Her Man Flint

by Jerri Drennen

“Bah! Who cares?” She refused to spend another night thinking about the cheat. In an hour, she had a date with Adam Weldon and she planned to focus on him for the rest of the evening. To hell with Flint and his damn fish.

  Jumping up, Adriana crossed to the closet, in search of her slinky red dress with a plunging neckline—a gown that said to the world she was ready for anything. And that’s exactly what she was—ready to get over Flint and move on with her life.

  * * *

  Flint stared out the window of the 747, his mind wrapped around Adriana and her plans for that evening? Who was she going out with anyway?

  Or was she going out at all? She might have been lying about having a date to make him jealous. If that was her plan, it wouldn’t work. He wasn’t taking the bait.

  “I can do better. Hah,” Flint scoffed. “I don’t think so.”

  Annoyed with himself for dwelling on her, he opened the folder in his lap and stared in earnest at the photo inside.

  Ryan Hartford—his enemy, a man who involved himself in any criminal venture he got wind of. Murder. Extortion. Arms dealing. You name it, Hartford had done it, although until now, no one had been able to catch him. But this time Hartford messed up. He’d hacked into DNS computers and that meant full-fledged war. They were going to get him this time.

  Flint would give about anything to know what the guy planned to do. Whatever it was, it had something to do with all their agents. Every operative from here to Siberia were in the files Hartford had accessed, including him and Adriana. Could the man be getting ready to expose them all?

  He’d find out soon enough. That’s why he was on his way to Washington to speak with Driskel. To discuss what their options were and what they had to do to ensure the safety of all their agents. They had to find a way to stop Hartford before every man and woman with DNS was put at risk—a risk that could cost many of them their lives.

  “Excuse me, sir. Can I get you anything?” A red-haired flight attendant asked as she leaned forward to unbuckle his seat belt, heaving her large breasts into his face. The job seemed to take an unusually long time to accomplish.

  “Depends. What do you have to offer?” Flint grinned up at her, not at all averse to viewing her attributes so nicely displayed before his eyes.

  “Anything you’d like.” Her tongue traced her lips, a gesture that suggested more than a cocktail to Flint.

  “Let’s just start with a drink, shall we, and we’ll see where it leads.”

  He had no problem flirting with her, but he wouldn’t take it any further. He had the agency to worry about right now, and thinking with his cock was the last thing he needed, especially after the Lindsey Warren debacle.

  If Adriana hadn’t come along when she did, he’d be dead. That meant his sex life would be put on the back burner until after he’d put Hartford behind bars. Then, he planned to make good on the debt he owed Adriana, a debt he knew he could never repay.

  An hour later, the plane landed at Dulles. He grabbed his carry-on and took a taxi to the nearest hotel.

  He planned to get a good night’s sleep before his meeting with the senator the following morning. He wanted to be fresh and alert for that face-to-face, especially with so much at stake.

  Once he was checked in, he went up to his room and showered, then laid on the queen-size bed contemplating what the agency could do to stop Hartford and his cronies. Flint had so many friends at DNS that would be put in danger if they were exposed. Adriana at the top. She worried him more than anything else.

  Thinking of her brought back the plans she had for that evening.

  Who are you out with tonight?

  Was he DNS, or some Joe-blow she’d met at the grocery store in the fresh produce aisle checking out melons?

  His blood pressure escalated. No man, as far as he was concerned had a right to check out the ripeness of Adriana, period.

  Flint scowled. What the hell was he thinking?

  “You’re not the jealous type, remember?” Words muttered to the ceiling.

  Adriana had a right to see and do whatever and whoever she wanted.

  His stomach rolled. The thought of her sleeping with someone else made him physically ill. Yet he had no right to feel this way. Not anymore. Still, he couldn’t shake it.

  With his stomach in knots, he picked up his cell phone and punched in her number. If she planned a night of passion, he intended to make damned sure it didn’t happen.

