Explosive (The Black Opals)

by St. Claire, Tori

  “No.” She jerked her hands free and buried her face in them, shaking her head. “He wouldn’t…let me…look.”

  Jayce had witnessed many things from Alyssa, but hysterical had never been close to the myriad of emotions he was familiar with. Now, at a loss, he wasn’t sure how to calm her down, what to do to make her tears stop. He followed instinct alone, which told him forcing her to talk right now wouldn’t accomplish anything, and straightened to press a lingering kiss to the side of her head. “I’m going to take you back to the house.”

  He hurried around to his side of the truck, and eased the curb, heading for her home. Luckily, she didn’t seem harmed—physically at least—beyond scraped knees and palms. Mentally, she was a wreck, and what tumbled off her lips didn’t make sense. Michael, Georgie, one man not two, someone attacked her, someone didn’t. A car, the woods; and yet she had no evidence of any woodland debris anywhere on her clothing.

  Jayce gave up trying to comprehend the story. He slipped his hand across the console to clasp hers. With a squeeze of his fingers, he accepted all he could do was stay by her side and wait until she calmed down.

  T h i r t y – t h r e e

  An hour later, Jayce tucked the blanket around Alyssa’s sleeping form and smoothed the hair away from her face. He still didn’t know much more than what she’d confessed in the short drive here, but he’d sorted through a bit of the confusion. Odd how trauma affected a person—she didn’t remember mentioning the name Michael a handful of minutes later. There had been one man and a driver that she knew of. The only other solid fact Jayce could grasp was that man specifically mentioned McTavish.

  Jayce let himself out of Alyssa’s bedroom and made his way down the stairs. He found McTavish in the kitchen, staring out the window at the side yard beyond. The lines of strain in his face added ten years to his profile. He knew something. Jayce was certain of it.

  He leaned his elbows on the countertop. “What does she know that she doesn’t realize she knows, McTavish?”

  As if the sound of Jayce’s voice pulled him out of a trance, McTavish whipped around, his eyes wide with surprise. “What happened to her?” he asked quietly.

  Jayce shrugged, not trusting his friend was as disconnected with events as he wanted them to believe. “She was briefly kidnapped. Stuffed in a car with a gun held to her head.”

  At McTavish’s pained expression, Jayce cocked his head and held McTavish’s gaze. “Strange thing though. They told her to find some file you have. I could have sworn you said you worked for Delfranco, not Parker.”

  “File I have?” McTavish repeated with a nervous laugh. “I don’t have anything of Parker’s.”

  The two-faced bastard was lying. He might not have anything of Parker’s, but he had something. Jayce straightened to his full height. His gaze narrowed on McTavish. “Did you forget all the shit you and I used to do together? You think I don’t recognize when you’re blowing smoke?” He slapped an open palm on the countertop, anger roiling through his bloodstream. “What the fuck is going on, Brice?”

  McTavish backed up a step. Guilt clung to his shoulders, dripped off his downcast gaze. “I can’t talk about it, Jayce.”

  That admission snapped an animalistic instinct buried deep inside of Jayce. He lunged across the countertop and had McTavish pinned against the cabinets before he even realized what he was doing. He curled his fingers into the nape of McTavish’s T-shirt and jerked him so close Jayce could smell strawberry jam on his breath. “That’s fucking Alyssa upstairs,” Jayce snarled. “What the fuck do you mean you can’t talk about it? You better start talking damned quick.”

  Despite the tightness of his collar, McTavish shook his head. “I…can’t…”

  Jayce gave him a shake. “Put your hand on my ribs under my left arm.” When McTavish hesitated, Jayce curled his fingers more tightly. Red splotches broke across McTavish’s face. “Do it.”

  Beneath Jayce’s knuckles, McTavish’s adam’s apple bobbed. But he reached one hand forward and pressed it over Jayce’s long-sleeved shirt. The heavy press of steel met Jayce’s ribs as his holstered Sig pushed into his body. Recognition filled McTavish’s expression.

  “That’s right, it’s a gun. And I know how to use it in my sleep. Cut the “I can’t” crap and start fucking talking.”

