Bull (Red, Hot, & Blue)

by Cat Johnson

  “I swept the building—”

  “It’s hidden somewhere inside the walls.”

  “What? How?” Bull had spoken rather loud and got a few stares from the guests nearest him.

  “There were workmen there six frigging months ago repairing the plaster. One of them has suspected terrorist ties. I was bored and started to check back just for fun.”

  Bull never did understand Matt’s idea of fun, but it was a damn good thing he’d decided to have some fun tonight. A work crew six months ago had planted the bomb? This had been in the works for a while. Organization like that meant these guys were serious.

  “Now the original threat makes sense.” Matt continued, “It was some sort of riddle about the walls of Jericho coming down. No one took it seriously until I found the record of the crew that worked on the walls.”

  “What do you want me to do until you get here?” He didn’t want to start a panic, and he really didn’t want to tip his hand.

  If the bomb was built to trigger with a detonator, that device could be held by anyone inside or outside the building. Letting that person know the good guys had discovered the plot would force the bomber’s hand. Bull reevaluated the guests and staff. There weren’t many people here. It was still early. That was good. The terrorist would want the biggest bang for his buck and wait for a full house.

  “Get the senator out, first of all. We’ll never live it down if we let him get killed. But don’t let him know anything. Don’t let anyone know anything yet.”

  “Affirmative.” Bull moved closer to the senator. “Sir. Excuse me for interrupting. I need to speak with you. Now.”

  When Dickhead—the frigging cocky idiot—looked annoyed that the security he’d insisted on being up his ass all night had bothered him, Bull added, “It’s urgent.”

  It must have hit him something was wrong. His eyes went wide and he opened his mouth. Bull grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the room before he could blow their one advantage—the element of surprise. The guests, and probably the terrorist, would guess Bull was security, but no one but the Senator knew he came attached to a special task force highly trained for situations exactly such as this. And no one knew the good guys had discovered what the bad guys were up to.

  Outside the building, Bull did a visual sweep of the area. It was deserted except for a few valets waiting around to park any new arrivals’ cars. Even so, Bull pulled the senator to where they could speak without being heard.

  “What’s happening?” Dickhead’s voice rose, tinged with panic.

  He didn’t feel comfortable telling Dickhead the truth, didn’t trust him to keep his cool or keep quiet, so he’d have to make up some cock-and-bull story. The man was probably a Chicken Little—the type to run around screaming at the slightest provocation. No way Bull could tell him there was very likely a bomb hidden inside the walls of the building where his hoity-toity associates still were.

  “Nothing yet.” That wasn’t exactly a lie. “It’s just a precaution.”

  “If it’s nothing, then why the hell did you drag me out here?”

  Bull clenched his jaw and mentally talked himself down from telling the senator what he thought about him. “There’s new information about the threat. My orders are to keep you out of the building until further notice.”

  They should evacuate. The commander would probably have Bull trip the fire alarm. That would clear the building but wouldn’t tip off the bombers. But until the commander and the team arrived, his orders had been to get Dickhead out, and he’d done that. Now he figured he was free to go unobtrusively search for the bomb and the bombers… If Dickhead would get clear of the damn building and let Bull do his job.

  The senator scowled. “What am I supposed to do? Stand out here in the driveway like an idiot?”

  He was already doing a good job of being an idiot, so that sounded like a good idea to Bull. A long black car pulled up and he recognized Dickhead Junior being helped out of the back seat by the driver. “It looks like your son’s arrived. I’d strongly advise you and he take the car and go elsewhere until the situation has been reevaluated. Somewhere far.”

  Like out of the blast zone.

  “All right. You have my number?” There must have been something in Bull’s tone or expression, but the senator quit acting annoyed and started to look concerned. Lucky for Bull, Dickhead was a chicken shit and all in for saving his own skin. He gave in.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Keep me updated.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bull watched Dickhead steer Junior back into the car. He even waited until the vehicle drove off the property, just to be sure. Then he turned on his heel and headed for the entrance.

