Matt waited all day and night. Grace never showed up.
CHAPTER THREE
Matt
Matt wasn’t marching over to Troy’s compound and demanding he turn Grace over. He wasn’t that pathetic. But he had talked himself down several times in the early hours of the morning from riding his bike and fetching that damned stubborn woman from Troy’s bed. It really hurt thinking about Grace and deLamar together. But she made her choice clear.
No. You made it for her, asshole. That nagging voice in his head was on repeat. Over and over. He didn’t even know why he wanted her. The sex blew his mind. Sure, she was the best he’d ever had, but he had never let his dick rule his head.
Mostly.
He’d never been possessive of a woman before either.
Maybe because Grace infuriated him like no other and the angry sex was what made it feel so good. That she’d chosen Troy over him definitely bruised his ego. So maybe he should just let this go.
She was on her way back to DC anyway.
He hoped.
But what if she decided to stay longer? Would Matt be seeing her around Misty Grove riding the back of Troy’s bike?
He needed to stop those torturous thoughts in his head. Visions of them fucking the day away like he had fucked her for hours at that motel were driving him out of his mind. This was why he’d been tinkering away on the ’68 Camaro he’d acquired at an auction last year. Original parts were hard to come by and the rare Crossram intake with dated carburetor he’d had his eye on finally arrived last week. Working on his prized car should have shut out everything else from his goddamned mind. Yet all he could think about was the image of a woman with wild dark hair spread across the sheets, her eyes squeezed shut with her teeth biting her pillowy lip as he moved inside her.
There was nothing more mesmerizing than watching Grace on the verge of coming, back arched, as he rammed his cock deep inside her. Even now, he could feel his dick thickening behind his jeans at the memory.
He’d messed up so bad that all the what-ifs wouldn’t leave him alone.
What if he hadn’t walked out of that motel.
What if he’d taken up Grace’s invite to spend the weekend with her.
What if he’d fought for Grace rather than insulted her that night at Mike’s Roadhouse.
What if. What if. What-the-fucking-if.
“Hey, man.”
Matt sighed. His mechanics knew to leave him alone this morning. Unfortunately, Colt Montgomery didn’t get the memo that self-loathing, wrench-throwing Matt was not in the mood for company. But he didn’t want to turn his unwanted guest away. They’d only just gotten back on good terms again. No thanks to his sister, Kate.
Colt owned Montgomery Ranch located just outside of Misty Grove. He’d been one of the founders of this town and built them—the Chrysalis survivors—a place where they could exist. Matt, his twin Kate, and his other “siblings,” Lucas and Cassie, were part of a government project called Enhanced Soldiers. The science behind their superhuman strength and senses had spawned a secret war within the government as well as power-hungry organizations around the world. Colt had fallen hard for Kate. Unfortunately, his sister didn’t return his feelings. A couple of months ago, Colt had gone after Matt’s twin. Kate needed to leave because she’d been blaming herself for the aftermath of the “biker war.” Colt returned a few weeks later without Kate, and it seemed like something integral to his nature had died. He’d always been the optimistic one—the rock everyone depended on. Hell, he’d been a former Navy SEAL. Something happened—or someone had happened between him and Kate. Turned out she was in love with someone else, or so Colt claimed after Millie had pried what went down between them from him. But Matt knew the truth.
Matt, like his usual asshole self, went off on Colt for failing to bring his sister home when the rancher had let her get away in the first place. The man didn’t even argue, just locked himself away at his ranch for a couple of weeks. He had emerged a month ago, as cold as winter, but at least he was circulating around town again.
And then Cassie and Trent’s wedding happened. Kate had shown up, fortunately without her new man in tow. Somehow that woke Colt up, and he’d decided to move on. Rumor was, he was dating a woman from Edington.
“Colt. What’s up?” Matt continued working under the hood of the Chevy.
“Not much. Thought you’d want to catch up and have breakfast at the diner.”
“Please tell me Millie didn’t send you over.”
The silence was answer enough.
Matt pushed up from under the hood, grabbed a shop towel and wiped the grease off his hands. Cocking his hip against the Camaro, he eyed his friend. “What? She thinks I need lessons from you about moving on? There’s nothing to move on from because nothing started between Grace and me.”
“Look, man, all Millie said was to haul your ass in for breakfast.”
“Hell, she wants to set me up again for some bullshit lecture … oh shit!” Matt’s eyes widened. Did Millie have cameras in her office? Given her former profession as an assassin, he wouldn’t be surprised.
“What?” Colt prompted curiously.
“Nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing,” Colt chuckled. “You’re blushing.”
“Shut up, asshole,” Matt grumbled. He never flushed. Nothing fazed him. Okay, maybe Millie did. “So, how’s Mya? That’s the name of your woman, right?”
“I wouldn’t say she’s my woman, yet,” Colt looked away evasively, his jaw tensing. “We’re dating.”
“And?”
“It’s good,” the other man muttered shortly.
Matt nodded. He was done with small talk. “Come on, then. I’m suddenly starved for bacon and pancakes.”
