Silken Threats
Page 13
Tucker knew that pain. Knew the continued frustration at those around you who were supposed to be your biggest allies and who were instead steeped in the role of enemy. He’d lived with that pain—and the anger born of that pain—for a long time.
Until anger had turned to indifference.
His voice was strangled when he finally spoke, understanding choking the words. “Our loved ones don’t always know what we need.”
“No. They don’t. I loved my sister, but we had little in common beyond blood and shared childhoods. So we grew into adults who shared quick, perfunctory visits at the holidays or an occasional drink during the workweek.”
“A mutual decision.”
“Or an unwillingness to try harder.”
Frustration rose up. Whether it was the raw open wounds of his own childhood or his inability to help her see that she wasn’t responsible for her sister, Tucker didn’t know.
All he did know was that her normally vivid eyes had faded to a dull, leaden blue and his heart ached for the burden she carried.
But it shattered at the realization she believed herself responsible for her sister’s broken life.
* * *
Tucker followed Cassidy’s car through the streets of East Dallas, Bailey panting heavily from the backseat. She’d followed him to his apartment a few blocks from the office to pick up the mutt, then man and dog had followed her home. Bailey had settled himself in the backseat, but his heavy panting was a dead giveaway of just how excited he was to be along on the adventure.
“Damn crazy situation.” Tucker muttered it, even as his own wave of excitement pulsed through his veins. He and a reluctant Max had taken on helping the women with varying degrees of commitment, but tonight had changed everything.
They were in. The no-turning-back, see-it-through-to-the-end sort of in.
And he was more excited than he’d have believed possible.
Was this what happened when you went back into civilian life? He’d never completely connected with the concept of the adrenaline junkie—he valued his life, thank you very much—but he did appreciate the heightened awareness and razor-sharp reflexes that came to bear on an op. Neither of them had had that in a long time, their roles as gentleman business owners not providing quite the same adrenaline highs day in and day out.
The thought lingered at the back of his mind as he pulled up behind Cassidy in her driveway. After letting Bailey out—his puppylike excitement over exploring new ground sending him off like a shot—Tucker grabbed his own bag from the trunk.
“I’m sorry to put you through all this trouble.”
“It’s no trouble, Cassidy.”
“Of course it is, and I’m sorry you’re stuck dealing with it.”
She’d said the same when he’d left to get Bailey. Said it again as they were climbing into their cars. Since he had no interest in hearing it yet again, he turned toward her and dragged her against him, her loud oompf the only sound before he clamped his mouth on hers.
The tension of the past few hours fell away as the moment overtook them both. The sweet scent of honeysuckle filled his senses—was that her or her yard?—but when her even sweeter tongue slipped between his lips he forgot to question anything.
Hell, he damn near forgot to breathe.
With gentle motions, at odds with the heat that raged between them, he ran his fingers in long lines over her body, grazing his fingertips up and down her rib cage in one long, sinuous caress. When Cassidy pressed herself closer to his chest, her hands exploratory across his shoulders, he slipped a hand over the sensitive skin of her stomach.
His actions were greeted with a small mewl, and he kept up the gentle stroking even as his mouth dueled with hers.
A loud bark pulled him from the mindless passion, but still he kept his mouth fused with Cassidy’s until a heavy set of paws landed dead center on his back.
“Damn mutt,” he muttered against her lips. The smile that greeted him went a long way toward assuaging his annoyance.
But it did nothing for the raging needs of his body, and his blood pounded in hard, choppy waves as he disengaged himself from her embrace.
“Bailey.” Although he intended to be stern, his voice came out on a harsh exhale and it was only when Bailey barked again—this time more agitated—that Tucker keyed in to the dog’s distress. Lean muscle quivered under coarse, brindled fur, and Tucker followed the direction of Bailey’s gaze.
“Damn it.”
Something flashed in the dark across the street—if he hadn’t been watching so closely he’d have missed it—and Tucker moved into action. With a soft but firm hand on Bailey’s head, he ordered him to stay before he took off after his quarry.
Cassidy’s holler echoed behind him, along with another bark from Bailey, but Tucker kept on moving, unwilling to waste another moment.
The guy knew he’d been made and had a hell of a head start, but Tucker pressed himself on.
“Four freaking miles a day better be good for something.” The words fell from his lips like gunshots and as the man passed under an unavoidable streetlamp Tucker caught his profile in sharp relief.
He couldn’t make out specific features but the guy was blond, of medium height and wore a suit. Cycling through his memories of the men he’d chased out of the hospital, Tucker recollected the blond hair of the second of the two goons.
Bingo.
The distance and the ambient heat were his ally, and Tucker noted how the man’s pace slowed. A head start gave the bastard a mighty advantage, but Tucker pushed himself harder and maintained a grueling pace in pursuit of his prey.
As he pounded over the distance, a slow, simmering rage began to build. This guy was watching Cassidy’s house. Had watched the two of them together, in the midst of a stolen moment.
