she had nothing to lose. She’d been ignoring Karl’s calls all day, so she was probably already screwed. Why not take it all the way. “Way?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t fuck with me.”
That got his attention. He slid his chair back and turned sideways, fully facing her. “You think I’m fucking with you.” He let out a sarcastic grunt. “Priceless.”
“I heard you mention Don Harding.”
“Yeah. So?”
“Who were you talking to?”
“I told you on day one, I have contacts. I’m using them.”
“Ah. Your State Department friend.”
His lack of response confirmed it. “Are you going to tell me about it? Since we’re partners and all.”
Way stood and walked toward her, his confident and determined stride suddenly unnerving her, tempting her to step back.
When he closed in, she lifted her hand, pressing it against the soft cotton of his T-shirt and stopped him barely a foot away. Him dominating her space wouldn’t keep her on point.
“You mentioned daily calls with your boss,” he said. “Did you speak with him today? I don’t remember you sharing the details.”
“That’s because I ignored him. All three times.”
Eventually, she’d pay for that. Karl had asked—no, demanded—daily reports. Since striking her deal with Way the day before, she’d avoided the need to explain her newly formed strategy to her superiors.
Karl would want answers and they hadn’t found anything incriminating yet. Plus, her assignment was to ascertain if Waylon Kingston had violated his agreement with the CIA.
She didn’t believe he had. Not with the effort being put forth to prove otherwise. Which left Jeff’s connections with government officials.
Way loomed over her in the classic power move a first-year psych student would call him out on. Nice try, pal.
She lifted her chin and gave him a smirk sure to piss him off. She’d grown up in a system that, more times than not, made warriors out of the children within it. No matter how much she liked Way, his attempts to intimidate her were useless.
Taking a tiny step closer, she peered up at him, leaned in just a wee bit so he’d catch her scent. His breath was warm on her cheek, drawing her even closer, reminding her of the internal combustion that occurred every time he put his hands on her.
He tilted his head, gave her a half smile that told her he knew exactly where her mind had gone.
He leaned in another millimeter and ran one finger along the underside of her chin. “What is it you want from me, Roni?”
“That’s a loaded question at the moment.”
“Ah,” he said. “You want to fuck me? Distract me from this conversation? Because, yeah, I’m a guy and”—he stared down at her body, dragging his gaze from her chest back to her face—“and guys like fucking, right?”
His words, clearly meant to sting, hit their mark. Damned if she’d give him the satisfaction. Later, in private, she’d allow herself to feel the hurt. Right now? Survival.
And Veronica Fenwick had that down.
In response to his leering, she did her own visual inspection of his body, lingering in the crotch area before smiling back at him. “I’m guessing it’s not unusual. You’re an attractive guy. You’ve got an…edge… that women find appealing.”
“I don’t get you.”
“Join the club.”
“You want to fuck me and frame me, is that it?”
“No. I only want to fuck you.”
She smacked her hand over the back of his neck and dragged his lips to hers. Tongues clashed, lips battled for more, pressing hard as he grabbed her hips, grinding them into his engorged erection.
My God.
She arched into him, loving the roughness, the all-out mind snap consuming her. This man made her want things she never wanted before.
Not just passion. But love. The security to lose her mind and do wicked things to him without worrying about the betrayal sure to come.
Freedom. That’s what she wanted.
She pushed away from the kiss. “I’m not framing you. I swear, I’m not.”
He ground his hips into her again, closing his eyes as tension hardened his perfect jawline. “Why should I believe you?”
Easy. She wasn’t a whore. He couldn’t know that, though. “I don’t lie when sex is involved. And I sure as hell don’t use it as a bargaining chip.”
“You lie other times, though.”
“Sure. So do you. Down deep, we’re both trying to find justice. Our methods might be different.”
“And what? You want me to shove you against the wall, fuck you blind, and then go back to business as usual?”
Ew. That certainly didn’t appeal. Even the mention of it, the cold, distant tone in his voice, doused whatever fire simmered inside her.
Too bad, really. She rather enjoyed the insanity of it all. She patted her hand against his chest. “Well, I suppose when you put it that way, it sounds rather unpleasant.”
He took two full steps back, then added a third. The bulge of his erection couldn’t be missed, but she kept her eyes up.
Propping his hands on his hips, Way shook his head. “I don’t know what the hell you want from me.”
“I’ve been honest with you. I’ve admitted to everything. My boss sending me here, using Maggie for an introduction, all of it. You asked me what I want from you.”
