Kobi’s voice dropped a notch from whiny and annoyed to comically deep. “You’re a whore. You can’t deny me.”
His hands fumbled around the waistband of her athletic shorts. “Aww, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
Smack! His palm slapped across her face. Satisfaction and stinging fire diffused in Sloan’s mind.
He hit pretty well for a bitch, but before she could tell him so, a roar quaked the garage. The impact of bodies followed and Kobi’s grip was ripped from her. His body soared through the air and landed with a crash. His steroid-enhanced upper half smashed into the garage door tracks securely fastened into the participant wall while his chicken legs skid out into the sunlight.
Baine stood behind her, his chest heaving. “You wanna hit somebody? I’m right here. First shot’s free. Fuck, I’ll give you five. All I need is one.”
Kobi scrambled off the concrete and swatted at the grit on the leg of his khakis. He snarled at the smudge of dirt marring his painted-on muscle tee. When his gaze bounced back and forth between her and Baine his face knotted tighter.
Sloan’s protector stepped forward, absorbing all of Kobi’s scowl. “Only chavs and pussies beat up women. So, come on. Prove yourself a man.”
A growl rumbled from Kobi’s throat as he rushed Baine, fists clenched to white knuckles. His right connected with Baine’s chin. The crack of bone meeting bone split her ears. Baine’s face kicked to the side, showing Sloan the barest hint of his scruffy jawline.
“One,” Baine said.
The second hit landed in Baine’s gut, hunching him, and called the slightest umph from his closed lips. Kobi laughed, sailing another gut punch as Baine straightened. Then another to the head.
Sloan’s hand ached to join in and her lips twitched to demand a stop to this madness, but she stayed put. No good would come from interfering.
Before Kobi’s knuckles had even left Baine’s forehead on his final punch, Baine rammed an upper cut into Kobi’s jaw. Teeth jarred teeth and his head flew backward. Kobi stumbled to the side then wobbled a few feet on jelly legs before meeting the grass in an unconscious heap.
“Ponce,” Baine spat. Then he turned to Sloan. Fury squinted his bloody brow. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. He hits like a preschooler,” she said, taking a deliberate step back and bumping into the car. “I didn’t need you to rescue me.”
Baine patted the cut above his jaw with the inside hem of his shirt. “I’d say primary schooler when he’s really pissed.”
For a moment the carved muscle of his abdomen, bronze of his smooth skin, and V of his happy trail mesmerized her. Sloan’s mouth dried and her palms sweat. When he caught her staring, warmth flooded her cheeks.
“Did it ever occur to you,” he whispered, “that I needed to rescue you?”
Sloan’s breath paused. She didn’t answer. Slowly she stepped around him and turned out into the day.
“Where are you going?”
“For a run.”
He trailed her for the first three miles or so, hanging back about twenty yards. Not hiding and also not pushing. Baine maintained the comfortable distance and pace until Sloan stopped.
The mass of carved rock piqued her curiosity. In the shape of an angel, wings spread and face turned toward the sky, it stood beside the small dirt foot trail among the thigh-high grass. Sloan ran her finger over the rough tip of the wing.
Baine joined her in front of the statue. They shared a reverent moment in peace before she walked on.
When he sidled up to her, she asked, “Why is there a statue in the middle of the grassland?”
“A man from a local village was mauled here by a leopard nearly two years ago, just before I arrived at the compound. His family placed the statue as a memorial.” He waited a beat. Then added, “This really isn’t the safest place to run.”
“It’s safer than being locked in that house full of lions.”
“You have a point.”
Together they took off toward a tiny rock outcropping in the distance. No words were exchanged. They simply ran. But this time Baine stayed close, only a few feet back.
As each footfall brought them closer to the mass of bedrock surrounded by earth and springy brown grass, the hunk of rock seemingly grew. Sloan pushed her muscles, increasing the pace to a dead sprint. She wanted to leave it all behind for a minute. All the pain. All the fear. And just be.
