Hart Attack

by Cristin Harber

  “What’s our game?” she asked too wispy for her liking, but it was out of her control.

  His palm slid down again, and she repositioned, giving him free roam. She was such a slut, and a total sucker for strong, rough hands that could make her nerve endings sizzle.

  “Party girl…”

  She nodded as his hands went up, crossing the boundary of her shorts line, then squeezing his fingers and pausing. The touch, the pause, it stilled her heart.

  “So fuckin’ soft. Acting sweet, but I know you have a bite.” He stole his hand away. “And you know… me. Our game.”

  He had her so close to saying yes to any- and everything without realizing it. She’d been lost in the gravel of his words, the heat of his hold. Want swirled deep within her belly. She knew him. Knew him. Cocky. Arrogant. And her best friend’s older brother to go with every other reason to avoid Roman Hart at all costs.

  He shifted, and her eyes traveled down to the bulge in his pants. Sweet mother…

  Her mouth watered as her mind wandered. She needed him, maybe worse than she ever had before—

  The scratchy, creaking sound of the spinning rope broke into her dirty thoughts. It haunted her ears, reminding her exactly why she wanted Roman to hold her tight and keep the nightmares away, as well as exactly why he couldn’t. The sexy mood was immediately killed.

  She looked down and away, hating herself, and decided it was best to stare at the collection of bland, abstract paintings across the room. They meant nothing to her, which was perfect. Yes, she could recite what an art collector should see in them. But she saw absolutely nothing, and it helped her shut down.

  Seconds before, she had been pliable and probably panting. Now she was rigid as the obnoxious marble columns in her entry foyer.

  “I should go.” Roman must’ve read her all wrong.

  “Okay.” Because what else was there to say? Certainly not the truth.

  He stood, wrapping her back into her blanket, then stared down. She didn’t look up. Wouldn’t look up. But then she did, and they were stuck, eyes glued together in the semi-darkness. She wanted to find the right words. Then any words. God, she wished she had the strength to pull him down. But she bit her lip and gazed away instead.

  “Eyes up here, party girl.”

  Without thought, she obeyed, and guilt overwhelmed her.

  “Beth… I’m here because if I didn’t have another round of us, I wouldn’t make it through the night.”

  Her mouth fell open. Finally, she whispered, “Don’t say that to me. I can’t…”

  His eyes narrowed. “Don’t want to play our game anymore?”

  “I…” She sighed, feeling uncried tears burning her throat. Why was tonight so heavy? That stupid nightmare, that was why. “I need a truce.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and studied her. If she could’ve moved, could’ve buried herself in the blanket and not had to see his concerned scrutiny, she would have.

  “A truce it is, party girl.” He leaned over, kissed her cheek, turned out the light, and left her alone to suffer.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The lights in Titan’s war room were low. The wall of flat screens was blank. The massive table where life-and-death plans had been scripted to the most minute detail was empty. Roman rubbed his temples, warding away a headache. Not enough sleep and too much Dr Pepper. Maybe too many thoughts of Beth. A truce? What was up with that? And her eyes… how they went from soft and hungry to dead. No matter how many times he replayed the night, he didn’t know what had happened.

  A snore from the end of the table interrupted his thoughts. Rocco, half-asleep with his head pressed to his arms, groggily looked around. “Where’s everyone?”

  “Parker’s in his lair. Jared’s somewhere.”

  “Right. Fuck me. I feel like crap.” Rocco’s head went back down. “We need to get this shit show on the move already.”

  “Why’d you bunk here last night?”

  “Just wanted to make sure I made it to this meeting. Headed to Cash and Nic’s tonight.”

  “Unless we go wheels up.” Nothing would keep Rocco down.

  The man groaned. “Which would suck. But the job would get done.”

  “Yeah,” Roman agreed.

  Jared’s call for the meeting this morning had caught them off guard. It happened faster than Roman had expected. But that was good. They all wanted details. Needed them, really. Whatever it took to keep general world destruction from happening. No pressure. But as serious as the situation was, these types of deals never happened quickly. So a morning meeting was a surprise.

