Roger shook his head when he saw me come down the stairs from the apartment. Matt had chewed him out for no apparent reason. It wasn’t his friend’s fault. I was getting more and more pissed off at Matt by the second.
“I wouldn’t leave the garage until the boss returns,” Axe said, clearly indicating he’d been tasked with looking after me.
“Am I a prisoner here?”
“No, but I’d think you’d have more self-preservation after having had a gun pulled on you,” Axe replied.
“I am walking no more than twenty paces across the street to see Millie,” I said. “Something is not right with Kyra.” I turned to the other mechanic. “Tell him, Roger.”
“I’d hate to agree about letting her out of the garage, but she’s right,” Roger concurred. “You should have seen her, man. The woman who pointed a gun at Grace was not Kyra.”
“Shit. Okay,” Axe grumbled, relenting. “But I’m going to stick to you like white on rice. Everything you say to Millie, I’m gonna hear, okay?”
So there I was talking to a concerned Millie. She tried calling Kyra. “You said Matt went to see her?”
“That’s what I was led to believe.”
“She’s not answering,” Millie said, swiping the end-call and laying her phone on the counter. “I keep getting her voicemail.”
“When was the last time you spoke to her?”
“Last Saturday, when I told her to take some time off. I gave her some money to offset any income she may have lost, although you know that’s not necessary.”
I knew that. Matt had explained to me that the ex-agency assets who’d been victims of a corrupt CIA official were receiving a stipend from a fund set aside by Admiral Porter. The money had come from the rigged sale of weaponized plutonium. The plutonium never left the agency hands, but they were able to apprehend agents from rogue nations who’d paid for them. A portion of the money was set aside to take care of CIA veterans who’d been disavowed unfairly so as to prevent blowback to the U.S. government. Thank God for people like the admiral who made sure no one under his watch was abandoned—from agents to analysts to informants like Kyra.
There was some disturbance at the front of the diner and then the door flew open with Matt charging through. Rage darkened his eyes into an inky blue. Apparently, he hadn’t calmed down yet.
Thankfully, it was past dinner time and the few patrons left in the diner were folks who work at the general store, the garage, and the salon a few blocks over.
Matt cupped my elbow and steered me to him. His other hand closed over my nape, with his thumb forcing me to look at him.
“I told you not to leave the goddamned loft!” he barked. “That was one simple request, Grace.”
My blood boiled. “That didn’t feel like a request. That felt like an order!”
His fingers tightened and if I didn’t know Matt better I’d be afraid he’d snap my neck. He certainly looked angry enough to do so, and yet I was confident he wouldn’t physically hurt me.
“Then you should have followed it!” he snarled. “You’re never leaving the loft without letting me know again. Are we clear?”
I stared up at him mutinously.
“Are. We. Fucking. Clear?” he bellowed into my face.
I couldn’t stand the searing burn of his glare and lowered my eyes to his chest, still stubbornly dissenting to his high-handed attitude.
His fingers slackened around my neck, and I was crushed into his hard, upper body.
“Why do you do this to me?” he growled by my ear. “All I want to do is to keep you from getting hurt, babe. Why can’t you see that?”
“You can’t shield me from everything and trying is only going to drive you crazy,” I told him softly, moved by his desperate tone.
“I’m already there, gypsy,” his graveled voice raked over my heart. Matt drew back and tucked my hair behind my ear. “My sanity hinges on your safety. If I can hide you from anyone and everyone who means you harm, I would. But you,” he inhaled sharply then continued, “make it so goddamned hard.”
“You can’t keep me in a cage, Matt.”
He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Yeah. I kinda figured that.” He cleared his throat and looked over my head, presumably at Millie, and finally remembered we weren’t alone.
“I didn’t get to speak to Kyra,” he stated flatly.
“And I’d appreciate it if you stayed away from her, Matthew,” Millie said sharply. “Based on what Grace told me, she’s unwell.”
“She threatened Grace with a gun,” Matt returned.
