Danger Mine: A Base Branch Novel

by Megan Mitcham

  She grumbled something under her breath akin to, ‘bullshit’ or ‘too late.’ Her hands balled into fists, and then dropped to her sides. “If you really think you can make it stop, give it a whirl. But stay in front of me.”

  It must have been one hell of a migraine for her to agree to let him touch her. His fingers hadn’t had the pleasure, not even when he was buried to the balls inside her. Street filled his constricting lungs with her scent. He wrapped his right hand around the column of her neck.

  Her eyelids raised and her breath caught. The pulse of her carotid battered his fingers.

  “Breathe.” He braced his thumb and middle finger on either side of her jaw. His other hand slipped underneath her hair. The heat of her body warmed him from the outside in. A knot of muscles greeted his touch. “For this to work, you’re going to have to relax.”

  Khani’s eyes rolled into the back of her head. Sadly, it had nothing to do with ecstasy and everything to do with irritation. She blew out a breath. The moist air caressed his neck much like it did when she rode him to the brink.

  His cock grew, testing the bounds of his trousers. He ignored it. Hell, he really tried. He massaged her sub-occipital muscles, rubbing each one from the base of her skull to her nape.

  Degree by hard-won degree, Khani’s shoulders slackened.

  Street kept his gaze locked on hers. He pressed from the front and pulled from the back. The harder he dug into the muscles the more limber she became in his grasp. Her rigid form no longer limited his ability to mold her to him with his touch. Optimism he had no right to feel bubbled inside his mind and solidified his purpose for coming.

  He’d push her. Not too hard or too fast. But no matter how hard she shoved him back, he refused to give up on her.

  Under his prodding fingers the knots worked out of her muscles. He smoothed the length of her nape from skull to back one last time, and then removed his hands from her skin. But not his gaze.

  She waggled her brows. “How’d you know to do that?”

  “I had an interesting upbringing. Learned a thing or two along the way to save money.”

  “Save money? You have a flat screen as big as a bus hanging in your flat.”

  “It’s my first telly and I worked hard to earn it.” He stepped back. “And so we’re clear, I wouldn’t presume to know you. I’d like to know you, but it would take some extraordinary circumstances for you to allow that to happen.”

  She turned toward the computer. Though he was denied the connection of her gaze, he was gifted with the profile of her fit body. Her small breasts curved delicately in the gauzy material of her shirt. Tight-legged black trousers hugged every inch of her lush bottom and accentuated the grace of her long legs.

  “I don’t do relationships.” Her finger tapped on the keys. A topographical view of the same map appeared on the screen.

  “You’re friends with Law and Magdalena. Why not me?”

  “You’re confusing banging with friendship.”

  “Am I?”

  “You want to be my friend?” She peered over her shoulder, her eye drawn.

  “Yes, I’d like to be a friend to you.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve asked myself that a few thousand times. When I come up with an answer I’ll let you know.” True talk, he’d spent more time thinking about Khani than he should spend thinking about any problem except how to end world hunger, create lasting peace, fix the foster care system, or reverse global warming.

  Bangs hung almost into her eyes, covering her forehead. Artful, but heavy black, liner rimmed her ashen eyes, amplifying their gloom. A shellac very similar to her porcelain skin tone camouflaged her cheeks along with a burst of color that offset the sharp red mouth she’d painted on. And then it struck him. Her make-up acted as a shield.

  Khani clasped her upper arms, hugging herself. She stared at him as though he were one of those big problems she needed to solve. “The people I fuck and the people I’m friends with don’t overlap. Life is complicated enough without adding to the drama.”

  “You handle complicated beautifully. I’ve seen it.”

  “On the job,” she corrected with a flip of her fingers. “My personal life is off limits. Besides, you don’t seem like the relationship type either.”

  “I’m not.”

  “People don’t change, no matter how much we want them to.” She blinked three times in a row, which was more rapid than he’d ever seen her calculated eyes move.

  His gut twisted. Somewhere along the way someone had hurt her. Badly. He’d sensed it all along, but now he knew for sure. He just didn’t know who, when, or how. But he would.

