by Misty Evans
Forget the hips. She’d nibble around his jaw. He’d cave. Men always did. “Conversation is not what I’m looking for right now.”
“I can see that.”
And yet, he remained immobile. Could he help a girl out here?
More nibbling and he finally tilted his head back giving her better access. “Atta, boy.”
“I won’t deny I’m enjoying this. But using me for angry sex to deal with your issues about your mother is not gonna happen.”
Perceptive man. What did she care? She just needed to feel good, to relieve the pressure stacked inside her like a hundred cement blocks, and Grey had proved—several times—he could make that happen. She laughed and licked him behind the ear. “We’ll see.”
In a flash of movement he’d flipped her onto her back and pressed his body—erection and all—into her. “Now we’re talking, Fed Boy.”
But no. He grabbed her wrists and held them over her head. “Are you going to talk to me?”
“I’ll talk. Just not the way you’re thinking.”
When she rolled her hips, he pressed his body further into hers. “I want you to stop. Please.”
Damn him. What the hell did he want? Did he want her to blubber about how Number Seven called her a slut again? How her mother’s sweet voice turned into something vicious and mean and Syd had to sit there week after week and listen to the band of crazies tell her all the things she didn’t want to hear? And well, hell, after the icing licking that went on in the kitchen last night, maybe Number Seven was right. Maybe Sydney was nothing but a whore who would spend her entire life thinking sex made one hell of a great diversion.
“Fed Boy, sometimes a girl just needs to get fucked. Are you up for it or not?”
His dark eyes sparked. “Sometimes, I’d imagine that’s true. Right now, the last thing you need is to get fucked. Which, by the way, I think I’ve proven I can be up for.”
“How the hell do you know what I need?” She pushed against his weight to lever herself up. Too heavy. “Let me up.”
He squeezed her wrists tighter. “Will you behave?”
Damn him. “I don’t like bullies. And as much as I enjoyed those multiple orgasms last night, right now I’m mad enough to happily put you out of commission for a few days. Let. Me. Up.”
Still holding her wrists, he boosted himself to his knees, sat back on his haunches and pulled her into his chest. He wrapped her in his arms and held her there as he ran one hand up and down her back.
She rolled her eyes. Coddling? Really? “I’m not an infant.”
“Never said you were. We all need to be held occasionally, Syd. Suck it up. Maybe stop fighting for one damned minute and enjoy it before my patience runs out.”
“Hey!”
“Admit you’re upset after your visit with your mom. Who could blame you? Why do you think I came here and waited? With cupcakes. You’ve gotten used to being alone. That’s a shitty deal. You don’t have to be alone. And that doesn’t mean angry sex either. You wanna bang the hell out of me after you get rid of the crap floating inside your head, great, fine, all for it, babe. But you won’t use me.” He backed away and grinned. “Not without my permission.”
She laughed. Couldn’t help it. “Do your parents know what an ass you are? I mean, they have to know, right?”
The amused mischief left his eyes. Just deadened him. From somewhere down deep she knew she’d hit a nerve. A big one. One that he wasn’t ready to talk about. She did them both a favor and leaned into him. Let him hold her close as she curled her arms around his waist.
Maybe this wasn’t so bad, this not-angry-sex way of dealing with her turmoil. For years, she’d refused to share her secrets about her mother, much less have a psych session about her feelings. So, when she had a man in her life, which wasn’t all that often, she’d become dependent on sex to provide intimacy that, in reality, wasn’t intimacy at all. It was simply a way to connect on some level without having to admit she was an emotional garbage dump.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You bet. Just remember later that you want to bang me. Okay? Still a guy here.”
“You’re a guy all right. I hope you bought extra cupcakes.”
“I did indeed. This is becoming an expensive habit. If we continue using them for sex toys, I’ll go broke.”
“You make me laugh, Fed Boy. Good for you.”
He kissed the top of her head and leaned back to face her. “I understand you, Syd. I don’t know what that says about us and our demons, but we’ll figure it out.”