“And I’m fine,” I interjected.
“That’s not the point,” Matt argued. “She could have killed you.”
“We’re attracting an audience,” Millie hissed. “Let’s discuss this in my office.”
Matt took my hand, gripping it possessively, and made me walk beside him. He had definitely gone from love-them-and-leave-them-in-the-morning to this unrelenting caveman in the last month.
When we got to Millie’s office, Axe, who brought up the rear, closed the door.
“I’m disappointed in you, Matthew,” Millie said. “I expected better control from you than simply going off and confronting Kyra. You’ve known her for years, and even though you two hooked up as consenting adults and she misunderstood your relationship—”
“There was never a relationship,” Matt interrupted. “You, of all people, knew that and know the type of man I am.”
“And yet here you are now. Don’t you think seeing how you are with Grace gave her hope that, indeed, you could commit, so she decided to try it out for herself with you.”
“I swear I’ll never understand women’s logic,” Matt griped.
“Which is why you will let me handle Kyra,” Millie ordered.
“Keep her away from Grace and we won’t have a problem.” Matt’s body language exuded aggression.
Millie’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t like this one bit. “Are you threatening me, Matthew Foster?”
“Not at all,” he returned levelly. “The truth is I don’t know what I’d actually do if someone else tries to hurt Grace. Living with self-sufficient ex-assassins, I’ve never had to worry much about anyone’s capability to protect themselves.” Matt looked at me. “No offense to you, babe.”
“None taken,” I said derisively. I wasn’t delusional to think that I was as skilled as they were. “Still, my point is I’ve not done anything recklessly. I met Troy a mile from the garage, and Roger was with me. Kyra showing up with a gun was unfortunate. And you yelled at me when I simply crossed the street to Millie’s and the diner was full of people who can protect me. Can you at least see how unreasonable you were?”
“I don’t like you defying my orders.”
My brows shot up. So did Millie’s. But unlike her, I did not smile in amusement.
“You’re a freaking tyrant,” I muttered irately. “I don’t have the energy to argue my point right now because by the look on your face, I’m wasting my time.”
“Matt, consider this pre-marital counseling,” Millie drawled. “But it’s not good to annoy the wife.”
“I’m not his wife yet,” I grumbled. Matt’s arms hooked around me, pulling me back against his chest.
“It’s a done deal, babe,” he whispered and nipped at my ear. I felt the shiver straight to my toes. His possessiveness was both a turn-on and an aggravation.
“Do you have any advice, Millie, on how to deal with overbearing husbands?”
“Easy. Cut off their water.”
Matt froze behind me.
“What?” I laughed, pulling away from Matt as I saw him glare at the other woman.
“Oh, sweetie, withholding sex is the greatest weapon of all.”
I heard Axe choke on a chuckle and Matt shifted his glare to him. “What the hell is so funny, Axe?” Looking at me, he continued. “I wouldn’t take Millie’s advice. I doubt she’s ever been married.”
“He’s right. I’ve never been, b
ut I have a world of experience. Trust me on this. Men think with their dicks. Always.”
“Christ. Thanks, Millie,” Matt said sarcastically.
Her smile was saccharine sweet.
“Going back to the Kyra subject,” I said. “You’ll look into it, Millie?”
“I’ll head over there tonight,” she assured me. Her normally shrewd eyes were soft. “You’re a good person, Grace. Other women would wish their fiancé’s ex to hell.”
“Oh, under any other circumstances, I’m as normal as any other woman, but I can’t overlook my duty as a DEA agent. Which is why a good compromise was having someone close to Kyra get involved. I doubt she’ll appreciate my help, and it could only make matters worse.”
Matt squeezed my shoulders. I felt the tension leave his body. I think my man had calmed down enough to finally see my point. Or maybe the idea of withholding sex had shaken the impenetrable wall of his anger.
“So, what were you doing in Atlanta, Matthew?” Millie asked suddenly.
“I met up with Kate.”
“Oh?” Millie’s face lit up with interest. “And?”
