Virtues (Base Branch Series Book 8)

by Megan Mitcham

  When they turned, Cara faced the cowboy. “What about you?”

  “So you can sever my spine? I don’t think so.”

  He’d demanded more privacy for her than she had reason to expect, and they’d wasted enough time. Cara unbuttoned the snap of her slim fitting tact pants, freed the zipper, and pushed them over her hips. Gravity made quick work, plunging them to her ankles and giving her access to all her weapons. Too bad they didn’t work anymore. The black lace of her bra hadn’t enticed him. She doubted the matching boy shorts could. At forty-five, she’d officially lost her touch.

  Ever the gentleman, Bulldogger didn’t leer, but then again, his gaze didn’t leave her body either. Probably scared of losing a ball. And rightly so.

  She unbuckled the double straps from her taut thigh and tossed the sheath and two small knives to the floor. Cara hitched her shirt, unwound that strap from her middle, and tossed it and the single blade down with the others.

  “Satisfied?”

  “Turn.”

  Cara glared a hole through his forehead. He whirled that index finger again, while his neutral visage maintained a clinical interest. Still, it felt too intimate to be standing before only him in an open room full of people and guns. She slapped her long blond ponytail over her shoulder and swiveled on her heels, determined not to make anything of her unusual vulnerability. When her gaze lost his, and the mostly bare ass cheeks leveled on him, the humid air inside the old warehouse condensed on her back once more, threatening to give her away. Her feet shifted to complete the 360 with her pants around her ankles. The sooner, the better.

  “Stop,” he ordered.

  Damn.

  “I charge by the minute,” she growled.

  “Huh.” The rumble of his harrumph rattled its way across the shell of her ear from mere inches away. Her ruffled ponytail shot over her shoulder and smacked her collarbone. Heat centered her spine as the back of his hand clamped the dagger strapped to the clasp of her bra, running up the center of her spine.

  “I charge by the inch.” The rumble of his growl reverberated against her cheek. He dragged the hot metal from its sheath, pulling the damp material away from her skin. Gooseflesh spread across her shoulder blades. The sharp point skimmed along her spine.

  A shiver zipped every which way, except the way it should’ve…which was no-damn-where.

  “Get dressed. Get all his weapons. Reassure your daughter.” The harsh tread of his boots retreated two steps. Funny how they hadn’t made a sound only moments ago.

  Over the years, through the countries and conflicts, Cara met with harassment of all levels, but this man’s subtle bedevilment provoked more than most. During the others, her daughter had been part of the equation, albeit a distant one. Now, Rin was in the thick of it.

  Her hands itched to retaliate in some way or, at the very least, clench into stubborn fists. The need to shake them in the air and scream shrank her skin two sizes. Cara refused to let this errand boy see a glimpse of his aftermath. If only her SOP detachment would kick in. With a prim crouch, she pinched the top of her pants between her thumbs and forefingers and pulled with an exaggerated nonchalance that probably wouldn't fool a child. It certainly didn’t fool her subconscious. The button slipped three times in her quaking digits. She lifted her chin, filled her lungs, and tried again. Sheer will forced the metal through the slot. Giving up on apathy, she jerked the cotton over her torso and stepped toward Luck.

  “Ditch it all.” He turned at her words. Hard lines accentuated his boyishly handsome features, revealing his history, the experiences no child should have to endure. Many of those same hardships her daughter had also endured. Cara's stomach cramped. When he didn’t immediately move, she added, “Even the watch.”

  “Goddamnit.”

  Rin didn’t flinch at Luck’s severe tone. Her eyes followed each of the weapons he tossed to the ground in barely contained rage, but a strength Cara admired more than her own held Rin’s reaction behind the unflappable mask of her beautiful, tear-stained face.

  When Luck removed the last of his arsenal, vest and all, Cara held her hand out to her daughter. Blue eyes surveyed the men in the room. Rin’s fingers formed a protective canon around her hand. Tears stung, but she wouldn’t allow them to materialize. They wouldn’t help anything.

  “I’ll make this right,” Cara whispered.

