Privilege: Special Tactical Units Division: Book Two

by Sandra Marton

  Now, she really had to regain control, but hurting Noah’s feelings would be counterproductive. It was too late remedy that now. The best she could do was keep moving forward.

  “Okay,” she said brightly. “One double espresso coming right up.”

  She almost flew to the counter. Only one barista was on duty, and he gave a low whistle.

  “Man,” he said, “how long were you out in that rain?”

  “I know. Pretty bad, huh?”

  “Pretty wet. You want something to dry off?” He reached under the counter, came up with a big stack of heavy-duty paper towels. “Be my guest.”

  “Thanks,” she said, grabbing the towels and blotting her hair, her face, her jacket.

  Chay’s jacket.

  She ducked her head, tucked her nose inside the collar. The denim smelled like summer rain and like him.

  Had he really come all this way to make sure she wasn’t pregnant? It was such an amazing thing to do…

  “…BWW?”

  She blinked and looked at the barista. He was a nice-looking guy, but she’d never seen a Cuppa Joe’s barista who wasn’t nice-looking.

  “Sorry. Did you ask me something?”

  “I said BBW are your initials, right? The ones I’ve printed on, what, a dozen cups? You’re a café latte grande. Extra shot of espresso. Skim milk. One sugar. Yes?”

  “Yes. That’s nice. That you remember.” Bianca handed over her credit card. “And a double espresso for my, uh, for my friend.”

  “Part of the job—although in your case…” The barista shook his head. “All these dudes,” he said in a quiet voice, “and a pretty lady like you still hasn’t found the right one?”

  “These are business meetings,” she said quickly, and after the words left her mouth, she blushed. “Serious business meetings.”

  “Whatever you say, BBW. But this dude tonight? Do yourself a favor. He’s an N-G.”

  “An N-G?”

  “A No Go. My advice is lose him, fast.”

  Bianca glanced over her shoulder. Noah was seated at the table, arms folded, looking sullen.

  The barista grinned. “Hey, bartenders and baristas, right? Scholars of the human condition.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” Bianca said. “I just might take it.”

  • • •

  When she was little and complained about anything, especially about her father never making it home to Sicily for birthdays and holidays, Bianca’s mother would either smile or scowl, depending on her mood, and say—in Sicilian, of course—that nobody ever said life would be easy.

  Dio. Mama had spoken the truth.

  Life was certainly not easy tonight.

  Bianca had gone through her set list of questions. At first, Noah’s responses had been clipped. He’d sounded like a spoiled child. Yes. No. I don’t remember. So she’d instituted a short break by changing the subject. She’d asked him about his job—he was an actuary—and where he’d grown up. Little by little, his attitude had thawed. By the time she took the conversation back to the survey, he wasn’t just talking, he was talking at endless length.

  She imagined the little digital recorder she’d placed on the table gasping for breath.

  She wished she could hurry him along. His answers struck her as mostly lies, and when he smiled, the flash of his discolored teeth was unsettling. Yellow was definitely not her favorite color, especially when it came to people’s mouths. Added to that, she was chilly. Cold, actually. She’d blotted away a lot of the water in her hair, and Chay’s jacket was warm, almost as if it still held the heat of his body, but her clothes were stuck to her, and walking through that puddle had left her feet wet.

  Ten minutes into what should have been a two-minute reply to her final question, Bianca glanced at her watch.

  “You’re not listening,” Noah said.

  She looked up. He was smiling again, showing all those teeth.

  “I am,” she said pleasantly. “You were talking about your first date. In high school. I was just going through things, making sure we’ve touched on all the topics.” She smiled, too, even though she didn’t much feel like smiling. “And we have!” She reached for the recorder and thumbed it off. “So, Noah, thank you very much for your time and—”

  “I’m not finished.”

  Bianca shoved back her chair and reached for her empty coffee container. “Really, I have all the data I need. I can always contact you if—“

  Noah’s hand clamped down on hers.

  “I said, I’m not finished.”

  “Noah,” Bianca said calmly, “let go of my hand.”

  “There’s lots more I want to tell you, Bianca.”

  “Ms. Wilde.” This time, she didn’t give a damn if she hurt his feelings or not.

  “Surely we’re on a first name basis.”

  “Noah. Our interview is over. I’m leaving now. Please let go of—”

  She gasped as his hand tightened painfully around hers.

  “You’re right. You are leaving now. With me.”

  “Noah,” she said, her tone firm, “let go of my hand.”

  “Didn’t you hear me, Bianca? We’re leaving here together. I know that’s what you want to do.”

  Her heartbeat skittered. The man across from her had undergone a frightening transformation. His eyes gleamed with manic determination. His breathing was rapid. The fingers that clasped hers felt like a vise. They were in a public place, which might be her salvation, but if he was undergoing a psychotic episode, anything was possible.

  “Noah,” Bianca said quietly, “you need to let go of me.”

  “What I need is you. Don’t you understand?” He leaned towards her. She could smell his breath, a mixture of coffee, decay and desperation. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt anybody—”

  “Baby?”

