by Cindy Dees
That made him study her thoughtfully. “Possible. But not probable. Most of the people I piss off are overseas. Or dead. No, that dot was for you.”
“I ask again. Why me?”
He moved over to a red velveteen love seat that matched her sofa upstairs. “Come sit down. You look tense.”
Frowning, she perched on the edge of the settee. He held an arm out to her, and she couldn’t resist the invitation to cuddle against his beckoning chest and all those wonderful muscles.
“Why did you leave this morning?” he asked quietly. “Tell me the truth. I won’t be mad no matter what you say.”
“I was ashamed.”
“Of me?”
“No! Of me. I didn’t want your aunt to think I’m a cheap slut.”
His arm tightened around her. “I would never sleep with a woman like that, and I certainly wouldn’t introduce my aunt to one. Have a little faith in yourself.”
She shook her head and didn’t bother to argue. When she met his family, she wanted to look and feel like a lady. Assuming Vitaly and the Voodoo hadn’t stripped that part of her completely away and destroyed it for good.
“You tensed up again just now. Why?”
Did Ashe have to be so darned perceptive? “It’s nothing,” she mumbled.
“We already discussed that. When you say nothing’s wrong, it means something is wrong.”
“Are you always this pushy?”
“Pretty much.” He flashed her a wry smile that totally derailed her irritation. He was so good-looking it was hard to maintain her train of thought, let alone argue with him.
She scowled. “I’m worried that the Voodoo has rubbed off on me.”
“And done what?”
She admitted, “And made me...as dirty and unfeeling as Vitaly.”
He laughed heartily at that. “You, my dear, reek of class. You’ll never fit into that place. It’s the thing about you that initially caught my attention. You were a pearl in a pig pen.”
She pushed up from his side to stare at him. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”
The humor drained from his expression, leaving behind an intensity that would have been frightening if she didn’t trust him already. “I have a bad habit of telling the unvarnished truth, Hank. It’s part of why I don’t do well in relationships with women.”
She studied him as she considered that. After the last few months of living a double life among people like Vitaly who were wreathed in dangerous secrets, honesty sounded pretty darned good.
She nodded slowly. “I can live with you telling the truth, even if it hurts sometimes. But if I ever ask if something I’m wearing makes me look fat, you still have to answer no.”
“Deal.” He leaned down to kiss her and she sighed in delight, melting against him eagerly. She simply couldn’t get enough of him. He was so masculine and confident, and he made her feel sexy and feminine and desirable. And he could kiss like a god. His mouth moved across hers like he genuinely enjoyed tasting her.
“I’m sorry I left without talking to you,” she eventually murmured against his delectable mouth. “I should have trusted you to understand. Or at least to respect my wishes.”
“I still don’t understand, kitten. No one could look at you and see anything tawdry.”
“Spoken like a man. Women are much quicker to judge on appearance than guys, apparently. And I’ve been wallowing in the mud for a while. I’m worried that some of it has rubbed off on me.”
“Nah. You’re just naturally classy, darlin’.”
“That’s me,” she said wryly. “Class in a glass.”
He stared down at her while she gazed up at him a shade apprehensively. “I’m serious, Hank.”
“I know. You and that whole unvarnished truth thing—”
“Exasperating female. I’d make love to you right now to shut you up, but I don’t know how soon Bastien will arrive.”
“You can kiss me some more,” she purred. “That might shut me up.”
He grinned at her. “I like the way you think.”
And that was the end of any talking for a while.
She loved the fact that he was willing to make out with her and not necessarily make love to her. Although he did groan when his phone vibrated in his pocket. “That’ll be Bastien,” he grumbled against the side of her neck.
Apprehension slammed through her as she abruptly recalled that a sniper was lying in wait for her outside. Although she was still halfway convinced the shooter was after Ashe and not her. “How exactly are we getting out of here without getting shot at?”
