Rules in Blackmail

by Nichole Severn

  A small burst of laughter escaped from between those rosy lips. She motioned toward the front door. “Well, I couldn’t very well leave you here alone after—”

  “No.” Sullivan closed in on her, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. “I mean why did you break into my office tonight? You had other options. Any number of bodyguards or private investigators in Anchorage would’ve jumped to help you for the right price. After all, you were ready to offer me anything.” He halted no more than a foot from her, reading those deep hazel eyes for any sign of hesitation. “Why come to me?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” She tried backing away but hit the wall beside the front door. “I had dirt on you and your family, and I knew I could use it to force you to help me. Saved myself a hell of a lot of money in the process.”

  Heat prickled under Sullivan’s skin, crawling up his neck and warming his face. Only Jane crossed her arms across her chest and the strong pulse at the base of her neck beat unevenly. She didn’t believe a word she was saying. And, thinking about it now, she’d only pulled the blackmail card when he’d refused to help her the first two times she’d asked. “You’re lying.”

  Color left her features, a telling reaction he’d noted back in his office. Jane curled her fingers into the palms of her hands, stance wide as though she intended to run straight out the front door. Nervousness? Embarrassment? Difficult to tell when she wiped any kind of emotion from her features so fast.

  “What do you want from me?” He stalked toward her. No. She wasn’t going to hide behind that hardened exterior this time.

  “I guess after what happened on the road, you deserve the truth. It seems stupid now, but I didn’t have anyone else I could trust.” She licked her bottom lip, but Sullivan refused to let the motion distract him this time. Answers. That was all he wanted. He’d risked his life—twice—for her. Now he needed to know why she’d pulled him into this mess. She cocked her head to the side. “I came to you because I saw how protective and dedicated you were to Marrok during his trial. And after I uncovered that photo in my phone yesterday, I needed a little bit of that in my life.” Raising that beautiful gaze to his, she let her shoulders deflate and she exhaled hard. “I needed you.”

  * * *

  “I NEED TO brief my team.” His gravelly voice played havoc with her insides, but Sullivan turned away from her, phone in hand. Refused to even look at her.

  Every nerve in Jane’s body caught fire. That was all he had to say? Watching him, she noted the strain around his eyes, the slightly haggard expression on his features as he spoke into the phone in whispered, clipped responses. She was used to it. In their line of work, she’d learned anybody could be listening in. Phone taps, parabolic mics. Without an idea of who her stalker was, why they’d come after her or what resources they had access to, she and Sullivan couldn’t afford to be careless.

  She headed into the kitchen. When had she eaten last? Her stomach rumbled. Too long ago. Sullivan turned toward her at the sound. The weight of his gaze slid across her sternum. Head down, she focused on her hunt for anything edible in this place. No luck. He obviously didn’t stay here often. The walls were bare, the counters covered in dust. She ran her fingers over the cream granite, but ripped her hand away at the low temperature.

  “I sent my forensic investigator, Vincent, to your place with some backup.” Sullivan tossed the cell phone he’d been using onto the granite. Exhaustion played across his features, darkening the circles under his eyes. He hadn’t gotten much sleep after nearly dying. Neither of them had, but Jane was too wound up and too anxious to figure this mess out. “If your stalker has been there, Vincent will find the evidence and call me back. Could be an hour, could be tomorrow. Just depends.”

  “Okay. What do we do until then?” She couldn’t sit around waiting for some maniac to make the next move. There had to be something in her case files, something in her work for the army that could point them in the right direction to an ID of who’d T-boned them back at the bridge.

