She took a step out of his arms, her eyes narrowed. “You honestly don’t remember, do you?”
“Yeah, I remember.” Kind of. She had been excited about something a month ago. Maybe he should’ve listened a little better. Three months? “When will you be back?”
Melissa rolled her shoulder, sending a cascade of golden silk flying, the curled ends cupping her breast the way he’d like to. “I just told you. Three months, Tucker. I’ll be back the middle of February.”
“February what?” He ran a hand over his head and down the back of his neck. That meant she’d be gone over Christmas. Holy hell. There’d be no joy in Whoville and less in his heart.
Melissa peered closer, her nose wrinkled. “What is that thing in your eye, Tucker Chase?”
Oh, oh. Her tone and use of his full name jerked him back in time to grade school and his ornery third grade teacher, the one who used to smack him to get his attention. He blinked, stalling. “It’s nothing. Just an implant to help me see better. Don’t worry about it.”
She took a step closer and tipped his chin up, her brows joined in a deeply etched and sexy V. She squinted. “You’ve… you’ve got a contact? When did you get it? What’s wrong with that eye?”
The implant was more than a contact lens. The state-of-the-art mechanized zoom lens was a futuristic FBI option that went along with his cochlear implant, only people weren’t supposed to notice it. Especially not Melissa. Damn.
Tucker bowed his head, wishing she’d understand the advantage it gave him in the field but knowing that was unlikely. “It’s not a contact. It’s just an ocular implant, no big deal. It’s cool. I can adjust it and… Thursday,” he admitted, losing ground. Two days ago.
She cocked her head, challenging him. “You had eye surgery, and you didn’t think to tell me?”
Shit. Just shit.
“You know...” She tugged Taz’s bright pink leash, bringing the happy-go-lucky little guy to her side. “Maybe we need to take a time out, maybe figure out what’s really going on between us.”
“Are you breaking up with me?” he asked, a titch too sharply. Women just didn’t do that. Not to him.
“Honestly, I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said sadly. “You don’t let me into your life, Tucker. Like this implant. I should’ve been there with you when you had the surgery. For that matter, you should’ve talked this over with me before you took matters into your own hands. But you never do, do you? For heavens sake, one minute you’re hot, but the next—”
“Damn it, I’m always hot, Melissa. That’s who I am. I’m hotheaded, and I’m hot-blooded, and I want you in every way a man can possibly want a woman, but you never give me the same signal twice!” He took one step away from her before he said anything that would get him into more trouble. “You let me hold you like a lover, but you’re not one, are you?”
“Excuse me?” she asked, blinking as if she’d just been slapped.
That wasn’t what he’d meant to say. True maybe, but not smart. He took a deep breath and tried again. “Babe, I’m sorry. You know I’ve got a big mouth, but I lo-lo-l—” Oh shit. He snapped his big mouth shut. He’d almost said it, the one word that wasn’t in his playbook. Not anymore.
Of course she picked up on that little mistake. “Don’t you dare tell me you love me now, Tucker. Don’t. You. Dare.” She stabbed her index finger into his chest, punctuating his mistake. “Love isn’t a cheap pick-up line and it isn’t a cure-all when you’re too busy to listen. It’s not a solves-all blurb for the few moments you’re interested, either.”
“But I am interested. All the time.” How could she not know that?
“No, you’re not.” He loved the spark in her eyes when she got riled up. “Every time we’re together, you’ve got your finger in your ear listening to that voice in your head, that FBI cochlear implant that keeps you up-to-date twenty-four-seven on everything else in the world but me. And now we’ll have your bionic eyeball. We’ll never have one uninterrupted moment alone, will we? You can’t save the whole planet, Tucker. Have you ever once considered that? Do you always have to be the hero?”
He would’ve told her how stupid that question was—after all, who didn’t know that SEALs were always the heroes—but his cell phone buzzed an incoming. Didn’t it figure? At least HQ hadn’t called the hotline this time. She’d be pissed if he stuck his finger in his ear to better listen to the latest calling-all-cars over her ranting. He’d never hear the end of that.
“Do you?” she asked again. Melissa closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Sweet little Taz whined. He wasn’t happy either.
