Rules in Blackmail

by Nichole Severn

  A car door slammed behind him.

  Sullivan clicked off the safety of his gun and aimed without looking back at his weapons expert. The former army Ranger could take care of himself and understood the directive: get the client to safety. At any cost.

  The first shots forced Sullivan to take cover behind the GMC’s open passenger door. He returned fire, hitting the shooter multiple times. The thick tree line on either side of the road provided deep cover, but Sullivan wasn’t about to let any strays escape. The shooting stopped. Nothing but the sound of the wind rustling through the trees reached his ears. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. He maneuvered around the door, weapon raised, muscles tight.

  Two more heavily armed men climbed from the wreckage. Neither had the chance to lift their weapons in defense as Anthony closed in on the vehicle. Seconds passed in silence. Minutes. Where was Jane?

  Another round of gunfire spread over the pavement, and Sullivan hit the ground.

  “Sullivan!” a familiar voice screamed.

  He snapped his head up. “Jane.”

  Tracking the rushed movements of two shadows as they ran down the road—one with short dark hair—Sullivan pushed up from the asphalt and took off after them. Menas’s contract killers had nowhere left to run. The tree line was thinning, the airport was still five miles away, and the woman he held on to only slowed him down. His heart thundered in his ears. Or was that something else?

  “Boss!” Anthony called.

  A pool of light materialized over Jane and her kidnapper, illuminating the road and the mercenary’s identity with blinding light. Christopher Menas. Sullivan clenched his jaw and leaned into the run as the black EC725 Super Cougar helicopter descended over its target—Jane.

  Choppers. Mercenaries. Who the hell was this guy?

  A spread of bullets flew over his head from behind, but Anthony’s attempt to keep the helicopter from landing was in vain. Cougars were built for war, made to repel anything weaker than a Hellfire missile.

  If Jane got onto that chopper, he couldn’t follow. With a three-hundred-mile range at his fingertips, Menas could take her anywhere in the country, and Sullivan would lose her forever. Not an option.

  “Jane!” He swung his arms hard, anything to force his legs to go faster. He was within shooting range to stop Menas but wouldn’t risk Jane’s life in the process.

  She swung her elbow up and back into Menas’s face, buying Sullivan a few more seconds, but a backhand to her face knocked her out cold onto the pavement.

  A growl worked up Sullivan’s throat as he lunged for Menas. He collided with solid muscle and Kevlar but held on to his gun. Straddling the enemy, Sullivan pulled the trigger, but Menas shoved his wrist aside. The bullet hit the asphalt next to Menas’s head, and a blow to Sullivan’s left side wrenched him off her kidnapper.

  Menas straightened, blood running down his cheek from a deep gash. “You must be the great Sullivan Bishop. Heard a lot about you, Frogman.”

  Sullivan caught the kidnapper’s boot as he kicked out and flipped the bastard onto the pavement. Rolling Menas’s head between his thighs, he squeezed with as much pressure as he could, taking hit after hit to his kidneys. Outside the pool of light, Anthony collected Jane and ran to the GMC. Mission complete. Time to end this. The pilot of the chopper rushed to help Menas, but Sullivan put one round in each of his legs before the pilot could pull his weapon.

  “I have a strict no-abduction policy when it comes to my clients, Menas.” Sullivan twisted Menas’s arm until a snap sent a shiver down his spine, but, to the bastard’s credit, Menas didn’t scream. He’d finish this now. For Jane.

  A spray of bullets ricocheted off the asphalt at his feet, and Sullivan swung his gun up as he jumped to his feet. He fired three rounds at the second SUV barreling toward the chopper from the other direction. Damn it. Menas must’ve had another team waiting at the airport. The Glock clicked as he squeezed the trigger. Empty. He discarded the gun across the road and spun for cover. Tires screeched ahead of him as he took position behind the chopper, return fire whizzing past him to his left. Anthony had him covered, but as two mercenaries exited the SUV and closed in on Menas—raining a nonstop storm of bullets on the GMC—Sullivan recognized the window on ending Jane’s nightmare closing fast.

