by J. L. Saint
“What in the world is this place?”
“Biggest drive-in in the world is what. About eight hundred can eat inside the place and more outside in their cars. They’re packed on Georgia Tech game days. Even fill up the two-story parking garage behind us. I come for the onion rings. They are the best thing ever.”
Rico shook his head. “Not possible. I’ve had the best.” He released his seat belt, and raked his gaze over her.
Angie tingled and laughed. “You can’t say that. You haven’t had one yet.”
“Don’t have to.” He leaned over the console separating their bucket seats and planted his mouth on hers. “They can’t be the best thing ever because you are.”
Her need to connect with him was sharp, especially after she’d heard what he’d gone through yesterday and how close he’d come to dying. She groaned as the heat of his hand sliding up her leg ignited her emotions into fiery want. When getting dressed this morning, she’d worn the skirt she’d sworn she would last night, but hadn’t had the guts to go commando. Now she wished she had. Rico was so smooth that she wanted to shake his tree some.
He reached her crotch and brushed his fingers over the silk of her panties.
She gasped.
“I’m thinking it is a good thing the place isn’t open yet,” he said.
“I’m thinking I can’t think when you do that.”
“Do what?” He slid his tongue over her lips. “That? Or this?” He leaned lower and slid his tongue down her chest, pushing the V-neck of her shirt and lace of her demi bra aside until her nipple popped free. Then he sucked hard.
Angie nearly came. Her heart thundered so hard that her ears rang. She shuddered as his hand slid beneath the silk of her underwear, found the core of her need, and magically flicked his finger so perfectly that she was flying toward an orgasm. From zero to Mach 5 in what seemed like seconds.
“You’re so hot and wet and steamy and ready that you make me crazy, Angel. I want you naked and on top of me right now.”
“Yes!” she cried out as she came, surely breaking the sound barrier. She couldn’t think of anything else but getting Rico inside her. She jerked free of her seat belt, pushed him back into his seat, then shoved off her underwear. From the sound of his zipper, the seat zinging back to the max, and the tearing of a condom wrapper, Rico wasn’t thinking of anything else but getting into her either. She scrambled over the console and straddled his lap, bumping her head and elbows and everything in between. By the time she’d balanced her knees on the outside of his thighs, he’d shoved up and filled her completely.
Rico slid into Angie’s wet heat and lost complete control. All he could think about was going deeper, harder, faster. He couldn’t get enough of her. He couldn’t give enough of himself. She braced one hand on his shoulder, the other against the roof of the car and she plunged down at his every stroke. Another “YES!” rang in his ears just as his orgasm hit and his body jerked to every clench of her muscles encircling his erection. It was the fastest, hardest and rawest sex ever and was totally amazing. He couldn’t seem to move now that he’d had her. He just wanted to float in the cocoon of her sex forever with her heart thundering in tune to his and the scent of strawberries washing over him, sweet and lush.
“Oh crap,” Angie shifted, moving and moaning at the same time.
“What?”
“Muscle cramp.” She angled off him and tried to straighten her leg as she moved back. Her shoulder smacked the steering wheel.
“Hell, hold up and let me help. It would so ruin the moment to have to take you to the ER. Where’s the cramp?”
“Right thigh.”
Rico automatically reached out with both his hands to massage her thigh and bit back a curse as pain shot up his right arm. He let his right hand fall to his lap and did the best he could with his left hand, which felt totally inadequate. Angie used both of her hands to work the cramped muscle loose then she sighed with relief and giggled. “I’m either too old to make love in the front seat of a car, or I need to take up yoga.”
“Opt for yoga.” Rico smiled, but the uselessness of his arm had taken the fun out of the moment. He dealt with the condom by wrapping his handkerchief around it and shoving it under the seat, then zipped and buckled his pants.
Angie had settled back into the driver’s seat, watching him quietly. “What happens to you? One minute everything is heaven then the next, not so much.”