Point there.
“What are you doing this afternoon?”
“I’m taking a nap. Why?”
“Screw the nap. Time for reconnaissance. Thought you’d want to help me follow The Lion around. See what that asshole does with his spare time.”
Could he have come up with a more unappealing offer? Truly? Bad enough she’d spent two evenings dealing with the stress of this mission. Now she’d spend her Saturday, after a visit with Number Seven, no less, doing it?
Spending quiet time with Grey wouldn’t be the worst thing though. He had a way about him. A strength that brought peace to her mind and the harsh realities that had been prisoner there for so long.
“Can I bring the cupcakes? I haven’t had lunch.”
He leaned forward and dropped a soft, lingering kiss on her. Oh, this guy. Destroyer of hearts. “Of course. I’ll even buy you a sandwich.”
Funny how things came full circle. There he was sitting in the Challenger in front of a row of Georgetown brownstones with his binoculars and his camera watching and waiting for The Lion to make a move.
Nine months ago, he’d sat in this same spot in the cramped confines of a car with Monroe, telling himself it would all be worth it—the endless hours, the gut-rot coffee, Monroe singing along to poke-your-eyeballs-out music on the radio—when they took down a serial killer.
At least this time his partner smelled like strawberries rather than male sweat and gun oil. At least she didn’t listen to hillbilly rock. And she had a great rack and those killer legs.
But she did talk too much.
“You ever shoot anyone, Fed Boy?” She sat low in her seat, watching the townhouse with a Styrofoam cup of steaming coffee in hand.
“Yes.”
Her eyes cut to him. “Really?”
He kept the binocs up and his attention on the brownstone. Movement on the third floor caught his eye. Not The Lion. Nabil. “You seem surprised.”
“You kill him or just wound him good?”
“I’ve done both.”
“Both?” Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed she swallowed hard. “How many people have you shot?”
He shrugged.
“Killed?”
“I never counted.”
Except the one that mattered most to his parents. That one he counted. Not for himself or his mom and dad, but for his sister.
“That many? Hunh.” She stewed for a few seconds. It wasn’t every day you sat beside a killer, even if he was one of the good guys. Or had been. Her voice dropped. “What’s it like to kill someone?”
Taking a life, even out of revenge, wasn’t satisfying like they portrayed in movies and on TV. Not for him. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t step up and do his job when called for. But there were always more bad guys, and the guilt from not being able to stop them before they harmed innocent people ate at him no matter how many he’d taken down. “In the army, it was impersonal. In the FBI, just the opposite. I don’t enjoy it under any circumstance, but I will kill if necessary.”
No response. Had he scared her off? Sickened her with the idea that just the night before, she’d made love to a trained killer? She’d asked; he’d told the truth. Monroe would’ve smacked him upside the head for admitting to Sydney that he’d killed people in his career, but there was no going back. This was the shit that always got him into trouble with women, including his mother who only called these days when she needed money
. He never lied, never sugarcoated things.
The seat’s leather creaked as she shifted her body. “How are we going to stop this guy?”
He lowered the binoculars and rubbed his eyes. Met her gaze. Lots of eye-to-eye contact, but no judgment in those stormy blue-grays. Was it possible she didn’t hold it against him that he’d killed people? Sure, the media, the psychiatrists, and most people inside the United States believed he’d killed for his country and that was okay. It was okay to kill if you were a soldier following orders or a law enforcement agent doing your job. But sometimes he had doubts.
Doubts that riddled him with guilt and fed the voice in his head with plenty of fodder.
There were no doubts in Sydney’s eyes as she stared at him. Of course, she didn’t know about Todd. About how the sick bastard had gotten off on a technicality and Grey had hunted him down like the animal he was and helped him have a little accident while cleaning his shotgun. The medical examiner suggested the kid might have committed suicide. Either way, the guy who’d killed Grey’s sister could never hurt another girl. Woman.