The warm breeze kissed her cheeks and cooled the droplets of sweat beaded on her skin. Her quads simmered with the fire of her effort. A smile spread as she reached the base and leapt onto the cracked monolith. With careful footholds and finger placements, Sloan scaled the swell without hesitation. As if sensing her need for peace, Baine stayed below. At the top she stood only twenty feet from the ground, but in her heart she was one hundred feet tall. Nothing hurt and everything came into crystalline focus.
A large breeding herd of Cape buffalo dotted the horizon with black. The earth’s light brunette hair stood on end as far as Sloan’s eyes could see. A few fat-trunked baobab trees and rangy bushes speckled in between. Sloan kicked her chin up and stretched her fingers to the sky, letting the sun heat her skin. Life-giving breaths heaved in and out of her chest. Calm settled over her. She sank in pure gratitude and pulled her knees into her, hugging them lightly while she watched the simplicity of nature.
After what seemed like ten minutes, but was probably more like thirty or forty, Baine eased down behind her, putting his back to hers.
“Lean on me,” he offered quietly.
She sank back into him and he pressed a fraction of his weight into her. Surprisingly so, the contact grounded her further in the serenity.
Together they breathed in the untainted air and watched the herd move lazily across the land. They’d been quiet for so long his voice made her heart jump.
“I used to play under a tree like that,” he said, raising his arm to a stand of three scraggy, leafless barks, “with my best friend, for hours and hours at a time. The thing was base for tag, a fort, a castle, the bad guy we slew.”
Sloan smiled even as tears fell hot on her cheeks.
He continued. “Every time I see a tree like that I smile and wonder where in the world she is? How she’s doing? If I’ll ever see her again?”
Baine coughed and his voice wavered. “It was nearly twenty-two years ago. That’s stupid right, to think about someone from your youth when you’ve both probably changed so much?”
She pulled in a ragged breath. “No. Not if they made you happy. Not if the memory of them still does.”
Sloan laid her hand over Baine’s where it rested on the limestone next to her and weaved her finger between his. She longed to tell him that little girl was hidden somewhere inside her, still hoping to see his bright smile and kind eyes. But the wall around her heart wouldn’t allow it.
“Yeah,” he said in an almost wistful tone.
He held tight to her hand, caressing the side of her hand with his thumb.
As the sun kicked toward the horizon Baine stood and pulled her up. His lips brushed over her forehead quickly then he stepped back. “We need to get back. The big cats like to hunt at dusk. And tonight, so do we.”
19
“What in the holy fuck happened to you?” Devereaux bellowed.
Every head in the dining room snapped to attention, eyes a little wide as they searched out the cause of their master’s displeasure. Sloan watched too as Baine walked to the table where she’d been seated for nearly ten minutes. The ease with which his hips rolled and his shoulders swaggered gave no hint of the beating he’d endured earlier. His face, however, told another story. It appeared camouflaged in lop-sided tactical paint. Black bruises underlined his left eye and peeked out from under his hair on the right side of his forehead. The cut, having scabbed over, blended with his eyebrow pretty well. The marks had darkened significantly since he left her at the door to her room nearly three hours earlier.
“I tripped a
nd fell. Isn’t that what Mom used to say?” Baine answered.
The razor’s edge of his voice and the words they conveyed whittled at Sloan’s heart some more. Whether consciously or not, Baine had been carving himself a home in her chest all afternoon. All her life, really. But today the whittling ramped up. He’d protected her, even when she didn’t need protecting. Though he had the ability to tip her on her ear, like he’d done last night, he also had the ability to ground her. He gave her a sense of long sought peace and quieted her demons.
Now, if they could just vanquish their snarling creator. “Don’t get smart with me, boy. Your mother earned every punishment she received.”
Sloan’s left hand clenched so tightly in her lap her close-cropped fingernails cut into her palm. She waited for Baine’s to do the same, but none of his rage showed as he eased into the high back chair next to her. He dragged the napkin off the gold-rimmed plate and smoothed it onto his lap. Calm and collected. Yet, his gaze remained fixed on his father.
“As did I?” Baine asked the callous man.
