Second Nature (When Seconds Count)

by D. L. Roan

  Grant took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing the tender flesh of her palm. “No need to be sorry. You loved him.”

  She nodded and rested her head on his chest. “Yes, yes I did. I still do. I’m not sure, but I think he was involved in something, Grant.”

  Grant released her hand and curled up to sit beside her, looking down into her silver eyes to see them filled with doubt. “What do you mean?”

  She looked away, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth. “When his estate manager went over his will there was a lockbox full of random stuff; leather bound ledgers, discs, a few coins and unopened envelopes. I didn’t even look through it at first, just dumped it in a closet at a friend’s house I’d been staying at. I couldn’t…I couldn’t bring myself to go back to his house or go through his things. A few weeks later, Issa’s house had been broken into, and then someone ran me off the road. I laid there, half unconscious as some strange guy searched through my car and my purse.” Grant resisted the urge to curl her into his arms as she closed her eyes and relived what she was telling him. “I remember him saying that I wasn’t worth the bullet he was about to put in my head. That Jauhar was wasting his time looking for a thumb drive when he should have just killed me and burned down the house. I…I don’t know what stopped him. I heard someone shouting and then he was gone. I woke up, still in my wrecked car, a few hours later.

  “I went through everything in his office, his house, in his vacation home in Madagascar. I couldn’t think of anything Jauhar, or anyone else, would want bad enough to kill me for. Then I remembered the lock box. When I went through it I found the thumb drive and a digital recording of a conversation between Issa and Jauhar.” She swallowed hard then raised her face to his, her eyelids slowly opening to reveal her silver eyes glistening against pools of tears. “Jauhar threatened to have him killed if Issa didn’t pay him for something. Issa was scared, Grant. I could hear it in his voice.”

  “What did he owe Jauhar money for?”

  She shook her head, her shoulders rising and falling with a helpless shrug. “I don’t know. He had money. Tons of it. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I know this is hard for you, fossa, but I need to know.” He caressed her shoulders and her arms to calm her. “How did Issa die?”

  A small sob fell from her lips but she shook it off and cleared her throat before she spoke. “He, uh, he was shot in the head as he got into his car one morning.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  She had fallen to sleep in his arms, the likeness of which Grant had never experienced before. He was sure he would never experience anything like it again, not like how it felt with her. Lying there in the dim moonlight, staring at the outdated swirl pattern on the ceiling as he listened to her deep, steady breaths, he pushed away the things she had told him about her uncle and thought of all the reasons he didn’t deserve to feel so content.

  In a way it felt like he was cheating. He’d spent the better part of the last ten years as a cold, calculated killer. In the grand scheme of things, he knew he was technically the good guy. He didn’t regret his job, but it didn’t matter. As the bearer of death, he didn’t deserve this kind of life. The kind that made a man feel virtuous and clean, and…right. He’d thought this was the feeling he had been searching for when he traded the world for isolation. Now that he’d found it, he knew it wasn’t meant for a man like him. Like the selfish prick he was though, he had no intention of letting it go until he had to.

  He hadn’t remembered falling asleep when he was suddenly jolted awake by a scream. His pulse raced as he grabbed Thalia’s wrists, holding her steady while she fought away an invisible force. Eventually the nightmare receded, only to repeat an hour or so later. Each time she stirred he was careful not to wake her, afraid she would pull away from him, determined to hide her weakness. She had no way of understanding that he didn’t see her nightmares as a weakness. It was only another sign of how screwed up he was. She wasn’t meant for this life of killing and revenge. Her subconscious, the part of her that was human and decent, rejected it wholly. He had never been plagued by those qualities enough to give him nightmares.

  Hours later, he watched her as her body slowly awakened. Her long hair splayed across the pillow like a black stallion’s mane. He couldn’t resist tracing the outline of her long fingers lying against the pale silky skin of her stomach. His lips soon fell prey to the same temptation, gliding along her naked torso. He peeled back the covers, revealing the delicate crease at the top of her inner thigh, his tongue tracing its path to the thin line of curls between her legs.

