by Alison Kent
Figuring out how much to say about who he was and what he did had never come easy to Tripp. Keeping the existence of SG-5 off the public radar was essential. Keeping it off all military and law enforcement scopes was paramount.
The Smithson Group righted a lot of wrongs bound up in legal red tape along with others that went largely ignored for a variety of political reasons.
SG-5 wouldn’t be able to guarantee many happy endings with Big Brother breathing down its back. But if this siege was indeed Glory’s Last Stand, he owed her as much of the truth as he could reasonably share.
So when she prodded him with a softly uttered, “Tripp?” he shrugged, and said, “It’s no big deal really.”
And then she butted him with her shoulder. “You are so full of crap.”
A firecracker. A pistol. She was one of a kind and made it really hard for him not to smile. “Now, what makes you say that? You have your own training to compare what’s a big deal and what isn’t?”
“No, but if you’re relying on basic stuff, then Brighton’s is a kosher deli.”
She wasn’t going to let him bullshit his way out of anything, was she, perceptive little wench. “Hmm. I do seem to recall a lot of ham being ordered up on sandwiches.”
“Exactly.” She butted him again, but this time she settled close, rubbing her cheek against his chest when she was done. “You’re thinking on your feet. You’re making decisions on the fly, using familiar skills, not ones stored in your memory banks.”
“Hmm,” he mused again because humming was easier than burying the truth beneath a smooth bundle of lies—lies she’d never believe anyway.
He swore then and there that no other woman had ever seen him so clearly. And then he swore for being way too pleased that she did.
So when she said, “Tripp?” in a voice that was all sugar and spice, one he knew would be matched by a dreamy soft look in her doe-bright eyes, he couldn’t help it. He gave in and looked down.
And she either wasn’t as frightened as she’d been claiming to be or she really thought he could save her.
Tripp sighed. It was bloody damned hell having a woman look at you like that. Like you were the hero she’d been waiting for.
He pretended that he needed to clear his throat. “Thing is, Glory, I’m not exactly an engineering project consultant.”
She nodded with way too much know-it-all enthusiasm—which made her such an easy target to tease.
“I leap tall buildings in single bounds. I spin webs in any size. You know,” he added, struggling to keep a straight face. “To catch thieves. Like they were flies.”
“Dammit, Shaughnessey. I’m going to have to hurt you now.”
He braced himself for the attack, nose scrunched, eyes screwed up. So he was totally unprepared for her to kiss him. And that was exactly what she did.
Her lips moved lightly over his, trembling as she murmured his name, and plea after plea to help her, to talk to her, to tell her that they’d both be okay.
He didn’t have the use of his hands, goddamn it, and could only shift around until he was sitting sideways and could press her skull to the wall.
He silenced her murmurs with a bruising, punishing kiss. She had no idea what she was asking. How he had sworn never to make promises to anyone again.
But she tasted like fine spun cotton candy, like all the good things a man wanted in his life. And he knew that long-ago oath wasn’t worth the air he’d written it on that first night spent on his belly crawling through Colombia’s rain forest with cocaine on his fingertips and a bullet in his thigh.
He kissed her anyway, because it was better than thinking, than talking, and because she just plain knew how to kiss. So few women did, or even knew what a kiss did to a man. How nothing but the feel of soft lips and compliance could bring him to his knees.
Glory’s kiss did it all, which was why he had to pull away, ease away, set her away and give her the truth. “I trained in Special Ops and spent more than a few years as a sniper.”
“A sniper?” she asked, her voice low and awed. “Like with a gun?”
“No,” he replied, wanting none of her awe. “With my dick.”
She glared deeply into his eyes. “You, Shaughnessey, are cruisin’ for a bruisin’.”
“Maybe so,” he admitted, lightening up the mood. “But at least I’m cruisin’ faster than a speeding bullet.”
She silently studied his face for a moment before she asked, “Have you killed people?”
He nodded, added, “No one who didn’t deserve it.”
“You’re comfortable making that call?”
He’d had to be. It was kill or be killed. Kill or watch innocent victims die of bullets, of abuse, needles in their veins or powder up their nose. “Are you going to judge me now? Change your mind about dessert?”
She rocked her head side to side. “I think all I’m doing is trying to figure you out.”
“That could take a fairly long lifetime. I haven’t yet managed it and I’ve been living with myself for, uh, quite a few years.”
“How many?” she asked and nearly caught him off guard.
He leaned forward, rubbed his nose over hers. “Now, sweetheart. Numbers don’t matter. You’re only as old as you feel.”
“Since my hands aren’t free at the moment to do any feeling, I need you to tell me.”
“You are a clever little thing, aren’t you.”
“Actually, this faux cleverness is a weak attempt to keep my mind occupied.” She sighed, deflated, closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and stared across the room. “Otherwise, I’m going to think too much about what’s going to happen next and whether I’m going to walk out of here alive.”
“You will. We both will.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s what I do, remember? All that web-spinning and building-leaping?” When she looked even less convinced, he sighed. “Glory, listen to me. Even if the SOS wasn’t picked up, I’ll get us out of here. This is what I do. I need you to trust me.”
