by Leslie North
He swallowed hard against the unease that surfaced when he thought about the battle ahead and the evidence he still needed to collect. He wouldn’t be sharing any of that with Geneva though, no matter how well she’d proven herself tonight. If she got wind of what he and the guys had found, she could splash that shit all over her tabloid paper with no regard to the people she hurt by ruining his investigation. The military’s life insurance company refused to pay out benefits in cases of suicide. Meaning neither Rick’s nor Jon’s family had received any benefits. In addition to finding the bastard responsible for killing them, Mark wanted to make sure those family members they’d left behind were well cared for. Geneva blasting out his findings before he had time to get all his ducks in a row evidence-wise could ruin everything. Mark shrugged and slipped her an easy lie. “No. Nothing.”
“Huh. Interesting.” Geneva pushed her empty food basket away. “Dinner was delicious, by the way.”
“Yeah.” Mark winked. “Leila makes a mean burger.”
“That’s not the only thing I’m mean at,” his sister said, finally making her way to their table. She turned to Geneva and smiled. “How was everything?”
“Great, thanks.”
“Good.” Leila gave her brother a stern look. “Take her somewhere nice after this, eh? Weather’s lovely tonight. You two should drive up the coast, check out the stars.”
“Stop matchmaking, sis. This isn’t a date.” Mark glanced over at Geneva and noticed pretty pink color rising in her cheeks. Okay. So, maybe she thought this was a date. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Lord knew he found her attractive and she seemed to like him too. Frustrated now in more ways than one, he crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, shooting his sister an irritated stare. “Don’t you have other customers?”
“Subtlety was never his strong suit.” Leila smacked Mark playfully on the bicep then put her arm around him and squeezed him affectionately. “But I love him anyway.”
“Love you too, sis.” He slung his arm around her waist and hugged her in return before swatting her hard on the butt. “Now go away. We’re busy.”
Leila stuck her tongue out at him as she walked away.
“What are we busy doing?” Geneva asked as she finished off her soda, batting her eyes at him in a perfect Pollyanna parody. “I wouldn’t be opposed to a drive up the coast either, by the way. The trip down here was beautiful. I’d love to see the shoreline at night. If you don’t have something else to do, that is.”
“Well, in that case.” Mark started to pull out his wallet, but she waved him off, handed a passing waiter two twenties, and told him to keep the change. Generous tipper. Another thing he liked in a person. His mom always said if you wanted to know who a person was inside, watch how they treated those who served them. From what he could see of Geneva, she was a decent person. More than decent. “Since you’re so interested in my dislike of Frank Sutton and his American Way backers, how about I show you where his top supporters live? That’ll give you something to gnaw on.”
“Sounds good.” She rubbed her flat belly and Mark couldn’t help following the movement, suddenly imagining his own hands touching her there, caressing her, making her cry out his name as he pleasured her over and over… Sweet Jesus on a boogie board.
Mark pushed to his feet and ran a hand over his head. If he was going to get through this night alive, he needed to get his shit together. Fast.
“I’m stuffed,” Geneva said, standing beside him. “Ready?”
“Ready.” Mark looked down at her, his stubborn brain still stuck on those erotic images of her in his bed, beneath him, wrapped around him. He shook his head to clear it, and then sighed. “C’mon. It won’t take long. It’s just a couple of miles up the coast and Leila’s right. The views are spectacular. Promise I’ll have you home before your bedtime.”
“Well, as long as you promise.” Her slow smile made a beeline straight to his groin.
8
Twenty minutes later, they’d left the town limits of Ortega behind and sped down the Pacific Coast Highway heading north in his jeep. Through the open top and sides of his Wrangler, the fresh salt air invigorated Mark like nothing else. God, he loved it near the ocean. At one time, before he’d graduated high school and joined the Navy, he’d dreamed of being a professional surfer, traveling the world for competitions and surfing the planet’s best waves. These days, he was happy to find time to do the sport he loved for fun.