  Surprisingly, she turned her back on him and clacked away on the computer. That in itself was a victory of sorts. Small-won battles turned the tide of wars.

  He took one calculated step forward. “It’s easy for people to dismiss others, to say they don’t change. But if a person wants to, they can change.”

  She stilled. “If I wanted to, I couldn’t give you what you’re looking for.”

  “You sell us both short, but that can change too.” He left the room and took his small win with him. He’d have to accumulate a lot more before she’d take him seriously.

  6

  Was there anything more irritating than a commercial flight? Khani gritted her teeth and shuffled forward in line. King Street was more irritating, but he wasn’t present. The horde of misfits cramming into the belly of the plane like sardines eager to be vacuumed into the can together started edging out the competition.

  Khani held her carry-on high enough that she didn’t thump every head lining the aisle. She clamped her left elbow over the pistol dangling from her shoulder holster hidden beneath her leather jacket. If one passenger got a peep of the handle they’d work the crowd into hysterics and delay the flight…even more than the forty minutes they’d already wasted due to the plane’s late arrival.

  She waited, shuffled, and then waited more. The spiked heels of her boots dug into her foot. There hadn’t been time to go to her condo and change. Luckily she always carried a bag of clothes in the trunk of her car, but she might need all of them for the days away. So, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and worked her way to the very last row.

  A salt-and-pepper headed chap—around her dad’s age—rested his head against the back of the seat. His loafer-laced feet stuck out into the aisle. His hands were clasped on his trim belly while one finger tapped the expensive watch on is wrist. She bet he was wondering where the hell the first-class seats had gone too. She’d certainly have ponied up the extra dough for some elbow room.

  “Excuse me.” Khani shoved her bag into the compartment overhead.

  The man blinked her into focus. “Well, you don’t need an excuse, beautiful.” Whiskey curled off his breath and stung her eyes.

  Perfect.

  “No, I don’t. I need you to get up so I can take my seat.”

  “Oh.” His shifty brown eyes assessed her, legs to boobs, boobs to legs, and then back again for good measure. “I’ll let you crawl over.” A fat tongue lolled from his mouth and lapped over his lips.

  “And I’ll give you one more opportunity to move.”

  “Or what?” he snickered.

  Khani slammed the lid to the overhead compartment closed at the same time she rammed her boot heel into the top of his shoe. “Oh blast, I’m sorry. I didn’t see your foot there.”

  The man’s face marbled into hues of red. He bolted upright in his seat. His cheeks puffed.

  “Would you like me to crawl over you? Because I think I’d quite enjoy that.” She flashed her brightest smile.

  He slurred a string of curses under his breath, but stood, and then hobbled out of the way.

  “You’re too kind. Thank you.” Khani shifted into the narrow space. She collapsed onto the seat. The stiff seat back cradled her enough that sleep would find her after take-off. This was likely the only down time she’d have for a while and she’d
learned early on to take it where she could get it.

  The man flung himself into the seat. It shuddered under his petulant display. She ignored him and watched the men in orange vests toss luggage from one cart onto another. The cache of weapons and ammunition in her bag assured no one would be playing catch with her duffels.

  Silver linings.

  “I’ll trade you this seat for a front-rower with tons of leg room and no foot traffic.” The all too familiar baritone hawked his c’s and rolled his r’s.

  Khani turned, not believing her ears. Every muscle in her body constricted. King Street’s height and breath gobbled all the available space in the aisle and more. He tilted his head to the side and winked.

  A tingle washed over her skin, just like it had in the armory when his hot hands touched her.

  “Absolutely. She’s nuts.” The chap used the chair in front of him to stand.

  “A2.” Street got as small as a big-ass man could in the limited room of an airplane aisle and let the bloke shuffle past. Street adjusted his fancy jacket, smoothed his tie, and then eased into the seat. “It’s too bloody hot for coats.”

  “I didn’t think you owned one. I’d only seen you in jeans and T-shirts until today.”

