by Quinn, Fiona
When Striker came to collect me, he didn’t speak — not a single word. He made me swap cars with him, and he followed me back to my house.
A Hummer sat out front of my duplex, and we pulled in behind. Striker came over, opened the door and jumped me down. We found Blaze and Gater inside, crouched on the floor playing with scanning equipment.
“Hey, Lynx.” Blaze glanced up from his monitor. “It looks like your kitchen exploded.” Blaze was usually soft spoken, thoughtful, with bursts of bravado. He kept his bright auburn hair, shot with copper highlights, in a short military style, but it still tried to curl rebelliously. I thought that his coloring gave him the call name Blaze; it turns out his name came from his motto: “If I’m going out, it’s going to be in a blaze of glory!”
“Manny’s food. Shoot, Blaze. I completely forgot about my project.” I ran back into the kitchen and grabbed an apron.
Blaze nodded, standing at the kitchen door frame, taking in the mess. His eyes were startlingly blue, like a clear October sky.
“I’m bagging up prepared dinners. They’re my barter with Manny.” I said by way of explanation. “Did you find anything?” I asked.
“Nope, all clean,” Blaze said. “We think you should keep your car locked in your garage. Try not to park exposed when you drive. The best thing to do, though, is just use an Iniquus car and trade it out every day. That way they can’t track you, and you can always leave with a clean vehicle, especially if you’re headed anywhere that might be sensitive.”
“Okay, I’d be willing to try. Thanks, Blaze. Gater, did Striker talk to you about my duplex?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m looking forward to being duplex-mates with you.” He grinned, picking up a slice of green apple and popping it in his mouth. “Striker said I should move in as soon as it’s ready, unless he’s off, then I’ll come no matter the state.”
“If the house isn’t ready next door, you can stay in my guest room, until everything is nice. That is, unless Amy objects.” I glanced over my shoulder at him from where I gathered ingredients.
“Yes, ma’am, that’ll be fine. And Amy don’t have no say in where I bunk.”
“Lynx, what did you plan for the pups while we’re in Miami?” Striker asked.
“Manny’s going to feed them and let them potty. Why?”
“I think we should remove any obvious leverage, until we get a better handle on what’s going on. I think your dogs need to stay up at Iniquus, unless they’re directly with you.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Darn it - I just did this. I don’t want to do this again.” I blew out a huff of air. I hated being the focus of someone’s craziness. First Wilson, and now a barnacle from a monster’s tentacle? Too, much. Especially with so little time to recover between the two events. I wondered how Striker did this as a SEAL – every day was hell-day filled with focused-on-him bad guys. That must be why SEALS carry those trees around – to build stamina. I needed to get back down to my gym – build more stamina of my own.
I gave an embarrassed smile. “Sorry. I needed to say that out loud. Blaze and Gater, can I impose on you two? If this interferes with your plans, I can drive my girls over to the Millers’.”
“No problem. We can keep them.” Blaze rubbed Bella’s ears.
“Obviously, I’m going to follow Spyder’s orders. I’d like to be proactive here and figure out why this woman is in the neighborhood. I mean, I can do some computer searches, when I get back to work, but do you think she should be under surveillance? Should we bug her house? I don’t want to hang out here in her crosshairs. I want to know why she’s here, and how to get her gone.”
“Right.” Striker checked his watch, “An extraction team is moving Spyderman as we speak. He’ll be under an assumed name, and we don’t know where in America he’ll be moved. He’s out of the chain as far as giving orders. I have a meeting with Command in an hour.” He held his mouth in a grim line. “I’ll find out what I can and get a game plan together; see what they want to do.”
“Will getting warrants be a problem?” I scooped cranberry sauce into the bag in my hand.
“Not for Iniquus. Are you sure you don’t want to pack up some things and move over to the barracks?” Striker’s eyes bored into me; I tried to read the message there but got nothing.
I stalled over my work as I bit my lip. “No, I’m not sure.” I zipped up a bag and added it to the box I was getting ready to walk over to Manny’s. “Spyder wanted me here, though. Until I feel too pressured.” I reached for the next packet.
