Hard Justice (Cobra Elite Book 3)

by Pamela Clare

  She nodded. “Well, I need internet to work.”

  “I would rather lose my job a thousand times than risk your life.”

  They finished their dinner and went back up to Elizabeth’s room, where Elizabeth called Corbray. She had a closer relationship with their bosses than Quinn did.

  “Hey, Javier. I’m okay. Thanks. Actually, I need to have a video chat with you and Derek as soon as possible. I’m with Quinn in Scotland. I came over to help him look into the murder of his friend. The killer isn’t happy about that and broke into our hotel rooms today to plant drugs on us. I brought my laptop, so I’ll log into our systems via VPN. Thanks. Talk to you soon.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He was about to go into a meeting at the Pentagon. He canceled it. He’ll call Tower and be online with us in ten minutes.”

  15

  “What the hell happened to you two?” Javier Corbray filled half of Elizabeth’s computer screen, Derek Tower the other half, the former in D.C., the latter in Denver.

  “I was attacked by the man who’s likely responsible for the murder of my best friend.” Quinn held up his arm. “He tried to knife me, but I blocked it and got him in the face wi’ my blade. Shields was punched by an asshole who might be smugglin’ drugs and aidin’ terrorists, though we’ve no proof of that.”

  Derek remained impassive. “Could you put that into context for us?”

  Corbray raised a hand. “Are you okay, Shields?”

  “I’ve got a mild concussion, but I’ll be fine.” She didn’t want to tell them that it was hard for her to look at computer screens. She’d deal with that later if necessary.

  “And you didn’t kill this asshole, McManus?”

  “Och, I wanted to break his neck, but I couldnae because I was holdin’ her and he had two armed goons wi’ him.”

  “Shields?” Tower was getting impatient.

  Elizabeth gave them a report as if she were checking in from the field, keeping it professional, focusing on relevant people and events—and omitting the fact that she and Quinn were sleeping together.

  “Then, this evening when I was printing Jack’s phone records, the man who attacked Quinn made it past the hotel’s security cameras, hacked our door locks, and planted a total of six kilos of cocaine and small amounts of other drugs in our rooms. Because Quinn had turned on his security camera, we were alerted and able to get rid of the drugs before the police arrived. It was a very close call.”

  “Why didn’t you just show them the footage?” Tower asked.

  Elizabeth deferred to Quinn on that question.

  “We’d likely be facin’ vandalism and privacy charges if we’d done that.”

  “Let me make sure I understand this.” Tower wasn’t happy. “Two of our key operatives took vacation time following a successful but exhausting mission and are using that time, which is intended for them to rest and return to peak performance, to track down a murderer, resulting in physical injury and a threat to their freedom and their lives? Do I have that right?”

  Elizabeth knew it was best for them to own it. “Yes.”

  “Shields is only here because I asked her—”

  “Yeah, man, we got that part.” Corbray seemed to mull it all over. “A guy decks Shields when you asked him about drug smuggling yesterday, and someone planted drugs on you this evening.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Suspicious timing,” Tower said.

  “Agreed.” Corbray nodded. “I’m guessing neither of you is willing to let the police handle this and come back to the US on the next flight.”

  Quinn shook his head. “Jack was my best friend. We fought together for ten years. You both know what that means. I promised his wife I’d do whatever I could to help catch this bastard.”

  “I promised Quinn I’d help with the intel side of things.”

  Corbray nodded. “That’s what I thought. We’re going to end the call now. Tower and I need to talk. We’ll call you back shortly.”

  The screen went blank.

  “Well, that wisnae so bad.” Quinn stood, moved behind Elizabeth, rested his hands on her shoulders.

  “They’re not happy. I can tell you that much.”

  “Aye, but they didnae fire us.”

  “Not yet.”

  Fifteen long minutes later, Corbray and Tower were back.

  Corbray spoke first. “McManus, we understand you standing by a brother like this. Shields, in your way that’s what you’re doing, too, standing by McManus. But the killer is onto you. You were right to call, though we wish you’d called sooner.”