  Menas remained motionless in the chopper’s spotlight as two members of his team clamped on to his arms and dragged their leader across the pavement toward their escape vehicle, all the while spraying rounds right at Sullivan. He didn’t have any other weapons, no way to stop Menas from getting away.

  The Blackhawk Security GMC rolled up beside him, Anthony positioned out the driver’s-side window to keep the mercs at bay in case they returned fire. Sullivan fought to catch his breath, the aches and pains of fighting overwhelming. Doubling over, he clamped a hand over the gash in his arm, then straightened. Satisfied they were in the clear—for now—his weapons expert leaned across the cab and pushed open the passenger-side door. “Boss, we gotta go. She’s not looking good.”

  Sullivan ignored the open door and slid in beside Jane, attention on the second SUV hauling away from the scene. The brake lights dimmed in the darkness. Menas was gone. Wrapping his arms around her, he checked her pulse and wiped the blood from her skin. Her moan rumbled through him, hiking his heart into his throat. She was alive, but this was far from over. “I’ve got you, Jane. I’ve got you.”

  * * *

  SOFT PULSES OF sound echoed in her ears. Her eyelids felt heavy, like she could sleep for a few more hours. But that beeping...

  Jane ran her tongue across her bottom lip. Dry.

  Cracking her eyes, she fought against the sudden onslaught of the fluorescent overhead lighting. She blinked to clear her head. White walls. White floors. White bedding. And an IV in her forearm. A strained groan vibrated up her throat. A hospital.

  “Hello, gorgeous.” Elliot stepped into her clouded vision, a bright smile plastered on his face. “I was hoping you’d wake up on my watch. There’s something about those few short seconds of watching someone realize they’re not dead after all.”

  “Hi,” she said, her voice gravelly. Putting her hand to her throat, she tried massaging the dryness away, but it hung tight. “When did you get released?”

  “Here, this’ll help.” Handing her a clear cup of water with a straw, he helped her adjust to a sitting position and fluffed her pillows before she relaxed back into the bed. “I checked myself out as soon as I heard about what happened at the sheet metal factory. Couldn’t sit there and let you and Sullivan have all the fun.”

  “Yeah, fun.” Stinging pain radiated across her shoulders as she struggled to sit up, and she wrenched forward with a hiss. She angled her head over her shoulder. White gauze and tape covered the burns under the thin hospital gown, but she was all too aware of how they’d gotten there in the first place. Christopher Menas. The sheet metal factory. The helicopter. And Sullivan. She scanned the room for those sea-blue eyes, but her stomach sank. “How long have I been out?”

  She took a long, slow sip of water. Her muscles relaxed as the liquid did its job in her throat, and Jane set her head back against the pillows. Couldn’t have been more than a day or two, right? Where did that leave them? “Is Christopher dead? Is it over?”

  “Not by a long shot, beautiful. But come on now.” Elliot sat in a padded chair he’d pulled next to the bed and laced his fingers behind his head, still smiling. He looked awfully chipper for someone who’d had his head nearly smashed in by a tow-truck-operator-turned-mercenary. “You know that’s not what you want to ask me.”

  She didn’t dare ask about Sullivan. Asking meant she’d be breaking one of her own rules that she’d set when she’d decided to blackmail a former navy SEAL: no getting emotionally attached. “How long have I been out?”

  “Two days,” Elliot said.

  Inhaling some of the water, Jan
e coughed and spit until she cleared her lungs.

  Elliot shot forward and took the cup from her, as she covered her mouth with one of the sheets. Sitting back down, he waited until she took a full breath, then sat forward. His deep brown eyes studied her, that infectious smile gone. “He knows what you did, Jane, offering yourself up as bait. He found the camera in your room.”

  “Oh.” She sat back again, swiping one hand through her short hair and running the edge of her sheet under her fingernail with the other. She focused on the bedding and not the disappointment in Elliot’s eyes. Why she cared to give Sullivan’s private investigator an explanation, she had no idea. But the words fell from her mouth anyway. “We were out of leads, and I needed to know who was doing this to me. It didn’t make sense that Christopher might be stalking me all these years later. I’m not a threat to him anymore. The statute of limitations ran out a year ago.” She took a deep breath to counteract the painful reminder of her and Christopher’s reunion at the factory. “There’s something else going on here. Menas said something...” A headache pounded at the base of her skull. “But I can’t remember what.”