“You haven’t answered.”
“I want you to help me prove my friend isn’t dirty. That he didn’t somehow get hold of your design and sell it.”
Way nodded. “Fine. How?”
“As much as I don’t want to go out on this unstable limb wit
h you, I believe you’re right. It’s too much of a coincidence that Don Harding was at that party and now your design—or a similar one—is killing Street Dragons.” She reached out, ran one hand down the front of his T-shirt, felt the rock hard abs beneath, and nearly purred. She patted his belly, lifted herself to tiptoes and kissed him slowly, letting her lips brush against his. “I’m going to find out if Don Harding played me.”
* * *
As soon as Way made the turn to drop Roni off at the B&B, she spotted the oversized black SUV that screamed federal vehicle.
“Company,” Way said.
Given his life experiences, he was no fool. Plus, strange vehicles in Steele Ridge more than likely weren’t difficult to identify.
“Looks like.”
“You know who it is?”
Oh, she had a good guess. Karl Quigley didn’t get to be the CIA’s associate deputy director of administration because he was an idiot. In Roni’s short tenure she’d learned three things. One, Karl knew the seedy, backroom ways of politics. Two, he wasn’t afraid to use his position to get things done. Three, he didn’t like to wait. On anything. Or anyone.
And she’d ignored him all day.
Something, she imagined, he’d make her pay for. Thus, the surprise visit. One clearly intended to prove she wasn’t as out-of-reach as she wanted.
She’d have to tread carefully, considering his friendship with Don Harding.
Way pulled into the driveway, shifted the car to park, and killed his headlights. “What do you want to do?”
She rested her head against the seat and closed her eyes for a few seconds. Girl, you’re in trouble.
It wasn’t just navigating her assignment on behalf of the agency. This thing with Way, the lust had screwed up her thinking. In her professional career, she’d never experienced this. She had, in fact, prided herself on her ability to focus on the job. Being someone who found it hard to trust helped. She’d become so accustomed to not having faith in people that the risk of getting involved on a personal level had never been an issue.
Until she put her hands on Way.
She admired his determination, the flat-out doggedness for justice. Throw in his dark hair, the day-old scruff, the lean, coiled muscle she liked running her hands over, and what was a girl to do?
She opened her eyes. “I think that’s Karl Quigley waiting for me. Once I get out of this car, you need to take off. Fast. Hopefully he didn’t grab your plate number before you turned the lights off.”
Thank goodness for dark streets.
“Uh, I don’t like that. I need to make sure you get inside.”
“Uh, no. That won’t work. How am I supposed to explain that?”
He gave her a pissy look. “Compromise. You get out and haul ass to that door. I’ll back out, but face south so they can’t see who’s driving. Besides, they probably already grabbed my tag number. Just go. Once you’re inside, wave or something so I know you’re okay.”
Men.
“Fine. I’ll wave.” She gave him a faux-cheery smile. “Don’t take offense if I don’t kiss you good night.”
At that, he snorted. “You’re funny.”
“Thank you. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
The second she hopped out, Way was on the move, backing out of the driveway and facing the opposite direction from the parked SUV.
Before she made it halfway to the house, the rear door of the SUV opened, the interior lights illuminating—as suspected—Karl Quigley.
Roni angled back to Way, threw up a hand letting him know it wasn’t a serial killer and that he should leave.
Fast.
He hit the gas, leaving his headlights off until he reached the end of the block.
Karl approached, his strides swift as he walked straight across Mrs. Tasky’s pristine lawn. “Where the hell have you been?”
Alrighty. This was how it would go.
Still, the nasty tone she could live without. Roni pushed her shoulders back and tilted her head up to the much-taller man. “Right here. In Steele Ridge. Where you sent me.”
Being aggressive might not be her best move, but, well…
Winging it here.
When he reached the edge of the walkway, maybe two feet from her, the glow of the porch lamp shined down on him, revealing a scowl and cheeks so hard they could have been carved stone. Then he moved in, crowding the air around her and getting way too close for her comfort and bringing a blast of negative energy with him
Whoa. He was pissed.
He stopped, propped his hands on his hips. “I told you to check in every day.”
Refusing to back down, she nodded. “I apologize. I was on the move all day and didn’t have a private moment.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, I was with Way Kingston, trying to get information.”
His head snapped back. Yeah, that did the trick.
Still, she’d have to be careful here. Whether or not Karl had expected her to actually make contact with Way directly didn’t matter anymore. That horse had already left the barn.
