by Dawn Ryder
Miranda was a credit to her years of training to be the perfect political family pawn. She glided over to a chair and sat down with only a slight pinching around her lips to betray the pain it caused her. Congressman Kingston didn’t notice because she kept her eyelashes fluttering.
“I’m really quite well,” Miranda informed her future colleague.
“I hope they’ve brought that rogue agent in,” Kingston added.
Miranda widened her eyes. Vitus watched from his post, admiring the way Miranda made sure the neighboring tables at the benefit could overhear her.
“Really, Mason,” she admonished him in a perfect mothering tone that landed softly enough to keep Mason from bristling. “You simply cannot put any faith in what the press is saying. Special Agent Sinclair saved me from being murdered.”
Mason Kingston frowned, interlacing his hands over his plump belly. Miranda swooped in for the kill.
“Not that I am surprised,” Miranda muttered as she cast a look around. “Carl Davis has been working with that Kirkland Grog. His father was a criminal mastermind! That family owns half the media sites in the country and they say the most incorrect things. Now you all know I am not one to dwell on gossip…”
The elite of Washington offered Miranda a soft round of laughter. They were clustered in the rose garden of a very expensive resort. Enjoying the expertly prepared food while presidential candidate Tom Hilliard conducted a meet-and-greet with the press. Tom was lagging in the polls but Vitus had to hand it to the man, he was going down swinging.
“If I believed what the press was saying”—Miranda looked at Mason—“I’d accept their charges against you about payoffs from the unions.”
Vitus watched Saxon’s eyes narrow. Mason Kingston was taking payoffs. The feds hadn’t moved in yet because they needed more evidence to make sure his impressive list of legal representatives couldn’t wiggle him out of a conviction.
“I saw that charge in the same publication as the one about Special Agent Sinclair being an assassin,” Miranda said, finishing up with a bright smile. “Pure nonsense, as I’m certain you’ll agree.”
Mason received her message loud and clear. Saxon watched the way the man flipped his attitude. Miranda continued to move around the gathering, taking the opportunity to tar and feather the charges against Thais while linking those false accusations very neatly to Carl Davis.
And then there was the unmistakable suggestion from the older woman that more than just Mason realized was a warning. They either got on board with her in condemning the press or she’d take them all down with Thais.
She was drawing a line and it was a dangerous thing to do. The Washington elite might just decide to watch her crash and burn. But Miranda knew it, had been reared among the flesh-eating animals surrounding her. The demure poise and flutters of eyelashes were as practiced as any other form of fighting. In short, she was in her element. Twisting words and making subtle promises to play nice so long as everyone went along with the way she wanted things to be said.
Networking—the silent, and so very necessary skill of the elected leader.
By the end of the event, however, Saxon could see the signs of Miranda’s strength diminishing. She held herself up though, only allowing Vitus to help her into the car.
“I hope that was a good effort for our cause,” she said after they’d pulled away from the curb and privacy was ensured.
Saxon sent her an approving look. “Remind me to have you teach a session on intimidation tactics when this is all over.”
Miranda’s expression lit with pleasure. “I learned everything my father wanted me to know about twisting people into line with a very precisely worded warning.” She relaxed back into the seat now that no one was around to see her lack of bearing. “To be truthful, I never enjoyed the skill so much until today. Carl really is overdue for a reckoning. It was a pleasure working toward that goal.”
The three occupants in the car shared a moment of agreement. But Vitus sent Miranda a stern look.
Miranda lifted her hand to silence him before he started in on warning her. “I know the risks, Vitus. It isn’t my intention to lecture you but I have been doing this a lot longer than you have. Mason Kingston used to pinch my bottom when he thought my father wasn’t looking. The truth is, my father knew and didn’t want to risk offending Mason’s father over it.”
Vitus’s expression tightened with disapproval.
“Carl started this,” Miranda said firmly. “And by Christ, I am going to finish it now. I’ve been silent far too long.”
Miranda had spent the better part of thirty years playing the loving wife of Jeb Ryland. She’d been groomed for the role by her father and a family of what many labeled Washington elite. The Delacroix family had been in office for over a hundred years. She had been reared to be the dutiful wife and mother, expected to transform her daughter into a copy of herself.
Instead she had fooled them all. Hiding a solid spine while quietly encouraging her daughter, Damascus, to be her own woman and marry the man of her choice. Jeb Ryland had forbidden Damascus to marry Vitus, and had instead arranged a match with Carl Davis.
Now, it was done, the lines firmly drawn between Carl and the Shadow Ops teams.
* * *
Thais remembered the bubble bath.
She felt a blush staining her cheeks but at least she was alone.
At last.
Working a case meant skimming through data. Tons of it. Looking for that one odd fact, which might lead to another and one more to form an evidence chain. They had the bullet and a short list of people who would put a hit out on Miranda. Finding the money, well, Thais stretched her neck and heard it pop. She’d been looking for the money all day.
She rubbed her eyes on the way toward the bedroom Dunn pointed out as hers for the night. Working data had never been as hard as it was with Dunn in the room. The guy was a distraction but he wasn’t lazy, she’d give him that. He’d been working as hard as the rest of the team.