  Elizabeth tried not to let her relief show.

  “We’d like to go over parts of this in detail—the possible terrorist threat, in particular. But right now, the priority is getting the two of you to a safe location. Clearly, the hotel is not safe. We’re moving you to our suite in Glasgow within the hour.”

  Elizabeth and Quinn looked at each other and then back at the screen.

  “You’ve got a facility here—in Glasgow?” she asked.

  It just figured.

  “It’s just an office with a kitchen and a few bedrooms—nothing fancy—but it’s in a building owned by British Intelligence. The place is a fortress. So that’s the first step.”

  The two men outlined the rest of the plan.

  Tower had called in some favors with British Intelligence, which would return the rental vehicle and provide the two of them with Cobra’s armored Land Rover. Corbray planned to file a complaint through the embassy in hopes that it would get the police to back off. In return, British Intelligence wanted to chat about Leo Grant.

  “This isn’t a Cobra operation, but British Intelligence has agreed to grant you a kind of provisional status. It won’t keep you out of jail if you’re caught breaking the law—so don’t break the law. But it ought to open some doors for you.”

  “You arranged this in fifteen minutes?” Elizabeth was impressed—and relieved. “Thanks so much.”

  “Aye, you’ve got our thanks.”

  “McManus, I’m looking straight at you now,” Tower said, his expression grave. “You’ve got the combat and tactical experience. It’s your job to keep Shields—and yourself—safe. That is your first priority before any obligation to your friend or his widow. Am I being crystal clear?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Corbray shook his head, grinned. “You know, McManus, only you could go home for a funeral and end up fighting the murderer and then falling ass-first into a possible terrorist cell.”

  Quinn looked offended. “That disnae seem funny to me.”

  Even Tower smiled now. “I expect a report every morning. When you get back to the US, we’re going to have a long talk.”

  “Right.” Elizabeth ended the conference call, stood. “It’s time to pack.”

  Quinn slid his thumb over the biometric scanner again.

  “Your biometric scans give you access to the front entrance, the gym, the garage, and the door to Cobra’s flat,” said Nigel Rhys-Jones, the security chief for the building. “The other facilities in the building remain off-limits.”

  Elizabeth was next. “Index finger first?”

  “Yes, and then your thumb.” Nigel’s gaze fell on her cheek. “You’ve had a rough time of it here in the UK. If the bastard who gave you that black eye tries to get in here, he’s going to face a rather hostile reception.”

  “We’re very grateful.” She smiled, but Quinn could see she was hurting.

  “A headache?”

  She nodded, swiped her index finger a second time. “It’s not too bad.

  “When we get settled, you need to rest, aye?”

  Rhys-Jones frowned. “We’ve got a doctor available if you need one.”

  “Thanks, but all I need is sleep.” She scanned her index finger for the last time then waited while Rhys-Jones reset the scanner for her thumb. “I think all the excitement today was too much.”

  Quinn explained. “The bastard ga
ve her a concussion.”

  “Just tell me whom we need to kill, and we’ll be on it.”

  Aye, Quinn liked this fella already.

  When they were both in the system, Rhys-Jones led them to the lift, where Elizabeth pressed her finger to the scanner to call the car.

  “You head up.” Quinn stepped back. “I’ll get our bags.”

  “Your bags were taken up to the flat when you arrived,” Rhys-Jones said.

  “Wow.” Elizabeth met Quinn’s gaze. “Talk about service.”

  Rhys-Jones grinned. “Cobra has done some big favors for British Intelligence, gotten our operatives out of some tight spots, intervened for us with the Pentagon. It’s nice to be able to return the favor.”

  This was news to Quinn—and to Elizabeth, too, it seemed.

  “Thank you. Truly. It means a lot to us.”

  The lift arrived, and Rhys-Jones rode with them up to the fourth floor, where they found a long hallway of black marble and burnished steel.

