Alex laughed. “How’s about I get you another beer and then we talk?”
His companion nodded, so he returned with two bottles. Neil took one and leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t in special-ops mode at the moment, so he almost seemed like a regular guy spending time with a buddy. Alex owed this man so much, and he didn’t have that many friends at the moment. He’d like to add the Iceman to that very short list.
“This isn’t over yet,” Alex said. “We might have gotten this load of dope off the streets, but the Buryshkins are going to be gunning for me because of it. They’ll go after the people I care about.”
“Crispin is aware that you and your sister are even bigger targets now. Morgan, as well,” Neil said, then took a sip of beer.
“Exactly. So . . . is your boss going to stay in this for the long haul, or do I need to make other plans to keep them safe? Because I’m real familiar with being screwed over.”
His companion pierced him with a glare. “We don’t do that kind of shit. Why do you think I joined up with Veritas? It’s the closest I could find to the SEAL code of honor in the real world. They don’t leave anyone behind. Ever. Bailing on you and your sister would be doing just that.”
A body-weight of worry was shed from Alex’s shoulders. “I’m not used to that kind of backup.”
“Well, now you will be.”
Alex drank his beer in silence, listening to the water lap against the boat, studying the lights of one of the huge oil rigs in the distance.
“If I’m Buryshkin, there are two ways I could go,” Neil began. “I either neutralize my daughter to reinforce to my crew that I’m top dog, or I go after the people who ruined my delusions in regard to that daughter. Which do you think he’ll do?”
“Plan B. Go after us. It’ll hurt his ego too much to admit that Anya has been outmaneuvering him.” Then he remembered what day it was. “Unless . . . ”
“Go on,” Neil said, stretching out his long legs.
Alex stared up at the stars, thinking it through. “His favorite nephew will get out of prison this morning. Plan C might be pitting Anya and Grigori against each other and letting the biggest bastard win.”
“Which one do you think will come out alive?”
“Anya,” Alex said. “She has no morals, she’s a pathological liar, and she’ll kill you without thinking twice. Grigori is . . . he’s a scholar born into a family of crooks. He ruled his crew in prison with an iron fist, but I could tell it wasn’t second nature. He had to work at it every moment of the day.”
“Is there a rivalry between Buryshkin’s daughter and nephew?”
“A one-sided rivalry. Grigori doesn’t really want to have anything to do with the family business, but Anya doesn’t believe that. She only sees him as a threat.”
His bottle empty, Neil set it at his feet. “Based on that, my guess is that something will go down in the next few days.”
Alex rose, stretching, feeling the pull on his ribs and the sharp sting of pain that move brought. “I agree. How long are we staying out here?”
“Until Crispin says we can come back to land. I’ll move the boat in a bit, shift our position into the Gulf in case someone noticed where we dropped anchor.”
“You want me to take watch sometime overnight?”
“Sounds good. Come up on deck around two.”
Alex dropped his empty bottle in the sink and headed toward the bathroom. As he passed the bunks, he noticed that his sister was asleep on one, and he smiled. She’d done that on purpose. Now he had no choice but to join Morgan in that big bed.
I owe you, Monkey.
After Alex locked the bedroom door behind him, he set his phone to vibrate at a little before two a.m., visited the head, then crawled into bed against a warm, soft woman. His woman, if he was brave enough to admit that.
“You better be my white knight, or I’m going to have a problem explaining why the Iceman is sharing my bed,” she said, muzzy.
“Right guy. Right woman,” he said, and kissed her.
When the kiss ended, Morgan snuggled up against him, but he noted that she made no attempt to seduce him. That wasn’t surprising; they were both exhausted, and right now, curling up with her was nearly all he needed.
Before he’d married Alicia, he’d been all about as many sexual romps as he could score. One night with a woman, maybe two—that was plenty. He was easily bored. Though sex was still high on his list of must-haves, being here with Morgan, lying next to her, held a deeper satisfaction.
I love her.
He knew it as surely as he knew the sun would rise over the water in the morning. Felt it deep in his bones and his very soul. He loved her, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Hell.
Should he tell her? Or would it spook her to find out an ex-con was head over heels for her? Make her take off even before he’d finished telling her? The sound of her soft breathing told him she’d fallen back asleep. So instead of revealing the truth and risk learning she didn’t feel the same for him, he kissed her cheek gently and settled in next to her.
As he dozed off, he thought through the events of the day, one horror after another. Through it all, she’d been there for him, sharing his humor, caring for him, keeping him alive. In Alex’s mind, that was exactly what love was all about.
*~*~*
September 21st
Gulf of Mexico
Alex sat in the deck chair, a blanket over him to ward off the chill. He’d relieved Neil at the appropriate time and had watched the man slip into the bunk and fall into a dead sleep almost instantly. Across from Neil, Miri was still asleep, her bandaged arm lying outside the covers. It’d been a helluva run.
It was near nine a.m. when a call came through on Neil’s phone. He was up and on the deck before it had even rung twice.
“Iceman,” he said. He listened for a time, gave Alex a look, and then swore. “Hold on.”
“What’s up?”