“She’s coming back to Misty Grove next week.”
“To stay for good?”
“I hope so,” Matt said.
Millie harrumphed. “I see you’re not very chatty about it.”
“I’m keeping my fingers crossed, okay?” Matt sighed. “I don’t want to hope, only to have Kate get a wild hair about staying away again. There’s only so many times I can lose my twin.”
The other woman nodded. “Does Colt know?”
“I gave him a heads-up,” Matt replied.
“Well, at least that other girl is not in the picture any longer.” Millie looked at me. “For a small town, we keep things interesting around here, don’t we?”
“That’s an understatement if ever there was one,” I quipped.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Matt
By the time they had returned to the loft, Matt had calmed down some. He’d been doing so well with controlling his foolish temper in the past month, his recent outburst caught him unaware. It was like a downhill slide with no brakes that only accelerated until he hit bottom.
And he reached bottom when he’d yelled at Grace like a lunatic. He felt guilty afterward, but his woman gave no quarter, and he was thankful she called him on it. Matt realized this was how she’d gotten under his skin. She had the body of a siren and the mesmerizing eyes of a gypsy. But in the end, it was who he was with her. He could be volatile Matt, and she’d stand up to him, but she’d never tried to change him. And yet, he wanted to become a better man for her and their baby. Being with Grace wreaked havoc on the walls of his heart. He was handling these unfamiliar emotions by trying to control the situation. She was right when she said he was keeping her in a cage, because he was selfishly putting her where he knew he’d find her while he sorted out the upheaval she had caused in his jaded existence. The truth was he didn’t want her to have a life outside of him, and he knew that wasn’t going to work. He’d been battling with the need to own her—body, heart, and mind. This thing with Kyra had prematurely exposed his fucked-up obsession with Grace. That was why Matt wanted to marry her as soon as possible. What if he scared her away with the depth of his need for her?
He was royally fucked.
But he didn’t care as long as Grace belonged to him.
He tossed back a tumbler of whisky and let the amber liquid burn down his throat.
Grace had excused herself to their bedroom, citing the need to take a bath. Matt had not been invited and that, in itself, told him he had fucked up some, but she hadn’t exactly been bitchy about it.
Sometimes he asked himself if letting a woman dominate his emotions this way was worth it, and it always came back to one answer—as long as the woman was Grace. He would put up with all the frustration he’d gone through over and over this last month if it meant that, in the end, she would be his.
But, dammit, enough with asking for space.
Matt slammed the glass on the kitchen counter and stalked toward the bedroom. He opened the door and stepped inside. Grace was sitting at the edge of the bed in a fluffy white robe that hit mid-thigh. Her hair was gathered haphazardly on top of her head, with tendrils framing her face. Her skin glowed from her bath, but she was massaging her temples. Were pregnant women supposed to take baths?
“Babe, are you okay?”
“Shh …” she mumbled as she laid on the bed and curled into a fetal position, her hands now over her head.
Matt’s heart plunged to the soles of his feet. Anxiety like no other ratcheted through his marrow. With long strides, he closed the distance between them, sat beside her, and laid a hand on her shoulder.
“Dammit it, Grace,” Matt hissed. “If you don’t talk to me, I’m going to lose my fucking mind. Tell me”—he kept his voice level because she looked distressed herself—“what’s going on?”
“Quiet,” she groaned. “The Atlanta airport. I’m remembering stuff and … just … don’t … talk.”
Matt shut up and withdrew his hand from her shoulder and clenched his fists on his thighs. It was either that or crawl into bed with her and absorb her agony. The compulsion to give her comfort was overwhelming, but just like all other emotions he was trying to sort out about her, he was learning when to take charge, and when to let her be.
So he watched helplessly as Grace moaned and thrashed on the bed.
*****
Grace
It was the post-traumatic stress that triggered it. I lowered my body to the warm water of the bath. I had to be careful because I was pregnant, but this twisted knot of tension inside me needed to loosen up. But the events of the day suddenly hit me. I’d been five minutes into my bath when the image of Kyra holding a gun on me morphed into a scene at the airport. A man dressed in a long leather jacket was threatening me.
