Bait

by Leslie Jones

  “Hey, Tag. Just checking in. You guys make it okay? Yeah? Good. When do you go wheels up?” He listened and frowned. “How come? What . . . yeah. No, nada. Should I . . .” His grip on the phone tightened. “Thanks.” He disconnected.

  “Problem?”

  Gabe glanced her way without quite meeting her eyes. Wow, he really had scared himself with his earlier comment. “Maybe. The guys are boarding now. Jace recalled them. I’m not . . . so far, I haven’t been called. But you know that could change at any minute, right?”

  “Of course.” She kept her voice noncommittal. “But, you know, if we’re in the middle of doing it, you have to make me come before you dash out the door.”

  A surprised laugh burst from him. “Deal.” He sat next to her on the bed and pressed more numbers on the keypad. “Trev. Anything new on the guy we caught?” He listened and rolled his eyes, laughing a little. “Yeah. Let me know, okay?” He tossed the phone onto the bedside table.

  “Nothing yet?”

  “Well, they did leave less than an hour ago,” he said. “I just want full closure.”

  “What’s bothering you?”

  Gabe twisted around and stretched out beside her again, this time playing with her hair. “You let it go curly again.”

  Christina batted at his hands halfheartedly. “What if I like looking like a princess?”

  Gabe cocked a curious look at her. “Do you? ’Cause I’ll love your hair either way.”

  Her stomach dropped into freefall. He’d used the L-­word. Not toward her, it was true, only her hair. She didn’t want to read anything into it. Better to ignore it. “Nah. Takes too much work. I’m happy to go back to being just me.”

  Gabe laughed again, shaking his head. “You couldn’t ever be ‘just’.”

  “Well, thank you,” she said, pleased. “So, seriously, what’s bugging you about this?”

  Gabe scratched his chin. “Well, let’s look at the facts. Aart Jansens, on order from Émile Bonnet, shoots to miss in Brussels, hoping to scare the princess into hiding, which he does. You take her place, and both Jansens and Bonnet follow you to Grasvlakten, where Jansens sets up for a second shot at you. Only a second team gets to you first, and in the firefight, Jansens comes down on our side and saves the day.”

  “He denies hiring the second team,” Christina said. “And we don’t know what Bonnet admitted, if anything.”

  “Yeah,” he said, clearly unhappy. “If the third man, the prisoner, talks, we might not even be told what he says. I’m concerned Ronnie’s still in danger.”

  “Gabe, there’s nothing we can do about that. We’re off the mission. We’ve been told to get out.”

  “I hate leaving things unfinished. Like you lying here. I think I’ll just keep you here, chained to my bed.”

  Christina stretched, luxuriating like a cat. “I could be okay with that. As long as I can handcuff you, too.”

  “Then who would bring you food? And feed it to you. Slowly.” Gabe bent his head and licked across the top of her breast. “I wonder if they have any honey in the pantry?”

  Christina’s laugh was breathy, and ended on a moan. “Or . . . or more whipped cream, but it’s my turn . . . ungh.”

  Gabe leaned over her, gripped her wrists lightly, and stretched them high over her head. He transferred both wrists into one of his, and started a seductive onslaught that had her twisting. Their first time had been urgent and intense. This time, he set the pace.

  “Seems I like it slow and sensual, too.”

  “You like my touch,” he said. “I’m hot for yours, too.”

  He traced around her lips, allowing her to suck a finger into her mouth and scrape her teeth across the pad. The finger trailed over her lower lip and down, over her chin and to her collarbone. He explored her breasts, staying maddeningly away from her aching nipples, and when he stroked the soft skin under them, she groaned her frustration.

  He stroked each rib in turn, causing her to flail as it tickled. When he stroked down to her hipbone, though, she bucked and gasped, trying to get his fingers where she really wanted them. He held her wrists firmly but gently.

  As his fingers skimmed over the juncture at her thighs, she jumped at the electricity of his touch. “Please, Gabe,” she pleaded mindlessly. “Please.”

  He released her wrists and replaced his fingers with his mouth. “I intend to. Please you.” Starting at the top again, he kissed each eyelid closed, nipped at the corner of her mouth, and nuzzled her cheek. When she turned her head blindly, seeking his mouth, he pulled away, following the same path with his mouth that he’d just traveled with his fingers. He dipped his tongue into her navel, causing her stomach to contract. He nipped her hip, sliding his hands under her knees and pulling her around, draping her legs over his shoulders.

  “Gabe, Jesus, God, please, there . . . now.”

