TRACELESS

by Helen Kay Dimon

  The latch under the porch gave without trouble. On their stomachs and shuffling in, they moved one by one until they reached the open area about three feet high where they could push up. Lifting the floorboard into the back office proved harder. With his palms flat against the outline of the trap door, Luc shoved but something heavy weighed it down.

  Luc motioned to Bruce and Rich to wait. No knowing how or what lurked on the other side required them to be even more careful. He didn’t trust either of the other men to do the job. No, he would take on this task without them. Bruce could pretend to lead another time. Rich could whine on someone else’s dime.

  Luc tried again. When Bruce reached over and added his strength, the door gave with a soft click. Luc waited for shots to fire through, for footsteps or something. When the room above stayed quiet, he decided to move. Leaving the other men squatting in the dirt, Luc threw more of his energy into the task and the door lifted about a foot.

  He slipped his hand through the opening and felt something soft. A rug of some sort. Figured on this job something mundane and stupid would almost sidetrack him. He made a space wide enough to shimmy through then lowered the door again. The small thud echoed but he knew it would blend into the noise of the desert.

  With his gun in his hand, he took careful steps across the room to the hallway. A light burned at the end where the kitchen and family room area stood. Luc heard shuffling and the clinking of glasses. The person out there was either the one Corcoran man assigned to the house or Marcel.

  Luc slid along the hall. He got close to the end and saw the flash of an elbow as the man in there moved around. Luc took in the hiking boots and dark pants. Nothing about this guy’s form resembled Marcel’s slim look. This had to be the trained killer.

  Knowing that had Luc moving back down the hall to the bedroom. Slow and even steps that kept the wood beneath him from creaking. The bedroom door was closed. Luc turned the knob gradually to eliminate any noise. Since it wasn’t locked, it pushed open in his hand.

  Slipping inside he saw the lump in the bed and the kitchen knife on the nightstand. Luc had to give the guy credit for being prepared. Too bad it wasn’t enough. Bullets beat blades every single time.

  As Luc got to the side of the bed near the weapon, the lump moved. Marcel flipped to his back and his eyes popped open. Luc had his hand over his mouth before he could yell.

  After a second, Marcel shoved the hand away and pushed up on his elbows. “It’s about time you got here.”

  * * *

  Sunrise peeked on the edges of the horizon. The heat of the day would settle in soon and they would have to move. There were plans to make but Connor stood frozen.

  He held the jeans Jana laid out to wear. He ran his hands over them and felt around the pockets. The black square in his hand weighed almost nothing but it was heavy against his palm.

  The mental battle waged on. Her protection versus his paranoia.

  He finally reached a conclusion. It was the right move but the wrong execution. He swore under his breath. “Women.”

  “What are you doing?”

  Her voice had him jumping. Man, no one ever snuck up on him. Just showed how off his game he was around her.

  Busted.

  He dropped the pants on the mattress. “I’m actually not doing it.”

  She picked something off the floor and he frowned when he realized it was his old tee. She slipped it over her head and his front-row seat to that amazing body stopped. So did any chance of luring her back between the covers.

  Before he could come up with a reasonable explanation, she stood in front of him at the end of the bed. “Are you playing verbal gymnastics in the hope I’ll forget I saw you with your hands in my pants?”

  Now that was quite a statement. “I like having my hands in your pants.”

  “No jokes.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Talk, and do it now.”

  The move plumped her breasts and had him getting hard...until she cleared her throat. His gaze flew back to her angry one. “It’s a tracker.”

  “And you were going to sneak it into my clothes.” She plucked it out of his hand and held it up, studying it. “Again.”

  He could see the anger wash over her. Her skin reddened and her mouth fell into a flat line. He knew he only had seconds to make this right. “No.”

  “Since when do you lie to me?”

  That expression, heated and full of fury, had him rushing to explain. “I mean, I was going to then I thought about what you said and how I come on too strong and I stopped.”

  He tried to do it her way. He’d lost so much by insisting on handling the marriage and her safety on his terms. If she wanted some freedom he’d give it to her. Not now, with gunmen outside. He couldn’t control them but he could control his actions. This time he’d planned on talking with her first. Explaining why he needed her to carry the device.

  “Really?” Hope threaded through her voice.

  He grabbed on to that. “I can be taught, you know.”

  She glanced around the floor. “Everything but how to hang up your clothes, apparently.”

  With the simple comment he’d heard so many times before, the tension poured out of him. The battle ended and she believed him. He had to admit that felt pretty damn great. “Picking up clothes is tough for guys.”

  “Uh-huh.” She waved the tracker in front of his face. “So you stopped just short of tracking me without my knowledge.”

  “Yes. I wanted to tell you first.” He couldn’t bring himself to say “ask your permission” because if she said no to being tagged he didn’t know what he would have done. He was learning but he still understood how to do his job and that tracker was a necessity. “Do I get any credit for that?”

  A smile broke over her face. “I think you do.”

  Crisis averted. The breath rushed out of him in relief. “That wasn’t so hard.”