  The voice was deep. Rough. Sexy.

  And blessedly welcome.

  Bianca looked up. Chay was standing just behind her, looking big and imposing and beautiful.

  He smiled. At least, his lips curved up at the corners, but she knew she would never forget the tightly banked fury in his eyes.

  “Honey,” he said, “I know we said we’d meet outside, but that awning is the size of a bandage and the rain…”

  Say something, she told herself, but what could you say when you’d needed a miracle and a miracle materialized?

  Chay laughed. “Just look at you, baby. So surprised to see me that you’re speechless.”

  He bent to her, wrapped his hand around the nape of her neck, tilted her face up to his and kissed her.

  It was a kiss of ownership. Of possession.

  Of salvation, she thought wildly as the hand holding hers fell away.

  Chay raised his head and looked at Noah

  “A friend of yours, honey?”

  “A—a professional acquaintance.”

  He nodded. Smiled again. “Baby? Why don’t you wait for me at the door?”

  Once, a long time ago on the cliffs in Sicily, Bianca had almost stepped on a viper. The snake had reacted instantly; she remembered the coiled tension in its body, the reality of its cold, flat eyes.

  She thought of that now, looking at Chay.

  “Chay,” she said in a low voice, “don’t—”

  Noah’s chair groaned in protest as he shoved back from the table. His face was a pasty white.

  “It’s okay,” he said as he rose to his feet. “Actually, I was just—”

  Chay grasped his shoulder. Noah squealed and sank back in his seat.

  Good, Chay thought grimly, although what he really wanted was to put his fist in this skinny bastard’s face and lay him out.

  He’d stood under the leaky awning, watching the scene inside Cuppa Joe’s unfold. Two minutes in, h
e knew he’d have realized the meeting was business even if Bianca hadn’t told him it was.

  For openers, it was impossible to see the guy talking with her as her type. Bianca would go for some intense-looking, pipe-smoking academic nerd all turned out in tweed. This guy was wearing his pants hiked up above his waist, his white socks showed below his cuffs, and even at a distance Chay could see that his teeth needed more than a tube of toothpaste could provide.

  But there was more to his assessment than that.

  The body language was all wrong.

  He could tell.

  There was that sensing thing of his, the ability to pick up on something happening that shouldn’t be happening. Plus, the same as Tanner, the same as all STUD operatives, Chay was a sniper. A highly trained sniper.

  What it added up to was that he was good, hell, he was outstanding at reading body language. That was partly how he’d known the boy on that mountaintop was a killer and, Jesus, he hadn’t wanted to think about that now.

  He was focused on what was happening inside that coffee shop and what he saw was more than a meeting of strangers.

  He saw a man wanting a woman who didn’t want him.

  Every gesture the guy made was off.

  Hanging onto her hand. Leading her to one table when she’d obviously been headed towards another. A couple of minutes of conversation and then the folded-arms, petulant-child bit.

  All of it had given him a bad feeling, but there wasn’t much he could do except watch as the situation played out, so he’d stood under an awning that wasn’t deep enough to cover his broad shoulders, rain dripping down his neck, hands tucked in the back pockets of his jeans, trying to be patient.

  Until he saw Bianca making it clear she was ready to leave and the guy grabbing her hand and saying something that made her stiffen and attempt to pull away.

  After that, instincts honed on endless mountaintops, in endless deserts, in jungles that stank of rot had taken over.

  Chay had made his move.

  So, yeah, he wanted to hurt the man cringing in his grasp, but what he wanted didn’t matter.

  This mission had only one objective, and that was to get Bianca out of here.

  But there could be a secondary mission.

  Yellow Teeth needed a meaningful warning. Something subtle.

  In the way of true New Yorkers, the few patrons in the shop were carefully looking everywhere but at them. Still, Chay could sense they were fully aware of what was going down. Only the barista was watching and Chay had to give the guy credit because he’d looked as if he were moving towards the end of the counter, maybe to step out from behind it and give Bianca some help.

  “Sir,” Yellow Teeth said, “I have no idea why you—”

  Chay tightened his grasp.

  “Bianca,” he said, never taking his eyes from the guy he had pinned to the chair, “please, wait for me at the door.” She didn’t move. Jesus, was she going to argue about this, too? “Honey. Just do it, okay?”

  A couple of long seconds went by. Then she pushed back her chair and picked up her tote.

  “Don’t hurt him,” she said softly.

  “We’re just going to have a little chat. A minute, no more. I promise.”

  She nodded and got to her feet.

  “Noah,” she said, very calmly. “You need help.”

  Chay almost rolled his eyes. Did she have to get the last word in? Dumb question. Of course she did. Saying what she was thinking no matter the situation, hanging tough, was who she was.

  Caring about people was who she was, too.

  The Tigress had more than balls and intellect and beauty.

  She had a heart.

  He watched her make her way through the shop. As soon as she got to the door, he leaned over the table and looked deep into Yellow Teeth’s tiny, terrified eyes.