  “Elliot, get out,” a familiar voice commanded from the door.

  “Sullivan.” Jane shot her head up. The dread that’d pooled at the base of her spine spread thin, and she straightened a bit more. Pure rage tightened the small muscles controlling his expression, and he suddenly seemed much more dangerous than she remembered. Didn’t matter. He was here. He was okay.

  “Hey, look at that, my shift is over. By the way, I’ve been eating your chocolate pudding for the last two days. I’ll pay you back when you’re out of here.” Elliot somehow gracefully maneuvered around his boss and escaped down the hall as though he’d done this before.

  And by the serious lines carved into Sullivan’s features, Jane bet he had.

  Seconds ticked by, possibly minutes. She couldn’t tell. One part of her wished Sullivan would step completely into her room and help her forget the horrible memories of the past few days. The other part demanded she keep her head on straight and remember why she’d blackmailed him in the first place. To bring her stalker to justice.

  “You could’ve been killed.” He rolled his fingers into fists. “You almost were.”

  And he’d been hurt by the look of his arms and knuckles. The air rushed out of her as she scanned the cuts and bruises marring his tanned skin. Christopher Menas had gotten in a few good hits. Because of her. She’d screwed up any chance of catching her stalker by running out her front door without any idea of what waited on the other side. “Sullivan, I’m sorry. I had no idea Christopher would have backup—”

  “That’s right. You had no idea. We were supposed to investigate the leads together, Jane, but this is what I find instead.” He shoved a hand into his jeans pocket and tossed the small camera she’d mounted in her room onto the bed. Broken into several pieces. “You put me and my entire team at risk by going after Menas yourself.”

  Jane didn’t know what else to say, her throat closing as she fought to hold on to the last remnants of her emotional control. She fisted her hands in the sheets. Rolling her lips between her teeth, she bit down to stay in the moment. She couldn’t fight Christopher and his team of mercenaries on her own, but she hadn’t meant to put the Blackhawk Security team’s lives at stake either. They deserved more. Sullivan deserved more. “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  He stalked toward her like a soldier, his grip loose at his sides, ready to go for his weapon at a moment’s notice. He walked with power. The edge of her mattress dipped under his weight, his body heat tunneling through the sheets on her bed and down into her bones. Jane couldn’t think about her awareness of him right now. Because something had changed. He was looking at her differently. Like he actually would’ve cared had Christopher gotten her onto that helicopter. “Do you know what would’ve happened if Menas had killed you?”

  The memories flooded in with no one to stop them from overtaking the small amount of control she’d built up. Jane blinked back the tears welling in her lower eyelids. “Well, you definitely wouldn’t have had to worry about me blackmailing you anymore.”

  “That’s not my priority right now, Jane. You’re a survivor. Like me. Setting up the camera, going after Menas...” He exhaled hard. “As much as I want to be angry at you for it, you did what you felt like you had to do, and I respect you for it. You’re strong, you’re used to taking care of yourself, but you hired me to protect you, and I can’t do that when you’re running your own agenda on the side. Understand?” He slid his fingers into her hair, caging her between his massive calloused palms. Those mesmerizing blue eyes bored deep down into her as though he could bare every inch of her with a single look. Sullivan’s tone dipped into dangerous territory. “If Menas had gotten you onto that helicopter, I would’ve spent the rest of my life hunting him and every associate involved until I put them all in the ground.”

  She blinked to restart her circuits. “I’ve upended your entire life. Twice. Why would you care what happens to me?”

  “Because you put aside your own well-being to save my and Elliot’s lives.” Sullivan dropped the pad of his thumb to the crack in her bottom lip, and something hot and sensual rushed through her. He thought all that about her? “And because Menas won’t stop coming after you, and I’m eager to personally introduce him to a world of disappointment.”