“Someone had to rid you of your fanciful notions. Aren’t you glad I did? Look at the fine man you’ve become.” Devereaux leaned forward, squinted then added, “Minus the wreck of your face.”
“Damn,” Baine said with an aw-shucks snap of his fingers. “There goes my modeling career.”
Devereaux scoffed. “Whoever beat you should have done a better job.”
“You can give him some pointers. Learn from the best, they say,” Baine shrugged.
“Enough,” Devereaux said. The plates and silverware bounced in front of him as his fist gave his order exclamation. His gaze shot straight to Sloan. She did her best to breathe and smile. “Though I have an idea about what went on in my own home. Tell me now, what happened.”
As they’d planned, Baine didn’t acknowledge her, even with Devereaux’s wicked gaze cursing her for living. He signaled Lawrence with a nod. “The usual.” As the more-than-a-butler butler bowed and turned, giving her his signature wink, Baine smiled. “I stepped on your dog’s tail. So, I let him take a swing.”
“Or three,” Devereaux said. His head shook as he spoke. “I’m tired of playing referee to an adolescent game of ass chasing. We have far more important things to deal with.”
“I realize that, Father, which is why Kobi and I are square. Aren’t we?” Baine asked the man in question as he entered the room. “There are no hard feelings, are there?”
Kobi’s gaze bounced back and forth between Baine, Sloan, and Devereaux, ignoring the other five people in the room. Finally his roving eyes settled on his boss. The pitiful man’s jaw puffed like it’d been stuffed with cotton. It muffled his words, but no more so than his drinking had the previous night.
“No, sir. We’re just ready to make this deal happen for you, Mr. Kendrick. And I want to say how sorry I am for the other night. I don’t know what got into me, but I can guarantee it won’t happen again. I’m about business.”
As Kobi nuzzled up to Devereaux’s plump butt cheeks, Baine slipped his hand up her thigh, straight to her core, where he slipped his finger into the lace of her panties. The boldness and shock of his action, especially since they’d talked about being hands off as to not draw attention to her or get anything started with Kobi, released the first wave of adrenaline from the gates. It galloped like a ’roided gelding from her crotch and plowed smack into her heart, causing it to ripple from the impact.
Just as quickly, his hand retreated to the scotch glass without the least wiggle on her clit or nod of acknowledgement. Curiosity and frustration rolled through her until she shifted in her seat and felt it. Something was in the crotch of her panties. Small and thin, but definitely a foreign object.
Man, she’d passed information a whole number of ways, but this one took the cake.
The men had lapsed into serious discussion about a shipment of weapons due to drop soon. Sloan would kill to know the when, where, what, and how of the deal. It sounded huge, and if a shipment like that succeeded, a whole lot of people would suffer. But this was her cue to move. She’d have to trust Baine to relay the details or find them out for herself when she got the damn black book.
Anticipation tickled her fingers as she rose from the table. Talk about wish fulfillment. She was about to accomplish a goal she’d worked toward for twenty-plus years.
“Can I help you, miss?” Lawrence asked. His formidable bulk towered over her.
“Sure. Point me in the direction of the nearest ladies room,” she said.
“Through the double doors, down the corridor, first door on the left,” he said with a smile. “Hurry back.”
“Absolutely,” she nodded.
Down the hallway Sloan had to yank the reins in on herself a few times like a jockey holding back his eager horse. Her legs itched to run and her heart beat fast enough to supply oxygenated blood for the action. Poom. Poom. Poom. Poom.
She strolled into the bathroom, taking note of the cameras positioned at each end of the course with a casual glance. On the other side of the door Sloan kicked off her heels and stuffed them behind a potted plant. She removed the knife from her purse frame and slid it into the leather already strapped to her thigh then fished a tiny piece of paper out of her underpants.
A twelve-digit code spoiled the otherwise blank white parchment. Sloan vibrated with excitement. It started deep in her chest and radiated out to her fingertips. How in the world had he gotten the code? With zero time to ponder the question, she memorized the series, ripped it into bits, and washed it down the sink. She scooted the last piece down the drain then continued preparing.
