Seneca wanted to be at eye level with him. She scurried up the incline, sitting down on his left side. The only problem was that the gravel gave way beneath her, and she kept slipping.
"I didn't mean to upset you," she tried again, looking down at him. "I knew…about your parents." He didn't say a word, but at least he seemed calmer. Reasonable. "I mean, Cat told me that they had…."
Seneca started to slip on the cool rocks. She pushed herself up, settling on her right hip.
"I just didn't know about the home invasion, and the…shooting. I'm so sorry." She was slipping again. "That must have been horrible for y—"
In one powerful movement, Ansel wrapped his right arm around her waist to stop her from falling. His hand lingered and neither of them spoke. They were locked in a sensual battle of chicken, and Seneca dare not move. But he did. He leaned forward, and she fell back against the gravel as if being pushed by an opposing magnet.
The moment her back hit the cold stones, she gasped, giving him the perfect opportunity. He kissed her, hard. No gentle first touching of lips. No tentative exploration, building to more. No. Ansel pulled her against his chest and consumed her, slipping his tongue between her lips, and coaxing her to follow.
He was very persuasive.
So persuasive that she was getting lost. Her breathing was getting heavy, crushing her breasts against his chest each time she tried to recover. She clung to his back for stability. But with every muscular inch she roamed, Seneca became more unsteady.
She sighed, unable to stop herself, and he took it as permission. Ansel grabbed her ass, pulling her against his lean body, and his triumphant groan of satisfaction sent a flash of lust swirling up her body and into her foggy head, creating all kinds of carnal thoughts about what she wanted to do to him. What she wanted him to do to her.
His erection was pressing against her, and her nipples tightened in response.
His large hand slid under her shirt, until he was cupping her breast over her bra. He squeezed with a practiced hand, and she moaned in appreciation of his skill.
Ansel’s kisses were becoming more insistent, and he slid his lips behind her ear and kissed down her neck. His hot breath made her shudder, and she arched her back to give him greater access to her throat.
His mouth was on hers again as he rolled on top of her, his weight pressing her deeper into the gravel. His knee moved her leg to the side, so he could settle himself between her thighs. He rolled his hips into her, and moaned with pleasure before lifting himself just enough so he could unzip his fly.
Wait.
What? Her head cleared.
"No," she said, pushing against his chest.
He didn't move.
"Seneca," he whispered, and she could hear his plea entangled with her name.
"No," she said, still breathless. "We would never do this under normal circumstances." He was out of her league. "You're just…upset."
She slid from underneath him and walked back to the Chevy, trying not to cry.
The man was clearly distraught when he kissed her. Naturally it was her response to attack the guy, right after talking about his dead parents and kidnapped sister.
Nice, Seneca. Real nice.
She dusted off her ass and the front of Ansel's ex lover's shirt. The truck had a step on the side and she was able to get into the cab without his help, just thankful that it was dark and he would not see that she was completely mortified.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ansel collapsed against the gravel, still trying to catch his breath. He wiped his face with both hands, as if that would erase his stupidity. It didn't. He dropped his hands to his chest, and just waited for the blood to rush from his groin back to his empty head.
What was he thinking? Fucking idiot!
He had been so upset, so angry when he realized. And Seneca had been so sweet, so…comforting. God, how he wanted comforting. Needed it, desperately. So he took it. Forced her on her back and…took it. Demanded that she open to him as he kissed her.
And she had, he had convinced her. He felt the moment she melted into him, and it was so…sensual, so fucking sexy that he had unzipped his fly like a sixteen-year-old boy who couldn't wait to get it in.
He was getting hard again just thinking about it.
"Fuck." Ansel jumped up, furious with himself.
Standing alone in the dark, he tried in vain to think of what he would say to her. How he could explain his inexcusable behavior.
But there was no excuse.
He sighed, then bit the bullet and walked back up to the truck. His brows furrowed when Ansel saw that she was in the driver’s seat, and then he grinned.