  He housed shadows—downright darkness sometimes—but he was also honorable. He gave his word and followed through. More than she could say about any other man in her life.

  “You think highly of yourself, don’t you?” And with damn good reason. SEALs were the principal special operators of the navy. With sea, land and air in their blood, they could operate in any kind of environment, hostile or not. The edges of his dark trident tattoo peeked out from under his T-shirt sleeve. Dryness set up residence in her throat again, and it had nothing to do with the drugs the hospital staff had given her over the last two days. But she sobered almost instantly. “Everyone who gets close to me ends up hurt. All my friends...my family.”

  No one had understood why she hadn’t come back from college the same, why she couldn’t move on from what Christopher had done. She didn’t have anyone left.

  “Then it’s a good thing I can take care of myself.” Sullivan set one hand beside her hip and leaned in, totally and completely focused on her. He teased her senses in every possible way. His fingertips streaking softly down her bruised jawline, his clean, masculine scent filling her lungs, the sound of his uneven breathing. Every cell in her body stood at attention, wanting him to kiss her, needing him. He traced over the cuts along her arms and collarbone, then pulled away. Air rushed from her lungs, her head clearing fast. “Menas is going to pay. I promise. I have Anthony tracking his movements since his team pulled him off the highway as we speak. We’re going after him.”

  She didn’t want to think about that right now, not with him this close, not with him chasing back the pain her body still clung to. Then his words registered. Wait. What? Jane straightened, the burns along her shoulder blades pulling a hiss from her lips. “Sullivan—”

  “That’s not my name.” He pulled away, but the remnants of his touch would stick with her long after they finished their investigation and went their separate ways. “I want to hear my real name on your lips. I need to hear you say it, just once.”

  Her brows drew inward. “But you’re not that man anymore.”

  “You don’t know that,” he said. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  A weak smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. If this was some kind of test, proof that she knew who he was and what he’d done, Sullivan Bishop was in for a rude awakening. “All right, Sebastian Warren, you want to go after Menas? Fine. But you’re taking me with you.”

  Chapter Nine

  Another Fine Navy Day.

  Or, in o
ther words, not so much.

  Sullivan rolled his head back, stretching the stiff muscles in his neck. The second trip to the cabin hadn’t been nearly as exciting as the first. Of course, had Jane been his target, he would’ve struck while she lay unconscious in the hospital. But Menas had to be licking some wounds right about now. His attention drifted to the closed bedroom door. Jane had taken the single bedroom in order to clean up and rest, but he couldn’t sleep.

  Not with an entire group of mercenaries coming after her.

  The stitches in his upper arm stretched as he pushed himself off the couch for yet another perimeter check. He wasn’t taking any chances this time. The investigation had gone from gathering intel on a tow truck operator who couldn’t let the past die to defending Jane against an armored attack. Sullivan parted the blinds hanging in the front window, his favorite Glock in hand. The gun wasn’t his only line of defense this time. He’d made sure Anthony had visited over the last few days to turn the cabin from his getaway spot to a fortified bunker. If Menas and his band of mercenaries came within a hundred yards of the cabin, Sullivan would know.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” Her husky voice straightened his spine. Those hazel eyes brightened as Sullivan looked her over in the overlarge T-shirt and sweatpants he’d lent her from his dresser drawers. His private investigator had dropped off a duffel bag of clothing and shoes for her but had somehow “forgotten” Jane’s sleepwear. Her long fingers stretched around the mug of coffee he’d made her when they’d first arrived. She was the epitome of perfection—more beautiful than he’d imagined—and his mouth went dry. “Me neither.”

  Sullivan cleared his throat. “How are you feeling?”

  “Everything hurts and I’m dying.” A rush of laughter burst from her chest, but she grabbed for her bruised jaw. The swelling had gone down, but the pain obviously hadn’t subsided just yet. Even so, her smile warmed parts of Sullivan he’d almost forgotten existed. Flashes of threading his fingers through her hair, of bringing that delectable mouth to his, streaked through his mind. “But I can’t complain too much. I’m alive, right?”