He turned off on a small private lane leading into the foothills while Geneva raved about the gorgeous California scenery. Many people didn’t appreciate the starkness of the landscape surrounding this area, but Geneva didn’t seem to be one of them. Another check in her ‘Pros’ column.
“Different than the Bay Area, huh?” he asked over the hum of the engine and rush of the wind.
“Yeah. I’m more used to fog and damp. Kind of like London, without the castles.” She looked over at him. “You been to San Francisco?”
“Couple times. Flew in and out of there when I was in the military. It’s been a few years though.”
“You should visit again. I’m sure a lot has changed. I’ll show you around.”
Anticipation buzzed through Mark’s system at her invitation. Of course, he could be reading way too much into it too. He was horny, pure and simple. And she was a stranger. And a reporter. A long shower and some one-handed relief later would be his wisest choice.
They rounded a curve and an elaborate mansion glittered in the distance, highlighted by the last rays of the sunset and the gathering twilight. Mark’s mind zeroed in like a laser, all thoughts of romance forgotten as he took in the large number of cars parked out front. A temporary stage had been set up and floodlights blazed over the red, white, and blue banners strung everywhere.
“Wow. This place is spectacular. Who owns it?”
“Local power couple. Tim and Kim Rigsdale. He’s some bigwig in technology and she’s his trophy wife. They love all the glitz and glamour.”
“Looks like it,” Geneva said, her gaze narrowed on the festivities. “Looks like they’re holding some sort of party too.”
“Yeah. You want to go?”
“Are you kidding? I’m a reporter. I always want to go.”
Mark parked his Jeep near the end of one long row of luxury cars and climbed out. He walked around to help Geneva from the car, but she was already out and met him near the front of the vehicle.
“Exactly how well do you know these people?” she asked him.
“Not that well.” He took in the sea of white faces around them wondering where all these strangers came from. “They’re also known as the town snobs. And I’m not exactly their kind of guy.”
“Really?” she looked him up and down. “Why not?”
“Too dark.” He took her hand and led her into the crowd. He wanted to keep a hold of her to make sure they weren’t separated. That’s the excuse he was going with anyway.
Asshole Sutton blabbered away up on stage and all these rich white folks seemed enthralled with his every word. Several bystanders gave Mark hostile glares as they weaved through the crowd and he’d never felt more out of place in his life. Still, he’d promised Geneva a look around and that’s what he intended to give her.
They skirted the perimeter of the rally, checked out the mansion in the distance, then eased into the crowd to see the candidate in action.
“Yeah,” Geneva said, once they stopped near the middle of the throng. “Neither of us exactly matches their color palette, huh?”
“Rainbows are beautiful, baby.” Mark winked at her then took another look around. He only recognized one or two people making him question how many attendees were from out of town. Being around all these creeps made his skin crawl and his hackles rise. “You ready to go?”
“Not yet.” She pulled out her small digital recorder. “I want to see if I can get some sound bites from the attendees. Readers eat up all this political crap.”
Mark let her go, crossing his arms and frowning as she approached a redneck-looking guy with a stained T-Shirt that read Sutton is God stretched over his enormous beer belly. Geneva tapped the man on the shoulder and he turned toward her, giving her a lascivious head-to-toe appraisal.
“Hello, sir,” Geneva said. “I’m a reporter from the National Tribune and I’d love to get your perspective on Frank Sutton’s campaign.”
“And I’d love to get in your pants, baby.”
“That’s enough.” Mark stepped forward and pulled Geneva aside. “We’re leaving.”
“No.”
“Take your hands off her, boy,” the redneck said. “Don’t you have some liquor store to rob or cops to shoot?”
Livid, Mark clenched his fists to keep from laying the dude out flat and leaned in until he was nose-to-nose with the guy. “What did you say to me?”
“He said back the fuck off, boy.” This from another man—white, mid-forties and dressed as if he walked off some Ralph Lauren ad; well, unless you counted the handgun prominently holstered at the waist of his khaki shorts. “We don’t need your kind around here. And we always protect our own. Now unless you and your girlfriend here,” he gave Geneva a disparaging glance, “want to start some trouble I can guarantee you won’t survive long enough to finish, I suggest you get the hell off this property, boy.”