What could he say? He couldn’t even effectively rub a cramped muscle and he didn’t want her pity. He didn’t want her telling him that it didn’t matter because it did matter to him. “Nothing happens. We’d better defog these windows so we can watch for the cabbie.”
Angie studied him a moment more. From the shadows that deepened her green gaze, he knew he’d hurt her, which only made him feel worse. She turned on the car and cranked the defrost to full blast.
He reached over and turned up the radio.
“Breaking news from WSB Talk Radio. We have a report of four people shot outside an American Trust bank in Gainesville, Georgia, less than an hour ago. Names of the victims have not been released yet, pending notification of family. WSB reporter Anne Davies is in route and will be broadcasting a live report from the scene shortly. Meanwhile we switch over to Fox News reporter James Sheldon live from the White House Rose Garden with news that a wave of shootings swept across the country this morning just like yesterday afternoon. President Anderson is scheduled to address the nation about this crisis momentarily—”
Rico snapped off the radio and flung his head against the back of the seat. “Fuck.”
“It’s not your fault, damn it.”
“Yes, it is. I should have—”
“What? Tell me what? Forty-five minutes ago when the snipers were at work, you were arguing with a cop about getting past their damn yellow tape. As I see it, the only thing you could have done differently was to call the FBI about the Checker cab the second you found out, which has only been less than thirty minutes. There’s nothing you could have done to stop what happened this morning.” She reached out and snagged the necklace, pulling the Saint Christopher Cross into view. “As legend tells, even he only carried the world on his shoulders for a short time. You make it a full-time job.”
He took the cross from her grasp. She’d touched on a black hole in his soul that was no-man’s-land. Not even he went there. “I wear it so I will never forget just how responsible I am.” He looked out the window, grasping for balance. How in the hell had things gone south so fast? He blinked. “Shit.” He leaned forward and rubbed at the windshield. “Is that a Checker cab pulling into the parking lot?”
By the time he’d cleared a spot on the windshield three more cabs joined the other one. Three Checker cabs and one Yellow taxi. The men got out of the cabs and gathered together.
“Come back into my lap.” He leaned the seat back even more than before and tugged on Angie’s arm. She did not look happy with him at all and didn’t move his way.
“If you think that you can run hot and cold and expect that—”
“I’m sorry. It’s no excuse but things are rough right now and sometimes I can’t see the big picture. You were totally amazing. I went from pure heaven to hell when I couldn’t use my hand. We can talk about it later, but for now just come here so anyone looking this way will think we are making out until we figure out if the guy is wearing a Yankees baseball cap or not. I can’t see this far away from this angle.”
“Hold on.” Angie reached over into the back seat and produced her camera. “This should do the trick. She snapped off several shots through the windshield then brought up the picture in the display. “He’s wearing a Yankees cap all right.”
Rico brushed his lips against her cheek and inhaled the scent of strawberries and sex that lingered in the car. “You’re amazing, talented and resourceful.”
She did move into his lap, but she did lean his way and met his gaze with warmth. “At least you have that part of the
big picture perfect. What do you want to do now? Call Agent Gibson?”
“Let’s wait a few. See what our Yankees-loving cabbie does first.”
“Only if you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, promise me you won’t shoulder the blame if the snipers strike again while we’re watching.”
Rico groaned at the fruitlessness of his situation. “Okay, Watson. But I think you’d feel the same frustration if you were the only witness and people were dying right and left.”
She bit her well-kissed bottom lip as she narrowed her green eyes at him, making him want to get back deep inside her again. He was addicted to her. “You may be right about that. There is an alternative to calling Gibson, though.”
“What?”
“Elementary, my dear Holmes. If Gibson’s e-mail addy is on his card, I can download these pictures to my computer and we can e-mail them to him. I have a satellite card that will connect from just about anywhere. The cab’s license number is visible as well as the driver’s face.”
“Do it.” Rico reached into his back pocket and fished Gibson’s card from his wallet.
