Striking Distance

by Debra Webb

  He moved again…close enough that she could have reached out and touched him.

  She collapsed onto the cot in a show of defeat. “Just get it over with.” She hugged herself and exhaled a shaky breath. “I don’t want to play any sick games. I got enough of that crap from my old man before he cut out on me, too.”

  “You just don’t know when to shut up, do you?” Before she could make an evasive maneuver he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet.

  Surprisingly, she sensed anger in his tone, felt it in his punishing grip. She thought about that for the three seconds she dared permit the distraction. He didn’t want to hear about her fictional childhood distress. Was there something like that in his past? Maybe she’d play up the whole “beaten down” strategy and see where it took her.

  “Look,” she said wearily, “if you’re going to kill me you’d better let me pee first otherwise I’m going to make a hell of a mess on your floor.”

  He grabbed her right hand and pried it open. Before she could fathom his intent he placed a key in her palm. Startled all over again by his actions, she crouched down and unlocked the steel bracelet around her ankle. She rubbed the raw skin there and then straightened and offered him the key back. Could this guy be human after all?

  “Does this mean you’re not going to kill me?”

  He didn’t answer, just manacled her arm and dragged her across the room. The stairs were a little tricky in the dark, but he didn’t seem to have any trouble.

  She wondered how he could possibly have such excellent night vision. There were people like that she knew, but generally there was some physiological reason. He’d have one, as well.

  When he opened the door at the top of the stairs, she blinked rapidly to allow her eyes to adjust to the light.

  She studied the layout of the house as he led her through the kitchen and down a hallway. Back door in kitchen near sink. Three more doorways in the hall. One leading to what looked like a living room, the one they’d exited from the kitchen and the third one led to a bathroom. The stairs climbing to the second level started where the hall ended opposite the front door. No pictures on the walls. No other decorating touches.

  At the bathroom door he stood aside. “Make it fast.”

  She sidled past him but hesitated before closing the door. “You mean you’re not going to watch.”

  He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall without responding.

  Tasha closed the door and sagged with relief.

  She exhaled some of the tension tightening her chest, but instead of relaxing, she quickly surveyed the small room for a means of escape. Not that she’d decided she needed to make a run for it yet…but just in case. She was pretty sure that if he’d intended to kill her he would have, whether she needed to relieve herself or not. Besides, she was trapped.

  The only window was one of those small rectangular ones above the tub/shower combination. As slim as she was there was no way she was getting out that route.

  Knowing he was waiting right outside, she pushed off the door and took care of nature’s call.

  As she flushed the toilet she couldn’t help smiling. She’d done it. Gotten him to bring her to his lair. Lucas Camp, she mused, wherever you are, I’m in.

  CHAPTER 12

  They’d driven around most of the night.

  And found nothing. Her signal had restarted briefly at one point, but not long enough for a lock on her location.

  Maverick scrubbed a hand over his face and cursed himself for letting her get away.

  He was her backup.

  If she was dead…

  Ramon was part of her backup, as well, but Maverick was the one in charge. In nearly two decades of this kind of work he’d never lost a team member. Not once. He didn’t want to start with one so damned young.

  An almost inaudible beep sounded in the silence of the truck.

  He jerked to attention, his gaze going instantly to the monitor he still clutched in his hand.

  The two previously flat lines he’d stared at for hours on end blinked into activity.

  “We’ve got her back,” he said in a rush, the words scarcely more than a relieved whisper.

  Ramon sat up a little straighter behind the wheel. “Give me some directions, amigo.”

  He rattled off the necessary information, not once taking his eyes off the tiny pulsing lights that represented Tasha North’s heart rate and location.

  They were back in business.

  He had to get word to Lucas.

  CHAPTER 13

  Tasha moistened a cloth and washed her face. She couldn’t be sure how long he would give her in here alone, but she needed some time to get a better grip on her strained emotions. She might be tough but she was still only human. Playing this guy’s game had been hard work.

  There was something not quite right here, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. If he’d been the stone-cold killer he appeared to be she’d be dead now. It didn’t take a master’s degree in psych to see it…and she had one.

  She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that a small part of her wanted to get the hell out of here ASAP. But the professional in her needed to see this through. She was close—right where Lucas wanted her. If she could just stay alive she could bring this guy down.

  Whether he was as bad as he wanted the world to believe had nothing to do with her mission. Lucas wanted her close to him so he could be stopped. She got the distinct impression that as soon as he had led them to the man who’d hired him, he would be terminated.

  That thought gave her an uncharacteristic pause. The hesitation confused her…but it was there. She’d have to deal with it.

  She shook off the thought. That was the number one rule in the spy business—never, ever let the enemy close enough to make it matter.

  The door opened, and the enemy in question barged in.

  “Did you forget how to knock?” she asked the face glaring at her in the mirror.