He had practically killed them both, and he totally understood her desire to be the one in control. Honestly, he had no idea the truck could even reach those speeds. It was dangerous, and stupid, and he felt terrible that he had frightened her.
Ansel got into the passenger seat and sat as far away from her as he could.
They did not say a word to each other as she pulled out onto the freeway, following in Gunner's wake. He glanced at her, the words on the tip of his tongue, but they fell back into his throat.
His right knee bounced up and down as he fidgeted, and Ansel tried to steady himself by laying his left arm along the back of the bench seat.
"I apologize." It sounded formal and uncomfortable, which he was. "It's how I…cope with stress."
Seneca did not say a word, and he really didn't want her to. But he owed her an explanation.
"My job…I do a lot of dangerous things." Her head turned ever so slightly towards him, and he wondered what she was thinking. "So, I cope with…" Ansel cringed. "Sex."
God, he sounded like a deviant. Probably was, and for the first time in his life, he was embarrassed by the number of woman he had slept with.
She shrugged. "You're under a lot of…stress."
He was. But so was she, and it sure as hell did not excuse his lecherous behavior.
"It was inappropriate." It. Meaning, him trying to fuck her. "I'm…sorry," Ansel repeated, and then explained why he was so distraught. "Earlier, when we were talking about my parents—"
"You don't have to talk about them if you don't want to," she said, with such kindness that it stilled him.
"Yes, I do." He needed to explain his loss of control. Both in the car and out there on the ramp. He pushed away the shame of his behavior and began again. "When we were talking about my parent’s deaths, and how they were murdered…"
She nodded. "Yes."
"When I told you that they had been shot in the back of the head…" He stated it as a simple fact, void of all emotion. "It occurred to me that my parents' deaths, and the government's use of force on my sister might be—"
"Oh my God!" She was shocked by his suggestion.
"The events could be related," he finished. "Home invaders rarely shoot their victims in the back of the head. And if the local law enforcement weren’t looking, they would never see the signs of a government operation."
"You mean an assassination."
Ansel shrugged. "Probably, yes."
But he and Gunner had been together on an operation of their own in Asia when his parents were murdered, so it had to have been another special ops unit.
Or another agency.
"Why?" Seneca was shaking her head. "I still can't imagine what threat Catherine could possibly pose to the US government."
"Me either." But Ansel could not wait to ask them.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Captain Gunner Holstad sat in the driver seat of the black SUV with two of his top guys.
In the passenger seat was Drew Stockton. A politically connected twenty-one-year-old college dropout from Tennessee, who decided to join special ops rather than take some cushy army post back in Washington, D.C.
Drew had been promoted below the line because he was brilliant and Gunner had been smart enough to request that the kid be assigned to his unit, before anyone else ha
d a chance to figure that out.
"These fuckin’ clouds." Drew sat back, spinning his purity ring to lessen his exasperation with the spotty satellite feed.
The computer screen illuminated his face with a ghostly glow as he concentrated on tracing the path of the Feds who’d intercepted their target. "All right, keep headin' east on I-90. But unless these clouds dissipate somewhere down the road…We lost 'em."
Win Caffrey sat behind Gunner, but he turned his head to look at Drew, sneering at the unacceptable failure. "Well, find them.”
"Shut the fuck up, Winchester," Drew spat, because he knew Win hated his name. "If you have the ability to part the goddamn sky, then do it already."
"I can't do that for you, Drew," the larger man said, smirking. "But I will happily separate your teeth from your goddamn mouth."
The two men held each other's eyes. But as Winchester Colt Caffrey was by far the baddest motherfucker in the car, Drew wisely backed down.
"Where the hell are we anyway?" Win asked, peering into the darkness for a clue as to their whereabouts.
"Somewhere in the middle of Montana," Gunner answered. "A couple of hours outside of Billings."
Win glanced at his watch, announcing, "I'm gonna make a call." And before anyone could object, he was dialing.
