“Any chance you guys have an extra T-shirt?” I asked, gazing out the window toward the trees as I held up my commission book for the guard at the gate.
“No. I’m sorry. The girls all have tank tops. The guys thought you’d want them because they were more feminine. Plus, we all know you don’t like to be hot and confined when you run, so…”
The car started moving again, and I swallowed hard, thinking about what wearing the tank top would mean for me: my newly acquired shoulder scar would be prominently on display.
Like I said, one hell of a way to start the morning.
Chapter Two
The James J. Rowley Training Center—where the men and women of the United States Secret Service are shaped and molded into the dedicated agents responsible for the physical protection of numerous politicians, heads of state, and foreign dignitaries—is located in Maryland and stretches over almost five hundred acres. Its six miles of roadway make it the perfect place to host the NPC-50.
The National Police Challenge Relay, or the NPC-50, is an annual competition among local, state, and federal law enforcement agencies from all over the world. The race is run by teams of ten, each participant of which runs five kilometers, hence the “50” in the race’s name. Each team’s entry fee benefits the COPS and HEROES foundations, both of which are very law-enforcement-officer-supportive organizations.
My attitude toward running had never been what one would describe as enthusiastic, and as Rico navigated the car through the hordes of other participants for today’s event, I couldn’t help but wonder for at least the fifteenth time that week exactly how I’d let myself be talked into this.
The heavy examination of my inner feelings would have to wait until after I killed myself trying to run this stupid race because the rest of the guys were already in the parking lot waiting, and if their facial expressions were any indication, the subject of our uniforms was about to become a hot-button topic. I sighed.
“What do you think?” Allen Cross wanted to know, accosting me with the question before I even had time to set foot out of the car.
The guys all had their jackets and sweatshirts off now and seemed rather proud of their shirts and shorts, but they also all looked as though they wouldn’t be able to take a deep breath until I weighed in with my opinion.
I opened my mouth to comment but faltered when I noticed that their T-shirts included an extra “bullet hole” that my tank top, with its missing material, didn’t have: the one that represented the shot I’d taken to the shoulder. I snuck a quick glance around to confirm my suspicion that the illustration was accurate and that there were faux shots on both the front and the back of the shirt, high on the shoulder, to show how the bullet had passed through the muscle. It was and there were. Fantastic.
Gathering all my wildly careening emotions together into a tight little ball and pasting what I hoped was a somewhat convincing smile on my face, I got out of the car and held my own outfit aloft.
“These are great, guys. Thanks.” The brightness of my tone didn’t ring true to my ears, but the guys all breathed a collective sigh of relief, so it must’ve been credible enough.
“See?” Keith Abelard shouted smugly, snaking one arm around my shoulders and giving me a squeeze. “I told you she wouldn’t mind.”
Mind? I thought to myself somewhat bitterly. No, why the hell should I mind? I mean, hey, I got shot five times in the line of duty and almost died, but by all means, let’s put my wounds on a T-shirt and parade me around in front of the public like some sort of performing monkey in cross trainers. What’s to mind?
What I actually said was, “Nah. It was sweet. In a fucked-up sort of way.” I freed myself from Keith’s grasp and headed toward the women’s locker room inside the PT building. “See you guys in a minute,” I called over my shoulder, ignoring their shouts of protest and suggestions that I could change in the parking lot. Perverts.
Rory followed me silently into the locker room, her face reflecting her unease. She continued to stare at me while I prepared to change clothes, which only enflamed my irritation with life in general. That’s why I ignored her and began the ritual of getting undressed without uttering a word.
“You okay?” Rory finally asked.
I paused in the act of placing my now-folded sweatpants into a locker so I could consider the question, glad the locker room was empty, so we could have this discussion in private. I turned back to face her, holding my hand out, wordlessly asking for the black shorts.
“Would it make any sense to you if I said I didn’t know?”
At the moment I had focused all my attention on how much of the scar on my thigh might be visible beneath the extremely high hemline of the shorts I was about to don. I slid them up over my legs and settled them as low on my hips as I could get away with without them falling off, frowning as I leaned over to inspect their length. The scar showed a lot, as it turned out. The whole damn thing was clearly on display.
Rory sighed and straddled the bench that was sitting between us, resting her elbows on the tops of her knees. Her sea-foam-green eyes shifted to the tank top she was wringing between her hands, and she stole quick, nervous glances at me from underneath her eyebrows. The sound of the locker room door opening marred the silence and reminded me there were other people in the world besides my sister and me. People I was going to have to face in a few minutes. People who would likely be staring at me in this get-up. My stomach rolled violently.
“Do you think the rest of the girls’ team is actually wearing these?” The question was rhetorical. Rory couldn’t have possibly known the answer, as she’d come straight to the locker room with me, and we hadn’t seen anyone from the girls’ team on our way in. I wasn’t even sure why I’d bothered to ask, and I winced at the distinct tremor in my voice as I spoke.
“Yes,” a familiar voice spat harshly. “They are.”
Allison Reynolds stomped into the locker room, her inky black eyes blazing with a righteous fury. I almost felt the click as her gaze locked onto me, and my pulse sped up. It seemed like every single time I saw her, she appeared even more heart-stoppingly beautiful than the time before.