“Okay, how about this,” said Striker, “Why don’t I move back into your guest room, like when you were being bait for Wilson?”
My eyes locked on Strikers. When the Strike Force team and I had decided the best way to catch Travis Wilson was for me to move home and act as lure, I had a teammate no more than an arm’s-length away at any given moment. During the day, Gater usually filled the role; at nighttime I was under Striker’s care. Things between us had drastically changed since last October; this wouldn’t be the same dynamic. Did I need to think it over? My mouth ran faster than my brain. “Okay. Thanks,” I said with a smile.
Striker left for his meeting and to pack his bags. He wasn’t going to wait around for me to change my mind. Gater and Jack stayed; they were out on a jog with Beetle and Bella and would come back for dinner.
When I heard them walk through the front door I called, “Hey guys, could you give me a hand with something?”
I pointed over to the coolers and boxes I had ready to go next door. “I need to get these across the street and down into the basement.”
The guys took everything in one trip with me slipping and sliding behind them. I knocked on Manny’s door.
“Hallelujah!” Manny whooped, and opened the door to his basement. We tromped on down, and the guys handed me the food packets so I could place them on the freezer shelves in rotating order.
As the guys and I walked back across the street, I let my gaze glide toward Leopard Woman’s house. Maria Castillo stood in her front picture window, watching me. My foot slid out from under me on the ice, and I would have hit the road except for Gater reaching down and scooping me up. He carried me, cradled like a baby, back to my house, up the stairs, to stand in front of my couch.
“Are you going to let me down, Gater?”
“Huh? Oh sorry.” He set me on my feet. “Just like old times at the safe house.”
Wilson had clocked me with his gun, and I had a lot of issues with vertigo while my brain recovered from the blow. Gater had had his work cut out for him, keeping me of the floor. “How about I show my gratitude for saving the knees in my favorite jeans, by letting you pick the dinner menu. Come on back in the kitchen, and I’ll give you some ideas.”
Gater chose cheesy grits with sautéed onions and red peppers topped with Cajun shrimp. Good. That was quick and easy comfort food for a cold night. Striker came in, as I was getting dinner going. He walked into the kitchen, wrapped his arms around me from behind, and gave me a smacking kiss on my head.
I was forgiven for my myriad of sins.
“Hey, good timing.” I leaned back into his arms. “Blaze and Gater started a movie. I’ll have dinner ready in about twenty minutes. Should we eat on trays in the living room?”
“Works for me.” He put two six packs of Corona in the fridge, took three bottles out, and walked them into the living room for the guys. He hadn’t said a single word about what happened with Command. His body language gave nothing away. I took a deep breath in and scowled at my pots.
Twelve
I hadn’t asked Striker about our hotel plans for Miami. Surely, he would be a gentleman about our sleeping arrangements, but how was this going to play out? Standing naked in my closet, I rifled around until I pulled out a beautiful dress that I thought might work for the party. Thank you Celia and your over the top rule that you only wear a dress once, and thank you that I got to be the repository for your cast-offs.
I fingered
the dress material. The light shade of blue could easily be mistaken for silver. Holding up the two thin spaghetti straps, I pursed my lips. I’d have to go without a bra, and it was designed to show some cleavage. Too much cleavage? I peeked inside and realized the lining was tailored to give shape and support. Good news. Stretching my arms over my head, I let the delicate fabric slide over me and adjusted it down so I could see if it flattered me in the mirror. The bias cut, metallic material clung to my figure and swished, but didn’t fly up when I spun around. Cranking up the volume on my radio, I practiced dance moves in the reflection to make sure my fanny stayed covered. With the skirt hitting mid-thigh, I would have to be careful with dips, and anything other than a thong would show through the fabric. So, closed legs, bent knees, demure moves.
Now to pack for the rest of the trip, especially my meeting Cammy and Lynda for the first time. What I needed to wear for that introduction was some emotional armor.
