Elite Ops Complete Series

by Lora Leigh

  Collapsing against her, John released her legs, his body coming over hers as he caught his weight on his knees and elbows, his head burying at her neck.

  She could hear him whispering something, his voice a hard thick growl filled with that forbidden accent. The man who had been dead lived in her arms for that moment. He held her, his cock pulsed inside her, his lips pressed to her neck as his fingers buried themselves in her hair.

  Exhaustion swamped her as she felt the last fragile waves of pleasure ebbing through her. The shudders that racked her body eased, the blinding hunger was sated for the moment, and the world around her had disappeared.

  Locked close to his body she felt a sense of peace slowly easing through her, the guilt easing away.

  What she had been forced to do hadn’t been easy. She had lost friends, she had lost her last ties to the past. But in doing it, she was ensuring the future for more than just the friends she loved. She was ensuring her own future, the future of perhaps thousands.

  John had done that for her. With just his touch, his possession. He had taken her past the world where nothing had made sense, given her a pleasure so overwhelming that it had made her realize exactly why it was so important.

  It was just there. As the peace slid around her, sleep overtook her and that knowledge became cemented inside her. Wagner and Jules would survive, because she was doing what she had to do. She hadn’t been able to save Anna and Mathilda. She hadn’t been able to save her parents. But she could save Wagner. She could ensure that Warbucks never forced John to “die” again. The past she remembered might be cracked a little, but those she had so loved as a child would survive.

  That survival was what mattered.

  Sleep slid through her. Weariness sucked her under until her breathing eased and blessed numbness overcame her. There were no dreams. There were no monsters chasing her.

  There was just this. Comfort. Warmth.

  John.

  JOHN SLID SLOWLY FROM the heated grip of his lover’s body and stared down at her, loving her so damned much he felt as though it were ripping his soul from his body.

  Shaking his head at the surge of emotion, he dragged his weary body from the bed and moved to the bathroom. Wetting a soft washrag in warm water, he grabbed a towel and returned to the bed. There he washed her gently, drying the dampness from her flesh before she could become cold.

  Easing the rag between her legs, he wiped his seed from her thighs, from the swollen folds of her pussy, and then dried them gently before lifting her against the pillows and pulling the blankets over her.

  Other than a moaning little protest as he moved her, he didn’t disturb her. She slept deeply, heavily, exhaustion finally sucking her into a dreamless void where she could hopefully find a bit of peace.

  Back in the bathroom, he washed himself before drying, turning out the lights, and returning to the bed.

  Lying on his back, he stared up at the darkened ceiling and considered what she had been forced to do. No one, especially a woman with Bailey’s capacity for love, should have to face what she had faced tonight.

  To turn her back on the proof she had waited for over so many years—proof against the man who’d had her friends and parents killed—had nearly destroyed her. He had seen it in her eyes, in her face. He had felt it as she had shuddered in his arms and fought to hold back the hysteria that had torn through her.

  Then she had to maintain that act in the face of Myron Falks and Raymond Greer’s quiet interrogation. It was more than most women could have borne, even one as well trained as Bailey had been as an agent.

  She had done it. She had held back that rage to do what had to be done.

  Her strength amazed him.

  He felt her move, her body shifting, seeking his warmth as she rolled against him. Opening his arms to her, he pulled her into his embrace, wrapped her in his hold, and let his own eyes drift closed.

  Yes, Jordan was going to be pissed, because there wasn’t a chance in hell John was letting this woman go. Only death, a true death, could tear them apart now, because he would be damned if he would ever walk away from her.

  She was his mate. His soul. A man didn’t walk away from his soul and survive.

  “I love you, Bailey,” he whispered, allowing his true self to slip free.

  A little hum of pleasure vibrated against his chest. Even in sleep she heard him. Felt him. Knew he was there to watch over her. He would make damned certain he was always there to watch over her from now on.

  The unit be damned. He wasn’t losing her again.

  CHAPTER 18

  NOTHING HAD EVER BEEN harder for Bailey than putting on a good face and accepting the horrific decision she’d been forced to make with Wagner.

  To hear that he had packed up and returned to his own home was a welcome bit of information for her. She didn’t know if she could have borne facing him each day with the knowledge between them that she had betrayed not just Anna, but also her own parents.

  Two days after Wagner had left the Greer cabin, Bailey stepped from the bathroom, dressed for another boring day of socializing. She couldn’t believe there was actually another virtual fashion show planned for that afternoon. Of course, today it was evening dresses, she assured herself mockingly.

  “How one woman can make a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt look fashionable, I haven’t decided yet.” John was leaning against the heavy post at the end of the bed, buttoning his shirt while regarding her with an amused smile.

  “It’s a talent.” She adjusted the hem of her olive-green FORGET THE DOG, IT’S THE WOMAN YOU NEED TO WATCH T-shirt over the band of her matching sweatpants.

  Pulling a pair of socks from the dresser, she sat in the chair next to it and pulled on the dark green socks that matched her sweats and T-shirt. She pulled white sneakers from beneath the chair and laced them up before standing and pulling her hair into a low ponytail.