  “You never answered my question.”

  Back to that again, huh?

  She spun around on her bare heel, bracing herself against the sink and staring up at him. “I already told you that I hit on you because you were the cutest guy in the club. Deal with it.” The images Lucas had captured of this guy didn’t do him justice, especially his eyes. Nor had the dim lighting in that club last night. His eyes were…amazing.

  Suppressing a shiver she started to give him her back. He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “What’s this?” He tipped her chin up and looked first at her healing lip then at the fading bruise on her cheek.

  Concealer and makeup had covered the evidence of the roughing up she’d taken night before last. The low lighting in the club had helped, as well. But with the makeup long gone and in the bright light of day, there was no hiding her battle scars.

  “My roommate and I had a disagreement.” She drew away from his touch. “It happens.” She turned back to the mirror and grimaced at her reflection. She looked like hell. Nothing she could do about that since she had no cosmetics, not even a brush. She combed her fingers through her tousled hair. The net jacket that had looked so sexy last night reminded her of snagged pantyhose this morning. She peeled it off and stuffed it in the trash can next to the toilet, purposely bending from the waist to startle her host.

  “And this?” He gestured to her right shoulderblade when she straightened once more. “Did your roommate take a knife to you as well?”

  Dammit, she’d forgotten about that old battle scar. Her first scuffle with a would-be mugger once she’d moved out on her own in college. He might have drawn first blood, but he’d also been the only one lying on the ground when the police finally arrived.

  “I guess I forgot to mention that between my succes
sful attempts at running away from the system, I survived a couple of foster homes. Nobody really wanted to deal with a rebellious teenager, but they didn’t want to lose the government check with my name on it.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. And it didn’t, because she was only making this stuff up. But, like a good movie, it was based on true stories she’d heard while interning in a social services office. “People don’t bother with troubled teens unless it’s for one of two reasons.” She looked him straight in the eye via the mirror, sensing that she would see a reaction. “For the money or the sex.”

  He flinched. She resisted the urge to pump her fist in the air and scream yes. She’d gotten to him…maybe just barely beneath the surface, but someplace under the skin all the same. She’d sensed a resistance in him before when she brought up the past. He definitely did not like going there. The first piece of the puzzle. She might not have the opportunity to dig more deeply, but she’d learn what she could until it was over.

  She turned around, stared up into those cold, hard eyes once more. “What about you?” She touched his jaw, tracing the outline of an old scar that gave him a permanent dimple before he could evade her touch. Her gaze moved lower, to another scar where his shirt opened into a vee at his throat. She hadn’t been able to see that one last night in the low lighting. A jagged little line a shade or two lighter than the rest of his skin.

  Some unknown force driving her, she reached toward him with her other hand. Oddly he didn’t move away. She released the next button of his shirt. And then another and another until it lay open to his waist where he’d tucked it into his jeans. Too caught up in the moment to note his reaction other than the fact that he allowed her to continue, she pulled the shirt free of his jeans, pushing the sides farther apart so that she could see more of his well-defined torso.

  For one long moment she couldn’t breathe. There were too many scars to count…some small, thin lines…others much more lethal looking. She wanted to ask him about them, but when she opened her mouth no words would come. Instead she touched one particularly brutal-looking scar so damn close to his heart she couldn’t imagine how he’d survived the wound. She felt him tense beneath her fingertips, but, again, he didn’t move away.

  That extra instinct she possessed was screaming at her now, warning that she was about to dive headlong into dangerous territory…delve past some unseen boundary of no return, and still, she couldn’t stop herself. She looked into those ice-blue eyes, letting him see every confusing emotion she felt at that moment.

  “Still think I’m cute?”

  Right now—this moment—was the turning point. Her response to him now would determine whether or not he allowed her full access. He refused to trust her, but some part of him wanted to believe that she was telling him the truth.

  Her future depended upon this one defining second.

  She went up on tiptoe, and even then, reaching that grim mouth was a task. He stood several inches taller than her. She brushed her lips lightly to his. Something electric zipped through her…startled her.

  He pulled away…eyed her suspiciously.

  Just when she felt certain he wouldn’t respond, he grabbed her, whirled her around and pinned her against the wall with his big body. His mouth came down hard on hers. The kiss was punishing, savage. A mixture of desire and fear surged through her veins. She couldn’t deny the attraction, but his touch was brutal.

  She shoved at his chest. Every muscle her body encountered was like granite. Her lip burned, the wound reopening beneath his onslaught. The tang of blood had her pushing harder against him.

  “Wait,” she murmured breathlessly when he broke the seal of their lips just long enough to take a breath. She touched her lip, swiped at the trickle of blood. He watched her intently, his own breath ragged, but a good deal more controlled than hers.

  Just then she remembered the monitor and made a conscious effort to slow her respiration…her heartbeat. If Maverick was still monitoring her activity, she didn’t want him barging in.

