You okay?
Fine, Jack. Just get off me.
She stepped back to lessen the pleasure strumming over her nerves at the contact of his skin on hers. Why did his scent jumpstart her heart? She smelled roasted almonds and leather and fresh-cut grass above something elusive — tangy, heady. It swirled in her brain like a drug, drawing her in, tempting her. By all accounts he should smell toxic.
He reached to examine her throat and she slapped his hands away. They glared a challenge at each other, and Cassie made it clear he was still in the doghouse for his idiocy last night. Then she explained what had happened with Hammond, and his conclusion was the same as hers:
So weird. His mind sounds like those boaters, like static.
Yes, I know. That’s why I didn’t kill him. I don’t think he meant to do it. And look at his hands.
Jack lifted Hammond’s arms behind his back, and the ensign made no complaint of his rough treatment. Jack sucked in a breath as he saw the stains on Hammond’s hands. Then Jack had a story to tell.
“So Hammond vandalized your team’s office? Do you think he even remembers doing it?” Cassie cut the ties on his wrists and ankles, and still he did nothing. “Jack, try giving him an order.”
“Ensign! What the hell you doin’? Get on your feet, worm!”
They both heard his mind snap back to order, and Hammond scrambled to his feet, looking dazed. “Hooyah, sir.”
“What happened to your face, cadet? You look like a meatball.”
“I … ” his brows furrowed. “I — don’t know, sir.”
“What’s wrong with your hands?”
Hammond held out his hands, blinking as he examined his palms, then his nails. “Uh, I don’t know, sir. Sorry sir. Permission to join the evolution, sir.”
Cassie and Jack exchanged glances — the ensign was truthful. He had no recollection of either attacking Cassie or of vandalizing the office, even though the evidence lingered on his hands. He just wanted to be a Navy SEAL and somehow got played as a pawn. To Cassie’s relief Jack let him go.
“Automatons? Hypnosis?” Cassie turned to see Jack relax his posture and rake a hand through his hair. He paced the floor, and Cassie let her mind wander, studying the spattering of freckles across his shoulders while he gathered his thoughts.
Finally he turned and speared her with intense, narrowed eyes. “Three points, two of them bad: Whoever is behind this knew Merodach — trained by him, his protégé, whatever. He sent me two messages today; to prove he can hack my security and that he knows I brought my woman. He’s threatening me. We’re in the crosshairs.”
Cassie rubbed her arms, trying to smooth over the goose bumps. Nothing she could do about the small hairs tingling on the back of her neck. Creepy. “I hope the last one is good.”
“Hell yeah.” The green light behind his eyes sparked. “He obviously has no clue what you can do.”
Jack’s mouth curved in a dirty, sexy smile, and Cassie felt ten feet tall and bulletproof. If he thought she was a force to be reckoned with, it was almost enough to believe it was true.
“So now what?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. It’s goin’ just the way I want.” Then his smile changed into a reckless grin that sapped most of her glowing confidence — the smile of a madman.
Chapter 8
“That’s a nice dress.
It would look great crumpled on my floor.”
—Jack MacGunn, King of the Bad Pick-Up Line
“What are ye watchin’, Cass?”
“Something without ninjas, bikinis, or explosions. You wouldn’t get it.”
He wrinkled his nose at the screen as a weepy Victorian countess clasped a burning love letter to her bosom. “Dunno. Does her dress catch on fire?”
She heard his next thought, and he opened his mouth to dub over the movie dialogue. She reached to pin his lips shut. “No Mystery Science Theater Three Thousand.”
He shrugged, letting her keep her grip on his lips. The tip of his tongue pushed through and licked slowly down her finger. You have a nice firm grip, lass.
Perv. She let go and wiped her hand on her belly as she sat, scowling as she summoned every ounce of last night’s anger to keep from smiling. Cassie was determined to stand her ground, even if her heart danced a boogie every time he came near. How dare he act cute and funny when he had been a first-class jerk last night?