  “Nah.” He hooked a finger into his collar and tugged at the material. “That’s not true is it? You’ve seen me in far less.” His head remained facing forward, but his gaze slid to her.

  The tingle heated into a sticky mess of hormones that threatened to melt her resolve on the matter of Street. She pushed the palms of her hands onto the tops of her slacks. “Why are you here?”

  “Why aren’t you using the Branch jet? Commercial flights blow.”

  “I would have, if I could have, and I’d have made certain the captain took off before you stowed away.”

  His beautiful cheeks balled into a grin. “It’s all about the sweet nothings you whisper in my ear.”

  “My team needed the jet to check some leads. The chopper wouldn’t make the distance. The C-17 seemed like over kill for just me. Why are you here?” She needed him to turn so he’d see her outrage at his constant bulldozing of her life over the last twenty hours.

  “Vail sent me to Anchorage, Alaska.” His greenish-brownish-blue eyes rained on her with the singular intensity of only the best Branch operatives.

  She wished that gaze closer and farther at the same time. “He knows better.”

  “I don’t take orders well,” he shrugged.

  “As I recall, you take them very well.”

  Why in the bloody fucking fiery pits of hell had she said that?

  “Only from you.”

  She’d gone to stitch him up and read him the riot act about making a move solo. But she’d really gone because she needed to see that he was okay. The moment she’d laid a hand on him her self-control vanished. And she controlled him instead.

  He surrendered himself completely. The beauty of it, the simplicity of it had frightened her right out of England.

  Khani tore her gaze from his and searched for the vested men, the luggage, anything to get her mind off Street’s large body so close to hers, so within reach. The engine rumbled to life, drowning out the sharpest screams of her desire. Slowly they rolled away from the gate and toward the runway. Her sleep plans parachuted off the plane, fell ten feet to the tarmac, and went splat. No way would her pulse calm enough to even relax into the seat.

  The aircraft barreled into the sky and she continued staring out of the window as the world shrank, shoving her closer to Street then she ever expected to be after she left home. One minute down. Two hours and forty-six minutes to go. Thank goodness he knew when to shut his mouth.

  In an effort to maintain her sanity, Khani forced her mind away from Street and onto her goal. Find Zeke. Sure he’d vanished for weeks, months at a time, but he always warned her before he left. If he ever told her he’d call or meet her someplace, he did. No exceptions. She stared at the patchwork fields, and then the blank ceiling of clouds, and wondered what the hell had happened to him.

  “Pretzels or peanuts?” a saucy voice asked.

  How had she missed the ever entertaining this-is-how-we-make-you-feel-like-you-have-a-fighting-chance-if-we-crash directives and the beginning of cabin service? They were the highlights of any commercial flight. That and watching drunk people get dragged off the airbus.

  “Yes,” Street smiled. Either he didn’t know it was an either-or question or didn’t care.

  “It looks like you need my whole stash or a steak and baked potato.” The redhead with boobs up to her chin offered a handful of peanut and pretzel packs.

  “I can always go for a steak.” His wide hand rubbed over his flat abdomen.

  Khani couldn’t take the time to evaluate the move on a scale of sexy because the attendant’s pupils dilated.

  “I bet you can go for lots of things.” Ashley—the nametag on her ta-tas gave her away—leaned in, leading with the money-makers.

  “For the love.” Khani couldn’t help herself. “Have some respect.”

  “Oh God.” One of Ashley’s hands flew to her bosom. “I didn’t know you two were together. I’m so sorry.”

  “We’re not.” Khani sighed. “I mean,” she whispered, “have some respect for yourself. You don’t know his first name and you’re ready to throw down in the bathroom.”

  Ashley’s pouty mouth gaped like a fish seizing its last breaths. She spun on her heels and dashed up the aisle.

  Street swiveled his head at Khani. “Way to go. No peanuts or pretzels for you.”

  “Shut it.” She folded her arms over her middle and stewed. Why had she said anything? Street’s shenanigans and Ashley’s quick-draw weren’t her concern. “You aren’t going to share? You have about ten packs of each.”