“The war has begun: Someone tried to kill Grigori Danshov this morning as he was leaving prison. Fortunately, he survived.”
“And Ruslan?” Because it would have been his lover who picked him up.
“Wounded, but expected to live.”
“Thank God.”
“That’s not all,” Neil continued. “There’s a hostage situation at Buryshkin’s place. The Russian demands you join him, or he’ll kill that hostage.”
“Who have they got?” Alex asked. Because pretty much everyone he cared about was right here.
“Dennis Simms.”
His mouth fell open, then closed with a click. “What the hell? Why would Buryshkin think I’d waste my time saving that bastard’s ass?”
Neil didn’t reply.
“Is that the boss?” Alex asked, furious now. Neil nodded and handed him the phone. “Wilder? Explain to me why I give a damn if Dennis Simms dies. You know, the man who fucked my wife and set me up for a coke bust?”
“Because there’s more to it than that,” Crispin replied.
“Like what?” Alex asked. As he turned to pace in the opposite direction, he realized that both Morgan and his sister were on deck now, watching him with concerned expressions.
“It’ll take too much time to explain, but Simms is as much a victim in this as you and Morgan are.”
“I’m not buying it. Why would I bother saving him?”
“Because you have a conscience. Neither Anya nor her father have any idea what that entails.”
A conscience.
“You can walk away and let his death be on your soul for the rest of your life. Or you can go in and make the best deal you can to save him.”
There it was, the difference between him and the Russians: Alex had a conscience. If it had been Grigori as the hostage, there would have been no question. The test of his honor was Dennis.
He sank into one of the deck chairs, his eyes meeting Miri’s.
She shook her head. “Don’t you dare.”
M
organ remained silent, though he knew she was thinking the same thing.
Dammit to hell.
He turned away, looking out at the water. “Tell the Russian I’m in. But I want a guarantee that Simms comes out of there alive.”
“No, Alex,” Morgan whispered from behind him.
“How soon can you be there?” his boss asked.
At that question, Alex handed the phone to Neil to make the arrangements.
“Ninety minutes to the closest dock,” the man said. “I’ll let you know when we’re fifteen out.” He ended the call and headed for the wheelhouse.
As Alex moved toward the stairs, his sister stepped in front of him.
“Why? He’s not worth it,” she said.
“No, he’s not, but it doesn’t work that way. Wilder is right: I can’t judge one person’s value over another’s, or I’m as bad as Buryshkin.”
“You just can’t stop being the hero, can you?” she said, her eyes filling with tears.
“It’s not about being a hero,” Morgan said quietly. “It’s about being a human being. Your brother can’t back away. It’s not how he works.”
He paused in front of her now, then leaned close so only she could hear him.
“I need to be with you. Alone. Because . . . ”
This might be the last time.
Morgan understood, and after a look at Neil, she led him down the stairs and to the bedroom. As the lock clicked behind her, she began pulling the drapes over the small windows.
“You’re crazy to go in there alone,” she said, her voice shaking.
“It’s gotta be done,” he replied, toeing off his shoes. “I didn’t get this far to have some damned Russian put me in my grave.”
Her task finished, she stepped in front of him. “If I ask you not to go—”
“I have to, Morgan. I hate Simms, but Neil said it: Never leave a man behind.” Even one you hate.
She lowered her head, as if acknowledging that there were no words that could convince him not to throw his life away.
“I love you,” he said. Her eyes rose in shock. “Yeah, color me surprised. Smoking-hot lady tries to pick me up on some Louisiana back road, and I”—he shook his head—“I get steamrolled. You’re . . . everything to me, Morgan. You’re my oxygen, the blood flowing through my veins. You’re my future. My hope.”
Her eyes blurred in tears. “Great timing. Tell a girl you’re in love with her right before you go to—”
“Rescue a hostage. That’s what I’m doing.”
She took his head in her hands and kissed him, long, deep, her tongue playing against his. His arms wove around her, pulling her up against his body.
“I need you so badly,” he said. “Now more than ever.” He swallowed hard. “We don’t have that much time. But after this is over, I’ll give you anything you want. Anytime you want.”
“You promise to be around to do that?”
“Yes. I promise. It may not be easy, but—”
Morgan stopped his rambling with a kiss that stole his breath and made him grow harder.
“You might have to help out. I’m not one hundred percent,” he said, though he was loath to admit it.
She urged him back on the edge of the bed. Then after he undressed, she stripped off her clothes in a few economical motions. Alex stared at her, worshipping every curve, every mole, even every bruise. Morgan Blake’s body wasn’t perfect, but that didn’t matter to him. She was his. As she turned, he saw the stippling of a healed wound on her flank. Somehow, he’d never seen that before.
“What happened to you?” he asked, pointing.
“I was shot during a rescue attempt.”
Closing his eyes, he willed away the images of her bleeding, how serious that wound had been. How she could have died, and he never would have met her.
He jerked in surprise when she touched his face. “Lie back.”
He did as she asked, wondering what she had in mind. Then he found out. She crawled in bed with him, then slowly flicked her tongue over first his right nipple, then his left, giving each a little tug with her teeth. His body responded eagerly. Then she was there, touching his erection with her soft fingers, stroking him. Her tongue swirled around the tip, making his hips rise off the bed.