  Damn, she smelled incredible. He couldn’t believe he’d waited this long to taste her, but thank fuck the wait was over. Her thighs parted on a sleepy moan, and he glanced up her body to see her thick lashes rise to reveal silver eyes staring back at him. Nothing in his life had prepared him for the kind of need he felt in that one moment of connection with her.

  With a swift slide, he ducked under her leg and positioned himself between her thighs. The sunlight streamed into the room, illuminating the view before him, and making his dick swell and throb with anticipation. He’d been rough with her before, unable to control his need, but he wanted nothing more than to savor her now.

  A shiver danced over his scalp as her fingers slid through his hair. He turned his head and traced her inner thigh, tasting and nipping at the supple skin displayed before him. Her hips lifted from the bed in silent demand, but Grant was determined to take his time and give her the pleasure she deserved. He slid his hand around her hip and braced his forearm across the soft expanse of her lower belly, his fingers playing at the top of her pussy with teasing strokes.

  “Grant, please.”

  He smiled against her skin, his lips trailing up her thigh. “Easy, fossa. I want to taste you.”

  “I want that, too. Ah…” Air hissed through her teeth as his tongue traced along the crease of her upper thigh again and slid to the edge of her wet folds. Grant could see the silky evidence of her arousal lacing her slit. It called to him, and his mouth filled with saliva.

  Wicked, sadomasochistic urges pushed him to tease both of them a little further, nuzzling his nose into her slit. The combination of her scent and her mewling cry nearly sent him over the edge. He pulled back, blowing a cool stream of air over her swollen labia before moving on to give her other thigh the same treatment. Grant turned his head to glance up at her as he feasted on her sensitive skin, scraping his teeth along the inside of her knee. The impish grin on her face made him chuckle.

  “You are so going to pay for this later.” Her head dropped back to the pillow on another moan when he lightly pressed his finger against her clit.

  “I hope so.” He chuckled again and continued a slow torturous descent down her inner thigh. Her hand fisted into his hair as he nuzzled her folds again. It didn’t appear as though he would be allowed to wait much longer. That was fine with him. He was more than ready when he freed her from his restraining grip, using his thumbs to spread her tender, pink lips.

  Her arousal glistened against a darker patch of flesh, pushing Grant’s control to the edges of his grasp. He started at the bottom with one long stroke and gathered it up with his tongue, her wild, sweet flavor erupting in his mouth as her cry rippled down his spine straight to his dick. When he looked back down at the spot he’d just tasted he noticed an odd, almost purple raised mark on her skin in the shape of a slanted V. He tilted his head to view it from another angle, still unsure what to make of it.

  “It’s a birthmark.” He looked up to see Thalia staring back at him, her fist clenched in the sheets. “I’m dying here!”

  “So impatient.” Grant smiled to hide the sudden sense of alarm that raced through his veins. Sonofabitch, she’s been branded! Could it be only a birthmark? No fucking way. There were too many coincidences. He remembered their conversation in the shower. Shit! Fuck! She truly doesn’t remember.

  His heart pounded, pushing his anger to dick-n
umbing levels. He couldn’t leave her like this. He didn’t want to leave her, ever. Something snapped inside him. He needed to take away all the pain she’d been through. To give her pleasure and happiness and…hell, he didn’t know what love was, or if it even existed, but he wanted to give it to her. Anything to take this away from her.

  Closing his eyes, he shut everything out and devoured her. Feeding from her frenzied cries, he drank her in, kissing away the forgotten pain. With each loving stroke of his tongue he tried to erase her scars, hoping she would never remember anything but this. Anything but him and how she felt at this very moment, flying apart beneath him.

  “Oh, God. Grant that was…I can’t…”

  Cradling his cheek against her thigh as she panted through her release, Grant looked up over her heaving body to watch her descend from her high. She was incredible. He was drawn to her in a way he couldn’t explain. Pushing up, he crawled over her body, trailing whispered kisses up her side, under and around her breasts, and along her neck until he reached her lips.