  “We dig into your cases.” Sullivan slid onto the bar stool on the other side of the granite countertop as though using it as a barrier between them. Probably a good idea. Because those heated, confusing minutes of them under the blanket in front of the fire together hadn’t exactly gone as Jane had expected. His skin had pressed against hers from chest to toes, his very prominent arousal at her lower back, and the way he’d feathered his fingertips over her shoulder... Jane swallowed back the memories. His touch had felt good, real. Then again, she’d lived the past few months as a hermit and wouldn’t know the difference between her own arousal and the simple need for human contact. Jane shivered. No. That wasn’t it. She’d recognized the difference. She just hadn’t felt that kind of drowning heat in a long time. Her insides burned to close the distance between them for another passing glimpse of it, however fleeting.

  But Sullivan’s reaction had been simple biology. There’d been a naked woman pressed against him and his body had responded. He didn’t want her. Because no matter how many heated moments they shared, how many times they laughed together or how long they talked, Sullivan blamed her for his brother’s suicide. Plain and simple.

  “I’m already having the files brought from your town house by another operative on my team,” he said.

  Pressure built behind her sternum. Sullivan might not use all of his training from his military days for Blackhawk Security, but from what she’d read of him, he never missed a clue. She cleared her throat, stuffing her hands into her sweatshirt pockets. “Good idea. I’ve already gone through most of them, but another set of eyes might uncover something I missed.”

  Jane’s stomach growled again.

  “You need to eat and rest before Elliot gets here with the files.” Sullivan stood, his wide shoulders blocking her view of the living room and the fire popping and cracking in the fireplace. Muscles flexed across his chest and arms, and Jane swallowed the rush of saliva filling her mouth. “I don’t come up here often so I’m sorry to say there’s nothing more than a few MREs lying around, but there should be enough in the duffel bags we brought to last us three days.” He searched the living room. “Where did you put the bags after I tried to kill myself out there? I’ll make us something to eat.”

  Jane’s responding smile to his willingness to feed her disappeared. Exhaling, she ran her hand through her hair. Crap. “I left them outside. I wasn’t thinking after I pulled you in—”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He stepped right into her, that massive chest of his brushing against her. Staring down at her, Sullivan bent at the knees to look her right in the eye, his hands posed above her arms as though he didn’t dare touch her. And she didn’t blame him. The difference in height between them was laughable, but she appreciated the even ground now. His hands rested around her upper arms. Her insides flipped as his body heat spread through her, but she didn’t pull away. “You had your priorities straight. You saved my life. I’ll get them. About how far did you drop them?”

  Good. He’d just go get them. Her breathing eased the longer he kept his grip on her, but it took a few seconds to clear her head of his proximity enough to answer. “Beyond the tree line. I don’t think it snowed enough to cover my tracks. You should be able to follow them to the bags.”

  “All right. And when I get back, we’ll call Anchorage PD to have them put an APB out for that tow truck.” He dropped his hold on her, spinning toward his discarded gear drying over the fireplace. A shiver rushed through her, but Jane held her ground as Sullivan donned his shoulder holster and thick coat. He reached under the built-in desk where the keyboard drawer clicked into place and removed a Glock, disengaged the magazine and pulled back the slide to check the chamber. He moved in quick, confident steps to reload the magazine and put a round in the chamber as though he’d done the same moves a thousand times before. Which he probably had. “I shouldn’t be gone more than five minutes.” He
checked the batteries in the flashlight next. “If anything happens while I’m out there, use the burner phone to call the last number I dialed. It’ll put you directly through to my guy Elliot. He’s the closest right now, and he’ll get here as fast as he can.”

  Jane nodded. He wouldn’t be gone more than a few minutes, but she pointed toward the gun. “Do you have an extra one of those for me? Just in case.” They’d already proved anything could happen. For crying out loud, a tow truck had blindsided them on purpose. She wasn’t about to make it easier for this psychopath to get to her.

  A smile lit up his features before he turned toward what she assumed was the only bedroom in the cabin. Mere seconds later, he handed her another Glock. “This is my service weapon from the SEALs and my favorite gun. If you have to shoot it outside for any reason, make sure there’s no snow in the barrel and that you’ve warmed it up. Otherwise, it might blow up in your hands.”