The bubble bath …
With the doors of the suite closed behind her, Thais looked at the large slipper tub. It had gold feet and sat in front of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a section of red rock. The spa town of Sedona was just over the ridge, the private residence nestled into a section of private estates that came with enough land to ensure privacy.
The tub sat in a hexagon section of glass so it could overlook the rocks.
You baited him …
She had. Thais couldn’t stop the memory from rising up to play across her mind. She might have called Dunn a civilian justly but he’d been involved in cases from time to time over the last two years. Shadow Ops teams needed to operate off grid, an action that was becoming harder and harder to pull off in a world of cell phones and social media junkies.
Dunn’s reputation as a recluse was the perfect resource. He invested a small fortune in keeping his planes flying so no one really knew his location.
There was a rap on the door a moment before it opened to reveal Dunn. She felt his arrival as much as she witnessed it. All of her senses rippling with awareness. He was better than a double espresso when it came to waking her up.
And she couldn’t allow it to keep growing. She dug deep, looking for the professional persona she’d perfected over the years of working with Shadow Ops.
“I agreed to work a case with you, Dunn.” She sent him a hard look. “You don’t like me calling you a civilian but coming in here tells me you aren’t getting what it means to be teammates. This isn’t playtime. I’m working and you should be, too.”
He came forward, stopping for a moment near the tub. “We’ve finished the day’s work.”
“A case is finished when it’s closed,” she replied. “A good agent doesn’t take time off when lives hang in the balance.”
Her retort earned her a half grin. He was devastating enough without his lips in that cocky grin. “And yet”—he trailed a finger along the edge of the tub—“you�
�ve made use of downtime on cases in the past.”
Her cheeks warmed. “I shouldn’t have.”
“Why not?” he asked in a husky tone. “There is only so much we can do on this end. It’s a waiting game now.”
“One which would have been better served if you’d left me where my section leader did.” Thais latched onto the topic to avoid the issue of the tub.
And the fact that you knew Dunn was watching when you took that bath … teased him …
She had. Switched in as bait while Saxon Hale took their real witness off grid, Thais had indulged in a bubble bath in Dunn’s cabin. She’d only suspected he’d been watching.
Now, she knew for certain he had.
“I won’t apologize for getting you out of Homeland.” His tone had sharpened. “Ever.”
She felt their gazes lock, felt a reaction inside herself that was uncontrollable. She’d gone to a great deal of effort to make certain she wasn’t the weak link of her team. She protected others but Dunn was making it clear he’d decided to cover her when she needed it. She shouldn’t like the feeling, but denying it was impossible, and he knew it.
He was closer than she realized, making it necessary to tip her head up to maintain eye contact. He reached out and brushed her lips.
Straight across them, the connection sending a ripple of awareness through her.
“You can’t deny the attraction between us, Thais,” he whispered.
She turned, facing him head-on. “I’m not. Just doing the logical thing and walking away. Neither of us is looking for more than release.”
Professional and cold.
Her delivery lacked none of the sharp edges she was known for in the field. She should have felt a sense of mild satisfaction. Instead, Thais realized she felt hollow.
Like she was denying herself something she needed.
She drew in a sharp breath, pushing back a step.
She couldn’t need.
“It’s for the best, Bateson,” she added.
The gauntlet was down now. Dunn’s eyes narrowed, confirming her assessment of the situation a moment before he was coming toward her. She retreated, reacting to his approach, moving back until she was against the wall, his hands flattened on either side of her head.
He was going to kiss her.
The certainty of it crashed down on her like a wave. Stunning her with the force of the connection and wiping out everything except the feeling of the force of the water.
Only, he didn’t kiss her.
Thais opened her eyes and found Dunn’s emerald ones fixed on her.
“I want to,” he informed her, his fingers flexing on the wall beside her head. “I want to smother you in a kiss hard enough to drown out your ideas of what should be between us in favor of what we both want.”
Thais reached up and pressed her own hand over her lips.
She mustn’t.
“You,” he rasped out, “are something I’ve tried very hard not to think about.”
The common ground between them was strangely alluring. Like a haven she might enter if she was willing to take the risk.
Don’t kid yourself … he’s not the sort of man a girl domesticates … he will always roam …
“Ye’re hiding behind your badge, Thais,” he muttered, his voice dipping down into a timbre that touched off a shiver inside her. “Label me as ye will but I’m more honest than ye are.”
Dunn pushed back, moving several paces away from her. “I want more from this relationship than professional interaction.” His eyes flashed with hunger. “Much, much more. But I’m not going to overwhelm ye. We’re either partners with full knowledge of what we’re getting into or nothing.”
He meant it.
And loathed it as much as she did.
Thais watched his jaw clamp tight with frustration before he turned and gave her a view of his back while he left the suite. She stayed against the wall for a long moment, needing the support as she ordered herself to stay where she was.
It was the last thing she truly wanted.
* * *
“Has that contract man checked back in?”
Carl Davis launched into what was on his mind the moment Eric Geyer closed the door of his office. It was a tiny space because they were on Carl’s campaign plane. But it was very private.