  “This is Cobra’s flat.” He walked over, pointed to the biometric lock. “You can let yourselves in. We managed to get the kitchen stocked, but if you find that you need something, let us know. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “No, thanks, man.” Quinn shook his hand.

  “You’ve been incredibly helpful.”

  “Get some rest.” Rhys-Jones stepped back into the lift and was gone.

  Elizabeth pressed her finger to the pad, and the door buzzed.

  Click.

  They walked through the doorway—and stared.

  Black marble floors. Windows of tinted privacy glass. High ceilings.

  “Yeah, nothing fancy. Good grief!” Elizabeth glanced around. “Did you know about this place?”

  “Naw—but I like it.”

  Their bags sat on the floor just inside the door.

  Quinn picked up their bags. “Let’s find our rooms.”

  The four bedrooms, each with its own small bathroom, were down a short hallway on the north side of the flat.

  Elizabeth flicked on the light in the first room to the right. “We should at least pretend to sleep in separate rooms.”

  “Aye.” He set her bag inside, then dropped his in the room across from hers.

  They explored after that—the living area with its huge flat-screen TV and leather sofas, the kitchen with its white granite counters, the office with its sleek modern desks and computer screens. It also had a huge, built-in whiteboard.

  Elizabeth’s face lit up the moment she saw the office. “Now we’re talking.”

  Quinn was glad just to see her smile.

  They settled into their rooms, Quinn putting a kettle on to boil for tea. Then they sat together in the living room, sipping tea and looking out at the city lights, Elizabeth leaning back against his chest.

  He kissed her hair. “You saved us today. It didnae even cross my mind that the police would already be on their way. If I’d been here alone, I’d be in the nick tonight.”

  “You’re welcome.” She tilted her head to the side to look up at him. “I still can’t believe we pulled it off. It was so close.”

  Then she laughed. “Did you see the way Patel looked at your dick?”

  Quinn laughed, too. “I moved my hands, gave her the full monty. You’d think she’d never seen a naked man afore. How’s your heid?”

  “It’s a little better.” She stood, held out her hand. “We should get some sleep.”

  They carried their cups to the kitchen, brushed their teeth, and got ready for bed.

  Then Quinn slid naked beneath the covers and drew Elizabeth against him, his chest her pillow. “Sleep, Lilibet.”

  Elizabeth awoke to soft kisses along her shoulder and nape, Quinn behind her, his erection pressing into her lower back. “Mmm. Good morning.”

  “Mornin’, beautiful.” He fondled her breasts, teased her nipples, bringing her fully awake—and making her ache for him.

  He nibbled her earlobe, still playing with her nipples, drawing them to tight points, caressing their tips with his callused palm. Then he reached down to cup her.

  He knew her body now, knew what she loved—and he made her wait for it. Instead of lavishing attention on her clit, he ran his fingertip around the entrance to her vagina, tickled her inner thighs, toyed with her lips.

  She moaned in frustration, laughed. “Oh, you mean, awful man!”

  He chuckled, nipped her shoulder, keeping up the torment until she was whimpering, her hands balled into fists. “Is it this you’re wantin’?”

  He stroked her clit, earning an “Oooh, yes!”

  She was already so aroused that a few minutes of this had her on the brink. When he thrust his cock into her, she came, pleasure shimmering through her. “Oh… God!”

  When the tremors inside her had ebbed, he turned her onto her belly, forcing her legs wide apart with his own, making her gasp. Then he caught her wrists, pinned them to the bed above her head, and began to move, thrusting into her from behind, going deep. “Och, you feel so good.”

  She’d never had sex like this before, flat and spread-eagle on her belly. Quinn completely dominated her, fucking her hard, his big, muscular body seeming to surround her, holding her in place, his cock caressing some sensitive place inside her.

  She’d never come from penetration alone before, not even with Quinn, but each thrust pushed her closer and closer to the edge, until her every exhale was a cry, her fingers clenching the sheets, the ache inside her unbearable.

  This time when she came, it was different, orgasm rolling through her like thunder, getting stronger with each thrust. “Quinn!”