  McTavish pointed to his rapidly purpling face. Jayce loosened his hold and glowered at his former best friend. As the color rushed back to McTavish’s features, Jayce flung him out of reach and stepped away. He was losing it. Before he did something Clarke couldn’t bury in the ether, he needed to back off.

  “I…can’t…” McTavish panted.

  Another surge of fury shot through Jayce. He snatched for McTavish again.

  McTavish warded him off by lifting his arm to protect his face. “It’s…government. That’s all I can say.”

  Jayce stilled, barely holding it together, his chest heaving. Government? What the… He blinked through his momentary stupor then barked, “What do you mean?”

  McTavish shook his head and braced his weight on the countertop, still gasping. “I can’t, man. I fucking can’t.” He shot Jayce a pleading look. “It will all be over tomorrow. Just keep her safe till then.”

  Dangerously close to dealing McTavish permanent damage, Jayce took another two steps away. If he were any other man, Jayce would have laughed in his face. But there was something in McTavish’s expression, something desperate that struck home and warned Jayce he might just be telling the truth.

  What in the seven hells had he stumbled into by coming home to Boulder? Parker, Delfranco—was something going down? Clarke should have forewarned him; Clarke knew all the operations.

  Unless by government, McTavish didn’t mean Black Opals. Entirely possible, but given the nature of Opal work, Clarke was usually privy to all the special operations. Especially when men like Parker, who had international connections, were involved.

  No, McTavish couldn’t be telling him the full truth. Maybe he had been told it was government, but Jayce wasn’t buying that version of the story. Clarke would have said something. The situation was too intense for Clarke not to be in the know.

  Jayce swore. He didn’t need this tonight. Jasmine was depending on him. Alyssa was in no shape to be social, and he damn sure couldn’t leave her alone here, not until he knew exactly what McTavish was involved in.

  Jayce jammed a finger in his friend’s direction. “Don’t fucking move.” He snatched his cell phone out of his pocket, and with one eye glued on McTavish, dialed Kane.

  “Everything okay?” Kane skipped a greeting.

  “Not hardly. Need you here.”

  “It’s your lucky day—I was already on my way. Skipped the hotel with the way you lighted out of Jordan’s.”

  Jayce backed into the hall where he couldn’t be heard but could still insure McTavish didn’t run off. He lowered his voice. “You know anything about Clarke and Delfranco and Parker?”

  “Clarke? Uh. No. Why?”

  “McTavish is involved in this. He says it’s our boys. I have my doubts.”

  “No fucking way. Clarke would have said something.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “Did he give you a name?”

  Jayce glanced at the doorway, then at the stairs to insure his argument with McTavish hadn’t disturbed Alyssa. “Haven’t gotten that far.”

  “Keep up the pressure. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Kane dropped off, and Jayce blew out a hard breath. Interrogating his best friend—who would have ever believed it would happen? With a sad shake of his head, he collected his emotions and returned inside the kitchen. He propped a hip against the far end of the counter, arms folded across his name. “I want a name.”

  “Shit, Jayce.” McTavish threw his hands in the air in frustration. “Don’t you get it? This is bigger than Delfranco or Parker. I can’t talk about it.”

  Jayce gritted his teeth, counted to ten. He wasn’t going t
o give over to anger again. “Listen, you give me a name, or you aren’t going to be walking out of here when Kane arrives.”

  “So now you’re threatening me?” McTavish let out a bitter laugh. “Classic. Why can’t you just take a hint? This doesn’t involve you.”

  “No, it involves Alyssa. You know, your best friend, your roommate…your lover.” He checked his rising voice and his accelerating temper with a controlled inhalation. Letting the breath out slowly, he snatched at his calm. “You want me to believe this? You give me a damned name.”

  McTavish ran both hands down his face, then pushed them through his hair. “Toledo. That’s all I know. He’s who contacted me.”

  Toledo? The name didn’t ring a bell. Not that it should—there could be a dozen different minor agencies running undercover ops on either Delfranco or Parker. But the disclosure ruled out every Black Opal Jayce knew and the handful of agency men he had the occasion to cross paths with. In the course of things, the name was useless, except to secure Jayce’s conviction not to leave Alyssa alone with McTavish.