"Hola, nena." His voice had lowered to a seductive whisper. "¿Cómo estás?"
Sergeant Win Caffrey grew up on the South Side of San Antonio, Texas, in a neighborhood so poor there were no paved roads, no electricity, and barely any potable water. He was the only half-white kid that lived there, and he got his ass handed to him every day because of it. And despite having married a Mexican-American, his drug dealer father told Win to toughen up, disgusted that his son would allow a bunch of 'wetbacks' to beat on him.
And beat on him, they did. For years. Until Winchester hit puberty.
In one year, Win grew eight inches, ending up at six foot four, two-sixty with not an ounce of fat on him. But rather than join a gang and risk being shot on the mean streets of south San Antonio, Win sought his revenge on the football field.
He broke ribs, arms, and a leg of one of his particularly vicious tormentors. But Win did not stop there. Oh, no. He also had to fuck their girlfriends, aunts, and even a few of their mothers, which is undoubtedly where he acquired his affinity for gorgeous Latinas like the one he had on the phone.
You did not have to speak Spanish to understand the gist of the carnal conversation, prompting Drew to turn toward Gunner and say with his thickest Tennessee twang, "Seriously, I don't get paid to listen to this shit."
"Hang up," Gunner said, to the windshield.
"Tengo que irme. Adios, hermosa." Win ended the call, and with a satisfied grin, he looked over at Drew. "Jealous, amiguito?"
Drew rolled his eyes, and Gunner decided that now was as good a time as any to tell them the truth. He had to.
"Listen up," Gunner began, glancing at Drew and then at Win in the rear view mirror. "Sometimes we get ordered to do stuff we don't understand and we don't want to do."
Drew nodded and Win just stared at him, anticipating bad news.
"Our target yesterday, Catherine Miller…" Gunner sighed, barely able to believe it himself. "Catherine Miller is Ansel Babineaux's sister."
"Fuck!" Drew flicked the screen of his laptop closed with a resounding snap. He looked at Gunner, angry as he asked, "Are you fucking kidding me? They sent us after Ansel's sister." Drew was concerned for a myriad of reasons.
"What did she do?" Win asked, less worried about the wrath of Ansel Babineaux. "Or did he do something?"
"I don't know." Gunner shook his head, because it didn't make any sense. "I just received our orders yesterday morning with no explanation."
"Who from?" Drew asked.
"I have no idea. The orders came through our regular channels, and I confirmed them." Gunner paused, treading lightly. "But I don't think it's a coincidence that this General Hawkins comes into town and we get sent off on this mission." His men agreed with his assessment, and Gunner asked them, "Off the record?"
Win nodded, as did Drew, adding, "Sure, man. O'course."
"The question I need answered by you both is…What are we going to do about it?" Gunner wanted their input. Needed it if he was going to do this to a friend. His best friend, who had saved his life on more than one occasion.
"Ansel's sister?" Drew rubbed his forehead, before pulling his hand straight back over the top of his coppery head. "That's fucked up. I mean, what could the woman possibly have done to warrant this? And you know Ansel will go off the rails, and if he finds out it was us who took her…" Drew whistled, raising both his hand in surrender to the impossible situation. "We best watch our backs. Honest to God, sir. I don't know what we should do."
"What do you mean, you don't know what we should do?" Win was indignant, saying as if there were no other possible answer, "We're soldiers, and we have orders. We follow them. And if Ansel tries to stop us from taking our target, we stop him first."
If we can. Because as ferocious as Win was in combat, Ansel was equally as accomplished at stealth. And if they killed Ansel's sister, they would never see him coming.
Fuck!
"We follow our orders," Gunner decided.
For now.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was dinnertime. And Gunner, or rather Gunner's cell phone, had stopped in Billings, Montana for what Ansel assumed was a bite to eat.
So, he decided that they should do the same. The pickup bounced over the deteriorating parking lot of a busy diner, which Ansel hoped was a good sign as to the quality of the food. He backed his old truck into a parking spot to allow for a hasty retreat, then threw it into park and turned over the key.