Tucker’s heart kicked up a funny thump because he’d forgotten her question. His phone buzzed a second time. Here we go again.
She was absolutely right. He needed to take a timeout from his job once in a while, but something big was going down, maybe in D.C. His cell buzzed an incoming. He needed to respond to headquarters before everything blew up.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, scooping his vibrating cell phone out of his pants pocket. Her lips pinched into a thin, tight line, but he answered anyway, one eye on her and not the bionic one. “Chase. What’s up?”
“Trespassers on the White House grounds,” the FBI switchboard informed. “They jumped the fence. Three of them. Wearing hoods. Possibly armed. Metro is engaged now. Requesting FBI backup.”
“On my way,” he replied, because that was what FBI agents always did. Like SEALs, they showed up every time and they did their job.
“See?” Melissa asked, her smile gone and the sunshine with it. “Each time we get together, this happens. You get some secret message. You take off because you have somewhere better to be. Someone else to save. Someone who isn’t me. And to top it off, now you’ve got your office in your ear talking over anything I say. I’m tired of it, Tuck. You’re exhausting. I’ll see you in three months, but I want an answer then, and it better not be sex-related. Got it?”
Hmmm. Sex-related. He couldn’t help but notice that her breasts heaved when she got her dander up. That her nipples peaked beneath that pale yellow T-shirt. That her pretty face flushed with an enticing peach blush that probably matched her petal soft breasts. That she chewed her lower lip. That he wanted to chew her lower lip. His tongue slid against his teeth just thinking about the way she tasted. Honey with the sweet, salty hint of caramel apple and—
“Tucker,” she growled, another splash of hot-damned sexy on his already hardened manhood. “Are you listening to me? Have you heard anything I said?”
He nodded, but the blood supply train to his brain had jumped tracks and headed south. “Yes. I heard you. Three months. Ninety days. Middle of February. Got it.”
“And then what?”
He gave her what he thought she wanted to hear. “You’ll be home.”
Her lashes went down. She shook her head just enough to let him know he’d gotten it wrong again.
And Melissa walked away.
Chapter One
Like it or not, Tucker had to put his dilemma with Melissa out of his mind. He had bigger problems. Early the next day, he decisively swallowed his pride and called Alex Stewart, the owner of the most elite covert surveillance company on the East Coast, for help, something he didn’t think he’d ever do. Wasn’t that a surprise?
More surprising was Stewart’s quick comeback. “Sure. I’m open at noon. Can you make it or not?”
“I’ll be there,” Tucker said, not a little shocked that Stewart had actually made time for him. They hadn’t gotten along much in the past. Tucker and Stewart’s rivalry went back years to a botched FBI protective order in the little farming town of Spencer, Wisconsin. Stewart and his men had come charging in and set things right. They’d fought hard and they’d saved lives—at the expense of a hard slap in the Bureau’s face. Make that a middle finger, a defiant ‘Up yours!’
Good God, the man never backed down from a fight, not once, and he held a wicked grudge over the single civilian death during the op. Se
veral FBI agents had also died, but did he care about them? Hell no. Only the young girl who’d died that day.
But Alex was right. Tucker had held a grudge too.
The field agent in charge of the fiasco, Matt Hartigen, had sorely underestimated their Russian opponents. Tucker would’ve kept those girls with their parents on their farm instead of splitting them up like Hartigen had insisted, but he was new to the Bureau then. Knowing what he knew now, that Matt was a lying son-of-a-bitch to the deepest dregs of his rotten soul, Tucker would’ve made sure Hartigen died at the safe house instead of that pretty little Faith Clifton.
Yeah. If wishes were fishes…
After teaching an early class of FBI wanna-bees on the how-tos of infil/exfil, and how to get out of Dodge before the tangos cut loose and opened fire, Tucker headed north from Quantico to Alexandria, Virginia. He called Melissa on his in-car phone, but Melissa still wasn’t picking up. For the past two days, her cell went instantly to voicemail. Either she was still mad, or she’d really called it quits this time. He didn’t blame her. They’d been on and off again for months, and to be truthful, the lack of a clear way forward had worn him out, too.