  “I can’t live without either of you. Not anymore.” Her voice caught. Tears gathered in her little girl’s eyes and bruised her heart anew.

  Cara dropped Rin’s hand and turned toward the cowboy. “We’re ready.”

  “Almost.” Three black bags hung from his massive hands.

  2

  “Christ, Tyler! You trying to drive like me? Not ideal when you’ve driven more cows than cars. We can switch. You know I love a high-speed”—he huffed—“anything. I like a high-speed anything when I’m buckled.” In the rearview mirror—over the top of their three passengers’ black bags—his teammate, Oliver Knight, braced an arm on the ceiling of the blacked out SUV.

  “You’re not buckled? You know that’s against the law.” Tyler took a hard right in the parking garage and barreled toward a concrete wall. The computer that scanned the car when they’d entered a story above cleared their cargo. It also laid down the newly added fortification. He zoomed over the large hump. Just last week, Oliver had gotten airborne on the thing. Now, his ponytail lurched while he resisted gravity’s pull.

  A deep chuckle erupted from the front passenger seat.

  “Laugh it up, asshole.” Oliver grinned. “Next time, you’re riding back here, and I’m driving.”

  “Not a chance in hell. Your momma told me how many cars you’ve crashed. And I’ve seen you demolish a couple.” Hunter Masters held firmly to the oh-shit handle. He carried on with Oliver, but his gaze swiveled between Cara Lee behind the driver’s seat, Damien Luck in the middle, and Rin Lee behind him.

  “That’s only the ones she knows about.” Oliver turned to watch the second SUV, carrying their sniper team, take the hump at the same speed. “Gate’s up.” His friend referred to the wall that slid into place after the second car cleared it as the gate. It had been a gate before…

  In front of the elevators, Tyler cut the engine, got out, and tossed the keys to Hebert, who exited the second car. “Free Oliver for me, would ya?”

  “We can’t leave him?” Hebert asked.

  “It’s your hospital bill.” Tyler nodded at Hunter. In unison, they opened the SUV’s back doors.

  “Damn right,” Oliver called from the back. A second later, the hatch opened. “That’s what I thought, Hebs.”

  “Up your ass, Ollie,” Hebert groused.

  “That’s enough, fellas,” Tyler rumbled.

  “A gentleman once more?” Cara said the first thing since he’d presented her with the black bags and made her place one over her daughter’s and apprentice's heads. “Funny how that comes and goes, along with the sound of your boots.”

  “Glad to see you’re still breathing. Since we made it here without incident—incident meaning me bleeding out on the side of the road or suffocating to death—I wasn’t sure.”

  Hunter retrieved Rin from the SUV and ushered her to the elevator. Oliver talked with Damien in a hushed tone. The capable man slid out of the car and shuffled forward. Shackles around his ankles rattled with each step. When they’d pulled out the restraints at the SUVs, which they’d parked in the alley outside the warehouse, Cara had nearly bounded the border of sane. They’d explained it was for all their safety. She hadn’t given a shit. The only way they’d gotten them in the things without blood and sweat was bargaining. Rin hadn’t had to wear them.

  “Yet you didn’t stop to check on my well-being. I’m hurt.”

  “You look it,” he said with a chuckle.

  Cara looked hot as tar at 3:00 p.m. on an August day. As dangerous too.

  The cuffs he, himself, had fastened at the ankles of her long, lean legs and her svelte wrists sa
t in a pile on her lap under her daintily folded hands.

  “What? They were chaffing.” When she shrugged, the black bag bobbed.

  She’d had to wait until they stopped and Hunter’s and Oliver’s attention was averted, but even then, she hadn’t been out of sight for a full minute. Cara Lee wouldn’t run. They had her daughter. This was a statement, and he could appreciate it.

  “By all means, allow me.” He scooped the heap of metal into his palm. The heat of her thighs seeped through his skin before he lifted the cuffs and tossed them onto the seat next to her.

  “Why, thank you.” Her sweet reply got his back up. She was up to something. He’d calculated all the angles and knew from here she could attack in multiple ways. It was what he did. Assessed risk. Mapped schemes. Minimized the good guys’ exposure. It was why he wasn’t a cattle rancher back home.

