Plain Jane and the Hitman

by Tmonique Stephens

  She climbed to her feet and got to the back of the dwindling line.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Bailey stepped off the plane a raw bundle of nerves mixed with utter exhaustion. She never wanted to see another airplane, especially not the coach section.

  “Excuse me. Excuse me.”

  People pushed ahead of her on the gangway. Hartsfield-Jackson was one of the busiest airports in the country, a hub for connections all over the country. But this late in the afternoon, most probably wanted to go home, or the next hotel to rest. She wanted the latter. A full night’s sleep in her own bed. Didn’t mean she’d get it.

  She’d come to a decision on her long flight from Brazil. When she saw him, regardless of how her heart skipped a beat or how desire spilled into her bloodstream, the ball was in his court. Everything depended on what he had to say—and it had better be fucking epic because she didn’t have two shits to spare.

  He said he loved her, well he'd damn well had better prove it or get the hell out of her way. She was done running, and she had not a single tear to spare.

  Love shouldn’t make you cry.

  Love shouldn’t make you run.

  She exited the gangway and panned the semi-empty waiting area. Her gaze tripped over Emmet waiting next to a metal column. Dark gray suit, white shirt, and silver tie, beneath a leather duster, did little to hide the hard body hidden beneath the clothing, and every woman that glanced his way wanted a taste.

  He’d shaved since she’d seen him and as she suspected, his square jaw only added to his rugged handsomeness. And yeah, her heart did skip a stupid beat. And desire had her slick and achy.

  She moseyed up to him, raked her gaze from the top of his fresh haircut to the laces on his leather shoes, and kept going. He could stop her, or he could join her, which one he chose, she didn't have the energy to care.

  "I deserved that," Emmet murmured when he fell in line beside her. He took her carry-on and together, they moved through the airport to an Aston Martin parked illegally at the curb. The perfect gentleman, he opened the passenger door for her. She paused. Not wanting to be blindsided, she asked, "Where's Hank?"

  “He’s home.”

  Good. That meant he was far, far away, probably on the other side of the world. Dealing with Hank would wait for another day if that day ever came. She dropped into the passenger seat, allowing Emmet to close the door. He turned to the airport security guard hovering near the trunk of the car.

  In the side mirror, she watched a slick pay off as they shook hands. Emmet deposited her luggage in the trunk, circled to the driver’s seat, and lowered his body inside.

  He did not start the car. White knuckling the steering wheel, he sat while she stared ahead at the speeding cars on the highway off in the distance. Two minutes passed with his deep breathing the only sound in the car. She didn’t want to deal with this, was too damn wasted for the brewing argument. So much for his declaration of love. Her bullshit meter was never wrong.

  His head cranked around, and the heat of his gaze drilled into her. Unafraid, she met that heat and braced for his anger. And he had plenty, yet along with his anger came concern and relief, and…

  Emmet reached for her at the same time she reached for him. Not sure who kissed who, she absorbed the feel of his mouth on hers, taking what she willingly gave. Tongues snaking against each other. He gripped a handful of her hair, angled her head, and thrust his tongue deeper, rougher. She groaned, clawed at him, not for air because she didn’t need to breathe, didn’t need anything except for him to never stop.

  He eased back, breaking their connection in increments, then came back for another blistering kiss. Gradually, he retreated with a final nip to her bottom lip, and a lick to soothe the sting.

  Rough fingers gently stroked her face as if he missed her as much as she missed him.

  “Had to do that. Couldn’t think straight until I touched you.” He licked into her mouth a last time. “And before I drag you over my knee and spank you.”

  With that husky voice of his, a spanking didn’t sound too bad. He swept her hair behind her ears and gripped her head in both of his hands. Foreheads pressed together, those eyes of his glittered like spotlights. She couldn’t look away. “All right. You proved your point. I’m an idiot,” he griped.

  “You said that already and I completely agree. You are an idiot.”

  “This has been the longest thirty-six hours of my life. No one is walking away from anyone. Understand me.”