  “Get up, sunshine.” Jared walked in the door trailed by Thelma, his bulldog.

  Thelma bee-lined for Rocco with a maternal instinct that Roman could never wrap his head around. Seconds later, Cash and Nicola walked in, followed by Brock, Winters, and Parker. If Brock was in the room, then the Delta team would be involved. That said something about the complexity and need for more boots on the ground. It also said that they were way, way off the books on this job—which tended to happen when foreign countries came to his country and said they’d lost nonexistent weapons of mass destruction.

  Rocco mumbled a hey from his forearm pillow. Winters shook his head like Jared had. Parker and Cash laughed. Nicola walked over to Rocco and dropped down, mother-henning the big guy until he swatted her away to a seat at the table.

  She squirted hand sanitizer on her palms. “I might be nice, but I’m not going down with that.”

  “Dude.” Roman pushed Rocco’s chair away, which earned him a middle finger. “Cat’s not that mean. She’d let you go home.”

  Rocco glared. “I’m not bringing this anywhere near my pregnant woman. How many times do I have to explain that?”

  Cash’s eyebrows furrowed. “So you bring it to my place? Nice, man. Hope you aren’t expecting Nic to cook for you. We’re on a raw diet.”

  “Lifestyle,” she corrected. “I need you to live forever, buddy. Food is fuel. Learn that, and we’ll be all good.”

  “If I wanted food, I’d head to Winters.” Rocco’s forehead pinched. “But food’s the enemy. So shut your faces.”

  Roman looked around the war room, thinking that Mia Winters cooked a hell of a meal. “Am I the only one who hasn’t offered you safe harbor? Didn’t know that was a thing.”

  “It’s not.” Rocco waved his arm limply. “They have wives that do the offering. No one here has manners for shit.”

  “Polite,” Jared grumbled, “would be not puking for the next thirty minutes.”

  He walked to the door, opened it, and let in a guy Roman had never seen before. Wasn’t Delta but was cut out for it. He had a Special Forces look to him.

  “Two things. First, this is Montana. Montana, the team.” Jared picked them off by name. “He’s here from our Battalion buddies at Ft. Benning.”

  So dude was a Ranger. Solid.

  Jared continued, “Montana knows the players. Uncle Sam wants his hands clean, but if we need anything we don’t have, Montana’s our go-to. While he’s here, he’ll pick up some Titan. Cash, Roman, he’s with you.”

  They nodded.

  “Hell, you may know his older brother—”

  Roman’s eyes narrowed, trying to place the possible new recruit. The familiarity hit him. “Bryce Richmond your brother?”

  “That’s right,” Montana said.

  “Damn.” Cash leaned forward. “Look a lot like him.”

  Bryce came from good stock. Fuckin’ good soldier. Having his little bro on the team had to be a good thing.

  Boss Man cut back in. “Glad you all have met. Keep him close. Roman, you in particular. I want him thinking like you think. Got me?”

  Roman nodded.

  Jared pivoted to Montana. “Sit.” Then he turned to the rest of the room, glaring. “And for the next item on my agenda, the cluster that was our nuke job.” He stood at the head of the table, palms flat on the surface. His head dropped, then, when he faced th
em again, an angry sneer had replaced his normal glower. “Bad intelligence could’ve killed one of you, and I’m not fuckin’ happy.”

  He pushed off the table and paced. “But you survived. Would’ve been pissed if you hadn’t. You wrapped that defunct job, and now we’re building off of nothing. Fresh start. Everything we had, we tossed. Parker and the rest of the fuckin’ intelligence community has a new idea. Decent one. Who’s selling, who’s buying. After the shit storm yesterday, everything’s gone dark. So we wait. We watch. We inch in. Then we attack and intercept.”