  “You heal my soul,” he breathed. The tears pooling in her eyes told him she understood. He let his lips linger against hers, breathing her in before he rolled to his side and snuggled her into his arms. Capturing her wrist when she reached for his cock, he shook his head. “No, fossa. This was only for you.”

  “But—”

  “I will take that as a promise for later.” He wanted her, beyond words, but there was no way he could focus beyond the train wreck that had just happened inside his head. He would be lucky to mask his jumbled emotions until he could exercise them in private. Somewhere he could beat the life out of something without her seeing him lose it. He needed to get her out of there for a while and get himself back under control. “Let’s wait until after breakfast. We’ve got some strategizing to do, but I need to hop in the shower, and then touch base with my friend to let him know we’ll be keeping the chopper for another few days.”

  He fought to make himself grin at the confused look on her face. “Well, I…” She shrugged and drew her hand back from his. “Okay. If you insist. And what is this fossa thing you keep calling me?” He forced a chuckle past his lips as he watched her slip from the bed, her limp amazingly less pronounced.

  Following her, he bent and plucked his t-shirt from the floor and handed it to her. “I do insist, and a fossa is a mongoose.” Tamping down the conflicting emotions swirling inside him, he laughed when her brows shot up and her lips twisted into a distasteful expression. “Not your typical mongoose. A fossa actually looks more like a jungle cat. It’s sleek, mean, and quick as lightning.” He shrugged and wrapped his arms around her. “That’s what you reminded me of that day at the cabin when you attacked me. It was quite impressive.” His brows furrowed at her dismissive snort.

  “I was pathetic,” she said as she twisted from his arms. “I haven’t been sleek or quick with anything the last week. I need to get out and walk or something. Stretch out some and get back into shape.”

  Grant pulled her back into his arms, kissing her pert little nose. “I think you’re in fine shape,” he said, giving her backside a gentle squeeze. “But if you would like, there’s a ton of fruit trees out back. Maybe take a walk after breakfast and pick a bit of fruit?”

  “I’ll make the coffee.” She nodded and tried to pull away but Grant held her close for a moment longer.

  “I’ll finish up my calls while you’re out. Just be careful and take the gun I gave you just in case. Lions love fresh fossa.”

  “Eww.” She slapped at his arm and he let her go, watching her disappear into the kitchen before he turned and headed to the shower.

  Grant watched Thalia through the window as she moved from tree to tree, picking off the wild loquat from the low hanging limbs. The cut on his knuckles stung as he clenched and unclenched his battered fist. He wished they could put the world on hold for a week or ten. Hole up there and figure out this thing between them. He was screwed no matter what happened; he just wished he could put it off a little longer. As if the fates had heard his thoughts and rendered immediate judgment, the instant messenger icon dinged on the laptop in front of him.

  He immediately closed the computer and picked up his sat phone, dialing Diver’s secured line. “About time you got your ass out of bed and answered my call,” he barked when the call was finally answered.

  “Fuck you.” Grant chuckled as Diver hacked up what sounded like a piece of his lung. “It’s two in the fucking morning here.”

  “Who says there’s no rest for the wicked?” Before Diver could deliver a snappy retort, Grant rattled off a list of additional things he’d learned from Thalia during the previous evening.

  The feeling in his gut had only worsened as she told him about what was on the thumb drive. Issa had been transporting for both Jauhar and Don Lalia. That in and of itself didn’t bode well for her dear uncle. However, it didn’t explain what they were transporting. Nothing on the drive indicated the types of merchandise. No bills of lading were attached as they normally were, only alphanumerical codes entered next to each shipment.

  Thalia, the crazy fossa, thought she was going to use those records to get her face to face with Jauhar. She had no idea who or what she was dealing with. He was surprised she didn’t have half the goddamn continent out to kill her.