  “You fucking put her in danger.”

  “I know,” McTavish murmured. “He assured me they’d leave her out of it.”

  The banging of the front door silenced Jayce. He stood staring at the man he’d once trusted with his life, unable to believe McTavish would take such a risk with Alyssa’s safety. With a disgusted shake of his head, he entered the hall to intercept Kane.

  “Anything?” Kane asked.

  “Toledo ring any bells?”

  “Nada. I call bullshit. You know how Clarke is—how many times have you heard that ‘keep your eyes open’ line? You know he’d have said something to us if something official was going down.”

  “Yeah,” Jayce concurred with a heavy sigh. “Me too.” He glanced back at the kitchen. “I’m not convinced he doesn’t believe its government. See what you can find out. I’ve got to get to this rehearsal dinner and get my damned tux fitted. He claims something’s going down tomorrow night.”

  Kane clapped a supportive hand on Jayce’s shoulder. “I’ll babysit. You get her out of the middle of this.”

  “I’ve got something I want to check out first.” He shouldered around Kane. “Was that grey car still sitting there?”

  “Sure was.” A smirk slid over Kane’s mouth. “Want company?”

  “No. Just keep the fox in the coop.”

  He let himself outside and stood on Alyssa’s front porch, surveying the stationary grey sedan in the driveway four houses up. Ten years of training slipped over him like a glove as he reached beneath his shirt and eased his Sig into his hand. To keep it hidden but in easy reach, he tucked it in the waistband of his jeans and started for the vehicle.

  The house stood dark and silent. At a glance, no one would have picked up on the oddity of the polished sedan. It looked as empty and common as the house. But when Jayce reached the hood and set his hand on the surface, the metal was warm. Up close, he could still hear the engine ticking as it cooled.

  Instincts blaring warnings, Jayce ducked his head to look inside the driver’s window. A map lay on the passenger seat; beside it rested a discarded gum wrapper. A paper coffee cup sat in the cup holder, its plastic lid missing. Otherwise, the car gave no hint as to who might own it, whether the owner was male or female, or where he or she had gone.

  The sound of a rustling branch snapped Jayce upright. His gaze jumped to the bushes near the side of the house, just in time to catch a shadowy figure dart sideways. Shit!

  Freeing his pistol, Jayce pursued. His salary said that figure owned the car, and he’d wager his pension the owner had something to do with Alyssa’s attack. He rounded the corner and flattened his back to the wall, creeping alongside the house’s exterior. Gun in hand, he approached the back corner silently.

  There, he listened through the chirping birds, straining to catch sounds of movement that would reveal his target’s location. But other than the treetop cacophony, he made out nothing. Breath held, he took the turn.

  A shot rang out. Something whizzed past his head. Jayce hit the ground on hands and knees, scrambling backward into the safety of the side wall in the same motion. Shit! He hadn’t legitimately believed someone would fire a gun in the middle of suburbia Boulder.

  Every hour of training he’d endured demanded he take the corner again and fire until he’d eliminated the threat. But for the first time in his years as an Opal, his focus expanded beyond the narrow scope of a target or a bomb. His thoughts honed in one thing, something more important than any objective or any loose gun. Alyssa. If he followed reflex, who would keep her safe?

  Worse, it was imminently clear she was in danger. He needed to get her the hell away from here, fast. The Boulder police could handle investigating gun shots.

  Jayce palmed his pistol and backed to the front of the house, checking the front corner there as well. Satisfied his path was clear, he sprinted for Alyssa’s front door.

  Kane met him on the porch. “Did I just hear—”

  “Yeah. Not mine.” Jayce holstered his gun, shouldered around Kane, and barged inside the house. “Keep your eye on McTavish and your gun handy. I’m getting her out of here now.” He bounded halfway up the stairs, then stopped and called over his shoulder. “If anyone asks, you didn’t hear anything. But point those detectives at that car if they show up.”

  “Mind if I ask why we don’t flush out the rat ourselves?”

