Agent I1: Tristan [01] The D.I.R.E. Agency

by Joni Hahn

  Her mind came awake. Wait a minute. She always used a clean linen fabric softener…

  Frowning, Rachel blinked open her eyes.

  Three things crashed together in her brain: one, Tristan truly had teleported her to the Caribbean. She could see white sandy beach and turquoise water through the sliding glass door in front of her.

  Two, judging by the position of the sun, it was late afternoon. She had been sleeping for hours.

  And three, Aidan’s henchman was one, smokin’ hot hunk.

  Sitting up on the side of the bed, Rachel watched as he stepped under a running shower on the patio. Water coursed down his tall, lean frame, catching in the thick braids of muscle and sinew that covered his bare chest and chiseled arms. The blue swim trunks he wore molded to his rocky thighs and downright perfect rear.

  Turning, he smoothed back his wet, black hair. Tattooed between his wide shoulders was a vivid, three-D image of two intertwined atoms. Stamped in the nucleus of one was the number seventy-nine, the second, the number twenty-nine.

  How did he do it? The ability to teleport was something out of a Star Trek episode. Fiction.

  Obviously not, Rachel.

  Shutting off the water, he turned and grabbed a brown towel off a hook. What did he need a towel for? Between the bright sun and his hot body, surely his flesh dried itself.

  Rachel squeezed her eyes shut. She wore Cody Brewster’s engagement ring, for goodness sake, and Tristan had taken her from Creekmore against her will. What in the world was wrong with her?

  Jumping up from the bed, she took in her surroundings. Based on the male clothes scattered around, she stood in his bedroom. Beige-colored walls encompassed three quarters of the large room, the fourth done in a dark teal. A potted palm sat in a corner adjacent to a contemporary, espresso headboard. A matching dresser sat on the opposite side of the room, its surface scattered with keys, a wallet, a phone and the tie he’d worn earlier. The mussed bed lay covered in a thick, satiny comforter done in bold shades of brown, tan and teal.

  A quiver shot through Rachel. The idea that he’d carried her from the beach to his big, comfy bed battled with the anger that simmered in her stomach. How dare he and Aidan just take over her life and steal her away to… the gorgeous Caribbean?

  Ignore that ripped physique and focus on the anger, Rachel.

  She had to get home and straighten out this mess with Cody.

  Moving to the sliding glass door, the remainder of her up-do flopped over one eye. Yanking out the pearl pins, she tossed them on the bed. She had to look a mess in her crumpled wedding gown, but that was the least of her worries.

  Why did she feel a breeze on her backside? Looking over her shoulder, Rachel gasped when she saw the entire train of her gown had disappeared. Rushing over to the dresser mirror, she saw it had been sheared clean off. The dress lining remained, but her layers of ruffles were gone.

  She gulped. Tristan had told her not to let go. What if that had been a foot, or a layer of backside? Not that she couldn’t use an inch or two sheared off in that particular area...

  Answers. She needed answers.

  Stepping onto the patio, her dress swished as she made her way across the concrete in her bare feet.

  He had removed her shoes, too.

  If she thought a nearly naked Tristan was hot from several feet away, up close, a Bunsen burner had nothing on the heat this man emitted. Covered in hard, sculpted muscle, his flesh appeared smooth and slick. Like any Navy SEAL – former SEAL - the man wore confidence, arrogance and strength like Superman’s S. Strong, silent types usually intimidated her, but she wouldn’t let him know that.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever wake up.”

  His deep voice brought Rachel out of her musings. Okay, ogling.

  She lifted her chin. “How?”

  Facing away from her, Tristan hung the towel back on the hook. Water drops fell from the thick waves at the base of his neck to trail down his tattoo and into his swim trunks. A thick, copper and gold armband caught in the sunlight. Intricate carvings circled the band clamped on his left forearm, a prominent, round symbol centered on top. Rachel fought the urge to grab his arm and study it closer.

  “I want answers, Tristan.”

  Nonchalantly, he opened a nearby cabinet and pulled out a t-shirt. “Have you ever heard of Einstein’s Philadelphia Experiment?”