“You were with him?”
“I was. I’m working on the fly here. Maggie introduced me and he’s not stupid. He knows how to gather intel.”
“And?”
“It turns out one of his contacts is a hacker. A damned good one that the agency should seriously look at hiring, because Kingston had a full dossier on me in a matter of hours.”
This time, Karl nearly gawked. “He knows you work for us?”
“He sure does.”
“Goddammit.”
She waved a hand. “Relax, sir. It wound up working in our favor. I made a deal with him.”
Roni had seen all sorts of anger in her day. Drunken anger. Emotionally damaging passive-aggressive anger. And full-on apoplectic, nose-flaring, vein-swelling, I-will-hurt-you aggression. That vein swelling? Yep. Right here on Karl’s neck. “What did you do? I didn’t authorize any deals.”
Well, chief, too bad. “Did you want me to tell him to hold on while I called my boss at the CIA and asked how to proceed?”
“Watch your tone or I’ll put your ass out of work.”
He’d put her…ohmygod. This bastard sent her on an off-the-books assignment and now he wanted to threaten her?
Nuh-uh. Her days of being made to feel weak were long gone. She’d teach high-school psychology before she let that happen.
“You know, sir, it seems to me the agency is in a tenuous position here.” She circled one hand in the air. “What with the leaked bullet design. And then there’s the fact that you’ve sent me here on the downlow. I mean, you might want to give me some wiggle room before you threaten to fire me, since I could possibly save all of your butts.”
More nostril flaring ensued and Roni felt that surge of pleasure that came with victory.
At least until the front door opened. Roni spun around. Mrs. Tasky stood in the doorway, a bathrobe pulled tight and her hair in sponge curlers Roni hadn’t seen in years.
“Is everything all right?”
Roni bobbed her head. “Yes, Mrs. Tasky. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” She angled sideways. “This is…Karl. My friend from work. He stopped by to give me something I left at a meeting.”
Eeekk. That was bad. Really bad. Blame it on the late hour and lack of sleep.
“Hello, ma’am,” Karl said in his best choir boy voice. “I’m sorry for the intrusion.”
Mrs. Tasky eyed him, then went back to Roni. “It’s not a bother. I was watching a movie. Thought I’d heard something, though. As long as you’re all right…”
“I’m fine, ma’am. Thank you. I’ll be in shortly.”
Mrs. Tasky retreated, closing the door as she went. Roni faced Karl again. “Just so you know, half this town will know a man named Karl visited me tonight. Maggie used to talk about the gossip mill here all the time.”
“Forget that. What’s this deal you made?” Karl asked, his voice low and steady, but much softer on attitude.
“Kingston.” Using his last name rather than the much-too-familiar Way couldn’t hurt. “He got wind of the shootings through Maggie. She took autopsy photos to him and asked his opinion. He figured out fairly quickly that the bullets being used in these shootings were a similar, if not the same, design as his. He wants to clear himself of any suspicion.”
“Do you believe him?”
Yes.
Tricky question, though. Her personal involvement with Maggie—and the fact her body was in a state of lust over Way—could, to her absolute horror, be clouding her judgment.
So much for being a killer shark who trusted no one.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “As I mentioned, he’s experienced in reconnaissance. He could be lying. I don’t have enough yet to know.”
“What do you have?”
“I overheard part of a conversation. A phone call he had with someone named Clay.”
“As in Clayton Bartles?”
Karl knew him. Now this was getting interesting. “I don’t know. I only caught the end of it, but he definitely called the person Clay. Kingston also mentioned that he knew someone at State. Does Clay Bartles work at State?”
“Affirmative.”
Affirmative? That’s all? He sent her here, with zero backup, and intended on filtering information?
Um, negative.
“Sir, you’ve given me an assignment. A solo one that affords me no administrative support. No backup. At all. And people are dying, by means of a bullet that may or may not have gotten out of Langley. Let me add that Way Kingston, in my limited experience with him, will not sit around and wait to see if he’s going to be sacrificed by the CIA. We need to get ahead of him.”
A bird swooped low, nearly walloping Karl on the head. The man flinched, instinctively angling away while the bird settled on an overhead tree branch.
Good, birdie.
Karl peered up, searching for his kamikaze nemesis. All this weird distraction might be a side benefit.
Roni cleared her throat, drawing Karl’s gaze. “What does Clay Bartles do at State?”
“He’s an aide. You may have seen him before.”
Burning Ache Page 14