  “Matt, Dickhead and Little Dick are off the property. I’m heading back inside to see if I can spot the trigger man or find evidence of the bomb’s location.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Matt, we’ve still got civilians inside. Between staff and guests, about two dozen.”

  “I know, but until I recheck everyone, we can’t clear them out. One of them could be our tango.”

  “Understood.” Inside, Bull heard the harpist begin a new song. “Can you check the harpist?”

  “Do you think she’s our tango?”

  “No. Just covering all the bases.” He did think it would be a shame if she accidentally got blown up though. Maybe he’d come up with some bogus reason to get her out of there once Matt had cleared her.

  “Okay. Give me a few min—shit, Jack! Take it easy on the turns. You almost knocked the laptop onto the floor. I’m sorry, Bull, but I’m doing the best I can in the back of the van with Gordon up there driving like he’s on the NASCAR circuit. Hold tight. We’ll be there soon. It could still be nothing.”

  “Should I ask around? Try to find out where the crew worked on the walls? It might give us a clue of where to start looking.”

  There was dead air for a moment and then Matt was back. “The commander says no. Sit tight.”

  “Roger that.” Bull sighed.

  The one thing he was not all that good at was waiting and doing nothing. He glanced around the room again. The wait staff was comprised of pimple-faced boys. Old men and cleavage-baring women guests, and one petite harpist with reddish brown hair pulled into a sleek, surprisingly sexy ponytail rounded out the full complement of those in attendance. He’d bet his life—he was betting his life actually—not one of them was the terrorist.

  He’d have to start his search again now that he had the all-important information from Matt to look at the walls. But this time, he’d have to do it so no one, the bomber in particular, would notice. He remembered a closet on the first floor. It apparently used to be a bathroom. The old cast-iron tub and fixtures were disconnected but still there, surrounded now by cardboard boxes and paint cans. It was obvious one wall had been freshly painted. He’d start there. If he was wrong…well, they’d know soon enough.

  He slipped into the closet unnoticed and began running his hands over the surface of the wall, looking for any irregularities.

  “Bull!”

  He jumped one more time. It must be his being alone, without the team, making him so jumpy. He blew out a breath. “I copy, Matt. What’s happening?”

  “There’s no record of a harpist on my list.”

  Aw, crap.

  Chapter Four

  Marly played for forty-five minutes straight. Time for a break. Her back was starting to hurt and she was thirsty. The good news was that her ex had never shown up. Thank God for small miracles.

  Her agreement allowed for fifteen minutes off every hour she played. She didn’t always take it, but tonight she needed a break. She leaned the harp away from her and rose from the bench. Her legs were starting to cramp from sitting in the same position without moving for almost an hour. She’d grab her purse out of the closet and take a walk around to stretch her legs. There was always a bottle of water in the big bag she brought with her to gigs, and an apple and granola bar. Thanks to
her nerves about seeing John, she’d hadn’t eaten before she’d left the house. Right now, she could probably down all three items, no problem.

  Holding her skirt off the floor with one hand, she worked her way through the slowly thickening crowd. People always arrived late for these things. She accepted the compliments from the guests she passed and headed for the closet where she’d stashed her bag.

  She opened the door and slid her hand along the wall looking for the light switch. It was here somewhere, but she’d be damned if she could find it. She went farther into the darkness, using the light coming in from the room behind her to locate the bag she’d left on the floor with her harp cover.

  Quicker than she could scream, a hand covered her mouth and the door to the main room slammed shut. Breathing was nearly impossible as an arm as hard as steel pinned her to a body that felt as wide and unyielding as a brick wall. She struggled, for all the good it did her, but he held tight. She figured it had to be a man. Women weren’t built that big.

  “What are you looking for, sweetheart?” The deep voice vibrated through her back and into her. He pulled them both to the wall and flipped on the lights with one elbow. A small, high window interrupted one wall. Reflected in its glass she saw the hulk she’d noticed before.