He held up a finger to tell her to hold that thought and answered his phone. “Hey, Bastien. You got it? Great. Pull up at the loading dock behind the rug warehouse. We’ll meet you back there.”
Ashe stood up and held a hand down to her. “Your chariot awaits, my lady.”
“In case I haven’t told you yet today, you’re a pretty amazing man, Asher.”
He froze, still holding her hand, and stared at her intensely for several long moments. “Thanks,” he said gruffly. Like he was touched and not sure how to express it. Like he didn’t entirely believe her.
Note to self: compliment Ashe until he believes that he is as special and lovable as he really is.
The office opened onto a short hallway. One end obviously led to the storefront, and the other probably went to the storage and cleaning facility she knew to be in the back. Ashe turned toward the rear of the building. The warehouse door was unlocked, and they stepped out into a dim space that smelled like wet wool. Rolled rugs were stacked around the edges of the room in tall bays.
Ashe snagged a baseball cap off a hook by the door and slapped it on his head before he lifted one of the big garage doors at the back of the space. A rusty, once-white van was just pulling up outside.
A big, good-looking guy cut from the same cloth as Ashe got out of the driver’s seat and came inside.
“Bastien LeBlanc, meet Hank Smith.”
Bastien grinned, flashing a killer set of dimples. “Pleasure, Hank. Interesting name—”
“This may be the future Mrs. Konig, dude. Think carefully before you tease her about her name. I would hate to have to kill you.”
Hank’s head whipped in Ashe’s direction nearly as fast and hard as Bastien’s did. Mrs. Konig? Her jaw dropped.
Ashe spoke blithely, ignoring their reactions to his comment. “I was thinking we could wrap Hank in a rug and carry her out of here. I don’t think there will be sniper coverage on the back of this place, but I can’t be sure. This Vitaly Parenko character is a slick sonofabitch. Suspicious as hell. Tightest security I’ve seen in a long time.”
“And you say he’s running a sex trafficking outfit?” Bastien responded. “NOPD wasn’t aware of it. Which means his operation is tight as hell. We’ve got a pretty damned good informant network in this town.”
“Either that or someone in the department is protecting him.”
Bastien shrugged. “Let’s just say rumors of police corruption in New Orleans are greatly exaggerated. That may have been true twenty or thirty years ago, but we’ve cleaned up our act. It works to our advantage to let criminals think we’ll look the other way, so we help the reputation persist.”
Ashe moved over to a bay holding a dozen rugs that were maybe eight feet tall. “Would one of these fit in the van?”
“With the girl wrapped in it?” Bastien looked at her appraisingly. “If we load it on the diagonal, it’ll go.”
Ashe hauled one of the rugs out and unrolled it on the floor. “In you go, Hank.”
She stared askance at the thick Persian rug. “You do know I’m not fond of small, confined spaces, right?”
Understanding lit his darkly handsome face. She’d been trapped in a mangled car with her dying mother for hours. In a tiny, terribly confined space. “I’ll let you out as soon as we’re away from here. Just a couple of minutes. I promise. And I’ll be with you the whole time.”
Oh, God. It was tight. And hot. And she couldn’t draw a deep breath. And wool dust made her need to cough. But she dared not give away that she was in here. Terror choked her as she was hoisted in the air.
“Okay in there, kitten?” Ashe’s voice came to her muffled and distant.
“Uh-huh,” she managed to gasp.
“We’re heading outside now...and into the van...” She felt herself being lowered. A hard surface supported her once more. And then she was sliding. A door slammed nearby. Another door.
“Almost done, baby. You’re doing great.”
No. She wasn’t. But there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. She was suffocating, and she had to trust Ashe not to let her die.
An engine started. The floor lurched into motion. Bounced over a curb or something. She rolled to one side a little as the van turned. She counted from ten to one in her head. That was it. That was all she could take.
“Let me out, Ashe. I can’t breathe. Oh, God...”
