Strike Force

by Beth Rhodes

  “You wanted someone to love you.”

  Malcolm frowned. “She didn’t. Love me, I mean.”

  “You’re here, though. You survived. And I like you, so you’re not a complete loss.”

  Her directness made him feel lighter. “I haven’t thought about it for a long time. Thanks to you for bringing up such painful memories.” He nudged her with his elbow.

  “Processing these types of emotions makes us better people,” she proclaimed with a raised finger. He laughed. She hadn’t moved away. They still walked, as if they were friends. His heart pounded at the idea. He could be friends with this woman. After all these years, there was hope for him…

  To be out of the muck and mire of his past.

  His thoughts from yesterday came back to his mind as they reached the back porch.

  The scent of a roast wafted through the door, and Marie left his side to open the screen door and then the storm door. “Come on. I’ve got something for you.”

  She held the door as he went through.

  Uncle Bert had an apron on and stood in front of a green gas stove. His crooked little walk brought him to the fridge and back to the counter. He reminded Malcolm of a little old grandfather from a fairy tale. Stereotypes aside, a lot like Rumpelstiltskin. “I have food for you and my Marie. Sit,” he ordered in a heavily accented voice. “Then we will drink and you will tell me all about yourself so I can approve you.”

  Malcolm forced himself not to look at Marie. “Yes, sir.”

  Funny, though, because he wouldn’t mind being approved.

  ***

  Holy cow, she was so embarrassed. Uncle Bert wanted to approve Malcolm.

  When she got him alone, she was going to kill him.

  “And then, when she was twelve years, I had to bring her home from school because she had broken into all the lockers on eighth grade hallway.” His accent had gotten considerably thicker, which meant he’d had lots to drink and even more memories to share. The night was young…and she was in deep trouble.

  “He doesn’t want to hear about my misspent youth, Uncle Bert.” She took a sip of her beer, gulping twice. “Is it warm in here? I think it’s warm in here.”

  “Is not warm,” Uncle Bert answered.

  Malcolm laughed, and she loved seeing him completely at ease in her family home. But if it was because he was laughing at her, well… “Tell him about Nonny.”

  “Aaah, the most beautiful woman who ever lived. And she was feisty, on fire with her Romanian roots.” Uncle Bert pointed at Marie again.

  “Geez, really? Is everything you say going to come back around to me?”

  “Tonight you bring a man home. Tonight is about you.” Her uncle smiled. “Marie took all her earnings from the school heist and bought me a new hat.”

  “That’s it,” Marie said, picking up her empty plate. “You two talk. I’m going to bed.”

  “She is embarrassed. She’s a good girl, and there is honor deep in those roots. Even among thieves, we Bălans are considered the best, the most ethical and moral of all the thieves.”

  She couldn’t hear Malcolm’s answer, but imagined he didn’t quite agree. The Bălans prided themselves on the fact they wouldn’t take a life or harm an innocent or leave destruction behind them. High praise! But in the past year, her own lines had moved. Maybe at Malcolm’s influence. Definitely at the Hawkins’ influence.

  When she did her “acquiring” now, it was rarely with intentional thievery in mind. And she always carried cash so she could pay for the items she needed. Oh, when she was around Malcolm, she’d lead him on a little. He was so easy to rib, so easy to rile up. And knowing he didn’t approve of her dishonest ways made it fun.

  But having all her skeletons dug out of the closet. Ack!

  She took a few minutes to wash the dishes then went up the narrow stairs at the back of the house to the second floor. Uncle Bert could show Malcolm where to sleep.

  Soon the liquor would come out, and then he would start a fire in the fireplace. Or maybe they’d go outside to the fire pit. But she was beat.

  And in another day or two, Malcolm would leave for North Carolina, and she would talk with Uncle Bert about the armband, and about getting back into Dimitru’s. Luckily, she had a way back in—her phone, which she’d left at the Dimitru Estate. An added benefit: she’d be completely uninterrupted for the next two days.