  The phone rang six times before her machine picked up. “I’m not in right now,” her sweet voice crooned. “Leave your name and number and I’ll screw your brains out later,” echoed painfully into Flint’s mind. That wasn’t what the machine actually said, just what he heard.

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  “Leave a message after the beep...” her seductive voice continued.

  ‘Adriana where the hell are you,’ he wanted desperately to say, but instead, hung up.

  He ran his hands roughly through his hair and glanced at his watch. It was ten-thirty her time and she wasn’t home. Where the hell was she? Screwing this guy at his place?

  The thought brought steam rolling from his ears. Flint needed a drink or he’d never be able to sleep.

  In a flash, he threw on a pair of jeans and a light-blue cable knit sweater and took the elevator down to the lobby.

  In the hotel lounge, Flint walked to the bar. He sat on a stool and glanced around. The place was all glass and chrome. Behind the long bar was a mirror that ran the length of the wall, making the room appear larger.

  “What’ll you have?” A stocky man with a goatee asked.

  “Scotch, straight up.”

  The bartender quickly poured his drink and placed it on a napkin in front of him.

  Flint lifted the scotch to his lips and slammed it down.

  He pointed to his glass. “Another.”

  The bartender filled it again and Flint threw him a twenty. He lifted his glass, then spun on his stool to look around the room.

  The back half of the bar was an exact duplicate of the front. Every wall mirrored-glass etched in black and gold.

  Not bad.

  With mild interest, he scoped out the room, finding the place empty except for two half-filled booths in the back.

  One was occupied with two guys, their ties dangling precariously, long since untied, obviously drunk, ogling the occupants in the booth right next to theirs, where three women sat.

  The women looked in his direction, checking him out.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” a husky voice asked from beside him.

  Flint turned his head to find a tall man with curly blonde hair leaning against the bar.

  “I see you’re popular?” The man nodded toward the booth of women.

  “It seems so.” Flint glanced at the women again, two blonde, the other a redhead.

  “The names Ben. What about that drink?”

  Flint spun his stool around and shrugged. “Sure, why not.” He gulped down the contents in his glass. “What do you do for a living, Ben?”

  Ben signaled for the bartender. “I’m a Lobbyist over on Capital Hill.”

  He turned his attention to Flint. “What do you do, ah—”

  “Flint, and I’m in security.” It wasn’t a lie really.

  “So you’re a bodyguard?”

  “More or less.” Flint wasn’t about to tell the man he worked for national security.

  “That’s cool. So, you married, Flint? I don’t see a wedding ring on your finger, but these days that doesn’t mean a whole lot.”

  Flint wasn’t quite sure why another man would ask that question. “No, never been married.”

  Ben grinned. “Me neither.”

  Suddenly Flint felt uncomfortable, especially at the strange look Ben gave him. He ran a finger under the collar of his sweater, trying to stretch it.

  “Do you mind if I ask what you’re lobbying for over at Capital Hill?”

  “No, not at all. Gay and Lesbian rights.” Ben
slipped his hand on Flint’s thigh.

  Flint backed up and almost fell off his stool.

  “Whoa, Ben, I think I might have given you the wrong impression. I’m not-ah—gay.” He stumbled over the words, embarrassed at being hit on by a man. This was a first for him, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it.

  “Yeah, I was afraid of that. All the good-looking guys seem to be married or straight. No hard feelings though, I hope?” Ben looked sincerely sorry he’d made the pass.

  Flint glanced over his shoulder and saw that he had an audience, embarrassing him further.

  “No. Why should I be? I’m actually kind of flattered.”

  The man cocked a light brow. “Really. Enough to maybe change your mind and go up to my room with me?”

  Flint swallowed hard. He’d never be that sorry, but he didn’t want to hurt the guy’s pride either.

  “No, sorry. I’m as straight as a tea party republican.”

  Ben laughed. “Well, if you change your mind. I’m in room three-ten.” He rose and left the bar.

  Flint released a breath. That had to have been the most uncomfortable situation he’d ever encountered.