  He said he loved her. Tracked her down from across the globe to prove it. Well, she had no intention of laying down and spreading her legs. “You threatened to walk away first. I beat you to it.”

  "Like I said, I was an idiot."

  “And now you’re not?”

  Emmet snorted and nipped her chin. He released her, and she plopped back into her seat as the car purred to life and Emmet peeled away from the curb. “Shouldn’t have done that there.” He checked the mirrors, his game face—a blank slate completely unreadable—was in place. “Should’ve waited,” said more to himself than to her.

  “Glad you didn’t.” She settled into the chair and closed her eyes. “Technically, this is called kidnapping.”

  "Yes. It. Is." That note in his voice was pleasure and not the good kind where they both got off.

  “How angry at me are you?”

  He merged onto the highway and opened her up. The V12 engine ate up the road. “I’m not angry. I’m furious.”

  She side-eyed him. “You always kiss the people you’re furious at?”

  A muscle flexed in his very attractive jaw. “You are not people.”

  Pleased, she stared at his arrogant profile. “Good to know I’m not people.” A smile flitted around his not so neutral mouth. “Are there levels to this furious?”

  He swerved around a mustang loitering in the left lane. “Are you asking if I have a temper?” He spared her a glance. “I’m a hitman, Bailey.”

  The roar of the engine drowned out whatever he mumbled under his breath. She settled into the heated leather seat. "I want a pizza, a shower, and to sleep for a week." She let him drive a while then noticed they were headed in the opposite direction of her house. "Where are you taking me?"

  “Hotel.”

  She groaned, too weary to do much else. “I don’t want to go to another hotel, or another chalet, or another fucking cruise. I want to go home.”

  “Not happening.”

  “It is happening,” she said calmly. “I’m tired of running. I want to go home.”

  “I said no.” Menace oozed from him.

  Unafraid, she sighed. “Give in. I’m just going to run again.”

  “Wrong thing to say to me. Give in.” He snorted. “I’ve never given in to anything. And I won’t start now. “

  “Fine. You have to sleep sometime.”

  “And so do you.”

  “I am quite rested,” she lied. “How about you? I think I see some bags under your eyes. She tucked her legs under her and shifted all the way around in the seat, then sat up sharply. “Actually, you’re exhausted. Pull over and let me drive.”

  “To the hotel?” He snickered, ignoring her order.

  She snorted and let him get away with it. “Sure. The one closest to my house.”

  He barked out a dry laugh and slowed to turn into a Motel 6. He parked under the awning, made a pit stop at the trunk, then walked around the car to help her out. “Really? We’re staying here?”

  His answer was to take her hand and guide her inside.

  “May I help you?” The desk clerk asked as soon as the glass doors opened.

  "We have a reservation under Smith." In no time at all, they were on the way to the hotel room where Emmet placed a camera with a view of the door. "We can leave now."

  Well, that confused her. She did a double take between him, the door, and the camera, but in the end, she didn't resist him guiding her back to the car.

  Three more times they repeat
ed the process at Best Western, Holiday Inn, and The Radisson. “Where to now? High-end hotels on the other side of town, now that we’ve covered the lower end of the spectrum?” She yawned.

  “And I have bags under my eyes?” he said with a ‘pot calling the kettle black’ tone, then he handed her his unlocked phone. “Call for a pizza.”

  Her grin hurt her face as she dialed the family-owned pizza restaurant a few miles from her house. He took I-285. Traffic was the usual nightmare, but he handled it like he handled everything, with skill. In half the time it would've taken her, he got off at her exit.

  Familiar streets rolled by, streets with no hotels in the area, streets that led to her home. She glanced at him and noted the slight smirk on his mouth. “You planned on bringing me here all along.”

  “You left me and flew across the world to get back home. Far be it from me to keep you from your goal. For now.” He stressed the last two words.

  Bailey folded her arms. “So, all that bitching about me going home was for show? You wanted to piss me off.”

  His lips twitched. “Not at all.”