  “I saw several of the other women downstairs earlier,” he mentioned. “It seems silk slacks and blouses are the ‘in’ thing today.”

  She paused and stared back at him through the mirror. “Are you counseling me on my clothing choices, John?” She arched a brow and stared back at him haughtily. “Do I really come across as a silk-on-silk girl to you?”

  “If the situation warrants it,” he murmured.

  “And you think the situation warrants it?” she queried a bit sarcastically.

  He paused, his lips pursing as he stared back at her. A grin tilted the luscious curves of his lips. “Perhaps not.”

  “Good man.” She nodded decisively as she gave her appearance one last check to ensure it conveyed the proper amount of disrespect toward the day’s events.

  He shook his head, finished tucking his shirt into his silk pants and adjusting his belt. He wore his cell phone in a case at his hip, a backup weapon in a holster at his ankle.

  Moving to the walk-in closet, Bailey pulled a sheathed knife from under a stack of sweaters, pulled up the loose leg of her sweats, and secured it to her leg.

  That was the best she could do. There was no way she could get away with carrying a gun herself. She and John had agreed on that. To create the impression they were looking for, they had to show that she relied on John for the muscle, and the guns. Ladies didn’t carry a gun in polite society, she mocked to herself.

  As she stepped back into the room, a firm knock sounded at the door.

  John stiffened as the door to the connecting room opened and Travis Caine suddenly entered. When the hell had he arrived?

  John waved him back. Travis stepped back into the other room, almost closing the door as John moved to the exit to answer the knock.

  “Raymond.” He stepped back as Bailey steeled herself to face the other man.

  “John, I hope you’re doing well this morning.” Raymond’s smile was quick as he held out his hand.

  “Excellent, Raymond.” John nodded as they shook hands.

  Bailey felt like rolling her eyes. Just what she
needed, pleasantries from a killer.

  “Bailey, you’re looking refreshingly casual today.” Raymond of course looked down his nose at her.

  Bailey smiled brightly. “I thought so.”

  Raymond shook his head at her, his lips appearing to almost twitch. “You don’t conform well, do you, my dear?”

  “Is conformity required?” she asked as she moved beside John. His arm instantly wrapped around her waist as he pulled her to him. “I was unaware of that.”

  He shook his head. “Not at all. There are times it’s actually a bit refreshing, as I stated.” He turned back to John. “If I could have a moment of your time after you’ve had breakfast, I’d like to discuss some business with you.”

  “Of course,” John agreed with no haste or apparent excitement. “It might be an hour or two after breakfast, though. As you know, my bodyguard returned last night and I need to discuss a few issues with him before the day begins.”

  Raymond nodded. “You have my cell phone number. Call me whenever you’re ready.” He turned and moved back into the hallway as John closed the door behind him.

  Locking it, he moved back to the dresser and flipped the white-noise generator back on. The connecting door opened more fully and the tall, well-dressed form of Travis Caine moved into the room.

  Who was he? Bailey stared at him intently. There was something about the tilt of his head, the shape of his eyes, and the way he held his shoulders that was disturbingly familiar.

  “You heard?” John asked him.

  Travis nodded, his face expressionless. “The other security personnel are on call as well. I was in the kitchen this morning and several of them were there. Myron Falks has pulled in two men, supposedly for Waterstone. Greer’s bodyguard is in attendance, as are at least one bodyguard for Menton-Squire, Claymore, and Grace.”

  “Any reason why they were called in?” John asked. “I have to admit I was surprised when Greer suggested I might want to call my own in.”

  John moved to the coffee service that had been delivered by a housemaid earlier and poured himself a cup.

  “There was something said about a hunting trip in a few days’ time,” Travis revealed. “Evidently, these men don’t all trust one another as much as they let on. There’s nothing in the report we were given that mentions this hunt.”

  “It’s a yearly thing,” Bailey told them. “Father and his bodyguard used to go every year. But it was usually the last day of the house party. This is the first time I can remember that it’s been scheduled so soon.”

  “Then we wait for the surprise.” John shrugged as he turned to Bailey. “Wear your backup weapon rather than the knife.”

  Bailey shook her head. “Not here. If Raymond or Myron glimpses a backup on me, he’s going to slip back into a mode of distrust. I’m letting you handle the ‘man’ business,” she sneered. “I’m keeping to the role they want me in for the time being. It’s the only way we’re going to get what we want here.”

  John grimaced. She could tell he didn’t like it. She didn’t think much of the unwritten rules herself. This was how it was, though. Several of the women in the group downstairs were very astute businesswomen, but they pushed back their intelligence while attending this party and pretended they were nothing more than clothes-buying, charity-organizing little socialites.

  It was almost like the Middle Ages. The antiquated rules were enough to piss off any independent-minded woman. Not that it had ever done her any good here.

  “The two of you do what you have to do.” She waved her hand back at them. “My turn will come soon enough.” She narrowed her eyes back at John. “You’re in charge of negotiations, that they’re aware. But they’re aware we’re partners. Correct?”

  His lips twitched, though she glimpsed the approval and respect in his gaze. “They’re well aware of that, sweetheart.”