The rug unrolled, twirling her around and dumping her on her side as she emerged from the layers of her wool mummification. And then Ashe’s arms were there, lifting her. Wrapping her in safety.
“I’ve got you, baby. You’re fine. Breathe out slowly. In again. Now out.” He coached her down from hyperventilating as if she were a frightened child.
“Better?” he asked.
She nodded against his chest. He held her protectively until she was finally able to look up and mumble, “Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay.” And then he kissed her like he really meant it.
“When you two lovebirds come up for air, maybe you could tell me where we’re going?” Bastien complained from the driver’s seat.
“Someplace we can talk,” Ashe replied. “And it goes without saying to make sure we’re not followed.”
“I didn’t fall off the turnip wagon yesterday, bro.”
Ashe grinned down at her. “I trained him. I’d have kicked his ass if he skipped a basic operational procedure like that.”
Bastien told him succinctly and crudely what he could do with his procedure, and Hank laughed in genuine amusement as the two men spent the next few minutes trading insults.
“Do you miss the teams, Catfish?” Ashe eventually asked.
“Nah. Plenty of excitement in my current job.”
“Found a woman yet?”
“Who says I’m looking?”
Ashe rolled his eyes at her behind Bastien’s back. “The ladies always hung all over you, dude. I figured one would’ve snagged you by now.”
“Hah. Says the pot to the kettle, Hollywood.”
“Yeah, but I mostly ignored the ladies. You were happy to take whatever they wanted to...offer you.”
Hank had no trouble believing that their handsome driver was a ladies’ man. She had a little more trouble believing that Ashe was not one also, however. “Tell me the truth, Bastien,” she piped up. “Does Ashe really ignore women?”
The cop glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Yeah, he actually does. He’s always too busy being the job. Your boyfriend has a tendency toward suicidal heroics.”
Her boyfriend? Was that what Ashe was? She looked over at him quickly, and he merely shrugged. She turned her attention back to Bastien. “What kind of suicidal heroics?”
“You’ll have to ask him. I’ll tell no tales, chère.”
She turned expectantly to Ashe, who merely shrugged again. “Am I going to have to tickle the truth out of you?” she demanded.
“You can try,” he replied evenly. Somehow the complete lack of threat in his tone managed to convey a world of threat.
“Oh, I think I know how to make you talk,” she murmured.
His eyes glinted in challenge. “Be my guest.”
“Here and now?” she squeaked.
“Bastien knows what sex looks like. He’ll keep his eyes on the road. Won’t you buddy?”
“Hey, leave me out of this domestic dispute. I’m just the wheel man.”
Lord, these guys were unlike any she’d ever been around. No filters at all. She shook her head and subsided, leaning back against the side of the van with her arms crossed.
Ashe laughed under his breath. “Don’t pout, kitten. I’ll give you a chance to make me talk later.”
“You are a bad, bad man. And you’re embarrassing me.”
Grimacing, he surged forward immediately to join her on her side of the van. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Really.” Intense, too, these special operators.
The van pulled to a stop, and Bastien turned off the engine.
“Where are we?” Ashe called forward.
“My place. And we’re in the garage. You can come out and no one will see you.”
Ashe opened the rear door, hopped out and held a hand in to help her. She stepped out into a barnlike structure that resembled a fancy auto repair shop more than a regular residential garage. She looked around in amazement.
“I restore old cars,” Bastien commented.
“So I gather,” she replied.
“House is this way.”
Off to one side of the large metal building was a walled off area. Bastien ducked through a door and held it gallantly for her. “After you, Mrs. Konig,” he murmured as she moved past him.
Shock coursed through her as Ashe merely put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close as they stepped into what turned out to be a small, but beautifully appointed, kitchen.
“I also like to cook,” Bastien said a little shyly. “Speaking of which, are you guys hungry? You called me just as I was getting ready to eat.”