  Cara turned toward him. The edge of her thigh brushed the front of his pants. She recoiled quickly, as though she hadn’t meant to dry stroke him.

  Not likely.

  Her every action had a motive behind it. It was how she was wired and how she’d lived for so long on the run from the unrelenting remnants of the Soviet Union and the very active CIA.

  Even so. He knew exactly how those toned legs looked without baggy tactical pants. The hot jolt of desire he’d battled while inspecting her for concealed weapons roared to life in the form of an unmistakable boner. Thank fuck she wore the bag. Too bad for his boner it was all part of her hook.

  “Give me your pick,” he demanded.

  “I’d rather give you something else,” she purred.

  “Yeah, my balls as a nose plug. Now, hand it over or I’ll hog-tie you and find it myself.”

  If he could see her face, he’d see the eat-shit-and-die look he’d come to expect from a complexion and sharp bone structure fit for an angel or a freaking movie star. She snarled and hiked her ass toward him. The tip of a small metal jig protruded from her waistband. He removed it and placed it in his pocket.

  A splitting whistle echoed off the concrete columns and walls and ricocheted off the rows of official, and some not so official, vehicles. The four people from his car and three from the other stood at the elevators. Oliver had his foot tapping.

  “Yep, still alive.” The possibility that she’d used the pick as a lure calmed his cock enough to pass muster. He grabbed her arm. “Let’s go. I’m sure Rin would like to get out of the bag pronto.”

  Tyler escorted her to the elevator and entered his code into the keypad mounted on the wall. Bravo. Uniform. Lima. Lima. Delta. Oscar. Golf. Golf. Echo. Romeo. One. Nine. Nine. Nine. They crammed aboard. No one breathed. Each member of his team hated the idea of bringing such able-bodied unfriendlies into the building. They especially hated it since the breach.

  The car lifted one level, and the doors opened to a floor-to-ceiling gleaming onyx foyer. They stepped into the black box. Behind the one-way bulletproof glass, the security team for the Base Branch’s Washington, D.C. headquarters hugged their AKs close, checking the walls of monitors on their closed circuit system and body scanning the entire group.

  Several hits of this elaborate new system’s low spectrum, “safe” ionizing radiation per day for the next decade would more than likely mutate his cells. Maybe he’d develop a superpower. Accelerated healing would be nice. Lasers out of his eyes might be cool too. Cancer? Not near as cool but way more probable. The ridiculous price they paid for safety.

  The elevator closed. Cara yanked her arm from his loosened grip. The collective again held their breaths. Oliver’s blue gaze slid to his in question, but Tyler called him off. She wouldn’t fight here. It was just her own brand of civil disobedience. Her shoulder stayed only an inch from his. Several stilted seconds later, the double doors to the main entrance swung open.

  He signaled the guys ahead of them, smirked, gripped her upper arm, and followed them down the corridor to the director’s office. Rhonda, the office mom and director’s assistant, held the door open with a beaming smile. She’d been around long enough to ignore the black bags on people’s heads and the shackles around their ankles. She’d been around for too much. His chest itched as if a thread had come loose on the inside of his shirt, tickling his skin. Too bad the unraveling thread rooted deeper.

  “Somebody’s been to the salon.” Hunter leaned to the side, examining the lighter blond locks and sharper cut. “Stunning.”

  “Well, thank you.” Rhonda’s cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. She rearranged the locks around her neck, hiding the faint scar.

  Tyler looked at his hands. His fingers glistened with her blood. When Oliver also commented on her hair, he blinked away the image. She’d been back to work for three weeks now. How long before the nightmare receded into the background with all the others? Judging by the past, they should have dwindled by now, but this had been different—on their own turf.

  Hunter and Oliver filed into the office with their would-be prisoners and settled them into seats in front of Tucker’s desk. Tyler stopped in front of the assistant.

  “It’s good to see you, Rhonda.” He painted on a smile.

  “Good to be seen.” She drew a hand to her neck. “Thank you.”

  He nodded and pressed forward. What could he say? ‘No worries. Pressing my fingers into the side of your neck to stem the flow of your blood was just another day on the job.’