“Hey Cass, will you trim my hair? I like how you make it do the swoop-thingy on both sides, but now it’s gettin’ in my eyes.”
She shushed him and leaned to watch around his hulking frame. “Can’t see through you, Jack.”
“Ooh, baby, but you could,” he purred in his sexy chainsaw voice and pumped his hips once in her direction.
She hurled the remote at his head and felt a little satisfied when he flailed to catch it. Helped that she threw it 160 miles per hour. “Jack, sometimes I think you have no clue what your pick-up lines mean.”
“Just tryin’ to make you laugh.”
“You should get out. Men are not allowed in the women’s quarters.” She scowled then turned back to her movie. “Men, even defined loosely, probably includes you.”
He cocked his head in nonchalance then plopped down next to her on the sofa, which creaked ominously in protest. “Want to go jam until my shift starts?”
“Didn’t bring my guitar.”
“I packed it. It’s back at my place.” He thumbed over his shoulder and Cassie nodded without taking her eyes from the screen.
He yawned and stretched theatrically then rested his arm above her head, in the classic adolescent gesture of covertly holding her shoulders. His other hand reached into her lap to raid her bowl of snap peas. In minutes he decimated three pounds of peas, husks and all, while he scowled at her costume drama. He smelled like Christmas Eve, with pine-musk cologne on his collar, a faint dirty smoke smell in his hair, and a nutty apple-cinnamon flavor on his breath. Breakfast oatmeal, probably.
His lips brushed her temple, then he spoke in her ear, “I’m sorry I belittled you in front of Kyros last night. You know I don’t believe any of the things I said.” She scoffed and he added, “It was the only cover I could think of on the fly. He wasn’t supposed to catch us.”
“You threw me under the bus.” Her voice rose despite her will to stay calm.
“Kyros would have locked you in a tower if he knew you were running away with me.”
“And you weren’t up to the challenge?”
Jack snorted. “Kyros could stuff my head and mount it on the wall. He’d hang my ba — ” she covered his lips with her fingers, but he said around them, muffled, “ — lls from his rearview mirror.”
“I thought you were on my side.”
“I am. We’re a team, you and me. So last night, you took one for the team. Okay?”
“That’s the problem, Jack. I thought we had something more than just teammates going on.” He didn’t look away, so Cassie studied his expression, willing him to be direct.
He stared her down and slowly closed the space between them, then his eyelids dropped as he pressed his lips to hers. Fire! Heat singed her blood. The muscles low in her belly clenched in agony-sweet pangs. Even though his mouth parried hers in leisurely strokes, she thought she would burn to ash. His fingers stroked down her neck, coaxing her to relax, his lips following the same rhythm. Her grudge melted away, and Cassie was about to lie back on the sofa and pull him on top of her when he leaned back with a short, hard kiss.
“I can’t. But you know I wish I could, lass.”
“We should discuss that. I have something I want to tell you — ”
“We need to clear out before your bunkmate comes back.”
Smooth, Jack, change the subject. “We?”
“I can’t leave y
ou alone on base while I’m off duty. Not after what happened today.”
“No thanks. I can take care of myself.”
“No.”
“No? No, the answer is ‘Yes, ma’am.’ You can’t — ” Her breath left her in a gust as Jack rose and slung her over his shoulder in one motion.
“Yes, I can. You’re moving into my condo in San Diego. That’s final.”
Jack made for the door and Cassie smiled from her position low on his back. Now there was an idea she liked. “Okay, you creep! I’ll go, if you put me down.”
He spanked her backside and she shouted in protest, but he finally set her down so she could pack her luggage. He carried it out to the Camaro and complained as he set the bag in the trunk, “Only you would bring Versace on a military operation.”
Cassie snaked her arm around his waist as though she meant to flirt, instead she snatched the waistband of his boxer briefs and tugged the elastic. “Oh? What’s this embroidered on your underwear? ‘D&G?’ I don’t think that stands for Down and Grungy.” She dropped the elastic with a snap.