  With a grin, she stretched, doing a few token yoga positions before changing and going to bed. Even though it was chilly, she cracked the window open, admitting to herself that she hoped she would be able to hear the guys if they took to drinking outside.

  But she drifted, her mind letting go of the tension from the weekend. The back door finally opened with a bang, and laughter drifted up on the cold breeze. She relished the coolness on her legs and enjoyed the sound of voices.

  It had been a long time since the sound of family drifted up from the fire pit and into her room. The funniest part? She was fairly certain her uncle would put a stop to any bedtime shenanigans while Malcolm was here. And with a twin bed, she guessed the slow, burning, unstoppable ache since they’d first made love was going to have to hold her over.

  Chapter Eleven

  “It was a dark night and rainy. Two men rode together down the dirt trail amidst the thickest fog in over twenty years. The younger Bălan carried the amulet, for he was to be married the next fortnight, and his protection was imperative in order for the two families to be united.” The old man’s words almost blended together as he remembered. His eyes saw a different time.

  Bert spoke as if Malcolm might as well have not been there, his voice mesmerizing in the dark, cold night.

  “What happened?” Obviously, the story didn’t have a happy ending.

  Bert’s gaze sharpened on Malcolm’s face. “The girl was killed, his one true love, before he could get there.”

  “Fuck.” Malcolm had been expecting the drama, but not the horror. “True story?”

  “Serious,” Bert answered. “Enmity was set between the two houses from that day forth. To this day, nothing good comes when a Bălan and a Dimitru try to coexist.”

  “And the armband?” He could believe it. He’d seen the interest hidden in Marie’s eyes, had felt the rise in her blood pressure, her attention shift when they’d been invited into the gallery.

  “Two hundred years a Bălan amulet, and meant to protect whoever holds onto it.” Bert hesitated. “There’s lots of myths and legends with the gold…”

  “You believe the hocus-pocus bull—” Cutting off, he asked point blank, leaning onto his elbows and raising his hands to the fire in front of him.

  But Bert hesitated, even as he nodded. “I must believe…”

  “Her parents.”

  Bert shook his head. “Marie wore the amulet the night of the accident.”

  Malcolm’s breath stopped. “She was there?”

  “Back seat, and the only survivor. I told them not to go. I begged them to stay home. I didn’t like the moon. The sky hid its stars. But her parents were modern, and they did not listen.” He lifted a finger. “The first time in over fifty years a Dimitru had come for the armband. There was no accident that night.”

  He worriedly looked up to the second floor of the house. Malcolm had noticed the open window, knew that Marie was probably up there right now. He shifted in his seat. “You think a Dimitru killed her parents and left her—a mere child—for dead, in the back seat of the car?”

  “Yes. Took it from her cold, lifeless hands! But I took the Bălan amulet back. This was even before Vladimir’s time.” Țuică soaked his words. “Marie will finish what was started. She will end the evil feud, plaguing our family over the years. She is the one.”

  Doubt flitted through the back of Malcolm’s mind. His pessimistic, argumentative mind. Would a powerful man like Dimitru really go so far over a piece of gold? He could have thousands of gold bands made without breaking the law, without killing people.

  “Do
you care for her?”

  Malcolm frowned. “She’s a coworker.”

  “Do you care what happens to Marie Feur?”

  He rubbed the spot over his heart. “Of course. We’ve gotten to know each other. I respect her abilities—”

  “Do you?”

  Bert’s question echoed Malcolm’s own. But it made him think. “Yes. It took me a long time. I’m morally, humanly opposed to thieving. There’s only one thing I hate more than a thief, and that would be the thief I married.” He shrugged. “Marie has earned my admiration. In Qatar, she was cool under fire. I was glad to have her at my back. And I know Hawk trusts her.”

  Bert chuckled. “Maybe you will learn to trust her.”

  “Maybe.” But he wouldn’t bet on it. His suspicions were being confirmed by her uncle; she did have ulterior motives to be on the West Coast, to even have been stalking Hawk in Germany and getting a job with Hawk Elite Security. Every step since he’d caught her had been planned and premeditated.

  “She’s a good girl.”