***
I was twitchy about the plane ride. Striker glanced down at me curiously as we took our seats and buckled in, but thankfully he left me to my thoughts. My mind was all over the place – my emotions too for that matter. The overlying feeling was trepidation. Not quite to the level of anxiety, but close. Striker’s friends and family — would they like me? Would I fit in? And Lynda…Truth? I really didn’t want to do this – any of it. I wished Striker had invited me on a date for New Year’s for some fun that wasn’t interlaced with all of the shit that went down last fall. I leaned my forehead against the little bubble window and watched the green quilt of pastures float underneath me. Sooner than I expected, or wanted, we touched down in Miami.
“We’re here.” Striker said.
I found myself clasping his hand tightly in my lap. He gently brought my fingers to his lips and kissed my knuckles. Without releasing me, he swiveled in his seat. He tipped my head back, ran his thumb along my jaw line, and planted a kiss on my lips. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been quiet.”
I pushed the corners of my mouth into a smile. “First commercial plane trip. I was a little nervous. It’s different than piloting a prop.”
People jumped up and rushed for the door. I startled; was this normal?
Striker shrugged. “Claustrophobia. Let’s let them pass. It’ll take a few minutes for the crew to unload the luggage.”
I nodded. Now what?
As if able to read my mind, Striker said, “We’ll take a cab to the hotel. I have reservations at the same place as the ball tonight. We won’t have to worry about finding cabs or dodging drunk drivers. We can just relax and enjoy.”
Well you can relax, Striker. I on the other hand… “Sounds great.”
The hotel was opulent and unexpected. I had thought it would be…less. Like a movie scene from the 1940s, everything was marble and crystal and luxury. The valet opened my taxi door and handled the bags; a doorman bowed a welcome. I stood in the middle of the intricately mosaic-tiled entrance taking in all of the beautiful people milling around. I was overly-warm and a little dowdy in my jeans and turtle-neck sweater. Yes, good quality thanks to Celia, but still. Striker gave my elbow a squeeze then sauntered to the desk to get our keycards. Singular? Plural? I blushed. I couldn’t figure out what to hope for.
He ambled back to me with a full-force Striker grin, dimples and all, and my breath hitched. God, he was beautiful. And I wasn’t the only one who thought so. As Striker moved by, the other women in the lobby perked up and took notice. Jeans were anything but dowdy on Striker. They were a visual dessert. Did that woman really just lick her lips? Incredible.
Striker draped a possessive arm around me, and I shot a look at the woman as we swept past. Mine. Really? Really, Lexi? Are you sure? In what way exactly? I shook my head. Those thoughts were too much for the close confines of the elevator. The bellhop pressed number 25 and took us to the top floor. He held one keycard in his white gloved hand.
As I followed the bags through the door, I realized Striker had reserved a suite. My luggage went into the room on the right; Striker’s case went into the room on the left. I stood in the middle of a lavish sitting area with a beautiful view as the focal point. I walked over to the French doors, out onto the balcony, and absorbed the sight. The water beneath us reflected the last rays of the sunset. Stunning. Striker came out to tell me there would be a fireworks display at midnight; we could watch from up here. That would be romantic; I smiled inwardly.
We ordered our dinner from room service and ate outside on our balcony. I was famished and everything tasted so good and fresh. Watermelon, mint, and feta cheese. Who knew that would be so yummy? The sky had turned a deep indigo and had a lushness I never experienced in DC. The evening so far was wonderfully low pressure. Striker, ever attentive and charming, steered the conversation to his memories of Miami, and away from the work-a-day world of Washington — away from his soldier-boy stiffness. My stress melted. What bliss to sit and relax together.
As the music from downstairs wafted up to us, we moved inside to get ready. My part didn’t take much. I had very little to put on - just panties, dress, and strappy sandals. My hair hung in soft curls down my back and coiled over my breasts. I upped my makeup with long, black, Hollywood-star lashes, and cherry red lip stain with pink glitter gloss. My reflection showed a toothy smile and bright eyes. I felt pretty and flirtatious as I swayed out of my room to the sitting area where Striker waited for me. He wore perfectly tailored black dress pants and a light as air white silk shirt, accentuating his Bowflex model’s body. He made me want to lick my lips and purr.