  “Which is what I’ve been saying.”

  Since he guessed he was about to lose ground, he reached for the satphone on the table when it buzzed. He’d grab on to any diversion.

  She got to it first and held it up. “I thought we couldn’t get calls.”

  “The bad guys’ phones work. I gave Shane and Holt the number and they’re passing it around to our side while Joel searches the call logs.” Connor clicked the button and put the line on speakerphone. “I’m here with Jana.”

  Shane skipped the welcomes and went right to the news. “Someone made contact.”

  Just as Connor thought. Marcel was in this mess up to his eyeballs. “Did he see you?”

  “Who?” Jana asked.

  Connor ignored the question knowing she would figure it out in a second. Shane must have had the same idea because he answered Connor instead. “I pretended I didn’t know he was here.”

  “Is Marcel still breathing?”

  Jana grabbed Connor’s arm and tugged. “What did you do?”

  He glanced at her, expecting rage and distrust and dreading it. Instead, her eyes narrowed in what looked like confusion. She wasn’t yelling or demanding. She wanted to understand. That reality broke through his worries.

  But that didn’t mean he rushed in. Connor doled out the information in pieces he thought she could take. She was strong but she believed in Marcel and his cause and wounding her with the truth was not something Connor enjoyed.

  “He had a sneak meeting with someone at the house,” he explained.

  Her expression didn’t change but her grip loosened on his arm. “Maybe it’s the attackers. He could be hurt. They could have threatened him.”

  All nice theories but none of them fit the facts. And he sure didn’t want her feeling sorry for the guy. “He’s in this with them.”

  She threw up her hands. “How do you know?”

>   “He didn’t call for help and he’s still breathing.”

  Shane mumbled something Connor didn’t catch but then Shane’s voice rose again. “Unfortunately.”

  Connor thought the same thing. “Guess we know how the attackers got off the porch so quickly yesterday.”

  “Yeah,” Shane said. “Marcel helped them get away.”

  That made sense. Connor didn’t understand the disappearing act, but now he knew the attackers had a way in and out. Even if Marcel was in danger or being bribed, he let those men in and put them all in danger. That was enough to kill off any sympathy Connor might have had for him.

  With her mouth hanging open, she sat down hard on the edge of the bed. “I can’t believe this. He runs a charity.”

  Shane laughed. “So?”

  “He helps people.”

  “He’s not what you think he is. He’s dirty.” Connor hoped cutting through the flowery language might help her accept faster. She could mourn later. Be furious tomorrow. Right now he needed her to get on the same page and focus. “And I think it’s time I had a serious talk with the man.”

  Jana bounced right back to her feet. “I’m coming with you.”

  “No way.” Even in this new world where he tried to be understanding and include her in decisions, this one was nonnegotiable.

  “Connor.”

  “I’m going to let him live.” He talked over her, not letting her go off on a defense of the man. “For now.”

  “Then it shouldn’t be a problem to have me standing there.”

  Shane jumped in. “He’ll talk more freely if he’s not busy trying to defend his actions or trying to win you over, Jana.”

  She snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”

  Connor appreciated the assist from his friend and ran with it. “Men are simple creatures.”

  “Speaking of which, let me be there when you punch him.” Shane sounded amused by the idea.

  Which was a good idea because Connor thought he might need reinforcements to keep from killing Marcel. “Definitely.”

  She closed her fist around the tracking device. “You have ten minutes then I’m coming in. And there had better not be bloodshed.”

  No way Connor was agreeing to that.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Connor walked across the property with Shane by his side, leaving Jana protected by Holt. The sun rose, casting the rocks in a glow of fiery red and orange. The heat of the day would set a few hours from now. This morning a cool breeze settled over the quiet of the abandoned area, causing loose brush to tumble across the landscape.

  Their boots thumped in steady precision as both held their guns, fingers off the triggers but close enough to move, if necessary. Rocks and dirt crunched under their matching steps. Neither spoke. They’d trained and run drills without talking, relying on hand signals and matched instincts. They used those skills now.

  Keeping his focus on the house, Shane pushed open the front door but hesitated on the threshold. “Remember, you promised Jana not to kill this guy.”

  “No, I didn’t.” Out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw Shane smile then it disappeared again.

  In front of him, Connor could make out Marcel’s outline through the crack in the closed curtains. This guy sent Connor’s anger spiking. One look at Marcel’s smug face and Connor wanted to hit something. Put the guy in one of those stupid cardigans and let him walk around talking about international politics as if he had any idea what it took behind the scenes to pave a safe way for charities like his and Connor had to fight the urge to give him a reality check.

  When they walked in, Marcel stood in the middle of his family room. At the click of their heels, he spun around and jumped. Coffee spilled over his hand. For once, his crafted image slipped and he swore and scowled. Almost seemed human for a second.

  Satisfaction surged through Connor. “You’re up early.”

  “What do you want?”

  He’d had warmer welcomes, but he’d honestly had worse. At least this one didn’t come with a swinging blade or gunfire. “A conversation.”