“Monroe and I gathered a lot of circumstantial evidence on The Lion and it did no good. We couldn’t get a warrant to search his house or his office at the Lebanese embassy, so I’m looking for something concrete. Most serial killers keep trophies. If we can break into the townhouse, we may be able to find them.”
“So why don’t I just go up to the door and invite myself in?”
He raised a brow. “Tell me you aren’t serious. After everything I’ve told you...”
“Jeez, relax. How else are we going to find those trophies?”
At that moment, Nabil came out the front entrance, lit a cigarette, and headed for a sleek black sports car parked nearby. Should they follow him or stay put?
Sydney sat straight up, nearly spilling her coffee. “Hey, there goes Nabby. Don’t you want to follow him? You promised me a sandwich. We can pick something up on the way.”
And lose their mark. Right. Besides, if The Lion was gone, this was the perfect time to break into the townhouse and have a look around. Problem was, Grey didn’t know The Lion’s whereabouts. He could be inside, sleeping or showering. No way was he taking Sydney in there unless he knew the place was clear. Maybe not even then.
Grey handed Sydney the binoculars and started the Challenger. “We’ll follow Nabil for a few minutes and see where he goes.”
“Yes.” She tossed the binoculars into the backseat and replaced the lid on her coffee. “Finally some action.”
Through the compact streets of D.C., they followed the black sports car. It pulled up to an old, but recently renovated, bistro and arts studio. The cafe boasted international cuisine in a casual atmosphere, a bakery, and outside dining. Nabil parked around back and entered the restaurant.
Needing to think, Grey drove around the block. Who was the kid meeting? His father or someone else? Was it worth waiting to find out or should they head back to the brownstone and do some snooping?
If he was going to break in, better to do so under the cover of darkness. Better to get Monroe’s help rather than Sydney’s.
He landed a parking spot down the block where he could keep an eye on the restaurant. Might as well see who the kid was meeting, and it was time to let his partner do some more work in a nice, safe, public place.
“Go get a sandwich,” he told Sydney. “See if you can put eyes on Nabil, but don’t call unnecessary attention to yourself.”
She set down the cup, snapped a mock salute. “Yes, sir. Do I need one of those ear thingies so you can harp at me while I’m in there?”
He opened the glove box and handed her one. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
She grinned. “Never.”
Syd marched down the block, fluffing her hair. If she wanted Nabby to spot her first, her hair would be most noticeable as he’d never seen her in casual clothes. She focused on the door of the bistro. If the place was busy, she might be screwed because he wouldn’t see her. Then again, Nabby had just walked in so he might be waiting for a table.
Hold up, here. Her pulsed slammed at her neck. What should she do? Wait a few minutes before going in?
Yes.
Make it seem more like a coincidence rather than her following him. Yeesh. She sucked at this. She dragged her phone from the side pocket of her jacket and checked it. Anyone walking by would think she’d gotten a text, but really, how long could she stand here?
“What are you doing?” Grey asked in her ear.
“I’m killing time so it doesn’t look like I’m following him.”
To this, Fed Boy laughed. “Go in and forget the James Bond crap.”
Syd stepped inside while her pulse continued to hammer. Take it easy, Syd. A small group milled around the hostess station. Beyond that, all the tables were occupied, but she didn’t spend too much time scoping out Nabby.
“May I help you?” a perky brunette asked.
“I’d like a sandwich to go, please.”
“Of course, they can help you at the bakery counter.”
The hostess pointed to the case along the wall and Syd wandered to it, salivating over the amazing array of pastries.
“Cupcakes,” she whispered.
“Focus!” Grey barked.
Cripes. Could he not cut her some slack? Maybe it was too much to ask that he encourage her to relax.
“Hi,” said the young guy behind the counter. “You need something?”
“Um, yes. Half a dozen of these chocolate peanut butter cupcakes and a turkey sandwich. Whole wheat bread, lettuce, tomato, mustard, and mayo.”