Allison and I hadn’t seen one another in weeks. Between her crazy work schedule and my physical-therapy appointments, connecting in person had been difficult, to say the least. I’d missed her terribly. I’d also been under the impression she wouldn’t be able to make it back to DC in time for the race, so it hadn’t even occurred to me she might make a cameo. To say I was pleasantly surprised didn’t begin to cover it.
“Hi. When did you get back?” The trembling in my voice now was due to a completely different reason. I pulled the corners of my mouth up into a genuine smile as my tension ebbed. No matter how many times I lived through it, it never failed to amaze me how just seeing her could make everything in my world all right.
Allison, however, was not experiencing a similar sensation, if her dark facial expression was any indication. In fact, she appeared to be growing more agitated as she took in my shorts and the tank top in Rory’s hands.
Rory abruptly stood and handed me the shirt. “I’m gonna go find Joanna,” she mumbled, referring to my friend Jamie Dorchester’s girlfriend. Jo was running on the team of doctors who worked at St. Elizabeth’s, a mental-health facility located in DC. They’d needed an extra body to make a full team, so I’d volunteered my sister, seeing as how she was a doctor herself. Perhaps her hasty departure was payback for that. Traitor!
If Allison noticed her presence or subsequent lightning-quick retreat, she never said. What did come out of her mouth was, “Fucking assholes!”
The venom in her normally honeyed voice took me aback, and I stepped closer so I could rest my hand on her arm.
“It’s not that big a deal.” I wasn’t sure which of us I was trying to convince with that shaky declaration.
Allison glowered at me. “Bullshit!”
“Wanna help me take off my shirt?” I asked, trying to lighten the
mood.
Allison set her jaw and drew a deep breath, obviously physically reining in whatever her first response had been. I allowed my hand to slide down her forearm so I could grip her fingers in mine and tugged her a little closer. I then pressed the palm of her hand to my side.
After a long moment, Allison’s gaze softened, and she scoured my face with her eyes. What she was searching for, I didn’t know, but I remained quiet, content to bask in her attention for the time being. Her fingers started tracing distracting circles on my ribs, and my heart picked up its tempo even more.
“They shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered, her tone more agonized now than angry.
“It’s okay, sweetheart.”
“No, it’s not!” Her earlier ire flickered back to life briefly before sputtering back out again. “You almost died. That’s not something to joke about.”
I dropped the tank top onto the bench, forgotten, and lifted my hands to cup her cheeks. Maybe I hadn’t been one hundred percent okay with my new attire, but the thought of Allison being distressed about it didn’t sit well with me. She was already on edge too much as it was, talking about the events of a few weeks ago and dragging both of us forcibly on guilt trips far too often for my liking, as if I weren’t already taking enough solo voyages. For her, I’d pretend this didn’t bother me.
Whatever I’d been about to say in an effort to ease Allison’s mind slipped my own as her eyes drifted down to rest heavily on my mouth. Her tongue darted out to caress her bottom lip, and I sucked in a startled breath as the familiar heat sparked between us. The expression on her face now as she allowed her gaze to once again meet mine made my heart stop.
Agonizingly slowly, Allison slid her hands down my sides to grasp the hem of my T-shirt and slipped it up over my head. Once it was gone, she shifted her attention to the scar marring the skin halfway between my shoulder and my neck. I couldn’t help shivering as she caressed it gently with the pad of her thumb. Goose bumps broke out over my entire body when she ghosted her lips over that scar immediately after.
She closed her lips around it and stroked it lightly with the tip of her tongue, making me moan. I tangled my fingers into her silken ebony locks and pulled her closer. The bench between us made it impossible for us to make full contact, and I cursed it in my head.
“Allison.” I sighed as her teeth began lightly grazing the sensitive skin of my neck. My eyes fluttered closed, and I let my head fall back to allow her greater access.
“Oops, sorry!” A voice interrupted us.
Allison and I flew apart, and I flushed hotly, unable to meet the mortified stare of Special Agent Meaghan Bates, who’d apparently entered the locker room silently, like some sort of stealthy, twat-swatting ninja.
“They’re asking all the teams to line up so they can get started,” Meaghan said, her tone thick with embarrassment.
“Okay,” I mumbled, keeping my eyes fixed intently on the tile floor.
The three of us stood there not looking at one another for at least an eon before Meaghan muttered something under her breath I didn’t quite catch and fled the scene without looking back. The silence between Allison and me stretched out for another long moment.
“Sorry,” Allison finally said, shooting me the barest traces of a grin.
I shrugged and retrieved my T-shirt from the floor so I could stow it in the locker with the rest of my belongings. When I turned back, she was holding the tank top out to me. I accepted it gratefully and slipped it over my head.
“For what?” I strode over to the mirror hanging above the line of sinks so I could study my reflection. The tank top had medium-width straps situated toward the outer edges of my shoulder blades, which meant my shoulder scar was visible in its entirety. Perfect. I frowned.
“For Meaghan walking in on that. I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to our surroundings. I guess I got carried away.”