“Wow,” I gasped.
“Wow, yourself. You look like Titania, Queen of the fairies.” Striker’s phone vibrated noisily. He glanced at the screen. “Command,” he mouthed and held up a finger as he took a step back to answer the call. Striker listened intently, disconnected, and put his phone back in the holder on his waist, squinting at me. “I can hear the cogs whirring, Chica. Care to share?”
“I was thinking if I were Titania, that would make you Oberon, and we’d be in a terrible relationship. In which case, I should be watching out for your Puck tonight. I don’t want to fall under an enchantment where I wake up in love with a donkey. I haven’t researched it, but I’m pretty sure there are bestiality laws here in Florida.”
Striker threw his head back and gave a full-throated laugh. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” He wiped tears from his eyes. “I was trying to compliment you, not get you arrested. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you pick the fairy princess I should compare you to?” He stood close to me now, with his fingers circling my waist.
I had to arch back a little to see his face. “Hmm. Okay. How about Niamh?”
“Niamh. Who is she?” He reached up and traced a finger down my nose and along my jaw.
“An Irish fairy princess, the daughter of Manannán mac Lir. They lived in the Land Where Time Stands Still. Niamh set out on her horse one day to find Oisin the greatest of all of the Fianna warriors. Those are the king’s mightiest and best.” As I spoke, Striker whispered little kisses from my eye down to where his fingers had woken my nerve endings along my jaw.
“So he was the best of the best?” He murmured then continued his trail of kisses down my throat.
I couldn’t answer him. I was barely breathing. My body sung, yes do that.
He stopped and quirked a brow.
Oh, his question. “Absolutely,” I said. “The best of the best. She invited him back to her realm to be her love.” How was I supposed to have this silly conversation when my thoughts were so distracted?
“And did he go?” Striker whispered in my ear and caught my lobe between his teeth.
I wriggled deeper into his arms. “He did indeed, and they lived there happily for two hundred years.”
Striker pulled back. “And what happened after two hundred years?”
“He got stupid, left, and died.” I shrugged.
“Oh.” Striker actually seemed disappointed.
“Two hundred
years is a good run.” I offered.
He reached out and ran his fingers through my hair, cocking his head to the side. “And Niamh was beautiful?”
“She’s described as golden-haired and radiant.”
“That will do it. Okay, rewind. You say ‘Wow.’”
“Wow?” My brows knit together not understanding his game.
“Wow, yourself. You look like Nismh the Princess of the Land Where Time Stands Still.”
“Thank you.” I smiled and twirled out from his arms. “You said short, sparkly and dance-y.”
“I did, and you are dazzling. Are we ready to head down?” Striker held out his hand.
Thirteen
We wandered into a ballroom filled with people dressed to be festive and fun in their flashiest outfits. As the band took a break, no one danced to the recorded music playing over the speaker system.
Striker scanned the room. “Hey, why don’t you stand here for a sec? I’ll go brave the crowd around the bar, and grab us something to drink. When I get back, I’ll introduce you to some of my old friends.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I smiled up at him.
Striker bent down to my ear and whispered, “A reminder, everyone here calls me Gavin.” He planted a kiss on my shoulder and moved away.
I strolled over to the open window. The breeze floated over my skin. I took in the din of conversation, the clink of glasses and the glitter of laughter. Lovely, and exactly what I needed, after all — a night of relaxation, away from work, away from stress, away from leopard growls and flashing inner-warnings. A shiver ran through me. She can’t get you while you’re here, I reminded myself. I watched Striker join the crush of men jockeying for position by the bar. Damned, but he was one gorgeous, gorgeous man.
Striker in civilian clothes was always a shock to my system; somehow he just seemed more at home in his camo-wear. Or maybe I had a better handle on who he was when he wore his uniform. This man, in his dress pants and silk shirt, was unfamiliar to me. But boy-oh-boy, I couldn’t argue with his outfit, the way his pants hung from his hips and made his butt…