  He spun her around and the hand over her mouth moved and grabbed her chin. She stared up into blue eyes narrowed in anger. He was big. She’d dated men who were six feet tall before, her ex John being one of them. Marly had found tall guys tended to like petite women, she didn’t know why. Maybe it made them feel even bigger. Who knew? But this guy—he was well over six feet tall. He was broad too, and from the feel of him it wasn’t fat. He was solid muscle. If he didn’t seem to want to crush her with his bare hands, she’d say he was attractive. She was having trouble getting past the murderous expression though. It kind of took away from her admiration of his overall physical appearance.

  “I asked you a question.” He shook her, his hands clamped tightly around her upper arms.

  “I came to get my bag.” What the hell was going on? Did he think she’d come to assassinate whomever he was protecting? It was easy enough to prove she hadn’t. There was nothing more dangerous in her bag than her tuning key. She could maybe jab the point of that in somebody’s eye, but that’s about it.

  His gaze moved to her bag on the floor. “Really. Why don’t we see what you’ve got in there?”

  He tucked her under one arm and half dragged, half carried her toward the bag. Her feet hardly touched the floor along the way. With his one free hand, he dumped the contents of the bag onto the canvas harp cover.

  She hissed as she watched her brand new forty-dollar electronic tuner spill out onto the floor. “Careful.”

  His eyes opened wide and he drew in a sharp breath of his own. “I bet you want me to be careful. Shit. Matt, I think I’ve found the detonator.”

  “Matt?” What the hell was he talking about? Marly shook her head. “My name’s not Matt.”

  There was a good chance she was being held in a closet by a madman, and all she could think about was if her new tuner was broken. When she got out of this mess, she was seriously going to reevaluate her priorities. She reached for the device to make sure it was all right, but he didn’t let her even get close to it. The brute grabbed her wrist hard enough he would probably leave a bruise.

  Her heart beat faster. She was in real danger here. But the bruiser had made one mistake. He’d uncovered her mouth. She intended on taking full advantage of that. She pulled in a lungful of air and got ready to scream.

  He slapped a hand over her mouth, harder than he had the first time. He was so big he covered the entire lower half of her face with one hand. He squeezed her mid-section with his other arm until all the air she had taken in came out of her nose and mouth in a whoosh between his fingers.

  “I don’t like screaming. Don’t try that again.” The growl in his voice sent her pulse speeding.

  Always nice to know your killer’s preferences. She sincerely hoped she wouldn’t offend him if she screamed while he murdered her. Marly became aware of his impressively large appendage pressing into her lower back. Maybe murder wasn’t what he had in mind.

  She made a sound in her throat and pulled her pelvis as far away from him as she could get.

  He chuckled, not an encouraging sound. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. It’s from the adrenaline. I get a hard-on when I kill people too…or even when I diffuse bombs.”

  He said the last word with too much emphasis. She was going to end up blown to bits by this crazy man who got sexually excited by killing people, and he was probably going to rape her first.

  Black spots appeared on the edge of her vision. Her last thought was it was better to be unconscious for whatever was about to happen.

  “Shit! Matt, do you copy?” Matt hadn’t answered Bull when he’d told him about the detonator, and he wasn’t answering him now.

  In fact, he hadn’t heard from Matt since he’d informed him there was no record of the harpist on any list. She was so damn cute, Bull hadn’t wanted to let the fact she wasn’t on record make him suspicious, but when she came sneaking into the closet in the dark, searching for the ominous-looking little black gadget, he’d had no choice but to believe she could be the bomber.

  A girl who looked this innocent and all-American wouldn’t be working alone. Chances were high she’d been recruited by a boyfriend to do this. And if so, where was that boyfriend?

  Bull needed Matt. “Matt, where the fuck are you?”