  Rachel nodded, while she fought a losing battle with her eyes to ignore the six-pack abs suddenly sitting in her line of vision.

  Fingering the one-carat marquee diamond on her ring finger, she said, “Yes, I’ve heard of it, but I don’t remember the details.”

  Tugging a gray, Nickelback t-shirt over his head, he pushed his arms through the sleeves. The soft, worn cotton covered his chest like a glove.

  Ugh. Didn’t he have anything larger - like a Snuggie?

  “The organization I work for used that technology to make enhancements to my body that allow me to-”

  “Teleport?” she finished. “I thought the Philadelphia Experiment involved invisibility.”

  “It did.”

  Rachel stilled, her heart skidding to a stop. No way.

  “Are you telling me you can become invisible, too?”

  Nodding once, Tristan crossed his arms over his chest. The action made his shoulders appear enormous, like a comic book superhero.

  Rachel crossed her arms over her chest. “Show me.”

  He gave a half laugh. “What? Teleporting you to the Virgin Islands wasn’t enough proof that I’m telling the truth?”

  She lifted her chin. “Let’s just say I’m a born skeptic.”

  Cocking an eyebrow, Tristan walked to the sliding glass door and opened it. He motioned for her to precede him inside. Passing him, that woodsy, citrus scent filled her nostrils.

  “I don’t suppose the back of my dress is lying on the beach somewhere?” She looked back to catch him staring at the hole in her dress.

  “Nope. Hopefully, Aidan stuffed it behind the sofa before the others saw it.”

  Moving past her, his bare arm brushed hers, causing gooseflesh to popped up on her skin. Memories of his big, strong arms wrapped around her flashed through Rachel’s mind. Tristan led the way into the living room, the swish of her dress echoing off the polished concrete floors.

  “Stand back.” His voice lowered an octave as he placed her near one of the sectional sofa arms.

  Walking away from her, Tristan slid open a gold plate on his armband and pressed his forefinger on the screen. A flash of light blinded Rachel. She raised her hand to cover her eyes.

  Opening them seconds later, she lowered her hand to her side. Tristan had disappeared. Doing a full circle, she glanced around the room. He was nowhere to be seen.

  “Tristan?”

  “I’m right here.”

  She whipped around. The sound came from the area of the television. “Say that again.”

  “I’m standing right here.”

  Heart beating like a Congo drum, Rachel reached out in front of her and touched the soft cotton covering the wall of his chest. His heat burned her skin.

  Gasping, she pushed against him. She couldn’t see Tristan, but she could feel him, smell him, as surely as if she had shut her eyes.

  “Oh, my gosh…” Swallowing hard, she slowly backed towards the sofa. Reaching behind her for the seat, she lowered herself to the soft leather.

  Another burst of light flashed and Tristan stood before her once again, that darn eyebrow of his cocked once more.

  “Proof enough for you?”

  Her head bobbled.

  “You’re now one of a select few in the world that know about me. I need your complete discretion – if not for me, then for Aidan.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “Aidan? Why?”

  “He works for The D.I.R.E Agency.”

  Rachel jumped up from the sofa. “You mean he’s going to be given the same ability?”

  Tristan shook his head.
“No. So far, I’m the only one.”

  She breathed an internal sigh of relief. “So, what exactly is D.I.R.E?”

  He stared at her in silence. Rachel lifted her chin. As if she would allow him to get away with no answer.

  “I have a right to know.”

  “No, you don’t.” He walked around the granite bar that separated the living area from the kitchen.

  Oh really? “We’re talking about my only brother here.” She followed him to the bar and took a seat. One thing about a missing train, she had no trouble sitting down.

  Opening the refrigerator, Tristan pulled out two beers. Rachel watched his forearms flex as he opened the bottles with his bare hands. His fingers were long, his hands huge and dotted with scars.

  “Defense, Intelligence and Reconnaissance Enforcement.” He slid a bottle in front of her. “I’m a product of the Science Division.”

  Taking a sip, Rachel frowned as the cold, bitter taste slid down her throat. “Is that where Aidan will work?”

  With a shrug, Tristan opened the refrigerator again. He pulled out a bowl covered in foil. “All depends on his test results.”