When they arrived at Millie’s, the diner was packed. This was unusual on a Monday morning. What was more unusual was that everyone was gathered around the widescreen TV.
“What’s going on?” Colt asked a blonde woman who met them at the entrance. For a moment, Matt thought it was his twin. Was Colt serious? He’d bet his left nut that this woman was Mya. Jesus, talk about moving on to Kate’s doppelgänger.
“There was an explosion at the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta airport,” the blonde said, hugging the rancher around his torso and pressing close to him. “Oh my God, Colt! They think it’s a terrorist attack.”
“Did it happen just now?” Matt demanded, looking at the clock. It was just nine o’ clock. What time was Grace’s flight?
“I don’t know. What is happening to the world?” the blonde choked, clearly on the verge of hysteria.
“You’ll be safe here, Mya,” Colt murmured soothing words, but his grim eyes met Matt’s over the top of her head.
“Everyone shut up,” Millie hollered from the back of the room. “We can barely hear what they’re saying.”
An on-site reporter continued, “… Many walking wounded right now and I’ve counted about thirty stretchers with casualties. The reported explosions were outside the security checkpoint and at the Oceania and Jericho Airlines ticketing counters. Both carriers are located at the North Terminal.”
The scene switched to a XNN News anchor who cut in, “If you’re all just joining us right now, there are reports of triple explosions at the Atlanta airport. This happened around eight fifteen eastern time this morning. First responders are still evacuating the terminal. No known cause at this time.”
His co-anchor countered, “Social media is abuzz with speculations that this isn’t over.”
As riveting as the scenes were playing out right in front of him, Matt couldn’t think of anything or anyone else except Grace. He took out his phone, scrolled through his contacts, and thumbed her number.
Her phone rang and rang.
“Pick up. Pick up. Dammit.”
Her voicemail came on.
“Fuck!” Matt shouted and thumbed her number again. Same response. He wanted to hurl his phone. There was only one place to go.
<
br /> He tore out of the diner.
“Where are you going?” Colt called from behind him.
“deLamar’s compound.”
“We’re most likely under a terrorist attack,” the rancher stepped in front of him. They were about the same height so they were pretty much in each other’s faces. “Could you forget about your dick for one minute and think …”
Colt shouldn’t have said that because Matt was a kindling strike away from exploding. He never did have the best temper.
He threw out a punch and hit his friend across the jaw.
Colt staggered back and glowered at him with fists already up in a fighting stance. Tough son of a bitch.
“What the fuck, Foster?”
“Grace was scheduled to leave from the Atlanta airport this morning.”
Understanding dawned on Colt’s features. He lowered his fists. “Shit.”
“I need to know if she has changed her mind about leaving.” Matt swallowed hard. “I’d rather she’d stayed with Troy than be in Atlanta right now.”
“She left early this morning,” a voice spoke from the top of the steps. Matt swung around and saw Cristiano. “I’ve been summoned to the compound. Looks like we’re heading to Atlanta. We’ll keep you posted.”
Cristiano squeezed Matt’s shoulder before moving past him to get on his Harley. Giving both men a salute, he revved up his bike and sped away.
Matt was so pissed, his entire body was shaking with helpless anger.
“What the fuck,” Colt said under his breath.
“Exactly,” Matt gritted through his teeth. Fury scalded his veins that anyone—anyone—would think he would sit back and wait calmly for news on Grace. He was a man of action, dammit.
“Colt, honey, are you coming back inside?” Mya asked tremulously from the stoop of the diner.
“You’re unbelievable,” Matt said under his breath, referring to the blonde.
“I’m coming with you,” Colt told him, ignoring his sarcasm.
“What? Where are you going?” Kate’s doppelgänger asked.
“Atlanta,” Colt responded. “I’m sorry, Mya, but someone we know could have been at the airport.”
“You said I’d be safe. How can I feel safe if you’re leaving me here?”
For a second, Matt felt sorry for Colt because if he was looking for Kate’s replacement, this woman was not it. He didn’t think his friend was attracted to his twin based on physical attributes alone.
Colt sighed. “I’ll take you to the ranch, Mya. Mac will take care of you.” He glanced at Matt. “Are we riding together?”
Matt shook his head. “I’m taking the V-Rod Harley. Chances are, traffic will be at a standstill on 285 and 85. Bring your Suburban.”
“Will do.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Grace
Desperate to find out who I was, I began searching through abandoned belongings. The first one I grabbed belonged to a woman in her twenties. She was blonde according to her California driver’s license. Doubtful, I searched for a reflective surface. I was appalled at my condition with blood streaming down my face. I had mossy eyes and dark hair.
Everything I knew about myself was in the fourth purse. I was thirty-four years old and had an address in Washington, DC. I had a Jericho Airlines flight to the nation’s capital this morning at nine-fifteen. Unfortunately, all I knew about myself was on my driver’s license. There were two strange devices that required a password. They felt familiar in my hand, and I’d seen people running around talking into something similar, so they must’ve been cell phones.