  “You so much as think of my woman again, even mention her name, you really will need help, pal, because I’ll take you apart. Piece by piece. Understand?”

  Bianca’s aggressor shrank back in his seat. “I didn’t mean any—”

  “Did I ask you for an explanation?”

  The guy was sweating. Trembling. Chay leaned closer.

  “Say her name, think of her, you’re finished. Got it?”

  “Y—y—yes.”

  “Say yessir. I understand, sir.”

  “Yessir. I understand, sir.”

  “Good.” Chay straightened up. He looked around the little café. Nobody would meet his eyes. Hell, he thought, and he dug into his pocket, pulled out a couple of twenties, strolled to the counter, flashed what he hoped was a smile at the barista and started to tuck the bills into the tip jar.

  The barista stopped him. “Keep it.”

  Chay looked at the guy. He had the kind of perfect face women probably loved.

  “You keep the money,” the barista repeated. “I’m just glad you showed up.”

  “You were going to help her,” Chay said.

  The barista nodded. “She’s really something.”

  “Damn right she is. Thanks for being ready to step in. And just for the record…” He flashed a quick, hard smile. “You might want to remember that she’s all mine.”

  Another nod from the barista. “Hey, man, anybody could see that.”

  Chay leaned in, shook the guy’s hand. Then he tucked the twenties into the tip jar anyway.

  Bianca was waiting for him at the door.

  “Ready to leave, honey?” he said softly. And even though he knew he didn’t have to keep the deception going any longer, he lowered his head and brushed his lips lightly over hers.

  She tasted delicious. She felt the same. Soft. Feminine.

  Perfect.

  But it wouldn’t last, he thought, as he led her out into the rain. She’d been scared in that coffee shop, but she’d regained her composure fast.

  Chay suspected she’d give up being compliant just as fast.

  And she did.

  The light turned red as they reached the corner. They stopped on the curb, and she used that as her chance to ease out of his encircling arm.

  “Thank you for your help, Lieutenant.”

  The good news was that color had returned to her face.

  The bad was that she sounded exactly as she had that night at the Landing Zone. And, really, were they back to her calling him lieutenant?

  Okay. They’d play it her way for a while.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “But just so you understand… I didn’t need your help.”

  He raised his eyebrows. A couple of seconds went by. Then she blushed.

  “Very well. Having you appear was—it was—”

  “Helpful?” he said, his tone polite.

  Some of her rigidity faded. “Okay. You showed up at an opportune time, but I’m sure I could have handled things if I’d had another few minutes. That man is sick. I’m sure he needs—”

  “Help?”

  “You can joke all you like. But when someone is ill—”

  “He could have hurt you,” Chay said harshly.

  “We were in a public place.”

  “Oh, well, that’s a relief. Sickos never hurt anybody in public places.”

  Bianca searched for a response, but what, really, could she say? She hadn’t thought herself in any danger.

  Well, maybe that “you belong with me” stuff had upped the game a little, but—

  “Did his voice seem familiar?”

  “What?”

  “His voice,” Chay said. “Could he have been your Texas caller?”

  She stared at him. “My Texas… No. My Texas caller was one of my patients.”

  “Right. I forgot that.”

  But he had forgotten nothing else. It seemed as if he had memoriz
ed that night in Santa Barbara. She had too. Not the things they’d discussed. The other part of it. The part that had taken place on the beach…

  “How many calls did you get?”

  “How many… Five. Six. But they were from my patient.”

  “You sure the calls were from only the one guy?”

  “I’m sure. Besides, it would have been unlikely that two sick men would call me during the same time period.”

  “Nothing is unlikely when it comes to crazies.”

  “That’s a harsh word, Lieutenant.”

  “It’s a harsh world, Doc.”

  “I am not yet a—”

  “Anyway, you’re probably right. The odds on you getting calls from two loonies within the same time span are probably zero to none. Still, don’t they teach you how to protect yourself from nutcases in shrink school?”

  “That’s not an appropriate way to describe someone with issues. Or to describe my training.”

  “Live and learn,” he said mildly. “The light’s green.” They stepped off the curb. “Watch out for that puddle.”

  “What puddle?”

  “That puddle,” he said. He grabbed her elbow and tried to steer her around it, but it was too late.

  Rainwater sloshed over her shoes.

  That made twice.

  She knew it. He knew it. And though he didn’t say a word, she could almost hear him laughing.

  Merda, she thought, and then, just because it seemed more appropriate, what she thought was Shit, shit, shit!

  That was what her day had turned into. Shit. The power failure. Her pathetic fear. Getting drenched in the rain. And now this, the absolute zero data she’d gotten from what was to have been her final interview.

  She’d have to find some way to incorporate the incident into her study results. As an anomaly? Yes, but the last thing she wanted was to end up taking part of her dissertation down a new path.

  And why was she leaving out the most improbable of the day’s occurrences? The lieutenant, turning up in the city to ask her if she was—if she was—

  “You could have phoned.”