Although he’d been momentarily frustrated at Bailey’s interruption, Tucker was suddenly grateful. His dog’s awareness had not only trumped his own, but it had gone a long way toward stopping the passion-filled display on Cassidy’s front lawn.
The heat of her mouth and the flavor of her still lingered on his tongue like a rich wine, and he clenched his fists at the remembered softness of her skin. A renewed wave of anger fueled him even harder now that their private moment had been observed, then subsequently ruined.
The gap between them narrowed farther, and Tucker knew he was close. He’d nearly cleared the distance—only about fifteen yards separated them—when a large SUV squealed off the main road and barreled toward them on the quiet neighborhood street. Shots rang out, their heavy thunder drawing him up short.
What the hell?
Tucker threw his body backward, reversing both his momentum and direction. He nearly stumbled as his foot lost its grip on asphalt before windmilling his arms to right himself.
He had to get out of range.
The driver was managing a car as well as a gun, but his screeching halt to pick up his passenger was going to give him time to get off another round of shots, likely not as haywire as the last.
And other than attracting the notice of the neighbors, the driver had nothing to lose.
As he maneuvered himself into the shadows of a nearby house, Tucker recognized the underlying strategy. The blond goon had zigzagged his way through the neighborhood as he gave chase, moving ever closer to the main thoroughfare that buttressed Cassidy’s street. He’d efficiently positioned himself to grab his getaway car.
Tucker saw the pattern perfectly in his mind now. Blondie didn’t need to win the footrace, he just needed to keep his lead until he had backup.
His desire for answers was strong, and the thought flitted through his mind to take his chances by storming the SUV to at least read the license plate, but his innate sense of self-preservation ultimately won out.
That decision was rein
forced as one last gunshot rang out, the bullet exploding in the bushes mere inches from his feet, before the black SUV peeled off the curb, Tucker’s quarry now ensconced in the passenger seat.
Whether it was an errant shot or a deliberate warning, Tucker wasn’t sure.
All he did know was that he needed to get back to Cassidy.
* * *
Cassidy stood on her front porch, Bailey’s heavy, reassuring form crossing a path back and forth in front of her. She’d tried to go down the steps when she heard what sounded like a gunshot, but he’d begun barking, his agitation enough to keep her in place.
Damn fool man. Was Tucker Buchanan insane?
Although she had no desire to take off after a stalker, she had no interest in having him take off after a stalker, either. An armed stalker, no less.
And when had Tucker’s safety begun to trump her own?
She dropped to one knee next to Bailey and wrapped her arms around his neck. Although she sought to calm him, she quickly realized the move was really about soothing herself. Hard muscle quivered under her hands and she pressed her head to his, holding him close.
Although she knew his big, protective body was still no match for a bullet, Bailey radiated protection and a selfless courage that was surprisingly similar to his owner’s.
On a loud yip and whiny, impatient cry, he stood at tighter attention, and within moments Tucker appeared across the street, loping though her neighbor’s yard.
“Go ahead.” She stood up and patted Bailey on his rump to get him moving, but the dog stayed, just as he’d been told. His excitement was palpable, but he never moved from her side.
Tucker crossed the yard, and relief had her taking her first easy breath since they’d left the hospital a few hours earlier. He picked up the duffel he’d dropped earlier, then kept on toward the porch.
“What happened?”
Jaw set in a firm line, Tucker said nothing, just dropped his bag on the porch and pulled her close. She went willingly, not caring if her question was unanswered. Or if the neighbors saw them. She didn’t even care if anyone was still out there.
He was safe. Whole.
She took another deep breath, then hugged him tighter. “You’re all right.”
“I’m fine.” His large hands ran soothing circles over her back, but she didn’t miss that his hold on her was as tight as her own.
On a hard sob, she dragged him toward the door. “Let’s get inside.”
* * *
Charlie cursed as he drove determinedly toward LBJ Freeway, his only goal to get distance between his sister-in-law’s neighborhood and the freaking wannabe hero who’d nearly caught up with Alex.
The one-sided conversation had begun before he’d even hit the highway, and he listened as Alex gave the same series of answers over and over.
No, I’m sure he didn’t make me.
Yes, I understand.
No, I won’t be late in the morning.
He waited until the man had stowed his phone firmly in his suit jacket pocket before speaking. “Boss is pissed.”
“As he should be.”
Charlie hadn’t been able to make the underlying accent—Russian? German?—but he knew Alex was a man of few words. But since he’d just pulled his ass from a very uncomfortable sling, Charlie figured he’d earned the right to a few questions.
“The Duke’s a hard man to please.”
Alex shrugged, the move casual in the reflected glow of the highway’s streetlamps. “That’s why he’s the Duke.”
“None of us could control the fact that the girls met up with the cavalry the moment we started this op.”
“We’ve been lazy. Undisciplined.” The words spilled forth, full of disdain and self-loathing. “The men of Dragon Designs are an inconvenience, nothing more.”