I had no time to process this. For one thing, I was slowly bleeding to death, and my head hurt—not only from a sizable lump, but my brain throbbed with the onslaught of random memories. I hadn’t figured out where I was from yet, though I was pretty sure I could name the fifty U.S. states. I didn’t know who my parents were, where I went to school, and what I did for a living. All I got were flashes of images like a vintage film.
Polaroids.
Huh?
Of all the things to remember.
“Ma’am?”
Standing before me were two men holding a stretcher. EMTs.
Thank God.
One of them crouched beside me. His nameplate said M. Diaz. “Are you hurt elsewhere besides your head and leg?”
“I don’t think so, but, I’m … get—getting woozy from … from the blood loss I think.”
“Did you lose consciousness?”
“Yes—”
My surroundings started spinning and the urge to puke threatened to overwhelm me. Shit.
“Ma’am? Ma’am?”
I tried to refocus. What was running through my thoughts earlier? Oh, yes. Though most people who could have walked had gone, there were still those lying in pain on the ground. People more critical than I was.
“Look. I think that man over there needs your help more than I do.” I gritted my teeth at my words. Had I always been this stupid martyr? “If one of you could stop the bleeding on my leg. I think I can walk out of here.”
The two EMTs exchanged looks. The other—not Diaz—nodded toward me and spoke into his shoulder radio. “This is unit-541-2. We still have multiple casualties requiring medical assistance.”
“We’ve got you, lady,” Diaz said shortly. “Now let’s stop the bleeding before we put you on the stretcher.”
“Can I have a sip of water?”
“Sorry, ma’am. It’s against protocol until we figure out the extent of your injuries.”
I was really thirsty.
My purse began to vibrate. I opened my bag and picked up one of those weird looking devices that was now playing a familiar tune with the caller name on the screen: “Mr. Asshole calling.”
What the hell?
“I’m sorry.” Diaz suddenly snatched the device from my hand. “I can’t have you answering your phone.”
The situation didn’t feel right. Alarm bells pinged in my head.
“What? Is this against protocol, too? Give me back—get that needle away from me!”
My heart jumped to my throat as I attempted to crab-walk backward, but the EMT anticipated my move and yanked at my bad leg. Before I could scream for help, Not-Diaz plunged a needle into my neck.
“Now, now, Ms. Levinson, take a long sweet nap.”
They knew my name. Oh my God, I was so screwed.
“Yes, you are, sweetheart.”
I must had spoken out loud.
“Who … are you … guys?”
“It’s not important at this point.”
“Are you, are you … ”
Going to kill me?
“Hey, man, what the hell are you doing?” A new voice asked beyond my quickly-dimming peripheral vision.
“We got this. Tend to your own patient.”
“Like hell …”
“Help …” I croaked.
All the voices faded into the blackness.
So did the chaos in my mind.
*****
Matt
As expected, the roads were congested. What was normally a two-hour trip took four, and that was on his bike. Colt arrived an hour after him. Using the former Navy SEAL’s connections to the Atlanta PD, they were able to gain access to the north terminal. They had walked through the wreckage left by three bombs—debris of ceiling tiles, dry wall, hanging wires, and the more grim reality of coroners zipping bodies into body bags amidst the blood on the floor. It was like walking through a war zone, except this seemed surreal because the carnage happened in a major U.S. airport. The news was now calling this a terrorist attack because whether it was homegrown or foreign, no one could deny this was coordinated.
When they arrived at Jericho Airlines ticketing counter—or what was left of it—Matt immediately spotted Grace’s purse. His heart quickened as he walked briskly toward the item, scooping it up and ignoring the warning of the CSI tech not to touch anything.
He found her smartphone a couple of feet awa
y. He would recognize it anywhere with the abstract-art phone case. Was she on the device when the explosion happened? Did she get thrown? The techs were only now processing the deceased, which meant she could be injured and in a hospital somewhere.
Numerous hours and hospitals later, they were no closer to finding Grace than when they started. They’d even bumped into Troy and his men at the Emory University Hospital. The bikers weren’t having much luck either.
As they left yet another emergency room, Matt took a couple of quick steps into the late winter night and roared his frustration. He rested his hands on his thighs, hunched over, as the weight of desperation of not knowing whether Grace was alive or dead beat him down.
Sympathetic stares followed him, but he didn’t care. “Ahhhh ….” He shouted again. “Where are you, gypsy? Where are you?”
A hand landed on his shoulder. “Come on. We need to regroup,” Colt said. “I’ve got a condo not far from here.”
“I want to keep looking,” Matt growled.
“Seriously, Foster, you’re not helping Grace any,” Colt shot back. “You haven’t eaten. You’re dead on your feet and we need to come up with a game plan.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I brought my laptop,” Colt said. “I worked surveillance as a SEAL and I’ve got access to AGS analysts. They can hook us up with street cams and satellites, not to mention the entire Atlanta health care system and police department databases.”
“Well, fuck,” Matt muttered. “What are we waiting for?”
*****
Grace
Saving Grace (Misty Grove Book 2) Page 3