“No,” Eric answered as he sat down. “I advise against moving forward with your plans for Miranda.”
Carl slapped the desk top. “Why? Thais Sinclair is on the run, giving us a perfect scapegoat. I want that bitch Miranda dead. I want her friends to know what I do to people who cross me. This is how the game is played, Eric. The man on the top is the one who made all the others fall into line and took out the ones who got in his way.”
“If you want to be president, I suggest you leave it alone this time. Miranda has too many eyes on her now.”
Carl didn’t care for Eric arguing. His eyes widened in outrage, his cheeks darkening. He worked his mouth a few times before getting words out.
“Do it! Or I’ll find a man with the balls to spill the blood that needs spilling. Don’t kid yourself, Geyer, we’re no different than bucks fighting in a herd of stags. Miranda chose a side. If I let her live, the others will just think they can step out of line, too. I’m going to be the master, Eric, and the rest of them are my slaves.” Carl leaned back in his chair. “If you want to have a pampered position, get busy earning it. The only thing being a nice guy earns you is a lot of people standing at your graveside.”
* * *
She understood arousal.
It was a topic Thais had spent time acquainting herself with. Some would argue that it was her induction into the world of espionage that had given birth to her extremely blunt approach to sex and how it affected her body.
They would be wrong.
Her mother had reared her to use sex and the allure of pleasure as a means of gaining everything she desired. Every detail of her body was for pleasing and enticing. The only factor she applied her personal choice to was her targets.
Dunn was something else though.
A source of stimuli that defied her grasp on the entire concept of sex. He would have overwhelmed her. It was a harsh little reality she’d be unwise to ignore.
Maybe you’re a fool for pushing him away …
The word “coward” was a harsh one, and yet she found herself contemplating it and discovering it fit all too well under the circumstances.
She had good reasons, of course. Experience was a harsh master. An effective one, however. She’d stopped believing in joy and was too jaded to change her mind, even in the face of the storm Dunn seemed able to brew inside her.
The wiser choice.
The bitterness in her mouth confirmed it was so.
* * *
Pullman disconnected the call. He contemplated the little burner phone in his hand.
Smashing it felt like a solid plan.
His jobs were always dangerous and often financed by people with anger control issues. His lips twisted into a grin. He was a hitman. It was only a very rare case that offered him some sort of enjoyment in the spilling of blood.
Like a father avenging the death of his son’s murder. Pullman turned and pulled his hood up so he could walk down the sidewalk. The sun had set, which meant it was time to move again.
Yeah, dropping a street thug who had killed a kid who’d been in the wrong part of town was a contract Pullman had enjoyed taking.
Working with Carl Davis? It was wearing on Pullman’s patience.
Not that Pullman had any real choice. Carl Davis was too big of a dog. Stupid, maybe. But there was one universal rule in life. Everywhere you went, there was one top dog no one crossed. Learn who that was fast, because the alternative was to step on its tail and get your throat ripped out.
So Miranda Delacroix needed to die.
Pullman made his way toward what had once been a gas station. People had taken to using the empty lot as a place to display used c
ars for sale. He walked between them, selecting one and dialing the number on the sign in the window. When the call went to voice mail, he moved on to another vehicle and dialed.
“I’m calling about the car, can you meet me now? I have cash.”
Pullman killed the call a second after the excited owner said he’d be there in ten minutes. Half an hour later, Pullman was driving away, the owner slightly befuddled to be holding ten grand in cash. The guy would never realize how easy he made it for Pullman to move across the country without traffic cameras picking up on his whereabouts. In the digital age, where license plates could be flagged by a central agency and patrol cars scanned ten license plates a minute, Pullman needed a car registered to someone no one was looking for and someone who wasn’t smart enough to insist on doing the transfer of ownership together. By the time the guy realized Pullman was never going to show up at the DMV, it wouldn’t matter if the cops were looking for the car.
* * *
“Miranda’s handled.”
Eric watched Carl Davis absorb the news. The presidential hopeful was arrogant, something not unfamiliar to Eric. Yet it was still a bit unnerving to witness the way Carl’s eyes began to glow with anticipation over Miranda’s impending murder.
Eric took solace in the sensation, however. Using it as confirmation of the fact that he still had some part of a soul left.
Carl was tapping his desktop, his mood clearly improving.
“Kagan is going to regret his little stunt now,” Carl declared jovially.
Eric wasn’t so certain. At least, he wouldn’t bet on Kagan scaring so easily. Miranda Delacroix was a prime candidate when it came to possibly hitting the Shadow Ops section leader in something that might be called a soft spot.
She was motherly, kissed babies, and wanted to clean up the environment.
But Kagan was an experienced operator in the field. No one got to the position Kagan was in if they didn’t grow some very thick skin. Kagan would be a fool to think Miranda wouldn’t be in danger after she turned over a voice recording of Carl and Kirkland Grog.
The action had paid off though. Kirkland was sitting in federal prison, his media empire being torn to bits by his siblings. The lack of a strong leader emerging from among the Raven’s offspring meant Carl lost a great deal of his free media coverage.