Angie retrieved her computer from the back seat. Five minutes later they were in business and just in time. The meeting of the cabs dispersed just as she closed the computer down. “They’re leaving.”
“No shit, Watson.”
“Ha-ha, Sherlock.” Angie cranked the engine. “Guess we’re tailing our Yankee.”
“Might as well. Beats sitting in an interrogation room. Wait until he pulls out into traffic before following him.”
Angie shifted into gear then eased forward as the cabbie went behind the Varsity and exited right onto Spring Street. The cabbie headed south, crossing the intersection of North Avenue. She pulled into traffic, but got caught at a red light.
Rico bit back a curse, wondering if they were going to lose their suspect before they even started. Angie didn’t seem to be concerned and he strained against the seatbelt, already feeling the crunch of wanting to do the driving and hating his current one-handed disability even more. He knew the pain would fade, but the muscle and nerve damage he’d suffered left everything else up in the air.
“Relax. The cabbie is in the right-hand lane up ahead. It’s the on-ramp to Interstate 75 and a few other connectors. We’re good. You do realize we might be driving around the city for hours while he picks up fares.”
“You have a better idea?”
“Other than going back to my apartment and making good use of my bed before the FBI gets hold of you, no.”
Rico grinned. If they were going to drag his ass to the station, then he might as well be blazing some glory beforehand. “Let’s give him an hour or two then you’re on.”
“Seriously?”
“Just you wait.”
“Promises, promises.” She shot forward when the light changed and they ended up about three cars away as the Checker cab took the on-ramp and eased into northbound traffic on Interstate 75.
Rico opened his mouth, about to tell her to count on them, but shut it, because he was thinking about more than just sex and he realized that he didn’t even know what his future was at this point. The driver exited on Northside Drive, turned south, and after several blocks pulled into the Checker Cab offices.
“Hold on.” Angie made a sudden right and pulled into a parking space, placing them almost directly across the street from the cab company.
The Yankees-capped cabbie headed for the entrance, pulled out his cell phone, then made an about-face and hurried back to his cab. Angie positioned herself to quickly follow.
Elated by the continual stream of breaking news reports, Salaam answered his cell phone with a smile. President Anderson’s uncle was dead and Salaam’s plan of terror was becoming all that he’d hoped for. All the news stations were on fire and America was in a panic. He’d listened to a number of radio reports on the fifty-minute drive back to Atlanta from Gainesville. Twitter had gone mad and cell towers were overloaded. He’d had his driver avoid the Interstate and take smaller roads, assuring they’d escape any surveillance cameras.
Allah was good. He answered his trusted servant’s call. The thrill of victory hummed in Salaam’s veins. Once news that both yesterday’s witness and sole survivor were eliminated, all would be perfect.
“There is a greater problem than first thought, Mullah Meshood.”
Salaam scowled and snapped off the television. “What? I have no patience for problems.”
“I have found the witness from yesterday. It is as you thought, he returned to the park today and I have been following him since. He had someone else tailing him too. But I eliminated him.”
“Then what is the problem? Make him a victim of a sniper’s bullet.”
“Almost did, but then discovered our witness is following Wajid, though your cousin is not aware of this yet. This witness knows more than he should.”
“I will question him first then.”
“He is not alone. A woman with red hair is with him. Should I kill her before bringing him to you?”
Salaam smiled. A red-headed whore had made him sin and he’d missed his opportunity to kill one yesterday. Allah had given him a second chance now. “No, bring her. She will be useful and so will Wajid. My cousin is too lazy. He will need to prove his loyalty to our cause. I will call him now and they can follow him to me.”
“Wise, as always, Mullah Meshood.”