“They’re ex-military, man. I did a bit of research about them on their website. They were part of the Army Corps of Engineers. That means they know how to divert rivers and build dams and blow stuff up.”
“Excuses are immaterial. We must do better.”
“Speak for yourself. I’ve been doing my part already. I found this gig for the Duke.”
“No.” Alex was quiet for a long moment, the pause growing eerie as Charlie waited for him to continue. “The Duke found you.”
“Hell, no.” Charlie fought to hold back the rising anger but damn, the good-little-soldier routine was wearing thin. “I set this up. I’m the one who figured out what the girls are sitting on while they play bridal boutique.”
“You think you’re in control but you know nothing.” Alex turned to face him, his gaze starkly empty in the reflected lights. “The Duke found you. Only a fool would believe otherwise.”
* * *
Cassidy handed Tucker a mug of coffee before taking a seat on her couch. He sat on the opposite end with Bailey at his feet, the dog happily munching on a rawhide bone that looked about the width of a football field. And if his contented little grunts were any indication, the dog wasn’t stopping until he hit the end zone.
“Start at the beginning.”
Although it had driven her crazy with curiosity to wait until the coffee brewed, Cassidy and Tucker had both used the time to call their friends and confirm everyone was safe.
Of course, once they’d both shared the details on the stalker and Tucker’s subsequent chase through the neighborhood, the calls had unleashed a torrent of concerned gasps, adding time to the calls.
Cassidy had reassured Violet and Lilah that they needed to stay put and make a plan to call Detective Graystone in the morning. While she’d have preferred the afternoon, she had two fittings the next day and knew she needed to get to him early to stay on schedule.
As a business, they’d already lost too many days to whatever the heck was going on around them—or under them, as the case might be—and she couldn’t afford to skip the planned fittings and still stay on track for everything she had due this month.
“All the way at the beginning?”
His comment pulled her from her musings, his heated gaze pulling her firmly back to the here and now. She swallowed hard but did manage to get out a weak “yes” in response.
“Then I’d say it started with a rather inspiring kiss in your front yard.”
Images slammed themselves back into her mind. While they hadn’t strayed far from her thoughts, concerns over Tucker’s late-night run had jockeyed for first place. Now that she did remember—and could still feel the brand of his lips and the light caress of his fingertips over the sensitive skin of her stomach—Cassidy struggled with how to play the moment.
Cool and collected? Or honest about how he affected her?
She opted for honesty and hoped he’d appreciate the gesture. “While I enjoy having my brains leak out of my head as much as the next woman, I’m talking about your race through my neighborhood like the hounds of hell were at your feet.”
“I’d rather talk about the kissing.”
Desire flashed in her belly—hard and hot—and she took a sip of her coffee in an attempt to regain her equilibrium.
Was that even possible? She’d had no equilibrium since meeting Tucker Buchanan and she was fast coming to think it had very little to do with the fact that people were following her with loaded guns.
Again, her thoughts dragged her where her hormones had no fear of treading, and images of doing a lot more than some kissing in her front yard filled her mind.
Hot, heated caresses while early-evening light played over both their bodies.
Slow, carnal kisses where they explored every inch of each other.
Long, luscious strokes of his body entering hers...
Cassidy pulled herself from the powerful images and attempted, once more, to focus on their conversation.
Her only defense was the reminder she clung to like a lifeline. They were two people who’d met and who had turned to each other in a moment of crisis. Relationships forged in that fire weren’t destined for a very long run.
She knew that one from firsthand experience.
“And there you’ve gone away from me again.” Tucker ran a finger over the shell of her ear, sending delicious shivers down her spine and pulling her back from her thoughts. “Or did your brain really leak out? Come on, sweetheart, talk.”
The endearment twisted her heart before hardening it in firm lines of regret. She wasn’t his sweetheart and she’d do well to remember that.
“Tell me about the guy you chased.”
Tucker considered her for another moment, his gaze as dark as his black coffee as he searched her face, before he continued. “I’m pretty sure it was one of the guys from the hospital.”
“The ones in suits?”
“Yep.”
“Who goes around shooting at people in three-piece suits?”
“Someone with backing and support.”
Tucker’s assessment pulled her up short and she nearly fumbled her mug, righting it at the last moment before ending up with a lap full of hot coffee. “Backing?”
“A lot of it.”
Whatever she’d imagined this was all about suddenly took on an entirely new meaning as she evaluated his comments. “You think someone has a lot more knowledge than we do? Knowledge of Mrs. B. and what’s hidden in her floor?”
“Yes, I do. I think someone knows exactly what’s under that floor, or at least believes they do. Our only chance is to get to it first.”
She thought over the decisions they’d made. “We need to finish digging up that floor.”
“Opening up a huge hole isn’t the way to keep Detective Graystone’s curiosity at bay.”
“I suppose not. I can’t imagine he misses much.”
“I think we have to open the floor ourselves. Without the detective’s involvement.”