She hadn’t eaten since the picnic last night in the Hotel Fontenac. “Can I help cook?” she offered.
“Sit. I’m more efficient on my own. And this place is too small for two cooks.”
Ashe sank onto the banquette seat and startled her by drawing her down onto his lap. He certainly wasn’t shy about showing his affection for her in front of his friend.
Wielding a whisk, Bastien spoke grimly. “What’s going on, Ashe?”
While the cop made what appeared to be an omelet, but stuffed with more veggies, chopped meat and grated cheese than she’d ever seen in one omelet before, Ashe filled in his old friend.
Bastien absorbed the entire briefing in silence until the part about the laser dot. At that, he burst out, “Why’s a sniper targeting Hank? She’s a small fish. Best used as bait to reel in the bigger fish. You don’t kill the bait!”
Was she supposed to be comforted by that? Somehow the idea of being bait made her more nervous than ever. It made her sound entirely expendable.
Ashe shook his head. “Dunno.”
“Unless she’s rattled some cage you guys aren’t aware of. I assume you’ve been asking around the Voodoo about your brother, yes?” Bastien asked her.
“Of course. But I never asked more than one or two people at a time. And I never made a big deal of it.”
“Still. You brought up a name that someone might not have wanted to hear.” Bastien asked Ashe, “You run his name through ops yet?”
“Yup. Waiting on Jennie Finch to get back to me.”
“How about Vitaly?”
“Same.”
“Then I guess we eat and wait to see what she comes up with,” Bastien declared.
The two men made small talk, mostly about mutual acquaintances and a little about Bastien’s work as a cop, while the omelet baked. Eventually a timer buzzed, and Bastien whisked a big cast-iron skillet out of the oven. A ginormous puffy omelet filled the pan. Their host plated a huge pile of hash browns and the ham steaks that had been sizzling on the stove.
After last night’s romantic athletics and th
is morning’s scare, she was ravenous. She dug in with gusto, as did the two men. She couldn’t believe they ate everything on the table, but eventually an assortment of bare plates stretched away before her. She stood up to do the dishes, but Ashe and Bastien waved her back down. She relented and let the two men do cleanup duty.
They were both big, muscular men, but they moved with an easy grace that defied their size. It was not a hardship to sit here, stuffed to the gills on good food, and watch the two of them work together. And to think one of them actually liked her.
Mrs. Konig? Where on earth had that remark come from? It must be more of that territory-marking thing Ashe had mentioned last night. Relieved to have made sense of that mystery, she sat back and relaxed.
Ashe’s phone rang just as Bastien was putting away the last dishes. He pulled it out and glanced at it. “Jennie,” he bit out.
Bastien sat down at the table immediately, as did Ashe, who answered the phone. “You’re on speakerphone, Jen. Everyone at this end is cleared to hear anything you have to say.”
“Uhh, some of this stuff’s pretty classified,” a woman’s voice responded.
“I’m with Bastien LeBlanc and Miss Smith.”
“Hey, Catfish!”
“Long time no hear, Finchie. How come you no callin’ me? You gotta man on de hook?”
Hank grinned at the sudden and thick Cajun accent.
“I may be heading that way sooner than you think, Swamp Boy,” Jennie retorted. “You’ve walked into a hornet’s nest, Ashe. I had no choice but to brief Commander Perriman, and he wants to talk to you. He’s flying to Washington, DC, tonight, but when he gets there, he’s going to call you. Keep your phone on.”
Hank looked up at Ashe in alarm. That sounded serious. Some military muckety-muck was getting involved in this? What in the world was Max doing? Fear for her brother filled her lungs until she could hardly draw her next breath.
“What the hell?” Ashe muttered. “What’s Hank mixed up in, Jen?”
Chapter 8
Crud. Perriman was taking a personal interest in the search for Hank’s brother? Ashe seriously hoped it was to deal with whatever was going on at the Voodoo and not to fire him from the teams and yank him off active duty for good.