He turned and trapped her against the car, caging her between his arms. She yelped and dodged, pretending she wanted to escape. “Ooh, ribbed spandex. In black. That’s hot, Jack.” She bared her teeth and growled suggestively.
He caught her by the waist, laughing in a husky low-throated sound. Jack dug his fingers into her ribs where she was ticklish, and she collapsed into his arms giggling like an idiot.
“Uh, Doolittle?”
Cassie paused with her hand caught in Jack’s armpit, about to exact some revenge on his ticklish spot. His hands stilled on her backside but didn’t retreat. Cassie turned to see a Val Kilmer lookalike dressed in civvies but still wearing the demeanor of a soldier. His longer hair and earring meant he was some sort of super-spy-SEAL, with relaxed grooming standards for blending in with the locals. It occurred to Cassie that she and Jack were messing around just now the way he typically flirted with women. She hoped it meant he saw her as an adult and took her seriously.
“Hey, Memphis. Can’t ye see I’m busy?” Jack groused, pulling Cassie tighter against his chest.
The man smiled and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Yep. I get it. Just thought you didn’t want to miss Chief and Pops in the mess hall. CO’s in on it — goin’ down in t-minus ten minutes.”
Memphis looked down and kicked a rock. Cassie observed his alarm at meeting her, but just as quickly, he thrust the feeling away. He was madly in love with his wife and thought of her now, waiting for him at home. The rest was private, so Cassie withdrew, feeling guiltily like a voyeur, and jealous. He’d barely even reacted to Cassie, except to clamp down on his instincts and label her as dangerous, off-limits. Not because of Jack, but because he adored Sarah, his wife.
Lost your touch, Cass.
Shut up, Jack.
“Thanks, man. We’re coming. Oh, and — Cassie, meet my swim buddy Memphis Travolta, the best sharp-shooter on any team — ”
Memphis winked. “Only because Jack here is the best turkey.”
“Turkey?” Cassie turned a puzzled glance on Jack, who stared down his friend as though he’d grown horns.
“Yeah. Like a turkey shoot? Bait. Jack brings ’em and I ding ’em.”
Memphis seemed so proud of himself, and Cassie finally got it. Anger heated in a wave from her collar to the top of her head, and the flash of fear in Jack’s eyes meant he knew he was in trouble.
“Bait?” she coughed, then half-shrieked, “Bait? You think it’s funny? Jack — you promised — ” Jack tried to tuck her behind his shoulder and interrupt, but Cassie leaned around him and jabbed an accusing finger at Memphis. “No more bait, no more turkey shoots! You tell him no, Memphis, or answer to me. Find another way, whatever. He comes home in a body bag, and I come after you.”
She glared, the silence stretched, and she wanted Jack’s buddy to know she meant it, every word. Bad enough that they went willingly into danger, no reason they should play high-stakes games with their lives. No operation was worth that. Memphis raised his eyebrows and Jack seemed stunned. Cassie exhaled in a gust and muttered, “I think I just grew a few gray hairs.”
Memphis surprised her with his softened, sympathetic expression. “It takes a strong woman to love a soldier. You’ll get used to it, honey.” He nodded his head. “We always come home. Don’t worry.”
Jack sputtered then argued, “Oh, we’re not — It’s not — ”
“You’re gone, bro. I give it two months, max, and we’ll all be in our dress whites.”
Cassie looked between them, confused, then hacked into Memphis’ thoughts to discern he meant their formal Navy uniforms, for the occasion of her and Jack’s supposed wedding. Wow. Jack’s mind was sealed shut, thankfully. She didn’t think she could handle hearing his rejection.
But oh, what an idea — imagining it warmed her again from the inside out. Best of all, she could hear his voice lowered in reverent tones as he recited ancient vows in Gaelic, his eyes burning iridescent green, because he was overcome with that same infinite emotion she had for him, the way old married couples felt about each other …
Memphis winked at their twin shell-shocked expressions, then retreated a step.
Jack shook himself out of a trance. “Thanks for the heads-up, be right there. Beer’s on me tonight, spread the word.” Memphis smiled and jogged away.