Everything flashed at the same time and my poor brain got fried. This wasn’t a regular memory, it was a traumatic one, which was probably why it was the last holdout in my amnesia.
Breathing exercises helped to calm my racing heart. Somehow, I managed to put on a robe and make it back to the bed. My mind tried to block the images again as I heard Matt asking me what was wrong. I couldn’t be a coward about this. These last pieces of my memory held the answers to all the burning questions to what exactly happened at the airport.
Therefore, I opened my mind and I got sucked back into that day.
I checked the arrivals screen and saw that I just made it on time to meet my contact. I was here to meet Antonio Escobar—the cartel’s accountant. Troy set up this meeting, but all the negotiations were between me and the accountant. If the information he had for me proved usable, I would have to go directly to the DEA Administrator and the Attorney General. Troy provided the safe house in Tennessee. The accountant was financially savvy enough to redirect some of his funds to buy his cover to fly to the U.S. It helped that he had relatives in Dallas, Texas.
I stood surreptitiously by the baggage claim for Jericho Airlines flight from Dallas. It was up to fate now. The accountant could pass me, and I wouldn’t know. Troy made me wear a dumb Georgia slogan button: Georgia on my mind. The person who stood by me briefly and coughed would be my signal. I kept my gaze nonchalant, pretending to search ahead, but was actually looking at passers-by on my left. A few seconds later, my instinct picked up a passenger. He was dressed in a long-sleeved polo and khakis. He was dark-haired and looked Latino, but it would be foolish to assume that the accountant was Mexican. Drugs were a global business, and the cartel bosses had been known to hire private security contractors from other countries. Why not an accountant? I was right, though. The man stood briefly beside me, did a very fake cough, and I had to fight the urge to cringe. He held a briefcase and pretended to scan the conveyor belt for his luggage. Meanwhile, I turned around and walked to an area I knew would be good for us to exchange information. I never once glanced back to see i
f he was following me, but I knew he was. But I was feeling an uneasiness I couldn’t shake.
There was a narrow corridor between the restrooms and a convenience mart. Given the Monday morning rush, it was impossible to find an isolated area in the airport that was open to the public.
“Ms. Levinson?”
“Yes,” I said shortly. “You have something for me?”
He handed me a small envelope. My fingers closed over it and I felt the key.
“The Veritas Bank of Dallas, safety deposit box number … aren’t you writing this?”
“No, I can memorize it.”
“439-112. My cousin is the bank teller there.” He handed me a business card, his hand shaking from nervousness.
I reached into my purse, hid the key and card, and pulled out a smartphone and an envelope. “Troy’s men will be waiting for you at the safe house. There’s cash in the envelope and your booking for Jericho Airlines flight to Memphis. The smartphone is already programmed with Troy’s number. His men will meet you at Memphis International Airport. Go to the Jericho Airlines counter and check in. I’ll be a couple of steps behind you.”
I let him leave the corridor first and followed him about ten paces back. I was making sure he got through security before I left the airport. When he fell in line at the ticketing counter, I hung back and resisted the urge to tap my feet. I had not had that compulsion in years, but it didn’t explain why my anxiety level was at an all-time high. I saw two men approach, one looked at me briefly before returning his vision to Escobar. I was already moving forward when two men shouldered their way through the queue to get to the accountant. Strong fingers gripped my bicep when I felt a gun poke at my ribs.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” a sinister voice said. I looked up at the man who held me. He was of medium height with tanned skin and brown eyes. “Ms. Levinson.” He started to yank me away when an explosion echoed in the distance. The man cursed beside me and I caught Escobar looking at me in horror. Screaming ensued, and I was about to stomp the feet of my assailant when a shattering explosion tore through the Jericho Airline ticketing counter.
Saving Grace (Misty Grove Book 2) Page 17