“Oh, Morgan.”
She took him inside her mouth, and then it was all sensation. How she worked him, how he felt himself building toward the edge.
“Come here. I can’t take much more of this,” he said, then gritted his teeth to keep from losing it.
“Patience,” she said, ceasing her attentions. Then, just as he was regaining his control, she was back. Twice, she ran him right up to the brink, so close he could almost feel himself exploding, and then she stopped.
“God, you’re killing me,” he said, his voice husky with desire.
“Just wait,” she whispered, and then she positioned her legs on either side of him. Her bright-green eyes smiled down at him. When she leaned closer, he brought a breast to his mouth, returning the favor, kissing, kneading, and sucking it until she moaned.
“Take me,” he said. “Make me yours.” She slowly sank down, and he groaned in sweet agony. “Move, will you?”
“I don’t think so,” she said, but he felt her tightening and releasing her inner muscles. “I like to watch you suffer.”
“Morgan . . . ”
She must have heard his desperation, and she set up a rhythm, moving up and down on him. He grabbed her hips and arched into her. Morgan’s head flew back, like a goddess sharing her power with her lover, stiffening as her release roared through her body.
Her cry of pleasure was lost in the burr of the engines.
Alex let himself be carried over, falling into pleasure so intense, he thought he’d die. Shaking, crying out, he came within her, branding her, claiming her as his. When it was over, Morgan curled up on his chest, her thighs on either side of him. He still rested inside of her. He wanted to remain there forever.
“Damn you,” she said when her head rose, her hair flowing around that beautiful face. “I swore I’d never trust another man, and then there you were.”
“Your fault. You ignored the road signs that say not to stop for hitchhikers.”
“So that’s why they were there,” she said, shifting her hips.
His body responded, not ready to end this lovemaking session. Not wanting it to ever end.
“I want you again,” he said.
“I’m yours, for as long as we’ve got.”
Morgan felt him harden inside of her, felt that strength touching her core. Once again she made love to him. His fingers touched where they were joined, stroking her, bringing her closer to orgasm.
“Come for me, baby. Just for me.”
As if he’d broken something loose inside her, she did come, hard and long. It felt like the orgasm would never end. When he joined her, their cries mingled together.
As the pleasure ebbed, she curled up next to him. He stroked her hair. She wanted this every morning, every evening. It was time to admit that.
“I love you, Alex.”
He blinked open his eyes, startled. “Really?”
“Color me just as confused as you about this.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. The Parkin Luck has returned.”
“Let’s hope it hangs in there for a bit longer.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When Alex stepped off the boat, he turned to help his sister down onto the dock. He didn’t need to—she was quite capable of that—but he wanted to touch her, to reassure her. He needed Miri to know that he wasn’t being suicidal.
“Monkey . . . ”
“Listen, bro, I get that you have to do this and all, but dying on me now is a bad plan. Who knows what stupid stuff I might do if I’m on my own,” she said, glaring up at him. “I might join a biker gang or—”
He hugged her tight, feeling her shivering in his arms. “Or you might do really cool stuff, because that’s the kind of
woman you are.”
“You come back to me. Don’t you leave me now. I couldn’t handle it,” she said, tears wetting his collar.
“I’ll try not to. I have too much to live for now.”
Lars and a sedan awaited them. The Iceman asked about a sniper rifle and got a nod in return.
“In the trunk,” Lars said. “Just like you specified.”
“Thanks, man,” Neil said, taking the car keys. “Let Sanjay know the boat’s got some holes in it. I sent him the coordinates for the Zodiac already.”
“You’re hard on stuff, my friend,” Lars said.
Neil slapped him on the back. “Tell me about it.”
He slid into the driver’s seat. Miri joined him on the passenger side, not a word said between them. So much for Alex’s hope that his sister would stay away from whatever was going down at Buryshkin’s house. He didn’t bother to try to change her mind—stubbornness ran in their blood.
He joined Morgan in the backseat, taking hold of her hand. There was no need for talk; everything that needed to be said had passed between them when they’d been one.
The trip to Buryshkin’s house went too fast, and too slow. Alex wanted more time with Morgan and his sister. He wanted this over. When they turned into the driveway that led to the house, they were stopped by a quartet of grim-faced DEA agents. Once they were cleared, Neil took them up the drive to a cluster of official vehicles located about two hundred yards away from the grand front balcony.
Agent Fredd was having a terse argument with Agent Weston; Alex could tell she was barely holding back her temper. Seeing him and Morgan, she waved them over.
“I don’t trust this bastard,” Weston said, jerking his thumb toward Alex. “He has no reason to be here.”
“But I am here, so let’s get this done.”
“Why? I heard he was screwing your wife.”
“Old news, dude,” Alex said. “I got my own lady now, so I don’t care.” He winked over at Morgan, and she returned it, her way of telling him he’d come a long way since the day she’d first met him on that highway.
Agent Fredd pushed a number and handed over the phone. “They’re using the hostage as the go-between.”
Cat's Paw (Veritas Book 1) Page 29