“I do. It’s just…”
“Just what?”
“It’s just that I had an argument with my mother this morning and we didn’t exactly hang up the phone on the best of terms.”
God, but she was going to break his heart. Yet he went on making promises anyway. “No worries. You two can kiss and make up as soon as we’re out of here.”
“Do you think she and my father know what’s happening?”
“With the police out front? I’m sure News 4 New York is already on the scene. Plus, wanting to learn what they could about the shop...”
“The cops would’ve called my parents.” She dropped her gaze, shifted so that she was leaning more against the wall than against him. “I don’t want them to worry. I wish I could let them know I’m okay.”
He hated that he couldn’t offer her the cell phone he’d taken off the lookout. But Vuong could return any second and Tripp wasn’t about to give up any advantage.
“Right now it’s a standoff. No shots have been fired and no demands made.”
“That we know of, anyway.”
He nodded. “True. But this Danh Vuong didn’t sound like a man with demands to make of anyone outside. What he wants is in here.”
“That’s what I don’t get. I don’t launder money or harbor political prisoners. What could he possibly want?”
Tripp blew out a long breath. If he told her the truth, he’d be jeopardizing his own case by exposing the Spectra agent. But he’d also have an intelligent and informed ally. And that never hurt in a pinch.
He bit the bullet. “The professor working on his memoir is not a professor. He’s an agent of an international crime syndicate and he’s using your shop as a drop point.”
“A drop point,” she echoed.
“A courier from Marian Diamonds is either being blackmailed into giving up details on illegal shipments out of Sierra Leone or is selling his soul to the devil.”
“And you know this how? No, wait.” She closed her eyes, shook her head. “I’m dizzy with these webs you’re spinning, Tripp.”
“Sorry, sweetheart. It’s not a pretty life I lead. But I figure it’s best you realize what you’re dealing with here.”
“What I’m dealing with? Are you kidding? I can’t digest half of what you’ve said. Well, except for the part where you swore you wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”
“Did I say that?”
“I sure hope I didn’t dream it. Though, actually, if I were dreaming all of this it would be a whole lot easier to deal with because morning would be on the way.” She settled closer again. “You know, morning? Waking up? Stretching, yawning, getting a cup of coffee?”
“What about the smooching?”
One dark brow went up. “Smooching?”
“Smooching, cuddling. All those juicy early morning wake-up goodies.”
“And here I thought you were above all that physical stuff.”
“Are you kidding? That physical stuff is what guys are made of.”
“What happened to frogs and snails and puppy dog tails?”
“Ah, those were the days.”
“Right. Now it’s all about spiderwebs,” she said and collapsed in on herself as if she’d exhausted her energy reserve.
Tripp had to keep her going. She’d be better able to stand up to Vuong, stay safe, stay strong, when alert. “What were you and your mother arguing about?”
Her eyes fluttered open and she laughed with a reckless hysteria. “About my choices in men.”
“Oh, really.” He perked up at that. “Sounds like a better way to pass the time than talking about me.”
“What makes you think talking about the men in my life doesn’t include you?”
“Does it?” he asked with a gulp.
“It should. Especially considering my mother’s biggest complaint is that my two longest-running relationships have been with men belonging to a questionably criminal element.”
“I’m crushed. Criminal element indeed.”
She shrugged. “Hey, if the web fits.”
He chuckled. “Funny girl.”
“Do you have one, Tripp?”
“A web? A criminal element?”
“A girl.”
He sighed, leaned forward to nuzzle his nose against her temple, breathing in the sweet smell of her hair. “I’m pretty sure I do. At least I’m working on it.”
“Oh, Tripp.” She dusted kisses over his cheek, huddling up into the cradle of his neck and shoulder. “When we get out of here, can we work a little harder? Together? I’d really like it if we could.”
“You’re not just saying that because you want to swing on my web, are you?”
“No, I’m saying it because you’ve teased me for months. And because I didn’t get the chance earlier to finish what I started.”
He pretended to ponder. “That’s true. That was all rather one-sided.”
“Not my intention, trust me.”
Talking about sex here and now seemed a bit like fiddling while the Titanic went down. But he was up for any distraction to keep Glory calm.
It was unfortunate Vuong had bound their hands. And damn unfortunate that Tripp himself had been the one to stash the knife.
“Well, if your intentions involve giving as good as you got, I’m all for some heavy-duty exploration of what you have on your mind.”
“Giving as good as I got? You think rather highly of yourself, don’t you Shaughnessey?”
“I’m just a man confident in his skills.”
“Oh, I see,” she said, her mouth twisting around what he was sure was a hell of a laugh at his expense. “What’re you going to do if I give even better?”
“Guess I’ll be up a creek and have to do a lot of extra paddling to make up for it.”
“If by paddling you mean spanking, no thanks. But if by paddling you mean, well...”
Cute. She’d embarrassed herself into a corner. He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips, rubbing his lips over hers lightly, gently, teasingly, because he wanted her to be the one to open up and beg.
He wanted that because it was so much easier to let himself fall when he knew he wasn’t falling alone.