  Nothing. What did that mean? Were they maintaining radio silence so the tango couldn’t monitor them? If so, no one had bothered to tell him. Had Matt relocated the equipment and hadn’t set up again yet? What the hell did Bull know? He didn’t understand half the magic Matt pulled off with his computers. All he knew was now, more than ever, he wanted to hear that annoying voice in his ear because the possible—probable—tango had either fainted or had pretended to faint in his arms.

  He stared at the small black box that she’d been so interested in. He couldn’t dissect it while holding her, and he preferred to do any analysis of the device far away from the bomb hidden in the walls anyway. He had to locate the bomb and diffuse it. There could still be a second tango with a backup detonator.

  Bull glanced at the seemingly limp body of the girl in his arms and got a view down her ample cleavage. As much as he’d like to be enjoying the weight of her body pressed up against his dick, he had more important things to do. Having to hold her was seriously cutting into valuable search time, but he couldn’t risk her getting away.

  After a quick look around the room, he found the solution.

  A minute later he had her trussed, hand and foot, with an industrial-weight extension cord. Looking around for a gag and not finding one, he had a brainstorm and whipped off his bowtie. The damn thing was uncomfortable anyway. Just as her big green eyes opened wide, he shoved the bow in her mouth and tied it behind her head.

  She struggled while he began knocking holes as quietly as he could in the wall with the handle of a broom he had been lucky enough to find. Sit around and wait for backup? Hell, no. He’d have the thing located and diffused before the team even got damn communications back in place. And he’d redeem himself and the team for fucking up the training exercise against Kappa at the same time.

  “Bull. What’s your location?”

  Finally. “About damn time, Matt. I’m in what looks like it used to be a bathroom but is now being used as a closet. First floor. Directly off the main room. I’m dismantling a wall that’s been recently plastered, and I think I’ve got one of the tangos and the detonator.”

  “What?”

  “The harpist who wasn’t on the list—”

  “Shit, Bull. No. It’s not her. Listen to me carefully. That list was incomplete. The tangos are the fucking valet car parkers. They weren’t on the list because they’re not on the payroll. They work for tips. And I checked with the manage
r. The harpist works there all the time. She gets paid in cash so she wasn’t on the payroll either.”

  Matt’s voice—and that he’d just informed Bull he’d made a huge mistake regarding the harpist—was overshadowed by the sound of automatic weapon fire and screaming from the other room.

  “Was that gun fire?” Matt asked.

  “Yes.” Things had just gone from bad to worse. Bull already had his weapon out of the leg holster, although next to fucking machine guns, a .40 caliber handgun wasn’t going to do him much good.

  “Bull, listen to me.” The commander’s voice replaced Matt’s in Bull’s ear. “Stay hidden. You’re our ace in the hole. The bastards now have hostages as well as a possible hidden bomb, but they don’t know you’re there, and that’s a point for us. Hold for further instructions.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bull kept his voice as low as possible. He crept toward the door, gun out, and peered through the keyhole. Good thing old doors had big keys and therefore, really big keyholes. It served Bull’s purpose. He could see pretty damn well. Three men had the hostages lined up against the far wall, in perfect position to be mowed down with one burst from the automatic weapon. And the only person Bull had gotten out of the building was Dickhead.

  He leaned back on his heels with a sigh, took one more look to make sure all eyes were turned away and then flipped the light switch off. There was no way to lock it from the inside without the key and if the bastards made the mistake of opening the door, Bull and his one gun wanted the element of surprise. He couldn’t risk the noise of searching in the wall for the bomb with them right on the other side of the door, so he didn’t need the extra illumination for that. And he really didn’t need the light to see that he had scared the crap out of an innocent young thing.

  If the situation weren’t so dire, he’d be very relieved to know she was as guiltless as she’d originally seemed. Although, the chances of his getting the goodnight kiss he’d imagined were probably slim to none now.

  The one window—too small to crawl out of—allowed in some dim light from the streetlamps outside. His eyes adjusted to the dark and he made his way silently to where she lay on the floor, bound and gagged. It really wasn’t safe to talk, but he had to tell her what was happening. He sat on the ground and pulled her into his lap.