  Her gated community came into view. Emmet pulled in and nodded at the security guard, who opened the gate much faster than he ever had for her.

  Shocked and annoyed, she asked, “You’ve been here before?”

  “Yes. Once I figured out your destination. I beat you here by a few hours. I had a chance to check out your house.”

  She glared at him. "Check out my house? You mean break into my house."

  “Semantics. My objective was to secure your home.”

  Thank God she cleaned it before leaving for Jamaica, and she couldn’t fault him for going into protective mode when she skipped out of Germany. “And did you?”

  “Tight as a drum, though a rocket to the front door won’t make a difference.” He coasted down the quiet streets at a sedate pace.

  “Does Rogers have access to those kinds of weapons stateside?”

  “Of course he does.”

  Damn it. So much for spending the night in her own bed.

  “Doubtful he’d use it. A kill like that on US soil would draw too much attention.”

  Interesting. “What’s too much attention?”

  “FBI, CIA, NSA, White House. The trickle up effect would be massive. The damage control would take all of us out.”

  Her blood ran cold. “Take all of you out?”

  He parked alongside her curb, short of her driveway, and turned to face her. "We work for the government, which branch, I'm not sure of. We're not sanctioned. We do what is asked, and we are paid extremely well. There are rules, not many, but rules we must live by. Primary rule: draw no attention. Do what we do in secret. The world is not supposed to know we exist. Discovery means—"

  “Death.” She finished for him.

  “Worse. Congressional hearings and prosecution. Understand me?”

  That wasn’t worse than death, yet she nodded anyway. It’s not like she didn’t know that already, on some barely submerged level, she knew. But hearing it… “Yes. I understand.”

  Emmet pulled out a tablet from the door panel. A few taps brought up the interior of her house and a readout.

  "Anything interesting?" she asked. He ignored her and kept scanning. "It's unnerving having someone rifle through your home without your presence or permission."

  “You’ll get over it.” He closed the tablet and hit the garage door opener, her garage door opener.

  “My car too, huh?”

  He pulled into the garage and parked next to her Escape. Ever the gentleman, he circled the car to open her door. “Welcome home.”

  He stood close, inside her bubble. She caught his scent, the slightly musky, piney scent of him, and breathed him in.

  “I missed you,” he murmured.

  All of her went loose, and she swayed. His arms circled her waist, pulling her into his body, where she wanted to be. Yeah, she was home, in more ways than the obvious.

  An old Honda Civic rolled to a stop, blocking the driveway. Emmet had his gun in his hand and shoved her behind him within a blink.

  Bailey grabbed his gun hand. “Do not kill my pizza guy!” she hissed in Emmet’s ear and moved around him to intercept the seventeen-year-old driver.

  “Thanks, Mikey.” She took the box from him. “Tell your grandmother I said hi and put it on my tab with a thirty percent tip for you.”

  “Oh, thank you, Miss Monroe.” His braces on full display.

  “That won’t be necessary.” Emmet handed over a hundred dollar bill and took the pizza from Bailey and headed inside.

  His jaw unhinged, and he fingered the bill like it was his first girlfriend. “All of this is for me?”

  She slapped Mikey on the shoulder. “You earned it. Now, drive safely.”

  Mikey skipped back to his car while Bailey caught up with Emmet in the kitchen. She opened the box and shoved a warm bit of saucy, cheesy, heaven into her mouth.

  “You make that same sound when I’m inside you. Only deeper.”

  She sputtered and nearly choked, but he was there with a bottle of water from her fridge and a pat to her back. "You are so bad." She managed to say once she could breathe again.

  With pizza in hand, she kicked off her sneakers in the kitchen, shucked off her coat in the living room. Her socks didn't make it to the stairs, and her pants didn't survive the climb. By the time she entered her bedroom, with her brass bed and floral duvet, she had a quarter of the crust left and only her bra and panties on.

  She downed the rest of her food, got naked, and stepped into her shower. “Holy!” she shouted when frigid water pelted her body but heated quickly. A squirt of Butterfly Flower shower gel into her shower puff and she checked off the second box on her Want List.