Out of the clutch’s belly she pulled a small hook pick and shoved it into the front of her dress. She abandoned the electronic panel she would have used to crack the safe. The thing was too big to fit in her cleavage and since she had the code, she’d just as soon have her hands free to move. The radio jammer came last. She flipped it on, just in case things went sideways, secured it inside the bag, and shoved it out of sight with her shoes. All the while she’d been counting the camera sweeping sequence in her head on ten second intervals. So far she’d only lapsed two rounds.
At seven she placed her ear on the door, straining to hear any sounds beyond. Nine. Sloan held her breath and cracked the door, scanning the parts she could see. All clear. On ten she bolted midway up the corridor. Crossed to Devereaux’s door. One. Two. Three. After a well-placed pick the lock gave and Sloan swooped into the office, closing the door and locking it behind her.
After hours of studying the layout in her mind she moved surely through the room. Passing between two wingback chairs and a massive antique desk, she reached the exquisite painting at the end of the room. A woman with a flowing golden mane leaned her palms on a railing. The elegant gown and ethereal setting of lush green trees and bright red flowers did nothing to hide the sadness in her tight smile and dull eyes. She assumed the woman was Baine’s late mother, Elizabeth McCord.
Sloan tested the frame, running a hand along the edges. With a firm tug the right side swung wide. The safe lay behind it nestled into the wall. The proverbial pot-o-gold. It didn’t glitter. The gunmetal-grey soaked up the light, but the computerized keypad and screen sure sparkled. Her fingers glided over the keys, striking off the memorized numbers in a steady rhythm.
She would have sworn the world stopped spinning for a suspended moment in time as the screen went black while analyzing the data. Her entire body stilled in a second of wild certainty.
The screen flashed the words Incorrect Passcode.
20
“If you needed a patsy, Kobi would’ve been ideal. But I guess you found a better one. Taking down a Branch Agent will make Papa proud and give you a fall guy, or girl, as the case may be.
“I can’t believe I trusted you. You have more secrets than the CIA. You’re obviously no lawyer. I mean, what lawyer can fight like a pro, shoot like a trained sniper, and kill without remorse,” Sloan bit.
Bai
ne eased the bathroom door closed and raised his hand in surrender. “I have never and will never betray you.”
He took a hesitant step forward. Sloan’s hand tightened on the custom 9mm she’d found in his safe. The twenty-eight-round clip the monster held would be enough to take out everyone in the house. Wisely, Baine stopped advancing and even stepped back where he’d been.
“I couldn’t stop a herd of women from leaving the dining room on their sacred bathroom ritual without being suspect. Since you had the code I expected you’d have already retrieved the book and been back in the bathroom. I figured you’d have been rushed to get back to rights, but I knew you’d manage.
“Now, put the bloody gun down and let’s authenticate the book, so we can get changed and move before Devereaux notices it’s missing.”
She may as well have handed him the gun and let him drill one shot in the center of her chest. His deception hit her square between the eyes like a sledgehammer’s blow. The choice to trust Baine ripped her psyche to shreds. The choice to love Baine decimated her heart like the coastal lands in a typhoon’s path. Though really, her feelings for him hadn’t been a choice, but a reaction she’d been helpless to stop, like the winds and roaring waters.
“It was always about the book for you, wasn’t it?” Sloan didn’t know why she asked. She didn’t expect anything from him but death. Whether slow and painful or fast and unnoticed.
His eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. “Damn it, Sloan. It is only about the book for me as much at it is for you. If we don’t take this book from my father, he’ll use it to kill more people and claim more territories.”
“You only want to take his place. That’s why you made certain I wasn’t in the room when you discussed the next shipment. It’s why you gave me the wrong code.” Her voice pitched as she spoke and she was helpless to hold back the volume or her cursed tears.
Baine’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, wrong code?” He stepped forward then, seemingly oblivious to the weapon she had trained on his heart. “Did you get the book?”
Enemy Mine (The Base Branch Series Book 1) Page 11