  “What kind of tests? Like physical ability?” Surely, Aidan’s SEAL training proved he was physically fit.

  “They’ll perform aptitude tests to determine where he can best serve the organization.” He popped a bowl into the microwave.

  “And what exactly does D.I.R.E. do?”

  Tristan studied the plate as it turned in the microwave. Rachel waited for his reply. Her stomach told her to brace herself. Whatever this agency did, Tristan knew she wouldn’t like it.

  He set the warmed bowl and a fork in front of her without meeting her eyes. He turned back to heat his own bowl, which had twice as much food in it.

  “Well?”

  Glancing over at her, his gaze was cautious. “We’re a private contractor.”

  That was… vague. Did he really expect her to be satisfied with that answer?

  “Contractor of what… exactly? Define what defense, intelligence and reconnaissance enforcement really is for us normal humans.”

  Scents of garlic, cayenne pepper, and oregano filled her nose. Her stomach growled as she waited for him to answer.

  “Whatever the client needs - surveillance, recovery, intelligence, invasion… take out…” He busied himself by the microwave.

  Rachel stilled. “Take out?” Her fingers tightened around the fork. “For some reason, I don’t think you mean Chinese.”

  His somber blue eyes met hers. “No.”

  Oh God… “Do you mean killing people – like a hit man?”

  The microwave dinged and he turned away. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

  Rachel held her fork prongs towards Tristan. “Are you paid to kill people?”

  He shrugged as he pulled the bowl from the microwave and placed it on the counter beside hers. “Sometimes. But, they’re contracts on hardcore criminals and bad guys.” He sat on the stool beside her.

  Her nerve ends tingled when he sat beside her. Rachel wasn’t sure if that was due to his godly good looks or his ungodly profession.

  “So, you’re saying my brother is going to be a hit man?”

  “No.” Frowning, he dug into his food.

  Obviously, the thought of killing people didn’t affect his appetite.

  Turning to look at her, he swallowed his stew. “Like me, he will continue to be a soldier – just not for the United States Government.” He sighed. “Think about it, Rachel, with my abilities, I can be anywhere in ten, twenty seconds. I can sit in a room of bad guys and listen in on their plans. I can walk through an enemy compound without notice. People pay a lot of money for my ability and skills.”

  Her appetite waned. “I bet they do. You’re probably a lot like the men that shot my father.”

  Tristan stilled but wouldn’t meet her gaze.

  Gritting her teeth, Rachel embraced the betrayal and downright anger that surged through her. How could Aidan work for an organization like that? His own father had been taken out by professionals.

  “He owned an electronics store in Creekmore, Texas. Why would professionals want to kill him?”

  Just the thought of what her father went through that night six months ago - the fear, the pain, the knowledge that he would die and leave his family forever…

  Rachel’s stomach knotted in anguish. Unfortunately, Jim Monroe wasn’t granted a quick, merciful death. He’d hung on for months as a quadriplegic.

  “That’s only a small part of our work, Rachel. We primarily deal in intelligence.”

  “Justify it all you want.” She picked at her food. “But, you haven’t been on the receiving end of take out like that.”

  Sitting up straight, his nostrils flared. “I do what I do to protect the world. To rid it of bad guys.”

  She dropped her fork and turned to him. “My father was not a bad guy.”

  “And, I didn’t kill him.”

  Rachel shut her eyes and took a calming breath. Maybe he didn’t kill her father but, whoever did knew what they were doing. No fingerprints, no sign of forced entry. No noise, no witnesses.

  No killer.

  She lifted her chin. “I want to go back to Creekmore.” This man and all he represented threatened her sanity.

  Tristan turned back to his food. “After Aidan calls and gives the all clear.”

  Rachel clenched her fists. “I am so done with this whole mess.”

  “You and me both.” He gave a quick shake of his head. “But, that doesn’t mean we’re leaving. Now eat. You know you’re hungry.” He shoveled food into his mouth again.

  As much as Rachel hated to admit it, Tristan was right. She hadn’t eaten all day and she was starved.