  Marcel jumped back as he shook his arm, sending drops of coffee flying, and then wiped his wet hand on his perfectly pressed gray pants. “It’s not exactly easy to concentrate. There are a lot of people in the house right now.”

  The voice, the wardrobe... It all struck Connor as overkill. Normal people got more upset about a kidnapping in their office than spilled coffee. Not this guy. “Not now.”

  Marcel’s scowl deepened. “What?”

  For years Connor tried to figure out what Jana saw in Marcel. His accent went in and out. He came off as phony and pretentious, even while walking in squalor in developing countries. Connor tagged the guy as a rich boy who never shook off the entitled attitude of his youth.

  Not that the charity didn’t do good work. It absolutely did. But Jana could ensure vaccines for those who needed them without depending on this guy to do it.

  “Let’s not be overly dramatic. Your house isn’t swarming with people.” Connor nodded in Shane’s direction. “There’s just the three of us.”

  Shane made a clicking sound with his tongue as he gave Connor the once-over. “To be fair, you’re not exactly small.”

  “True.” And Connor wouldn’t hesitate to use that power to protect what mattered most to him.

  Marcel put his mug down on the coffee table with a loud clank. “Where’s Jana?”

  He said it like a demand. The tone had the words skidding across Connor’s brain. Heat rose and he itched to put his hand on his gun. “You mean my wife.”

  “Of course. Who else would I be talking about?” Marcel slid onto the end of the couch. With one leg over the other, he rotated his ankle.

  His stance seemed more suited to a party than a talk about keeping his hands and mind off another man’s wife. As if Marcel didn’t know and couldn’t see Connor seething right in front of him.

  Connor struggled to keep his voice even. He would not give this weasel the satisfaction of knowing he pricked him. “Just making sure you understood the reality.”

  The foot stopped bouncing. “What are you talking about?”

  “She’s taken.” Whether Marcel liked it or not, whether Jana understood it or not, she belonged with him. Connor would spend the rest of his life making sure that happened.

  Walk away from Corcoran. Put down the weapons. Move, go on vacation, even pick up his clothes. Whatever it took, the part of his life where he lived away from his wife was over. His patience had long expired on that.

  “You act like Jana doesn’t get a say in what happens in her life,” Marcel said. “She’s a grown-up.”

  Shane moved before Connor could. With his legs apart and one hand hovering near his holster like a character in some sort of old-time western, Shane waited as if willing Marcel to push one more time. “He’s not getting it.”

  “Clearly.” One word. That was all Connor could get out while holding on to the edge of civility.

  “I assume you’re trying to tell me something.” Marcel drummed his fingers on the armrest of the couch. “Maybe you should come out and say it.”

  Fine. If he wanted truth, Connor decided to give it to him. Bare and stripped down to the basic point. “Your interest in Jana is over.”

  The room went still. Marcel’s fake smile ripped through the tension a second later. “We only work together. My interest in her is professional.”

  The guy didn’t look like he believed it. Even if he had, Connor would not have bought it. “Right.”

  Marcel’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “That’s what this is about, right? You’re jealous.”

  The word grated against Connor’s last nerve. Marcel didn’t deserve a minute of his time. If Connor was right,
the guy had his hands in something nasty and brought Jana along with him.

  The job and the personal side mixed and colored everything. Connor had trouble separating out one from the other and staying neutral about any of it.

  Most of all, Connor hated Marcel. Everything he said and how he acted. The way Jana made excuses for him. “I’m tired of you hanging around her.”

  “She came to me.” Marcel tapped his fingertips together. “Or is that the real problem? She could go anywhere but she picked me. Over you.”

  Shane shook his head. “Let me hit him.”

  Connor considered the possibility but quickly discarded it. Jana would be upset and he lived to make her happy.

  “I understand you’re upset about the state of your marriage, but don’t blame me.” Marcel kept tapping. “I didn’t do anything to push Jana away. I’m not the one who caused her to run across the country for a break.”

  That counted as the one step too far. For Jana’s sake, Connor held back from unleashing the rage boiling inside him but his control started crumbling. “You might want to tread carefully.”

  “He carries a gun,” Shane pointed out.

  Marcel’s gaze flicked between the two men towering over him. After a charged silence, he spoke again, this time with a lot less amusement in his voice. “I offered a shoulder and an ear. She had concerns and complaints and I listened.”

  No way. She left and got angry but Connor refused to believe she used this man—one she knew Connor hated—as a confidant about the most private pieces of marital life. “You expect me to believe that Jana talked to you about me?”

  “Well, she has been here for a few months.”

  “A few months out of a lifetime. Not really important in the grand scheme of things, now is it?” He believed that. He had to or he’d stop functioning.

  “Especially since you failed to keep her safe,” Shane said.

  Marcel’s gaze roamed again. “There was a break-in. Not something expected way out here. Frustrating and upsetting but not life ending.”

  This time Shane and Connor shared a look. Connor wondered if the rage simmering in Shane’s eyes would be mirrored in his own.