  Jayce frowned. “Because I know how to think like bombs, not like hired guns. You crack programs, codes, and manipulate artificial intelligence. This isn’t the game we’re trained to play.” His gaze strayed up the stairwell to Alyssa’s closed bedroom door. More quietly he added, “She’s safer if I’m alive.”

  Kane’s grumble said he didn’t agree. But Jayce knew better than to take the risk. Sure, they’d gone through marksmanship courses, passed all the training and intelligence testing. They could both probably recite entire litanies of field interrogation tactics and research gathering approaches and analysis mediums. When it came down to the wire, however, they specialized in non-human fields. While they could damned sure out shoot any regular street gun when it came to accuracy or protecting themselves, they weren’t trained to think one step ahead of a living, breathing threat.

  He mounted the rest of the stairs and let himself inside Alyssa’s room. Taking a seat on the edge of her bed, he gave her shoulder a gentle shake. “Baby doll, wake up.”

  * * *

  The sweetest, softest kiss lured Alyssa from sleep. She opened her eyes to find Jayce hovering over her, his lips still clinging to hers. He unclasped them and drew slowly away. “Hey, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?”

  “Better. Calmer now.” She couldn’t help but smile as he playfully rumpled her hair. But the amusement that touched the corners of his mouth didn’t match the harrowed strain around his eyes. She lifted to her elbows, her brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

  He hesitated a moment, then answered slowly, but firmly. “We need to leave.”

  “Leave? Why?”

  Again, he hesitated, his demeanor telling her she’d hit the mark—something wasn’t right. She pushed herself fully upright. “Jayce, what is it?”

  He let out a heavy, reluctant sigh. “It’s not safe here. You’re not safe here.”

  “What? This is my house. You’re here. I don’t want to go anywhere after today.”

  “Right, but I have to leave. I’ve got commitments I can’t break.”

  She tugged on his shirt, drawing him closer enough she could sample his firm mouth. Raking her teeth across his lower lip, she whispered. “Come back after the dinner and we can make use of the tub.”

  “Mm.” His mouth caught hers, returning the teasing nibble. “No. We can’t. Not tonight.” He leaned away, his gaze resting on her mouth as if he craved more, before he lifted it to hers. “I talked to McTavish. He’s wrapped up in this, Alyssa. I’m not leaving you alone with him.”

  Alyssa bl
inked. Surely she had misheard. Brice wrapped up in Parker’s threats? The man in the car had mentioned Brice, but she hadn’t really believed. Not when she let the possibility sink into her mind. “You can’t be serious. That man had to be making up fantastic claims. Brice would never get involved with Parker. He’d never do anything to hurt me.”

  Jayce rose to his feet, made his way to her closet, and began sifting through her hanging clothes. “We can argue this in the truck. Trust me, I don’t want to believe it either. But it’s a little hard not to when someone just shot at me.” He pulled out a pale blue dress and held it out to her. “You’re not safe here. This should be perfect for the rehearsal dinner.”

  Alyssa stared at the offered dress, one thought ricocheting in her head—shot at me. “What did you just say?”

  Jayce’s mouth firmed with a frown. “I said someone just fired a gun at me. Now, please, let’s discuss this in the truck. What else do you need?”

  That was enough to snap Alyssa out of momentary stupor. She jumped out of bed and hurried to her vanity. “Black heels. Bottom left corner.”

  As she tossed her hairbrush and a handful of products inside a clear plastic tote, Jayce rummaged around on her closet floor. He turned around, holding a pair of strappy black, three-inch heels. “These?”

  She spared him only a glance. “Yeah. Who shot at you?”

  “If I knew, I wouldn’t be here collecting you. I’d be downstairs with the detectives.”

  So calm—how did he stay so frighteningly collected? Someone had shot at him, for God’s sake! He could be lying in a hospital right now. Or worse…

  No, she wasn’t going to think about worse. How had one day turned so horrible, so fast?

  She shoved her hairbrush into the tote then zipped it closed. Catching her appearance in the mirror, she stifled a groan. She was still wearing her running clothes, her hair resembled a squirrel’s nest, and tearstains streaked her cheeks. Rubbing at her face, she gave Jayce a pleading look. “At least let me change. I stink.”