  But he was right there with her, groaning as pleasure claimed him.

  He sank onto the bed beside her, drew her back against him. “I cannae get enough of you, Lilibet.”

  They snuggled for a while, but hunger got the better of them. They made breakfast together—scrambled eggs and toast—then showered. And then it was time to get to work.

  She and Quinn sorted through the pages she’d printed, dividing the two phones’ data and then separating them into piles based on content—phone calls, text messages, voicemail, downloads and uploads, transactions, and GPS locations.

  They started with the original phone. It was painstaking work, as they listed calls from contacts—his neighbor, Ava, Andrew, rugby club pals—and then looked up every number that wasn’t identified.

  “Another scam call.”

  “Aye, lots of those.”

  Almost all of the calls not in his contacts turned out to be scam calls, though some were legitimate. One had come from a pediatrician’s office, another from the dry cleaners about his suit, and several from a dog breeder about a puppy.

  Elizabeth wanted to cry. “He reserved a puppy as a surprise for Ava and the girls. The breeder has been leaving him messages. I guess she doesn’t watch the news. You should call her, let her know what happened. We should tell Ava.”

  There was nothing unusual in his text messages or voicemails. The vast majority had come from Ava, the text messages including photos of their girls, moments from daily life for the father who couldn’t be home. Olivia with lunch all over her face. Olivia and Isla asleep in a pile on the sofa. Isla sniffing a bright pink rose.

  Elizabeth swallowed the lump in her throat. “These poor little girls. They won’t even remember him.”

  A muscle clenched in Quinn’s jaw. “He’ll never be more than a man in a photograph to them.”

  Most of Jack’s data uploads were images of the girls he had passed on to his sister, Hannah, though he had also sent and forwarded some emails to Ava, Hannah, Andrew Lewis, and Quinn.

  Quinn read one exchange between the two men arguing about who’d been drunker after a game of rugby, chuckling to himself. “Och, there’s no way that Lewis could outdrink Murray. Murray can put away a half bottle of…”

  Quinn’s words trailed off. “He used to…”

  “I’m sorry.” Elizabeth was g
etting to know Jack, too, watching the last few weeks of his life unfold in calls and messages, photos and emails.

  They moved on to transactions, and there was only one—flowers for Ava.

  Notably, there were no calls, text messages, or emails from Leo.

  “Grant said he’d had no contact wi’ Jack after their argument. It seems he was tellin’ the truth.”

  Elizabeth had noticed that, too, but they still had the GPS data to analyze.

  “There are no calls, no data, no texts—nothing at all—after he bought the new phone on October twenty-first, except for the call he made to you a week later.” Then Elizabeth noticed something interesting. “There is still a lot of GPS data from that point on. He continued to carry the phone with him until the day he called you.”

  She looked at the last GPS location for the phone and checked the date and time against his last call. “The last thing he did with his original phone was call you.”

  16

  Quinn sat with Elizabeth in one of the offices that British Intelligence maintained in the building. “Now I know where our tax money goes.”

  A man who introduced himself as Agent Smith—aye, right—sat across from them. “I hear you might have something for us.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Not really. It’s just circumstantial. I don’t know that I would even call it intelligence.”

  She told them about their experience with that bastard Grant and her intuition that he’d learned something about her that worried him.

  “His gaze jerked to me for just a moment. It wasn’t casual. He was laser-focused on me for just a second, and he wasn’t happy. The only thing I can imagine is that he somehow found out I used to be a counterterrorism analyst.”

  Smith frowned. “How would he learn that?”

  “A few people here know. Quinn. You all. Ava Murray and her sister-in-law. Oh, yes, and PC Patel with Police Scotland. Maybe Grant has access to inside sources of information.”

  Smith nodded. “Interesting.”

  “There’s a leak in the police station.” Quinn knew this was outside Smith’s jurisdiction, but he told Smith anyway. “Someone has been leakin’ details about the investigation into Jack Murray’s death to the media.”