  Tucker stood from a simplistic desk chair. The gray at the man’s sideburns inched up the hanks of hair, overtaking his close dark crop with increased fervor. In contrast, his eyes no longer resembled New York City road maps. The man also smiled a hell of a lot more these days, which was to say the corners of his mouth shifted north from the perma-neutral he’d seen for the previous five years. While fatherhood would eventually strip his hair of all melanin, domesticity agreed with him. Tucker thanked and excused Rhonda with a nod and motioned for them to remove the restraints and bags.

  Time to unleash the beast.

  Tyler left her standing. He hoped she appreciated the courtesy enough to leave his balls intact. The bow he’d knotted around her throat loosened with an easy tug. His fingers slipped inside the draw and loosened the string. When he lifted the bag, her gaze shot around the room in a quick calculation of the scene.

  Wisps of hair clung to her damp forehead. She ignored them and the collection of moisture on her upper lip. Her blue stare zeroed in on the man behind the desk, effectually dismissing him. Fair enough. His job here was done. Find Cara Lee, the most notorious spy in US history, credited with ripping down the iron curtain and then abruptly disavowed for selling lies. She’d been hunted for generations. With help, he’d found her. That was enough for him. He stepped back and watched Hunter remove the last of the restraints from Damien Luck.

  “Thank you, gentlemen. You’re dismissed.” Tucker directed his gaze at Hunter and Oliver on the other side of the room. So today, everyone ignored him. No skin off his nose. He had a mound of paperwork on his desk, and he had to get his range time in before the end of the week. No doubt they’d be back on the field before then. He stepped into line with the guys, heading out the door. “Tyler, I’d like you to stay.”

  The Base Branch operatives stalled in the doorway and looked back at Tucker as though he’d lost his ever-loving mind along with the hue of his hair. They always worked together. They were a team, had been since inception. Hunter called them the Uh-Oh Oreos. Now, everyone else did too.

  “That’ll be all,” Tucker said by way of affirmation.

  Oliver cleared his throat and continued out the door, shoving Hunter along with him. Tyler took the men's previous place in the back corner. The hairs on his arms stood on end. Good thing no one could see them through his shirt.

  Tucker pushed the rolled cuffs of his dress shirt up his forearms. They shifted minimally, stopped by dense muscles. He rounded the desk and offered his hand to Cara. Her gaze rolled up and down him several times before accepting the sturdy, brief shake. Tucker moved on to Dam
ien, who took even longer to accept and then release the hand. That could have been Tucker’s reluctance as much as it was Damien’s. Last, he stepped in front of Rin. Both Damien and Cara bowed until Tucker knelt in front of the woman.

  “I know you’re confused and thrilled to have your mother back in your life. I’m going to try my best to make certain she stays there.”

  Rin nodded but didn’t speak. Smart girl.

  Tucker stood, stepped to his desk, and hiked a hip onto it. He looked at Cara, who stood ramrod straight. “Please forgive the measures. The secrecy of this facility is more important than your comfort or mine.”

  “I didn’t see you in a black bag.” Cara’s head tilted.

  “I was once. We all were.” Tucker shrugged. “I would have approached you on the street, but you wouldn’t have believed me.”

  “You haven’t told me anything to believe or not.” Her tone was calm, controlled, but the twitch of her hand into a fist gave her away.

  “My name is Vail Tucker. I’m the director of the US Office of the Base Branch.”

  “A myth.” Her thin lips formed a sharp line.

  “I assure you we aren’t.” Tucker raised his hand to the office and even Tyler.

  “Care to enlighten the less ex-CIA of us in the room? And the less…whatever the hell you guys are?” Damien Luck kicked back in the chair as if he owned the building.

  “We’re a network of special operations groups for the United Nations located strategically and covertly across the globe to foster peace.” Tucker rattled off the mission like it was nothing more than a pitch point. If he went into all the stuff they did, it would be more, a lot more. Too much on most days. Peace came at a cost higher than security.

  Cara stepped forward, once again placing herself between the “enemy” and her children. “Your gallantry is endearing. Why am I here?”