I snagged my NYFO hat and my iPod out of the locker and slammed the door shut, relishing the hollow clang in the almost empty room. I set to work arranging my running headphones and my armband so they were perfectly configured. I needed the wires to be tucked out of the way and not flopping around and the iPod within reach, so I could easily indulge my short attention span and change songs as often as necessary.
Allison took over settling the armband around my right bicep, and I was immediately distracted by the feel of her fingertips brushing against my skin. A rush of arousal flooded me, and I fought not to moan. If she wasn’t careful, we were going to get a lot more carried away in the not-too-distant future.
“It’s fine.”
She cleared her throat. “Well, I know neither of us is too keen on being the subject of gossip.”
“Meaghan won’t say anything to anyone,” I assured her, as she strapped the Velcro around my arm tight. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Allison snatched the baseball cap out of my hand effortlessly and plopped it onto her own head.
“Hey! What am I going to wear?”
Allison grinned at me and handed over her own baseball hat, which she’d had tucked into the back waistband of her running shorts and which was adorned with the logo for the detail she was assigned to. I eyed the symbol for the Presidential Protective Division ornamenting the front of the hat with a certain level of wariness.
“You really expect me to wear this? Like outside? Where people can see me?”
“Yes,” Allison stated without looking at me. She was busy adjusting my NYFO hat so none of her hair was sticking out the sides of it.
“I could get kicked off the team for this sort of betrayal. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” she drawled sarcastically. “We’re a regular Romeo and Juliet.”
I rolled my eyes at her. “Always with the dramatics. I’m just saying your PPD buddies aren’t going to take too kindly to me wearing their swag, that’s all.”
She gestured to the hat she was now wearing. “Hey, I’m not going to be winning any popularity points with this thing on, either. But look at it this way. If they kick you off the team, we can have the rest of the morning alone to engage in our own private workout.”
My knees almost buckled, and I closed my eyes. “Why wait?”
Allison chuckled throatily, which didn’t help my predicament. She leaned in, and her lips brushed the shell of my ear as she spoke. “I’ll give you a nice, thorough rubdown after the run,” she whispered, taking my earlobe into her mouth and sucking on it briefly to punctuate her promise. “How’s that?”
I moaned and turned my head to capture her lips in a searing kiss. Every nerve ending in my body was on fire, screaming for her to do something—anything—to douse the flames of passion she’d stoked within me. All I wanted, more than I wanted my next breath, was to take Allison someplace quiet where I could spend several uninterrupted hours mapping the contours of her body and making them mine. At that exact moment, I didn’t think I’d ever been so bitterly resentful of an engagement in all my life as I was of the race.
When we finally pulled back, I was dizzy and gasping for air. I studied her expression for a long moment, pleased to note she seemed almost as out of sorts as I felt. I pulled her closer and wrapped my arms around her, inhaling the clean scent of her hair as though it held the key to my sanity, desperate to put off facing the rest of the world for just a little while longer.
The sound of the locker room door opening intruded on the moment, catapulting me back to reality.
“Uh…Ryan?” Meaghan called, presumably from just outside the door. “We have a slight problem.”
“I’ll be right there.”
With a heavy sigh, I reluctantly untangled myself from Allison’s embrace. A small, amused smile was adorning her perfect lips.
“What?” I asked as I started toward the door to the locker room.
“Have I ever told you how adorable you are?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve heard beautiful, wonderful, and brilliant from you.
As well as the most incredibly sexy woman you’ve ever laid eyes on. But, no, I don’t remember you ever mentioning adorable.”
Allison scoffed and gave me a playful slap on the butt as we stepped into the hallway. “Run fast, smart-ass. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can go back to my place and cool down.”
“The roadrunner has nothing on me. That, I can promise you.”
Chapter Three
Allison and I threaded our way through the crowd in the general direction of the starting line. I was searching the throng for Meaghan, but she’d somehow managed to disappear. Well, whatever the problem was, it couldn’t have been too important. Otherwise she would’ve stuck around.
Rory stood chatting easily with Jamie Dorchester and Joanna Sheahan, and I made my way over, noticing some stares and whispers aimed in my general direction as I went—some covert, others not so much. I clenched my fists and my jaw against my rising discomfort.
Allison’s hand sketched a light line across the small of my back, and I turned to shoot her a grateful smile. The grin I received in return went a long way toward distracting me from my anxiety.
“Oh, get a room, you two,” Jamie said loudly, rolling her eyes as I spun to scowl at her.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the man standing closest to her—though not exactly part of the group—blinked, obviously startled, and favored me with a cool, appraising look. He looked somewhat familiar, but I couldn’t place him.
Joanna elbowed her girlfriend hard enough to elicit a grunt and leaned in to give me a brief, welcoming hug. “How are you, Ryan?”
“Good, thanks. How are you?”
“Fine, fine.” Her eyes dropped to examine both of my visible scars briefly. “You’ve healed up well. Any lingering soreness or stiffness?”
I rolled my injured shoulder a little, as though her words had either brought on or perhaps made me more aware of the ever-present ache that stubbornly refused to abate completely. “Some. But it could always be worse.”
Known Threat Page 2