  Shaking his head, he finished his drink, then got up to go back to his room.

  The next time a man asked to buy him a drink, he was going to run for the hills—and preferably nowhere in Washington D.C.

  Chapter Three

  Adriana stretched her long arms above her head and yawned. Early morning light filtered in through the blinds, suggesting a start to a beautiful sunny morning.

  Her red dress lay draped over the chair in the corner, reminding her of her date with Adam the night before.

  Dinner had been wonderful, in a restaurant she’d only heard of, elegant and expensive, then dancing at a local club. He’d been a complete gentleman, sweet and considerate, nothing like Flint. That was the problem.

  “Damn you, Flint Morgan. You’ve ruined me for any other man.”

  She’d desperately wanted to be attracted to Adam, but even his perfectly tailored physique hadn’t stirred even an inkling of desire. A friendship was a possibility, but anything beyond that wasn’t going to happen. She’d lost her heart to Flint and she was still waiting to get it back.

  Adriana sighed and threw aside her comforter. This morning she had a kickboxing session scheduled with her trainer and after rummaging through her drawers for her sweats, she pulled a pair out and raced to the bathroom to change. She planned to picture Flint’s face on her personal-trainer with every kick and jab she delivered today.

  Boy, Antonio, you’re in for a real treat.

  He’d get to see how his lessons had paid off—the hard way, and hopefully she’d come out of her workout feeling like a new woman.

  Before reaching for her keys, Adriana slipped into her cross-trainers then strolled out the door. One thing she had control over was being on time, and she prided herself on that.

  Outside, she stared at her sixty-eight Porsche and sighed. Billy had gone out to the compound to get it for her yesterday and she was glad to have it back.

  As she drove to the gym, maneuvering her car in and out of traffic, rock music blared from her CD player.

  Fast cars, loud music, and dangerous men were a lethal combination—all her vices.

  For as long as Adriana could remember, she’d gravitated toward trouble—especially men who broke hearts on a daily basis and Flint fit that bill. He’d certainly stomped all over hers.

  Maybe it was time for a change, a readjustment of her thinking, at least in the area of men.

  Since she and Flint had broken up, she’d consciously told herself that he was no good, but her body refused to understand that. It yearned for a bad boy, and not just any one. Her body ached every day for Flint.

  The thought ignited her fury, and she stomped down on the gas petal, turning up the music to block everything else out.

  A bump from behind jarred her, snapping her neck.

  Her eyes darted to her mirror where she spotted a black sedan right on her tail.

  Adriana cut the wheel to the right, swerving into the other lane. The sedan followed her over. She tried the maneuver again with the same results. The driver was trying hard to run her off the road.

  Her pulse soared as she sped up, attempting to outrun the car.

  Seconds later, they rammed her again, sending her to the edge of the road.

  She jerked the wheel right and tried to guide her Porsche back onto the highway but hit loose gravel on the shoulder, instantly sending the car into a one-eighty spin, then plunging it down the steep embankment.

  Her car jumped a ditch, then landed directly in front of a huge, concrete pylon, propelling her into the steering wheel, just before the world faded to black.

  * * *

  Flint paced the small outer office on the Hill, checking his watch for the third time in the last half-hour. What the hell was keeping Driskel?

  He stopped in front of a portrait of Bob and the President shaking hands.

  What had they agreed on? Paper or plastic? Dine in or carry out? World peace?

  Flint smirked. Like that would ever happen. Hell, if it did, he’d be out of a job.

  Impatient, he rubbed at the tension in his neck and glanced over his shoulder. Carol, Driskel’s secretary sat at her desk, staring at his ass. When she saw him looking, she blushed, then quickly turned away.

  A buzz of the intercom, and the senator’s voice brought them both to attention.

  “He’ll see you now, Flint.”

  “Thanks, Carol.”

  He winked at her on the way into the office, used to women’s attention.