“You got it, lady.”
“Oh, and a large diet soda, please.”
A waitress squeezed behind her and excused herself.
“Sure thing,” Syd said, taking advantage of the opportunity to scan the room.
And then her gaze connected with Nabil’s and he smiled wide. He had a nice smile. Not slick and sexy like his father; more reserved, but definitely as potent.
“Bingo,” she muttered.
Nabil came toward her, his hand held in greeting and that charming smile firmly in place.
“Cindy, how are you?”
She took his hand and shook it. “Hello, Nabil. How nice to see you.”
“Are you having lunch?”
“Yes. Sort of. I love the bakery here so I stopped in for a sandwich and some goodies. How about you?”
“I’m waiting for my father. He took a call so I came ahead to get us a table.” He waved to his table. “Why don’t you join us?”
“Good!” Fed Boy said and Syd nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Oh,” she said. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“Nonsense. My father never minds the company of a beautiful woman.”
Ain’t it the truth.
She glanced over his shoulder, pretended to contemplate the invitation by nibbling her bottom lip. “Well, maybe just for a few minutes.”
Nabil set his hand on her lower back and turned to the kid at the counter. “Thomas, please bring the lady’s items to my table.”
First name basis with the employees. A regular.
She slid into the chair across from Nabil and waited.
“Relax,” Fed Boy said in her ear. “You’re doing great.”
And suddenly, just the sound of his voice soothed her hammering pulse.
“Do you live nearby?” Nabil asked.
“Not in Georgetown, but I love it here. I like to wander on the weekends. How about you?”
“My father has a brownstone a few blocks from here. We like the eclectic menu.”
A waitress stepped up with a bakery box—Fed Boy’s cupcakes—and a white deli bag. Syd reached for her purse, but Nabil held up his hand. “Add it to my bill.”
Syd shook her head. “That’s not necessary.”
He set his hand on her forearm, a gentle touch of his fingertips against her skin. “I insist.”
“Accept the gesture,”
Grey murmured.
Syd slung her purse back on the chair. “That’s very kind. Thank you.”
“Nabil?”
The Lion strode toward them. He wore an elegant tan suit, a white dress shirt with a patterned tie, and matching pocket square. His entire appearance, right down to his perfect salt-and-pepper hair, screamed confidence.
And power.
The patrons at the tables around them glanced up, obviously wondering who the slick-looking guy was. Sure, this was D.C. and people were used to seeing politicians, but Ahmed had a way about him. When he entered a room, people noticed. Women noticed.
Nabil snatched his hand away. A move Syd found fascinating, but chose to brush off. There would be time later to analyze the power struggle between The Lion and his cub.
“Look who I ran into,” Nabil said.
The Lion turned his gaze on Syd and stared at her with that same sexual hunger she’d seen at the mansion. He gave a small bow. “Hello, Cindy.”
“Hello, Ahmed. Nice to see you.”
Nabil cleared his throat, successfully grabbing his father’s attention. “I’ve asked her to join us.”
“In that case, my apologies. I’ve been summoned to the embassy. I must take my meal to go.” He turned back to Syd. “A pity. I would have enjoyed your company.”
She met his gaze and slid her lips into one of those screw-me smiles she’d been practicing. “Another time, perhaps.”
Forty minutes later, after The Lion’s departure and sharing a meal with Nabil, he paid the bill and walked her to the door. Outside, the street bustled with pedestrian traffic and the whoosh of passing cars. A D.C. cop had someone pulled over on the corner, and for a brief second, she wondered if Grey had illegally parked. Something in that thought amused her, but…nope. Not his car.
She spun back to Nabil. “Thank you. This has been lovely.”
“Do you have plans today?”
“Nothing particular. Maybe a movie later.”
He held out his arm to her, nudging her sideways to accommodate those walking by. “If you’re not meeting anyone, I’d love to spend more time with you. We could explore the city together.”
“Go for it,” Fed Boy said in her ear.