  “I’m a growing boy.” His shoulders twitched.

  “Yeah, growing fat in the head.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed on a quiet laugh. “It’s your fault. You keep defending my honor.”

  He had a point. She was like jello around him, incapable of controlling herself. She’d have to ditch him. They changed planes in Minneapolis. She could pull it off there. She’d researched a private airfield fifteen minutes from the airport as a contingency.

  King Street counted as one huge unseen probability. She hated abandoning the gear she’d checked, but she could buy more in Anchorage. She’d just be out the long-range rifles, which she hoped were overkill anyway.

  “Here.” He held out two packs of peanuts and two of pretzels. “If you don’t eat them now, stow them for later.”

  Those seemingly simple words combined with his earlier comments about his television and saving money tugged at her heart. Since his file had been sealed she didn’t know what kind of childhood he’d had…other than interesting. That’s what he’d called it.

  She wanted to know about his early years, but refused to ask. The problem was when you asked someone questions they assumed the road went two ways. And she didn’t talk about her past. It was firmly behind her. She kept it there and smashed the rearview.

  Khani knew hungry. Once you were truly hungry you were always hungry. There were protein bars in her glove box, desk drawer, gym bag, the dresser beside her bed, and in almost every room in her condo. She hardly ever used them, but they were there. And more, she didn’t waste food. Had Street ever known real hunger? She hoped not.

  “I will,” she croaked. The packages crinkled as she stuffed all but one into her pocket. She opened the small, knotted pretzels even though her stomach resembled one and crunched a few. “I guess I screwed us both on water.”

  “That you did.” He gave her that sideways glance again.

  “Sorry.” That look made it as hard to swallow as the dry dough in her mouth.

  “Luckily I came prepared for your shenanigans.” He pulled a small bottle of water from inside his jacket.

  “How can you fit that in your jacket?”

  “Big guy. Big Jacket. Big…”
/>   “Dick,” she finished, giggling in spite of herself.

  A chuckle erupted from the seat in front of them.

  “That too.” He grinned. “But I was going to say, pockets.”

  “Of course you were.” She took the bottle from his grasp, pulled two swallows, and then handed it back. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you?” A furrow developed between his brows. “I expected a bigger fight.”

  “How am I going to fight? There’s nowhere to go.”

  “I wouldn’t have put it past you to pull the emergency exit and use your jacket as a parachute.”

  “There are kids on the plane. Can’t freak them out.”

  “That’s mighty nice of you.”

  “What can I say, I’m a nice girl.”

  He leaned back into the chair and canted his head. “You are. No matter how bad-ass, you have a soft spot.”

  “Sharks have soft spots too. But the people who feel it don’t long survive the teeth.”

  “I’m tougher than I look.” Street leaned forward. His hands moved slowly, but purposefully over her lap. He grabbed the ends of her lap belt, and then clicked them together. “We’ve started our decent.”

  “And you think this will save us in a crash?” she whispered.

  “It can’t hurt. Can it?”

  There were too many meanings to that question and in his eyes to answer. She grabbed her resolve to flee with both hands and hung on until they hit the gate. They hurried through the tunnel. Having wasted thirty minutes getting off the plane, there were ten left to make it to their connection five gates away.

  She headed for the bathroom. “I have to pee. You?”

  “I’m straight.”

  “Oh, I know that.”

  He studied her down the end of his nose. “I don’t have to pee.”

  “Okay, will you grab me a water and a protein bar from that little store. Do you want to meet there or at the gate?”

  “The gate’ll do.”

  “Great. Thanks.” She hurried across the wide thoroughfare, dodging strollers, ambling teens, and old people.

  Khani slipped into the bathroom and locked herself in the first stall. Her bag hit the floor with a thunk. Both hands blew through her hair, yanking it to the top of her head. She yanked a beanie from the bag’s side pocket and pulled the olive hat low over her eye-catching hair. Next came her jacket and holster. She pealed them off and shoved them into the duffel.