When she opened her mouth, she opened it with a whimpering groan, bathing his lips with the barest tip of her tongue before pressing the seam where he held his mouth in a tightly determined line.
The funny thing about determination, he mused, was how quickly the reasoning behind it fell into a big black hole of need. The physical, he readily owned up to. The emotional, however, he was just beginning to understand when the storeroom door crashed open for the second time.
Glory jerked away from the bliss that was Tripp and banged the back of her head on the wall. Tripp scrambled to his feet. She wasn’t quite as quick, what with not being a superhero and wearing a really short skirt.
Boy, had it seemed like a good idea at the time she’d been dressing this morning. And, boy, what she wouldn’t give to turn back the clock and start this day over. She’d wear a flour sack and a chastity belt if given the magical chance.
But this was her reality, and she managed to stand just as the professor who wasn’t came stumbling into the storeroom, Danh shoving him from behind.
Danh looked from Tripp to Glory to the older man who had gained his balance and now stood in the center of the room. Danh circled the professor or the agent or whoever the hell the man was, prodding him with the business end of his gun.
“Here are the rules for this party. Mr. Shaughnessey, you will sit back down.”
Glory glanced at Tripp’s inscrutable expression, watching his gaze never waver from Danh’s, watching as he slid down the wall to sit.
“Very well done,” Danh said, turning his attention to her. “Miss Brighton, you will turn around so I can cut you free.”
Her heart fluttered at the thought of gaining her freedom, sank at the realization that she wasn’t free at all. Simply being used as a pawn in Danh’s game.
Facing Tripp, she presented Danh with her bound hands, wincing as he cut through the hard plastic tie. Blood rushed back into her wrists and fingers; she clasped her hands at her waist and rubbed at the bruises.
Tripp’s face remained impossible to read. She had no idea if he wanted her to play nice, make a run for the door, maybe try to slip his knife out of the Advil box and use it.
Or, if all she needed to do was distract Danh by cooperating with whatever he had in mind while Tripp did what he had been trained to do.
In the end, the decision was taken out of her hands when Danh gave her a directive. “Now, Miss Brighton. I’m going to have you search the professor here for the information he has that belongs to my employer.”
Knowing the man wasn’t a professor at all but a member of a crime syndicate should’ve made the prospect easier to face. But, in fact, the opposite was true.
She looked up at his kindly, forgiving expression and tried to smile in return. Knowing the evil heart that beat beneath his tweed jacket and chocolate cashmere turtleneck sent her thoughts racing in directions she didn’t want them to go.
The idea of the crimes he might have committed, the horrors he’d perpetrated...she couldn’t even pry her fingers apart to touch his clothes.
“Haven’t you done that already? Searched him, I mean?”
“Cursorily. I want you to be more thorough. One hundred percent thorough. And you can start by helping him remove his jacket.”
Glory moved around behind the professor and lifted shaking hands to his shoulders.
“I’m so sorry about this,” she whispered, speaking to the man she wished he was, speaking to herself. Even speaking to Tripp, apologizing for not knowing anything to do to help him get them out of here.
“Don’t worry about it, my dear. We are all forced to deal with certain unpleasantries in our lives,” he said, shrugging out of fashionable and expensive tweed.
Glory stepped back,
holding the jacket by the padded shoulders, waiting for further instruction. The professor smoothed down the rumpled sleeves of his shirt.
Danh moved to face him, his gun now seeming to be an extension of his arm rather than a weapon. “Unpleasantries. An interesting turn of phrase for a man in your profession, yes?”
The professor’s gray eyes studied Danh from behind wire-rimmed glasses. “I suppose were you to poll my students, they might agree.”
Danh laughed at that, a tight humorless sound that left a trail as it crawled over Glory’s skin. “We’re among friends here. Or at least among those similarly invested in leaving here unexposed.”
Glory slid her gaze to Tripp’s face. His eyes were focused on the professor’s. And she swore she saw him give the other man a signal. All this subterfuge...who did he think she was that she was going to fall apart while these three cats batted around a mouse she couldn’t see?
“Miss Brighton. The coat seams, collar, pockets, lining. Shred the garment if you must.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Anything that doesn’t belong.”
“And if I don’t find anything?” she asked, fingering the collar from point to point.
“Shoes or shirt next. We strip the professor bare if need be. And then we search his person.”
“Wait the hell a minute. I am not taking off this man’s clothes.”
No sooner had she gotten the words out than she found Danh standing over Tripp and lining up his head as a target. “I think you’ll do what you’re instructed to do. There will be consequences if you do not.”
Tears welled and burned until her vision was nothing but a blur of tweed. That blur was so much better, however, than picturing what a bullet would do to Tripp’s head.
She moved to the pockets, the lapels, laying the jacket out on the floor and running her fingers over every inch of the lining as well as the heavier outer fabric. She finally stood, folding it over her arms.
She shook her head. “There’s nothing here.”
“Professor? Where would you like her to continue?”
“Miss Brighton,” the professor addressed her directly. “I understand your concern, but please realize I am aware that you have no choice.”