"You hungry?" Ansel asked, knowing that she was.
He had taken the wheel at a rest stop a few hours ago, and only after Seneca felt confident that he was not going to kill them by driving a hundred miles an hour. But it had been five hours since they had picked up sandwiches, and he was about to gnaw his own arm off.
"Oh my God, I'm starving," she said, hopping out of the truck before he could stop her.
Seneca was already opening the door to the diner and by the time he caught up to her, and a young woman in a light blue uniform was showing them to a table.
"This all right?" the girl asked him as she placed laminated menus on top of the Formica tabletop.
But it was not 'all right'.
"Can we have that booth?" The one in the corner, facing the door and out of a direct line of fire.
"You can sit where ever you want," the waitress said. And after they were settled, she asked, "Can I get you something to drink?"
The girl was looking at Ansel, but it was Seneca who answered, "I'll have a diet soda."
"And I'll have an iced tea," he said. And when the girl left Ansel sighed, relaxing for the first time today.
He reminded himself that his sister was safe in FBI custody, and that Gunner and his team had not gotten to her.
Yet.
He took a moment to call Dave, who confirmed that Gunner was still in Billings, stopped at a Hyatt Place hotel. Ansel closed his eyes, silently praying that the team would spend the night there so he could get some shut-eye.
"Let me know the second they move," he said to his brother-in-law, before hanging up and looking across the table at Seneca. "Gunner is at a hotel up the street. If he stays put, we'll spend the night there." Ansel pointed at the local hotel behind the diner.
"Oh, the Billings Roadside Inn looks lovely," Seneca quipped, and he was chuckling when their waitress returned with their drinks in two big red plastic cups.
"Here you go. Diet." A bit of soda sloshed out as the waitress set Seneca's drink on the table. "And an iced tea for you. Do you want something sweet?" the waitress asked, smiling pleasantly at Ansel.
"That'd be great, thanks."
The girl placed an assortment of sweeteners on the table, before asking him, "So, you from aroun
d here?"
"Nope, just passing through," Ansel answered, intentionally vague. But the waitress lingered, and he wondered when she was going to take their order.
"Oh. Well, Billings is real nice this time of year. You should stick around for a while. You got family in the area?"
She smiled down at him and Ansel was about to answer when Seneca reached over and held both of his hands, caressing them with her thumbs.
"My in-laws live in South Dakota, so we won't be staying here long."
The women just stared at each other, until the waitress said, "What can I get you?" to them both.
"I'll have a burger and fries." Seneca released his hands, picking up her menu and holding it up for the waitress to take.
"I'll have the same."
The waitress left and Seneca rolled her eyes, prompting him to ask, "What's the matter?"
"She was so rude."
"The waitress?" Ansel was confused. She had seated them, gotten drinks, and taken their order with a smile on her face and as quickly as humanly possible.
"Oh my God, Ansel," Seneca snorted. "The girl just eye-fucked you right in front of me."
"When?"
"Just now! Didn't you hear her advise you to—" Seneca make air quotes. "—'Stay in Billings for a while.' So she could sleep with you!"
"So you were protecting my virtue?" Ansel smiled, liking the way she had claimed him. "My loving wife." He reached out and grabbed her hands. When she tried to yank them away, he would not let her, holding them as firmly as he held her eyes, and asked, "How long have we been married?"
"Too long," Seneca yanked harder and he let her go, chuckling.
The waitress returned with their food, and Ansel gave the girl all of his attention, flirting with her as he said, "Thank you so much, this looks great." Just to annoy Seneca.
"No problem," the waitress responded, smiling at him seductively. "Can I get you anything else?"
"No. We'll call you if we need anything." Seneca glared at the girl, chasing her off before grabbing the ketchup and complaining to him. "I mean, I'm your wife and she comes on to you like that? Right in front of me." She shook her head, scoffing, "So damn rude."
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