  The mood in the room became tense. A nuke was in the wind, and they were operating on a decent idea. Shit…

  Winters leaned toward Parker, saying something that earned a head shake. The lack of expression on Parker’s face said their odds weren’t the best. Roman’s stomach felt a touch flu-ish, though he doubted it was a bug. Potential terrorist attacks would do that to a guy.

  Jared turned his glare to Winters. “You two have something you want to share?”

  Winters emptied a container of Dots into his hand. “Nope.”

  “Share anyway.”

  He downed the candy. “Just wanted to know if this was a best guess or a wild-ass goose chase.”

  Jared kept eyes on Winters. “Parker?”

  Parker worked his jaw back and forth, then leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “Complicated situation. Reeling from yesterday. We’re not working with a lot, but we have assumptions that lean heavy in our favor. The more we work our new angle, the better the outlook becomes.”

  So a non-answer.

  Jared slapped the table. “A location and a point of contact are all we need. Parker will get it. After yesterday, the intel we’re using is our own or what we can vet.”

  Nods came from around the table, not that Jared was looking for approval.

  “When the time comes, I don’t care who or where it goes down, this is the team that will end this shit.” He glared at each face. “Anyone disagree?”

  The room stayed silent.

  “Rocco, your team’s good to move?”

  Rocco swallowed away any hint of the flu. “Absolutely.”

  “Brock, Delta good to go?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Good.”

  Before Brock had gone to lead the Delta guys, Roman couldn’t remember a time Jared had both teams ready for business. If both of them were involved, it meant they needed deniability. Delta operated behind the scenes in almost all operations. They were ghosts.

  There was a time when Roman could’ve appreciated living off the grid. Back when Nicola was dead, during her jaunt in witness protection, or in the CIA, when he still hadn’t known his sister was alive. How many times had Titan and the CIA crossed paths? How many times had he almost run into her? Until he did. Never should’ve gone down like that.

  He tamped down a growl, that automatic reaction he couldn’t control when it came to time lost and heartache. Roman rubbed his biceps, thinking how he would’ve eaten up Delta if it had existed back then… though it didn’t really exist now. That team was completely, one hundred percent untraceable.

  “Now, to the inching in part.” Jared glowered down the long table. “There might be an angle that Nicola can work. We’re already weaving in backstory through our contacts. Her cover’s simple, if this pans out. She’ll be a code authenticator for the nukes.”

  Because what was the point of buying stolen nuclear weapon codes if they weren’t able to wipe out a small country?

  “Nic, if this works out, once we get you in there, you’ll set eyes on our goods, give us a way to trace the weapon, and we’ll be positioned for a grab.”

  They all took in what Jared had said. The tension and stakes had grown thicker almost instantaneously.

  “Wait.” Winters looked ready to voice what was rumbling in Roman’s head. “We’re going to let them walk out with the authenticated codes before we grab them?”

  “No choice,” Jared said. “If we position too close and they make us, the codes are gone.”

  Very risky move.

  He zeroed in on Nicola. “You good being the eyes on the inside, princess?”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  Boss Man turned to Roman and Cash. “Brother or husband have a problem with that, speak up now so she can tell you to cut the crap.”

  From across the room, Nicola smiled. Roman wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to her walking into danger zones, but for the most part, he’d adjusted his attitude. Mostly. Still didn’t keep the worry away. He rubbed his arm, lost in thought about how life changed when he least expected it. Maybe one day he’d get the opportunity to make things right, to prove to her he was the protector and she was his little sister, but not likely. The woman was a badass, and apparently, badasses didn’t need big brothers overseeing their every step or making up for lost time.

  “Nicola.” Jared walked down the room to stand in front of her. “As with every job, if either of these boys give you hell—” Someone who didn’t know her might have expected Jared to say just tell me, and I’ll handle it, but that wasn’t going to happen. “Try not to tear them apart too badly. I need Cash on the trigger and Roman on eyes.”

  “Don’t worry about them.” She smiled way too sweetly.