  Of course Diver hadn’t found anything on her or her parents. Nothing was adding up, exactly as he suspected it wouldn’t. Opening up the laptop, he took another glance outside and saw that Thalia had only moved a few feet down the line of trees.

  Confident he had time, Grant clicked on one of Jauhar’s files and glanced over it. There was nothing there he wasn’t already intimately familiar with. Drugs, human trafficking, weapons, it was all there. Picture after picture of faces he’d studied and memorized long ago. He stopped and clicked on one picture in particular.

  He didn’t usually like to think about his former marks. They were scum who didn’t warrant any more of his time than he’d already invested in them. The dead man staring back at him on his computer screen had been worth every second. Imad Shavish, former Indian military translator turned arms dealer to the likes of Jauhar. He would probably still be alive if he’d stayed close to home, but the minute he started turning out RPG’s to Al-Qaeda splinter groups his days were numbered. As soon as that number reached the top ten on the most wanted terrorist list, Grant got the call. Disgusted, he closed the file. Too bad he hadn’t been called to take out the trash Shavish had been dealing to as well. People like Jauhar were the real threat. Just another bureaucratic fuck-up.

  It didn’t matter. Jauhar’s days were numbered now. He didn’t need an assignment for that. The U.S. Government was about to get a freebie. As he reached to close the laptop, another thought occurred to him. On a hunch he opened the bureau search engine, moving in and out of servers and file folders until he found the electronic evidence file on Hector Morganti.

  He had never seen a slave brand shaped like the mark on Thalia in any of the photos he’d studied in his field research. Not that he’d really seen many. Most of that type of data was overlooked as a whole since it wasn’t vital to taking out the targets. His friend Daniel hadn’t told him much about the case against Morganti, but he knew the bastard was the one who had taken Daniel’s daughter and sold her as a sex slave. He had also heard media reports during his trial about possible brandings. His curiosity pushed him through file after file until he found one marked as victim profiles. Clicking on the folder, more folders appeared, but each one he clicked on resulted in an Access Denied message.

  “Dammit!” He didn’t know why, but he needed to see what was in those folders. He pushed the laptop away and carded his fingers through his hair. None of the preliminary trial reports mentioned anything about branding, at least not that he could see. Was it possible the media were just talking out their asses? Most likely.

  Grant picked up his sat phone and dialed Diver again. Where there was a locked door, there was always an
other way in.

  “I’m not going back to sleep tonight, am I?” Diver growled.

  “Not justifying that with an answer, D. You should know better.” Grant rattled off the server number and folder location he needed access to. Again he could hear Diver’s fingers flying over his computer’s keyboard and wondered if he slept with the damn thing on the pillow next to him.

  “No can do, boss. That’s a Federal evidence site and it’s locked up tighter than my girlfriend’s skinny jeans.”

  Grant stood and paced to the kitchen. “So are you telling me you haven’t fucked your girlfriend? What’s the problem?”

  “I’ll work on it, but I’m not promising anything on this one. They’re victim profiles, so you’re probably dealing with pictures of minors. That’s why even we can’t access them. Your best option is probably going to be filing a request for waiver, but you and I both know you won’t get in that way.”

  “Dammit!” What good was having SCI clearance if he couldn’t use it when he needed it? “Do what you can and I’ll look for another way in.” He sat back down in front of the laptop and clicked the files closed. “And Diver?”

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “Go back to bed.” He heard the tail end of Diver’s colorful response as he disconnected the call and dialed another number. The man could be quite creative for such an early hour.

  When the familiar recorded voice came over the line, Grant entered his seven digit SCIP key and asked for a patch through to a secure line. If there was anyone who had or could gain access to those files, it would be Daniel Gregory.

  “Gregory.”

  Grant laughed as his friend’s curt voice rang in his ear. “Still the company man, I see. I thought you had retired.” He chuckled again when he heard Daniel’s struggle for words to respond. “I’ve stuck with Grant Kendal for a while. You were right. I kind of liked him too.”