“C’mon, Mark.” Geneva tugged at his arm. Her hands shook as the crowds around them drew in closer, hatred and anger glittering in their eyes. “Let’s go.”
Nostrils flaring with rage, he glared at the redneck and Ralph Lauren dude. “C’mon.”
As they walked away, people purposely jostled them or spat on their feet. A few even yelled out, “Go back to your own country, asshole!”
“This is my country,” Mark snarled, despite knowing it was useless. These people didn’t care about the fact he was born in America. They only cared about the color of his skin. But where did they all come from and why did Sutton think it was necessary to bring in strangers just to make him look good. Did he even know that these people weren’t local?
By the time they got back to the Jeep, the rally had shifted from Sutton’s bombastic speech to a full-blown party, with blaring rock music and shouts and cheers of “The American Way or No Way” from the audience.
Unsettled, Mark started his engine and took off back down the drive toward the highway without another glance back. Curving through the foothills up to the mansion, the incline hadn’t seemed so steep, but it was much more noticeable on the ride down. Geneva sat beside him, oddly quiet.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Sure.” She shook her head and frowned. “I guess I didn’t realize there was still such racism prevalent around here.”
“One more reason Frank Sutton is a prick.”
She snorted. “True. I can see your point about that guy now. Won’t be getting my vote.”
“Then my job is done.” Mark chuckled. “Where are you staying?”
“The Fireside Inn.”
“Nice. I know the couple who own that bed and breakfast. Pretty cushy from what I hear.” He eased around another curve, gaining a little speed. “Your newspaper goes all out, eh?”
“Well, like I said earlier, this is a big story for them.” She shrugged. “If I can break it, they’re hoping it’ll go viral. Speaking of which, are you ever going to talk to me about those SEAL deaths?”
“That depends.” His good mood had returned after leaving all those bigoted bastards behind and now he felt like teasing her a bit.
“On what?” She wrinkled her nose.
“On whether you agree to have dinner with me again tomorrow night.” He hadn’t exactly meant to ask her out again, but now that he had, damn if he could regret it. She was a nice diversion, and they both knew the rules. They were both using each other to get what they wanted. Geneva wanted her information; Mark wanted to keep her from getting it. What better diversion than a little physical attraction? Besides, he enjoyed being around her, when she wasn’t pestering him about those suicides.
“Ah, I see.” Her voice held a hint of amusement. “Blackmail.”
“No, ma’am. No blackmail here.” He raised a hand. “SEALs honor. I’ll even sweeten the pot. You can spend another day with me and the crew. Ask us any questions you want, about my business, that is. Brothers In Arms.”
“Your business, huh?” Geneva sat back in her seat and grinned. He could tell from the knowing sparkle in her eyes she was as into this cat and mouse game as he was. “How could I refuse then? Deal.”
“Good.” The headlights illuminated another, sharper curve in the road ahead and Mark eased down the brakes to slow the Jeep. Except when he pressed the pedal, nothing happened. He tried again, still nothing. Doing his best not to give in to his rising panic, he said, “Hold on.”
“What?” Geneva asked. “Why?”
“Because I can’t slow down.”
She laughed. “Is that another pick-up line, because if so, it was really bad.”
“Unfortunately, no.” He stomped on the brakes now, doing his best to keep the Jeep steady as they barreled downhill. “The brakes aren’t working.”
Eyes wide, Geneva straightened and double-checked her seatbelt, then held firm to the door handle and the dashboard. “Seriously? What’s wrong?”
“No idea.” Mark scowled out the windshield. He’d just had the damned car in the week before for a tune-up and Jace had checked the brakes himself. All perfect. Those hostile stares and angry threats from the Sutton supporters back at the rally flew back to his mind. A sick tentacle of dread bored into his stomach. What was one more SEAL death when there’d been three already? If he was right and those suicides weren’t suicides at all, then whoever was behind the deaths could be trying to kill him too. “Someone must’ve messed with them.”