  Malcolm sat back in the old plastic lawn chair and leaned onto the back legs. He took a sip of the strong liquor, wanting to nurse it, wanting to go in and find Marie—to confront her?

  No. If he went into that house, he didn’t think confrontation would be on his mind.

  “Smoke?” Bert held out a cigar, and Malcolm leaned forward to take it along with the hot stick from the fire.

  He sucked on the end, watching it flare to life, gave another puff for good measure, and leaned back again. The light fragrance wrapped around him, reminding him of the training nights when things were quiet and he would sit in a circle with the guys.

  Talking shit, of course, but usually, he would hold his peace.

  Now, as Uncle Bert seemed lost in thought and the flames between them, Malcolm scanned the property, tracking any disruptions or changes. But all was peaceful. And even though he still second-guessed his decision to be here, he couldn’t help but be glad. The vacation Stacy had been insisting on. Now he could tell the office his obligation was fulfilled and get everyone off his back.

  From this vantage point at the house, at this time of night, the water was as black as the sky. A few brighter stars fought through the distance. And out beyond the tides, a ship moved along the horizon.

  “She cheated on you.”

  “Marie? We’re not… We don’t… I mean, there’s nothing to cheat on. We’re not a couple.”

  Bert waved away Malcolm’s stumbling. “Your ex-wife. She leaves you because you treat her badly?”

  “Jesus, no.” Malcolm enjoyed a puff of the cigar, thinking—but not wanting to—of those days. Had he treated her badly? “Not like you are thinking. Marie is safe with me, no matter what our relationship is. I wouldn’t hurt her…”

  Ten years. Ten years of agonizing over his time with Heather. He stared at Bert. “My wife and I were too young. In the end, I wasn’t what she wanted. So she left, with every-fucking-thing. Excuse my French.”

  Uncle Bert laughed, throwing his head back. “But she was gone, so she could have it, yes?”

  “I can say that now, yes. But then, it was everything—my money, my car. Fuck, she took my dog, Uncle Bert. What kind of woman takes a man’s dog?” He hadn’t owned a dog since. “I should get a dog,” he said, realizing the drink was thick in his veins. He needed a dog like he needed a hole in the head.

  “Indeed.” Bert’s finger rose, and Malcolm smiled, because he’d seen Marie do the same a time or two. These two were definitely cut from the same cloth. “I will help you find a dog.”

  “Deal,” Malcolm stated, putting his hand out for a shake, which Bert returned. He laughed again, and it was a sound Malcolm could get used to hearing.

  Crazy thoughts. Drunk thoughts.

  “I think you will go to sleep now, and tomorrow we will show you the secrets of the cliffs.”

  Malcolm opened his eyes. Had he closed them and slept? No, that wasn’t possible.

  But his cigar had burnt a third of the way down, so he shook off the drowsy feel and stood. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Of course I am right. I am always right. Now…” Bert walked with his slight limp around the fire and up toward the house with a wave of his hand. “You will sleep on the couch.”

  The look he sent over his shoulder was all kinds of warning away from his niece. Malcolm lifted his hands in surrender. “Couch. Floor. Easy chair. Whatever you’ve got.”

  Bert nodded. “Good. So, maybe you are a good boy, as well.”

  “No,” he said. “I’m not a good guy, not like you want me to be.”

  “I know what I know.” Bert pulled a blanket out of the hall closet and handed Malcolm a pillow from the bottom shelf. “Good night.”

  “But—”

  “I said, good night!” The stubborn man turned and walked away.

  There was so much wrong with Malcolm, including the fact he’d never made a commitment to anyone or anything but his job in ten years. Though it never bothered him before, he knew what Marie’s uncle was looking for: Malcolm to be something he wasn’t.

  It was the perfect excuse to walk up those steps and slide into Marie’s bed and make her heart race to completion once, twice, even three times. And with anyone else, he might do it. But as he walked through the doorway to the living room, he had to blink his eyes to keep them open and then scratched his scalp, loosening the bun at the back of his head.

  He’d already figured out she meant more to him than the average broad.