  “I went through weapons training, too, remember? I know how to handle my guns in cold weather.” Jane hit the button to disengage the magazine and pulled back the slide to clear the chamber, just as Sullivan had done with his own gun. Faster than she thought possible, the guarded curiosity in Sullivan’s eyes changed to something dark, primal. She clenched her lower abdomen. Air stalled in her throat. She focused on the gun in her hand. “Besides, you won’t be gone that long. I’m sure I can manage to take care of myself for five minutes.”

  “Of that—” he secured the Glock he’d taken from under the desk in his shoulder holster, eyes scanning her from head to toe “—I have no doubt.” Sullivan disappeared out the door without looking back.

  The goose bumps along her forearms receded the longer Jane stared after him. There was no denying it now. She’d seen the way he’d looked at her, the way he’d held on to her earlier. He wanted the intel she’d called in a few favors to get, the one with his real identity inside. Because there was no way that man wanted her for any other reason. No matter how deep he’d buried his past, she’d uncovered the truth and she’d known the second she confronted him with it, she would pay for using blackmail. What was he going to do? Torture her with desire until she gave him everything she had on him and his family?

  Jane leaned against the countertop, Sullivan’s service weapon comfortable in her grip. Now that she thought about it, torture by desire was one of the better ways to go. Especially with a six-foot-four, muscled, powerfully built SEAL. A smile pulled at her lips. Crap, she imagined that outcome between them all too easily. The heat, the explosion of passion, the—

  The front door slammed open and her muscle memory hefted the gun up. She aimed, ready to pull the trigger. Adrenaline pumped fast through her veins as Sullivan swung his head around the thick, wooden door. Jane dropped the gun to her side, heart beating a mile a second. She could’ve shot him. “You scared me to death. Do you always barge into a room like that?”

  Sullivan stomped his boots on the mat at the door, then headed straight for the burner phone on the kitchen counter. He brushed against her, but instead of heat penetrating through her jacket like before, she only felt cold. Something was wrong. Stabbing the pad of his thumb into the keypad, he brought the phone up to his ear, those sea-blue eyes glued on her. Darkness etched into his expression, and Jane took a step back to give him some space. “The bags are gone.”

  Chapter Four

  The guns, extra ammunition, food, tracks, everything was gone. Looked like Jane’s mysterious stalker had tracked her back here after all. The phone rang once in his ear before Elliot Dunham, his private investigator, picked up.

  “Go for Dunham,” Elliot said.

  Sullivan checked his watch. “How far out are you?”

  “Five minutes.”

  “Make it three. The bastard knows we’re here.”

  “See you in two.” The revving of a car engine echoed in the background before the line disconnected. As an operative on the Blackhawk Security team, Elliot would understand to come in hot—armed and ready for a fight. Sullivan had swiped the private investigator off the Iraqi streets right after Sullivan’s discharge from the SEALs. The man had a knack for finding and recovering classified documents, digging into a person’s life, discovering those secrets his target didn’t want the world to know about. Like a pit bull with his favorite chew toy, Elliot never gave up and never surrendered. Most likely a side effect of his con artist days; each case a long con. With a genius-level IQ, he dug deep, he got personal. At least until the job was done. Then he disappeared to start fresh. It hadn’t been difficult to recruit him either. Only a few phone calls that could put Elliot back into an Iraqi jail cell.

  His next call was to Anchorage PD to report the tow truck that’d nearly rammed them into the Gulf of Alaska. A minute later, Sullivan tossed the phone onto the counter and rubbed at his face.

  “Is Elliot bringing supplies?” Jane stared up at him, arms wrapped around her small midsection. Her shoulders hunched inward as though she felt the weight of someone watching her. Which Sullivan bet was familiar by now.

  The same weight pressed in on him, too, but they only had to wait a few more minutes. Then they could get through her case files and find out who exactly had turned Jane into a target. After that, they’d come up with a plan. “I make every member of my team carry extra guns, ammo and food in case of emergency.”