Disconnecting the call, Salaam stood and prepared for his guests. He would need a second motel room for all the things he would do with both of his victims. America’s immoral and corrupt ways made purity of body impossible. He now understood the adage “when in Rome do as the Romans”. He would do his best. The infidel kafirs would soon know their place at his feet.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Fayetteville, North Carolina
Nothing about the Holsten Inn sent up any red flags, so maybe that fact alone should be one Roger thought as he pulled his truck into a parking space. Neat landscaping, well-maintained four-story building, middle class clientele judging by the cars in the parking lot—all fairly nondescript.
He had Mari wait until they were only a few minutes from the Inn before calling her family. Just in case something wasn’t on the up and up he wanted very little time for planning, but now he was in a quandary as to what to do. Fahran Zaeef was registered at the Holsten Inn but no one answered the phone. She’d left a message and no one had called back.
Since he’d had Mari wait to call, he couldn’t disappoint her by returning to Fort Bragg without putting more effort into it. Hopefully the Inn had a waiting area—with a vending machine or something—because it just dawned on him that he hadn’t eaten since last night’s pizza. He glanced at Mari completely concealed in a black cloud. From this angle, with her looking out the window at the Inn, all he could see of her was her tightly clasped, trembling hands.
Whatever the rift between her and her family had been, it must have been big. He killed the engine and reached across the truck to set his hand on hers. “You okay?”
She jumped as if she’d forgotten he was there. Though surprised, she didn’t pull away. Her troubled gaze met his. She nodded, and he imagined her smile matched the warmth in her eyes.
“If at any point seeing your family gets to be too much, you let me know and I’ll get you out of there.”
She shifted her hand beneath his, turning her palm up, and slid her slender fingers between his, clasping him to her. The move stirred his heart and his senses.
He had a flash vision of making love to her, slowly, looking into her eyes, sliding deliberately into her silken core, her full breasts teasing his chest, their hands pressed palm to palm, holding each other intimately tight in every way as pleasure claimed them both.
Roger broke out into a cold sweat and he almost jerked his hand away, but didn’t. He let himself rest in the moment and draw from Mari’s warmth. As wrong as it all was, the flash of intimacy with her comforted him on a level deep inside him.
/> With the terrorist-driven hell breaking loose around the US, the murder of his uncle, and the crap flying around in his head from Lebanon, he needed this small touch from her. And God, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from imagining loving her. Surely his response to her would fade with time. All he had to do was man-up now and keep his shit in control and it would all work out. He’d be the best damn friend on earth to her and the little girl growing inside her would have the best “uncle” that ever lived. Or uncles, he should say. He knew his team well enough that they’d all be there for whatever Mari and her child needed.
The code among his men—and many others in the service as well—went farther than “no man left behind”. No widow or family was left to suffer alone. No child was left without a strong father figure in their life. Military men, their families and their supporters could never replace a fallen soldier, but they damn well stepped fearlessly into the gaping void to do what they could.
He cleared his throat. “Just remember in there that I’ve got your back.”
Mari glanced toward the Inn’s entrance. “I’m ready.”
“Then let’s go.” He exited the truck and moved to her side, giving a supporting hand to her elbow and locking the doors. The hard press of his Kimber 1911 .45 in the small of his back was reassurance he probably didn’t need, but since Dugar’s attacks, he didn’t leave home without the pistol—his personal insurance to guard against trouble. “If your brother and sister haven’t returned yet, we’ll wait for a bit. The Inn should have some sort of lobby.”
A black van pulled from a parking space at the end of the row and headed their way, moving fairly fast toward the parking lot’s exit. Roger tightened his hold on Mari’s elbow and urged her back a step, giving the driver plenty of room to pass before they crossed to the hotel. His cell rang and he fished it from his pocket, keeping an eye on the van before briefly glancing at the phone’s screen. It was Mac, one of the men he had watching for Dugar.
Suddenly the van screeched to a halt next to them and he thrust himself in front of Mari as he grabbed his pistol from behind. The instant he saw a woman in a black burka and man wearing a tribal turban through the tinted windshield, he kept the Kimber out of sight. The driver’s window came down, but it was the woman in the passenger seat who spoke. “Maryam?”