  Reluctantly, she plopped a shrimp in her mouth. Wow. It tasted scrumptious, like out-of-this-world delicious. She could see why Tristan had wolfed down the food as if it were his last meal.

  His phone rang in the bedroom. Tristan rushed to grab it.

  Please let it be Aidan. I need to get home and sort out all of this mess.

  “Yeah, she’s awake,” Tristan said, as he walked back to the bar.

  She also needed to get away from Tristan. How could Aidan send her away with a man like him? And, why in the world did she find him attractive?

  “She’s anxious to get out of here. We aren’t getting along too well.” He put the phone on speaker and set it on the bar.

  “Everyone gets along with Rachel.” Aidan’s voice echoed in the large room.

  Rachel gave Tristan a cheeky grin. “You tell him, Aidan.”

  Tristan met her gaze with a sarcastic smile of his own. “Must be my endless charm.”

  She gave him a haughty brow. Whatever.

  “I hope you’re calling to say I can go home, Aidan.” She looked down at the phone.

  Her brother groaned. “Jock is pissed, Rachel, and Cody and his friends have been searching the streets for you. I sent Mom to Austin with Aunt Tiff to keep her out of this.”

  Elbow on the bar, Rachel propped her forehead in her hand. “Oh, Aidan. See what you've done? If you would've just let me marry him, Dad’s medical bills would be paid off and Mom could quit her second job at the diner. She’s so tired, Aidan.”

  “You didn’t want to marry Cody and we both know it.” His voice grew soft. “We’ll find another way, I promise.”

  “Things will never be the same again, Aidan. You know there’ll be repercussions.”

  He sighed. “I admit it will be tough at first, but it won’t be nearly as tough as being married to that jackass. Once the next scandal hits town, it’ll be long forgotten.”

  Rachel stiffened. “Scandal? God, help me…”

  “Tristan, can you pick up?”

  Snatching up the phone, Tristan took it out on the patio. Pacing the concrete, he ran a hand through his hair, waved an arm out to his side, and spat the word vacation several times, with emphasis. Hanging up, he raised his face to heaven and c
ursed a blue streak.

  Rachel’s heart sank.

  Marching back inside, he threw the phone on the sofa. “Might as well get comfortable, princess. You’re staying the night.”

  Chapter 3

  Whack.

  How did she do it?

  Holding the bat poised to swing, Tristan waited for the pitching machine in his batting cage to spit out another baseball. Whack.

  In the space of one conversation, Rachel Monroe had brought out all of the demons he’d worked like hell to keep in check. She had exposed all of the guilt and self-hatred, all of the lies he told himself to justify what he did and the money he made doing it. She saw right through him.

  Sweat trickled down into his eyes. He wiped it away with a vicious sweep of his hand.

  Whack.

  The world he saw on a daily basis had influenced him. He witnessed so much death, destruction, greed… evil. It existed everywhere, even in Rachel’s little Creekmore, Texas. It acted like a cancer, spreading farther and wider every day. Once he extinguished a threat, another two or three popped up. He fought a never-ending battle, one that had become harder and harder to rationalize.

  Whack.

  So, he told himself he deserved the obscene amounts of money he received for his work. After all, how many people were asked to defeat some of the planet’s most dangerous and well-protected criminals on a daily basis?

  If he, D.I.R.E. and others liked them stopped their assault on that evil, what would happen to the world?

  He cursed aloud. Whack. Why the hell did he care?

  Mitchell had drilled it into Tristan’s head that he didn’t have the luxury of caring. He had to remain detached from the populace. If he allowed himself to get emotional or sentimental, he became vulnerable.

  Vulnerability ensured defeat.

  Whack.

  Remaining detached was so much easier when he stayed away from people. Having a beautiful, good-hearted woman like Rachel in his house was a freakin’ nightmare.

  Up to this point, the world, people, had been an entity, a general term defining the human race.

  Listening to Rachel talk about her father’s death, hearing the anguish and hurt in her voice, tore at his insides. The tears that pooled in her eyes had brought out a raw anger in Tristan. He’d wanted to tear from the room and find the bastards – most likely some of Naylor’s men – and bring back their heads on a pike.