  “Do you think whoever is after me is out there, right now, watching us?” Jane’s voice trembled. She was scared. And rightfully so.

  Whoever had taken their bags had wiped any evidence of their existence from the snow. There weren’t a whole lot of men who possessed that kind of skill, Sullivan being one of the few. His father had ensured his sons knew how to hunt their prey properly, before the old man had turned into the sick psychopath he became known for. But right now, in this moment, Sullivan wasn’t the hunter. He felt like the prey.

  A soft ringing reached his ears, and Jane extracted her cell phone from her jacket pocket. Frowning, she put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  He couldn’t hear the response from this distance and, while eavesdropping on his client’s phone calls was technically part of the job, Sullivan wouldn’t crowd her. I needed you. Those three small words had been circling his brain since they’d left her mouth.

  “Who is this?” The color drained from Jane’s features.

  Sullivan’s instincts prickled at the alarm in her voice. He stepped into her personal space, forcing her to meet his gaze, then reached for her phone. He hit the speaker button, holding the phone between them. “Who the hell is this?”

  “He can’t protect you, Jane,” the voice whispered across the line. Her name on the bastard’s lips tightened the muscles down Sullivan’s spine. “You’re going to pay for what you’ve done.”

  Memorizing the number on the screen, Sullivan gripped the phone tighter. He couldn’t peg an accent due to the whispering, no dialect to pinpoint where her stalker originated from. “Come within three hundred feet of her and I will tear you apart. You tried to kill her once. Won’t happen again. Understand?” His voice dropped low—deadly—as he studied the fear skating across Jane’s features. “Don’t call this number again.”

  He moved to hang up the call.

  “Always the protector...Sullivan.” Laughter trickled through the phone.

  Sullivan’s thumb froze over the end button. A shiver spread across his shoulders. The line went dead, only static and crackling from the fireplace filling the silence.

  In a split second, one of the burner phones he kept on hand was at his ear, ringing through to Blackhawk Security’s head of network security. The line picked up. “Elizabeth, trace this number.” He recited the number he’d memorized from the call. “I want a location as soon as possible. Send it straight to the number I’m calling you from.”

  “You got it, boss,” the former NSA analyst said.

  He hung up. Sullivan’s g
aze lifted from the phone as Jane backed away. The terror etched into her expression urged him toward her. Without hesitation, he reached for her. “Jane...”

  Eyes wide, mouth slack, she shut down her expression, and Sullivan dropped his hand. “He’s here. He’s watching me. He knows you’re with me.”

  That had always been a possibility. Stalkers liked to keep tabs on their targets. The bastard had most likely been the one responsible for taking their gear, too. She’d known the risks going into this, but Sullivan wouldn’t remind her of them now. In this moment, he needed her head on straight. Focused. “You hired me because I’m good at my job. He’s never going to get close to you. You have my word.”

  “Thank you.” Her chin notched higher. Jane shifted her weight onto her toes as though she intended to kiss him, and right then, all too easily, Sullivan imagined how it’d feel to claim that perfect mouth of hers. Would she taste as good as she smelled? Damn it. Why couldn’t he keep himself in check around her?

  Three knocks on the door ripped him back. The thick wood swung inward, and Sullivan shoved Jane behind him. Her fingers clenched the back of his shirt as he unholstered the Glock at his side. The man hunting Jane most likely wouldn’t knock, but maybe there were polite stalkers out there in the world.

  “And here I thought I’d get to shoot someone when I got here.” Elliot Dunham’s wide grin shifted the dark stubble across his jawline. The lines at the edges of his stormy gray eyes deepened. The private investigator holstered his own weapon underneath a thick cargo jacket and kicked the door closed behind him. “Good news for everyone. The perimeter is clear, and I won’t get blood on my new shirt.”