  On the other side of the wet glass door, Emmet stood in the middle of the room, watching, the heat in his eyes as palpable as the lust arcing between them from across the room. She hadn’t invited him to join her, yet. She wanted his lust as she soaped her body with languid strokes emulating what she wanted him to do to her. So much for him proving anything. An ‘I love you’ and an ‘I missed you’ and getting him naked was all she could think about. Damn, she really was a pushover when it came to him.

  He shucked his jacket off, folded it neatly and laid it on the countertop. Next came his tie and then he started on the buttons of his shirt. One button at a time, pale skin and hard pecs came into view.

  Her hands slipped from her nipples down her stomach to part her folds and slipped inside.

  Three chimes sounded, and they both froze. The chimes repeated. She realized it was his phone before he stopped his striptease and reached into an inner pocket of his folded jacket.

  “Are you serious?” The foreplay stopped, and she glared, dumbfounded at being bypassed for a phone call.

  Eyes still smoldering, the crotch of his pants straining against the bulge beneath the fine fabric, Emmet held up a finger. “One minute. Dave shouldn’t be calling me. If he is, it has to be important.” He swiped his thumb across the screen. “Better be good, Dave,” he spat with his gaze locked on her.

  Who the hell is Dave?

  The spray of the water striking the tile and her body drowned out Dave’s precise words, but not the urgency. That and the sudden non-sexual tension filling the air.

  “He did what?” Emmet shouted. “Is he still at his house?” Pause. “Well, find out.” Pause. “I swear to God, Dave, I will gut you if you don’t spit it out!”

  Bailey stepped back under the spray, quickly washing away the suds and all lingering desire.

  “Where is Rogers? If you know where Hank is, you know where Rogers is.”

  Bailey opened the glass door and snatched a towel from the rack. That one went around her body, while a second towel went around her wet hair as Emmet buttoned his shirt and snatched up his jacket.

  She followed him out of the bathroom to her walk-in closet, shocked to see two unknown hard-shell suitcases in the rear r
ight corner. He grabbed the larger of the two and dragged it into the bedroom.

  “He cleared customs? How long ago?”

  Bailey pulled on some underwear.

  “Two hours ago!”

  A pair of black leggings with a matching long-sleeved hoodie.

  “He could be there already!” Hank opened the case, revealing a wide array of weaponry.

  Sneakers and socks. Black socks, and she opted for the black sneakers over the white and black Adidas.

  “Where’s Whiskey?” Pause.

  Bailey took the opportunity to shake out her wet hair. It would have to dry on the plane. God, where were they flying to now? So much for wanting her own bed.

  “Fine,” Emmet spat while picking up a Glock. “I got this.” He ended the call and dialed another number. “What the fuck, Hank!”

  Tense pause, then, his voice low, promising pain, he said, “I’m going to kill you and enjoy every moment of your agony.”

  He wasn’t talking to Hank. Was Hank even alive?

  “Oh, I’ll be there. I’m getting in the car right now. I’ll see you soon.” He tossed the phone on the bed.

  She touched his shoulder. “Is he still alive?”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. "There was a shout in the background. It could've been him, I don't know. Doesn't matter, I'm going in."

  Of course, he was, she never had a doubt. "Where are we flying to now?" she asked, mainly to know what she needed to pack, cold or tropical gear. Or should she wait to buy what she needed when they arrived at their destination?

  “We are not flying anywhere.” He shrugged on a shoulder holster and filled both sides with Glocks and spare ammo.

  “I’m going with you.” She double knotted her laces.

  “No. You’re not.”

  Her wet hair went into a topknot. “I don’t know what’s going on. You can tell me on the plane.” Her coat was downstairs. She could pick it up on the way to the garage.

  Emmet snatched her to him. His grip on her forearms unbreakable. “Hank is in deep shit.”

  She tried not to snort and failed. “I figured. He’s the only reason you’d drop everything and take off.”