  Now, he just had to figure out what the hell to do about it.

  ***

  “You’re letting my uncle buy you a dog?” Marie stood at the top of the back porch steps with a small cup of yogurt in her hand. She dipped a spoon into it and fed herself.

  His stomach tightened in a pre-arousal cue, and he scowled. “What are you talking about?”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  Going to bed last night, he’d decided if he was going to claim this as vacation, he needed to truly treat it as vacation. So, he’d gotten up and watched the sun rise and then he’d run down along the shore for a couple miles and come back. Maybe he should have kept running. “What?”

  “A dog. Because you lost a dog once? Because…” She waved a finger in a circular motion, prompting him to answer. “Because…”

  He thought back on the conversation from last night. They had talked about dogs in the same conversation as talking about his ex. “No, no, no. I don’t need a dog. That was the drink talking.”

  “Hm. Maybe next time, you don’t make promises to my uncle you aren’t willing to keep.”

  “I didn’t, did I?” Shit. “I didn’t mean to.”

  Marie came down the steps and stood in front of him.

  The look in her eyes set of a measure of panic in his gut. “What?”

  “You didn’t come to me last night.”

  He relaxed and shrugged. Telling her he’d grown a conscience wasn’t conducive to keeping his increasing like to himself. She didn’t need power over him, not right now, when she already seemed to hold all the cards. He needed time to process. Her uncle’s warning was a good enough excuse to keep his distance from her. “I didn’t want to fucking tick your scary uncle off.”

  Her laughter surrounded him. Her eyes lit with such amusement and affection that they sparkled in the light of the rising sun. Jeez, even her skin was all glowing and shit. She’d obviously showered. The ends of her hair, which reached almost all the way to her waist, were still damp. She shook her head and everything about her shimmered—damn it. “He’s still really good at that, isn’t he?” She said it like it meant the world to her, as if it pleased her.

  Pride.

  Malcolm finally smiled. “I like your uncle.” And it was true. And confusing. “What’s the most important thing he ever stole?”

  He ignored the knowing look in her eyes, which made him feel like a reprimanded schoolboy.

  “You can’t judge a man for his p
ast.”

  “Okay,” he said. “When was the last heist he made?”

  She shook her head. “Poor Malcolm. You are very rigid in your beliefs—”

  “I am not.”

  “But you are trying to fit us into comfortable little boxes. And you’re looking for a way to, what? Pardon us.”

  “Him, not you.”

  Her fists clenched at her sides, and he raised a brow.

  “He dragged you into it. You can say whatever you want about it, but it’s unlawful. Part of what we do at Hawk Elite is fight injustice—”

  Her eyes sparked with fight.

  “Fuck.” He blew out a breath.

  “My uncle never forced me to do anything. I’ve lived my life how I’ve needed to—”

  “By stealing?” He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to be an ass. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Wait, just wait a minute.” The more he knew about her, the more he got all tangled up inside.

  Marie stepped up to him and touched him, but he didn’t like the pity he saw in her eyes. “My uncle did his best with me, and I was lucky to have him.” She lifted her perfectly arched brow: a look to remind him of his own pathetic beginnings and how having someone, even a thief, was better than having no one—or so he perceived.

  “I won’t apologize.”

  “Fuck,” he said. Maybe she was right. He was a goddamned prude. How the fuck did that happen?

  She bumped him, trying to get by, but he stopped her.

  “You don’t listen,” she said before he could apologize again. “Have I stolen anything from you? From Hawk Elite? Do my intentions offend you? Were you offended when I saved us from the cluster in Qatar, when I dragged your almost unconscious ass back to the hotel?” She tugged her arm loose. “Fuck you, Malcolm Daniels. I know what’s inside me, and it is good.”

  She took the path toward the shore, her entire body moving with gorgeous anger.

  He groaned. “Stupid asshole,” he muttered.

  After climbing the steps she’d come down, he went inside but came up short to find Bert standing not two feet from the back door, a frown on his face. He didn’t say a word, merely pointed a crooked finger Malcolm’s way, turned, and walked out of the kitchen.