  “Not like that,” she whispered. “Like this.” She told herself it was a mistake, but that didn’t stop her. She kissed him tenderly…slowly. He didn’t move a muscle…held perfectly still. She kissed those firm lips until her own unexpected reaction forced her to break the contact. Not taking the time to evaluate her motives, she pressed her lips to the tiny scar on his cheek and then moved lower. Scar after scar she acknowledged with her lips…tracing each with her tongue. Her fingers fisted in the worn soft cotton of his shirt, and she fought the crazy need swirling inside her. This was work, she repeated mentally over and over. She dropped down to her knees, careful not to break the contact of her lips against his skin.

  She was winning this battle. He braced his hands against the wall, his eyes closed and for the first time since she’d met him, the hard lines of his face softened just a fraction. But that was the only thing soft about him. Flirting with danger, she drew her tongue along the warm flesh just above his waistband. If she didn’t stop now…she might have to finish this but every instinct told her that seduction was her only chance of reaching this guy.

  Without warning, he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet. When her gaze collided with his, he looked totally unaffected. Anything he’d felt was long gone.

  “I’ll take you home now.”

  He released her and walked out of the room. Tasha let go a shaky breath and sagged against the wall to pull herself together. She was hot…damn hot and wet. She’d enjoyed that more than she should have—definitely more than he had, it seemed.

  Damned fool, she railed at herself silently.

  She knew better than to let that happen.

  Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she just shook her head. The chance of a lifetime and she was going to screw it up playing amateur psychologist.

  Whatever this guy’s problem, it wasn’t her job to save him. Her mission was to deliver him up to Lucas Camp for one thing and one thing only.

  To die.

  CHAPTER 14

  When he pulled the SUV next to the curb outside her apartment building, Tasha couldn’t help thinking she’d had her chance and now it was over.

  This wasn’t the kind of guy to allow any sort of strings. She most likely would not see him again. But at least she knew where he lived, for the moment. She had his license plate number and a damned up-close description. But that’s it. She knew absolutely nothing else about him.

  “You didn’t tell me your name,” she said in the silence that ensued after he’d shifted into Park.

  He turned toward her, his gaze cutting right through her like cold, hard steel. “Does it matter?”

  She nodded, feeling startled by and wholly unprepared for the emotions he wrought in her.

  “Seth.”

  “Seth,” she echoed, thinking that it somehow fit. Some Egyptian slayer or something. “I like that.”

  He stared at her for a second that turned into ten before she started to squirm. There was something about his eyes…

  She couldn’t just get out now…she had to leave him with some reason to contact her again. She grabbed a pen from the console that separated them, then reached for his hand. He resisted at first, but eventually allowed her to draw it to her lap. She jotted her number on his palm.

  He stared at his open hand for a moment then at her, but he didn’t say he would or he wouldn’t use the number.

  “Bye, Seth.”

  She opened the door and climbed out, but his voice stopped her before she walked away.

  “Just one thing.”

  She looked at him expectantly, her hand on the door ready to push it closed.

  “Tell your roommate if she touches you again she’s dead.”

  * * *

  Tasha entered the building without allowing herself to think. She neede
d a long, hot bath. She needed to think…but first she had to get that final look she’d seen in his eyes out of her head.

  He’d looked directly at her and issued that warning as if she belonged to him, and anyone else who touched her would be risking life and limb.

  It didn’t make sense.

  On the elevator she stabbed the button for floor fourteen and leaned back against the wall. God, she was exhausted, mentally and physically.

  The lift stopped on thirteen and she opened her eyes to see who would be boarding an upbound elevator with only one floor to go.

  The doors slid open and Maverick waited in the corridor. “This way, North,” he instructed.

  Coming to immediate attention, she exited the elevator and followed the big cowboy down the quiet corridor. Though he didn’t wear a hat, he had the boots and the attitude. She’d never been so glad to see anyone in her life. He was tall, broad-shouldered and had just a sprinkle of gray in his dark hair. Just enough to tell a girl he’d been around the block a time or two. She was glad to have him on her team.

  At the fourth door on the right, he opened it and stepped back for her to enter the apartment before him.

  “This whole floor is ours,” he said in answer to her questioning look. “The escape route I showed you in your apartment upstairs will bring you here.”

  The escape route he spoke of was an oversize laundry chute accessed from her walk-in closet.

  Inside the thirteenth-floor apartment, Maverick’s partner, Ramon Vega, waited. He was much smaller in stature but quite confident and capable looking as well. His Latin heritage showed in his good looks, but he’d long since banished any accent from his dialect. He pressed a couple of buttons on a remote control and a wide-screen monitor came to life. Lucas Camp behind a desk blinked into vivid focus, his gaze zeroed in on her as if they were face-to-face in the same room.