  “Good,” Boss Man grumbled. “Alright. Off job until I call, then be ready to go. Roman, Montana’s with you on all projects. Parker, find us what we need. Princess has an arms dealer to befriend.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The CIA section chief’s office was decorated with awards and commendations that no one outside the Agency would ever know about. Just like those plaques, everything about the building was draped in secrecy. Beth related to the professional decorations. Inside the confines of the CIA’s overarching structure, she was an intelligence desk jockey, chained to an office job that required her to be calculating, covert, and calibrated. Outside the building, she fit perfectly into their designed role of DC socialite and consultant to the likes of the Smithsonian.

  But Beth wanted more. She always had. Though when she’d been working as Nicola’s handler, it’d been somewhat fulfilling, if not just plain fun, to play spy games with her best friend. Now that Nic was gone, time had stalled, and the job sucked. More than anything, Beth wanted out in the field, what she had been initially recruited for. She had more than a pretty face and an ability to schmooze with the DC elite.

  An assistant popped his head in. “Just another minute. Sorry for the delay.”

  “No problem.” She sat in the formal office and waited as the air conditioning chilled the room. If there was one thing she knew, nothing in Langley happened by chance. If she was sitting cold and alone in the office of someone way above her pay grade, then there was a reason.

  The door opened, revealing the section chief that she vaguely knew and didn’t care for.

  Beth stood. “Hello.”

  “Miss Tourne.” Everything on the man looked persuasive and powerful. Expensive suit, toothy white smile. No wonder he was the face the CIA put in front of scandal-hungry reporters.

  Joseph Jasper was a public relations guru with a background in Cold War spycraft. So he knew how to play games. He was also someone who could take any headline the Agency found itself in hot water over and bring it down to a simple simmer—leaving just enough of an issue that no one looked for bigger problems, which there always were.

  That brought Beth back to the most pressing question: Why was she here? He didn’t oversee her division. Not even close. But Beth was ready to jump head first into whatever lay ahead. She put on her most professional, even-keeled smile. “Mr. Jasper.”

  He walked the long way around his office, making sure to pass all of his commendations, then dropped into an overbearing, pretentious executive leather chair behind his desk. “Guess you’re wondering why I’ve asked you here.”

  “Yes.”

  He swiveled in his seat, watching her. “You want out in the field, and I have a spo
t that would fit you well. Interested?”

  Beth’s pulse jumped. This was the conversation she’d wanted from the first day she’d walked into a recruiting class full of wannabe Farm boys. “Yes. I’m interested.”

  Jasper leaned back, his fingers steepled under his chin. Their staring showdown lasted several seconds before he scooted forward, opened a desk drawer, and extracted a folder. With one smooth move, he slid it to her.

  She didn’t touch it. “What’s this?”

  “Project Gilgamesh.”

  This was really happening. Screw the party girl image, someone had finally agreed that her expert-level marksmanship and her ability to change disguises with chameleon-like precision was worth something more than traipsing around the boring political-party scene and listening for intoxicated diplomats sharing their secrets to an overly interested set of boobs. She knew her job and wasn’t kidding herself. It was important, but it was also a waste of her talents.

  Jasper cleared his throat. “You’ve done an exceptional job over the last few years. Infiltrating inner circles while still keeping your man in the field safe and well-situated. Now, I’d like to see how you’d do in their place.”

  More of a smile than she wanted to show appeared without Beth’s permission. This was the day she’d been waiting for after a half-dozen official requests and more than double that in unofficial favors called in. “Thank you. I think I’d do well, given the opportunity.”

  “Then open the folder and let’s talk.”

  Fingertips tingling in anticipation, she paged open the folder—and it was someone she knew of. Local. DC snobbery, aristocracy in full effect. “What’s this?”

  “Gregori Naydenov.”

  “I know who he is. I thought we were talking about a field position.”

  “We are.”

  “He’s here in DC.”

  “Yes—”

  “I was hoping for something different. Another focus. Where I could use my professional know-how.”

  “You do that now.”

  “I smile. I party. And I listen.” She reined in any further response.