Maybe this was for the best. A man could only hold on for so long before he tossed in the towel. But the idea that she’d blocked him out of her life, that she wouldn’t even talk to him and let him explain, sucked the energy out of him. A heavy darkness hovered over northern Virginia on this November day. Happiness seemed as fleeting as ever. That damned brass ring of a healthy, happy marriage, the one with a loving wife, and the one always a hair’s breadth out of reach, taunted him.
The story of his worthless life.
Melissa had honestly felt like his last chance to be a whole man, to finally be happy. Wasn’t that a joke? Him? Tucker Chase? A big, tough bruiser of an ex-Navy SEAL, an absolute alpha and one badassed FBI agent, the one Uncle Sam called when he needed someone to knock on Hell’s door and kick the Devil’s ass, the one all his buddies looked up to, not a real man?
He slapped his steering wheel. Hell, not even half a man, and all because of that divorce decree buried under a stack of junk mail at home.
Nicole, his ex-wife, had done this to him. Then her lawyer had screwed him over. By the time the decree was final, Tucker was not only divorced, he’d lost custody of his only son as well.
There was a thread of truth mixed in with her carefully woven lies. Civilians didn’t get it, especially prima donna wives like her. He did like who he was—a Navy SEAL. He absolutely loved the adrenaline rush and the fight, but most of all? He loved being with like-minded people who went for broke and kicked butt instead of whining and crying that the world was unfair. Wah, wah, wah. It was unfair. Get over it! That was why he’d enlisted, to do something about it.
That was why he’d joined the Bureau when he processed out of the Navy, too. There was no tighter group of guys than the ones he’d fought with, kicked ass with, and protected while the hard jobs got done. Nothing in civilian life—absolutely nothing—compared to being the toughest dog in the fight. The boss.
Tucker drummed the steering wheel. He loved his Challenger, another bad boy like himself, and possibly the only thing he’d have left to love if Melissa really was done with him. His body ached to the point it was hard to breathe just thinking about her being gone for three months. He couldn’t remember. Had she actually said where she was going? Damn. Damn. Damn.
She was right. He should have listened better. Everything was his fault.
He’d been a real man until Nicole left with Deuce. What was a guy supposed to do with the rotgut a divorce left behind, huh? How was he supposed to transition from being superman to super deadbeat dad? What did a hero do when he woke up one morning, and he’d been turned into a lousy father and worse—a loser?
Tucker didn’t know how to lose. First Deuce. Now Melissa. He clenched the wheel and kept on keeping on, the only thing he knew how to do. Stewart might be able to help get Deuce back. Melisa was another heartache altogether. But Nicole?
The day he had to tell his little guy goodbye rolled back on him. Wouldn’t you know? She’d had him served with divorce papers the same day he’d planned to introduce Deuce to the wonderful world of Little League. It would’ve been the kid’s first game, his chance to be part of a winning team instead of te pretentious orchestra Nicole had enrolled him in.
What kid doesn’t want to hit a homerun to make his old man proud? Deuce looked good in his blue-and-white striped jersey, his cap on backward, and grinning like he was proud of his team, the Lakeside Chipmunks. He had his very own bat on his shoulder, an Easton Make Youth model, the most expensive one Tucker could find. Nothing was too good for his boy.
There were no words for what happened next. The police showed up. Some guy ducked around the two officers at the door, slapped an envelope in Tucker’s hand and said he’d been served. Father and son missed what would have been their one and only Little League practice. Nicole had blindsided them both. Heartbreaking.
Tucker swallowed hard. He could still see his little guy standing there in the entryway, trying to be brave, his roller bag already packed and ready to go. Deuce wasn’t a baby, but that morning there were teardrops on his thick, dark eyelashes and wet streaks down his cheeks. He’d tried hard to be tough when he handed his baseball bat over, his lower lip quivering. Tucker choked recalling what happened next.
“Come here, son,” he’d said softly, trying to diffuse the pain. It wasn’t fair to tear this kid apart like Nicole had done. Tucker had honestly thought he’d see Deuce again.
Deuce plowed into his old man’s waist, his head against Tucker’s gut. “I don’t want to go, Father,” he’d cried. The evil she-troll always made him call Tucker that.