Cassie had no idea what to say, so she joked, “Beer, Jack?” The closest Jack got to hops was the oatmeal he ate for breakfast.
“You’re coming to the club too. It’s time you learned how to fit in. For us, that means pretending to drink. Or talking your way out of it. Drinking is about camaraderie; I’ll show you how to have one without the other.”
“Sure. You just want to babysit me.” More accurately, she supposed he didn’t want to be stuck home alone with her.
“I’d like that, sugar. What else ye got planned for me tonight?” He stroked the tip of his tongue along the edge of his teeth and purred.
She slugged him in the shoulder then jogged alongside him toward the mess hall. Business as usual, except for the warm glow of erotic interest vibrating between them — but lately that was typical too.
“I’ve been thinking, Cass — ”
“Astounding.”
He veered to bump her shoulder with his. “As I was saying, the qualification numbers are low. I think my boys need a little motivation.”
“I’m not standing at the finish line in a bikini.”
The muscles low in her belly clenched at the sound of his sexy Peter-Pan-on-steroids laughter, a rough caress over her spine. “Your idea was better than mine.”
“Forget it.”
“Want to lead the PT run tonight?”
Cassie hummed in her throat. “You mean it?”
“How would you like to waste The Best of The Best on a four-mile beach run? I think they’ll step up their game if they risk getting beat by a hot girl.”
“You think I’m hot?”
“Smokin’.” He wagged a brow and winked.
“Okay. What’s the plan?” She fought to conceal her rush of pleasure at his compliment.
“Seven-minute miles, no faster. Not during Hell Week.” She grimaced and he shrugged, “Slow, I know. Sorry. I want them to run faster, not drop dead.”
“Okay, fine.”
“And wear that purple strappy thing with the little white shorts.”
She couldn’t help smiling at his hungry expression — Jack and his exercise uniform fetish. He meant her cropped yoga tank and tennis shorts. She rolled her eyes. “Whatever tickles your fancy.”
“Oh yeah baby. I’d like to tickle your — ”
They both froze. Cassie spun around, searching for the source of the jarring scent. Her stomach roiled, h
er nerves sent a crawling sensation over her skin, and a dark wave of loathing — a violent impulse — rolled over her. Jack’s nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply. He scanned across the northeast perimeter with narrowed eyes. She wanted to ask about that rancid-yogurt-formaldehyde-burnt-styrofoam smell, but then she noticed his defensive posture; slight crouch, arms held away from his sides, his balance on the balls of his feet.
Cassie swallowed a shriek as an inch-round red laser dot danced around his chest then settled over his heart — the tracer on a rifle scope. Subtly he angled himself in front of her. It took every ounce of her discipline to stand still and let Jack lead. In the split-second it took for him to decide what to do, she glanced longingly at the four-foot tall cinder block wall parallel to the sidewalk. Couldn’t they just duck behind it? No, it would turn to powder at the impact of a bullet. But where could they go for cover? The nearest building was too far …
Jack sent the silent command for her to jump on his back and hold on. Now! She locked her arms around his ribs and her legs around his waist as he sprang — almost straight up. Then came the peculiar sensation of hanging upside down, then rotating head over heels. She opened her eyes and saw Jack braced between two thick branches. Bushy leaves blocked her view, shielding them all around. She didn’t move her head to look down for fear of throwing off his balance, but in her periphery she saw a birds-eye view of metal roof paneling.
“You okay, Cass?”
“Fine.” Except for her heart punching a hole through her chest and her conflicting desire to both charge screaming into battle and plainly, run away screaming. “What’s going on?”
He jumped from the tree onto the roof and ducked behind a cluster of exhaust pipes and ventilation units before answering, “Sniper. He’s toying with us, or else we’d already be dead. Just the same, I’d rather be a moving target.” He let her slide off his back then turned and scaled down the fire escape.
She climbed down after him, noticing the ladder stretched over the top floor but not the bottom two. “Is it Boris?”
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