“Who would do that?” Geneva asked, her tone fearful.
Mark didn’t answer, his gaze flicking over to her quickly before focusing on the treacherous road ahead. There was about five-hundred-feet of drive before they reached the highway and if he wanted to remain alive, he needed to get the Jeep stopped before they hit traffic. He glanced beside him and saw a sharp drop off. Pulling onto the berm wasn’t an option.
Gravel crunched beneath the tires and pinged off the metal body of the car. Each time Mark stomped on the useless brakes there was a weird squeak then a hissing sound. Most likely fluid leaking against hot rotors. There had to be a way to get this thing stopped. Pulse pounding and sweat prickling under the collar of his polo shirt, Mark put his SEAL strategy skills to work, flicking on his high beams and squinting down the road in front of them.
About two-hundred feet ahead was a small, flat scenic pull-off area for visitors. It wasn’t wide, but it was long, following the hillside overlooking the highway and ocean beyond. If he could swerve onto it and if he prayed hard enough, maybe they could slow down enough to not go over the edge. Honestly, it wasn’t like he had a choice in the matter really. It was either the pull-off or careen headfirst onto the busy highway below and face certain death.
“What are we going to do?” Geneva said, her tone rising with hysteria. Her pale face glowed in the moonlight and her knuckles were white with the force of her grip on the dashboard.
“Shit!” Mark yanked on the parking brake, hoping to slow them down.
When that didn’t work, he tried throwing the automatic transmission into D1 then D2.
Still nothing.
Heart in his throat he took a deep breath. “A vista’s coming up. I’m going to veer onto it and hopefully get us slowed down. I need you to hang on for me okay, Geneva?”
Eyes wide and knuckles white, she gave a quick nod. “I’m hanging on.”
“Good. Here we go.” Mark did his best to keep his voice calm as he clutched the steering wheel tight and eased right. Losing his shit right now wouldn’t help anyone. Courage wasn’t the absence of fear. He’d learned that through years of commanding his unit in K
abul. Courage was acting cool and rational in spite of your fear.
The Jeep’s tires hit the asphalt of the pull off and squealed loud. Heart racing about a million miles an hour, Mark jammed the brake pedal hard to the floor one last time and prayed for a miracle. Skidding sideways, time seemed to slow gradually in time with the vehicle, slowed, slowed, until they came to rest at the very edge of the pull off, halted in the end by a guardrail.
Stunned and shaken, Mark forced his tense muscles to relax and his lungs to fill with air. The night was silent around them, save for the call of an occasional bird and the low hum of the highway in the distance. He hazarded a glance over at Geneva to see her huddled in the corner, trembling.
Holy fuck, they were still alive. Alive and unharmed.
Without thinking, Mark reached over and undid Geneva’s seatbelt then pulled her across the bench seat and into his lap, holding her close as she sniffled into the front of his shirt. Her warmth helped soothe his lingering anxiety and the smell of her shampoo—sweet, light and faintly citrus—reminded him of bright summer days and all that was good in life.
His adrenaline slowly burned away, leaving him shaken to his soul. His muscles felt too tight for his bones and his neck and shoulders ached from tension. Doing his best to hide his inner trembling, he took a deep breath and stared out across the landscape below. They could’ve been dead, could’ve been pulverized against the sharp rock faces, could’ve been…
Geneva raised her head and looked up at him, her cheeks wet with tears and her lovely hazel eyes glittering in the moonlight. Mark didn’t think he’d ever seen anything more beautiful. She blinked several times before taking a deep, shaky breath. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For saving my life.” She clutched the front of his polo shirt tighter. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared.”
He let loose a relieved chuckle and pulled her close again because it felt so damned good. Her thudding pulse gradually resumed a nice steady rhythm against him and her warm breath tickled his skin through his open V-neck collar. “What about hanging off the building today? You seemed a little scared then too.”