But Deuce corrected himself. See? The kid was bright. “I love you, Dad. I’ll never forget you, and I’ll learn all about baseball, and I promise I’ll be just like you some day. I will.”
Tucker could’ve bawled as he’d dropped one knee to the floor and cradled his son for what ended up being their last hug. If he could’ve turned back time and changed every knuckleheaded decision he’d ever made, he would have, right there and then. Instead, he’d sucked it up like the tough guy he was, and he’d refused to shed a tear. He couldn’t let his main man see him break down. He couldn’t break Deuce’s heart the way his was breaking.
But that last hug...
That last armful...
That last nose full of the scent of his son’s squeaky-clean hair...
It never went away.
“Shit, who cares but me? It’s done,” he muttered, sick at heart all over again, mad at himself and his whining. Stewart sure as hell wouldn’t have whined. Tucker stepped on the accelerator. Speed was his answer for everything.
Bottom line? He needed Stewart’s help since Nicole had left town without any notification, and she’d taken Deuce with her. Tucker hadn’t talked with his eleven-year-old son since that last hug. Damn her, she had no right.
By the time Tucker tracked her down via those far-reaching, world-wide FBI networks, she was in Vietnam with her new husband, one Nguyễn Vin Li, an American-born Vietnamese entrepreneur in the textile industry. Didn’t it figure? Vinnie was everything Tucker wasn’t. Suave. Rich. A sleek Rolls Royce to Tucker’s rowdy Dodge Challenger.
It wasn’t that Tucker couldn’t get into Vietnam, he just couldn’t do it without raising the ire of his director, Zachary Strong. An FBI agent on foreign soil was never a good thing, and Tucker couldn’t guarantee he’d mind his business once he got there. He was like that—a hothead and quick with his fists, especially when it came to his boy. He would’ve asked for permission, but Director Strong had made his answer clear. The Bureau didn’t need anyone muddying up the international waters like Tucker tended to do. In other words, Tucker couldn’t get into Vietnam alone, plain and simple.
But Stewart could.
Tucker parked his car in the visitor’s stall of The TEAM’s underground parking lot.
Didn’t it figure? There he was in downtown Alexandria, Virginia, coming to beg an assist from an ex-Marine who’d made good with a two-bit covert surveillance company. A guy who’d been to war and made a decent name for himself despite his demons. How the hell did that work?
I mean, look at the place. The guy owned a five-story brick building outright, the lower-level parking garage, too. How did one jarhead get so lucky or so rich?
Tucker opted for a fast run up the stairs instead of an elevator ride to the second floor. He needed to burn off his edge. It wouldn’t do to meet Stewart with a chip on his shoulder. At the fire door, he entered ground zero, Stewart’s kingdom.
“Hey, Mark.” He offered a thumbs-up to Mark Houston, Stewart’s second-in-command.
Tall, dark, and built like an ox, Mark shoved away from the customer service desk. An ex- Marine like Stewart, he offered a solid handshake. “Tucker. Good to see you again. Alex said you were stopping by. What’s up? Anything I need to be involved in?”
Tucker rolled the knotted tension out of his neck. He knew most of Stewart’s men and women in the Alexandria office, a few from the Seattle office, too. He just didn’t want them knowing his business. “Just here to talk shop.”
Mark chin-nodded toward the hall. “Go on in. He’s finished with Senator Yost.”
That prominent name piqued Tucker’s curiosity and spiked his federal rivalry bone. Yost was the current Speaker of the House up on Capitol Hill. He ruled the roost. What did he need from The TEAM? So what if Stewart had a reputation for working well with ornery politicians. The Bureau was proud to serve. Why hadn’t Yost come to the FBI?
“Hey, Tucker!” Ky Winchester called out from his desk. “Good to see you. How’s Becker?”
As in Sam Becker, ex-FBI agent turned Secret Service, also a SEAL, and a good buddy. Tucker waved Ky off with a, “Good, as usual. The prick’s in Sierra Leone again. Want to guess why?”
“Little Sammie finished his doctorate?”
King of Hearts (Deuces Wild Book 1) Page 2