  Carol’s reaction was nothing new. From an early age he’d discovered his appeal to women. In fact, it was when he was fifteen and Ms. Crandall, his chemistry teacher had taught him her subject could be more than enjoyable. She’d brought a whole new meaning to the word “bonding.” He still looked back on his first sexual experience with fondness.

  That was twenty years ago, and since, he’d had any woman he wanted at the snap of a finger—except Adriana.

  “Flint, come in. I just finished a conference call with Frank Haden in Al Jubayl, Saudi Arabia. A suicide bomber killed Dean Randall early this morning. Apparently he was riding to Bahrain with a couple of French reporters, and some extremist strapped with explosives jumped in front of their vehicle and killed them all.”

  Bob’s news erupted Flint’s fury. Dean had a full life, a wife and twin girls who’d loved him. Why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t it have been Flint instead? He had no family, no one who’d miss him. Not really. Just his uncle Robert.

  “Is this a coincidence, or does this have anything to do with Hartford and his accessing DNS files?”

  Bob shook his head. “It’s hard to say, but I have some feelers out right now to find out one way or another. If Hartford’s involved, then we’ll get him this time. I know Dean was a good friend of yours, Flint. I’m sorry. I’ll see that Hartford’s put away for life if he’s behind this.”

  The glint of determination reflected in Bob’s eyes told Flint he’d do exactly what he said, but was that enough.

  “If we find out he’s involved, I’ll kill him myself,” Flint threatened, slamming his hands on Driskel’s desk. “Hartford’s dealing with terrorists now, and that’s treason in my book, any way you slice it.”

  “I know how you feel Flint, but going off half-cocked and doing something stupid won’t help. Wait until we have something concrete first.”

  “And while we wait, another one of my friends could end up dead. Is that what you want?” Flint flinched when Bob’s buzzer screeched. His boss reached over and pressed the intercom button.

  “Sorry to interrupt, sir.”

  “Yes, what is it, Carol?”

  “I just received a call from Billy Weatherly. Adriana Kent has been in a car accident and is on her way to Denver General.”

  “Thanks, Carol. Call the airport and charter Flint a privat
e plane back to Colorado. Then check on her condition at the hospital.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  Numb to the core, Flint didn’t wait for Bob to finish. He raced from the office, not daring to think about how badly Adriana might be hurt. He should have been there to protect her. What if she woke up in the hospital alone? A realm of emotions churned inside him and his anger intensified, then bile rose his throat when his thoughts turned to the unthinkable. What if Adriana died? What if he never got a chance to talk to her again--never told her how he felt? His chest hurt as he pictured her beautiful face.

  What did he feel for her?

  Outside the building, he hailed a cab, picked up his overnight bag at the hotel and headed to the airport. He had to get home. Back to Denver—back to Adriana.

  * * *

  Adriana swatted Billy’s hand away. “Stop it. I’m fine.”

  Billy nudged her down. “You’re not fine, you have a concussion. The doctor said you have to stay in bed.”

  “Nonsense, it’s just a little bump. I feel okay.” She tried to sit up straight, but a wave of dizziness hit and sent her back to the pillow.

  “See, I told you. You need rest.”

  “Maybe you’re right. But I’m not staying here all day. I have things to do. I’ve already missed my session with Antonio.”

  Adriana pounded the mattress with her fists, which sent a sharp, knifelike pain through her head.

  She sighed. More than anything, she hated feeling helpless.

  Billy sat in the chair next to her bed. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  Adriana turned to face him. “A black sedan rear-ended me twice. I tried to keep the Porsche on the road. Oh God, how’s my car?” She gnawed anxiously at her bottom lip. “Is my baby okay?”

  “It’ll live. But it’s going to need some grill work.” Billy raised a questioning eyebrow. “It wasn’t an accident, was it?”

  Adriana clutched his arm. “No. But for Heaven sakes don’t tell Flint. He’ll make a big stink about it. Promise me.”

  “He has a right to know.”

  “Who has a right to know? And what?” Flint asked from the doorway.