  She nodded before another thought crossed her mind. “Have our friends managed to track down our Colombian visitor?” she asked him.

  She knew Alberto Rodriquez a little too well. He wouldn’t be in Aspen if he wasn’t there for her. He detested cold weather. But even worse, he was hiding, which meant he had a plan in place.

  “Nothing yet.” John’s jaw clenched with what she knew was an edge of frustration. “I have several friends on it, but he’s buried deep.”

  “That’s not a good thing,” she told him, voicing her earlier concern.

  “Stay close to the house,” John ordered her. “If you need to go out, contact Travis. He’ll go with you.”

  She restrained a smile at the arrogant command. Sometimes John forgot that she did indeed know how to take care of herself. It was that male–female thing, she thought. He couldn’t help the need to protect her, the feeling that protecting her was his responsibility.

  “Yes, boss.” She saluted him with a flippant smile to ease the tension in the room.

  He frowned at her as Travis sipped at his coffee and watched them closely. Too closely.

  “We should go to breakfast,” she decided rather than continuing the conversation. “Raymond gets testy when he has to wait.”

  She noticed the look that passed between John and Travis and made a mental note to pursue the subject with John later. He had been acting a bit distant whenever Raymond’s name had come up, as though he knew something he wasn’t yet telling her.

  Not that she didn’t doubt he would tell her. The past days had been busy, filled with not just the emotional trauma she was still dealing with in regard to the information against Ford that she had destroyed, but also the meetings Raymond and Myron had been having with both John and Jerric.

  As they moved downstairs and went into the dining room for the buffet breakfast that had been set up, Bailey was struck by the fact that two main players up for the brokerage contract happened to both be agents of the mysterious unit.

  Both men had “died” and taken other identities, not just once but likely several times. They were both searching for Warbucks, working together, and they had both managed to fool both Myron Falks as well as Raymond Greer?

  She glanced at John as he ate, his attention supposedly on his food and on her, when in fact he was keeping close tabs on everyone in the room.

  It didn’t make sense that Jerric Abbas and John had made the final cut with Warbucks, did it?

  Both identities were very well established, she had to admit. Both men had the right build, the right information, the right impersonation. But still, there was something that suddenly struck her as off. It was something she was going to have to get to the bottom of before too much longer.

  She hated going into anything blind, and suddenly she had the idea that there was a part of this mission that she was definitely blinded in.

  After breakfast was cleared away by the servants and the groups of men and women began to form and drift away from the dining room, Bailey watched as John met with Travis and moved to the back of the house. No doubt to the library, where it seemed women were not allowed when the door was closed.

  She noticed John casting her several long, concerned looks before he moved off for his meeting. Was she too quiet to suit him? She narrowed her eyes on his disappearing back as a sudden suspicion began to form in her mind.

  He had an asset within Warbucks’s ranks, she could feel it. But who was it? It couldn’t be anyone low-level. Did Warbucks even have low-level associates? He was paranoid where his identity was concerned. Bailey suspected that even Raymond might not know his true identity.

  She did suspect that Myron did. From Warbucks’s first appearance fifteen years before, Myron had been there. At first he was a cautious presence overseeing several sales under an alias, acting as broker himself until the deals became too hot for him to risk exposure himself.

  It was about eight years before that Warbucks had begun using brokers. The first few hadn’t worked out so well. Money had been lost; the deals hadn’t been the best he could have gotten for the items up for auction.

  Th
e emergence of Warbucks as an international procurer of classified information had been a slow one. His reputation had grown in degrees, but always Warbucks had been very careful to keep his identity, or any suspicion of his identity, a secret.

  He placed others in the path, disposables. People he had a grudge against, or lives he simply wanted to play with.

  Shaking her head at the certainty now that John was hiding something from her, Bailey moved through the house, careful to avoid any of the groups and headed to the evergreen maze and gardens in the back.

  It was the most peaceful part of the property. It was the one area where she actually had good memories from her childhood. She had never liked the house, but she had always loved the garden grottoes hidden within the huge maze of evergreen abundance. The heated fountains, hidden shelters, and vine-covered, heated hideaways had always tempted her to linger and lounge. To hide.

  Today the spot tempted her to think. Her emotions had been in such turmoil; the decisions she’d had to make, the delicate balance she’d had to achieve had kept her mind fractured. Her ability to assimilate a mission had been affected in noticeable ways.

  In dangerous ways.

  Making her way through the maze, she found the small hidden areas she had loved as a child, and marveled at the fact that they seemed so much smaller now. So much colder.

  The gas fires still burned, the shelters were still shadowed and tempting, but the place didn’t hold the appeal it once had. Or perhaps she had grown past it. The lessons she had learned at the hands of the men and women who now attended this party hadn’t always been pleasant ones. But she had realized as she’d grown older that they were lessons she had needed to know and understand if she was going to stay and survive within it.

  Staying wasn’t something she had ever intended on doing, though.

  Making her way deeper through the maze, she smiled at the memory of the paths she had taken as a child. She remembered her way through it, her way out of it.