  But he seemed determined to drive her out of her mind. He blew across her curls, and rubbed his cheek over the soft hair. Her hips rose involuntarily, seeking relief, but he moved his head back. “Lie still,” he commanded. “Hands above your head.”

  Surprisingly, she found herself eager to obey. The edge of danger in his voice sliced through her nerve endings and raised goose bumps on her skin. Finally, finally, he spread her open with his big hands and dipped his head.

  The first touch of his tongue had her gasping and arching. He tormented her with long, slow licks, interspersed with gentle nips at the insides of her thighs. He flicked the tip of his tongue across her tight nub, holding her in place easily as she jumped. When his teeth closed over it, she cried out.

  “Gabe, please. God, please.”

  She was sobbing and writhing. He plunged his tongue inside her and stroked, then replaced his mouth with his finger. Her back bowed. He inserted a second finger and caressed her from the inside while his tongue laved her sensitive bud. She couldn’t have stopped the orgasm if her life depended on it. Shrieking her release, she disobeyed his command and wrapped her fingers through his overlong hair, gripping a little too hard as she convulsed again and again.

  Before the tremors had subsided, he prowled up her body, keeping her legs on his shoulders. Somehow he managed to grab another condom and roll it on. When he touched her sensitized opening, she gasped again. He pushed inside her in one long glide, dipping his head to capture her lips with his own. She met him kiss for kiss, their tongues dueling and dancing as he stroked in and out of her. He seemed in no hurry, and Christina threw her head back and just rode the sensation. In this position, he could penetrate her deeply. As he increased his tempo, it should have hurt, but the sensations were too overwhelming. She burned with pleasure, with sensation, with emotion. She rode the edge between pleasure and pain, rolling her hips to urge him on. He kept that maddeningly slow pace. She lowered her head to gaze at him. His eyes were tightly closed, the cords on his neck standing out as he focused on maintaining control.

  She rolled her hips again, grabbing the sides of his face to pull him in close. “Now,” she practically growled. “Now, Gabe.”

  He opened his eyes, looked deeply into hers, and began to thrust as fast as she could draw breath. No, scratch that. She couldn’t catch her breath, just rolled along on the storm of his desire. She threw her head back.

  “Look at me,” he commanded. “I want to see you when you come.”

  That was enough to push her over the edge. The hot pulses of pleasure spasmed her body. He groaned and came with her, the cords on his neck standing out as he gazed into her very soul.

  When they both floated back to earth, he rested his forehead against hers. “I think I’m addicted to you,” he whispered, closing his eyes. He turned his head away and eased off her, collapsing onto the bed. Christina let her legs flop onto the comforter. She was so sated she could barely think. They lay together and maybe dozed.

  When the air-­conditioner
began to chill them, Gabe slid out of bed and flipped the comforter over her. “I’m going to go look for food,” he said. She watched him pad from the room, naked, and made a contented noise. She was asleep before he ever came back into the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  CHRISTINA SLIPPED ON her underwear and one of Gabe’s T-­shirts, and made coffee while she waited for him to return. A satisfied grin tugged at her mouth. As she had known he would be, he was an amazing lover. He’d lit her on fire until she’d been a raging inferno, then brought her to the heights of pleasure. She sat at the kitchen table and looked out the window. What did it all mean, though?

  “Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.” Laughing a little as she repeated Heather’s words, she turned the cup around and around in her hands, not drinking the coffee as she searched her feelings.

  She’d fallen in love with him.

  She’d known since Grasvlakten; she just hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself. His uncompromising protection, unexpected gentleness, and commitment to his mission and his teammates all appealed to her. He had learned to listen when she spoke, and to take her opinions seriously. And he’d admitted to being jealous when she’d danced with Julian. That had to mean something, right?

  Gabe wanted her; he’d proven that in spades. He cared for her, too. She knew it, despite his shabby treatment after dinner that night at the villa. Had his feelings been so strong the only way he knew how to deal with them was to withdraw emotionally?

  Was he looking for a fling, though, or something more?

  The knock at the front door had her jumping to her feet. He’d been quick at the grocery store! Maybe he’d been that anxious to get back to her. She raced down the hallway, heart leaping.

  With a hand on the knob, her training took over, and she peered out the side window, just in case. A dark shadow shifted just out of her periphery. Adrenaline slammed though her as she realized, belatedly, that Gabe had a key. He would not have knocked.

  She didn’t wait to find out who was at the door. Turning, she ran for the bedroom and her purse, where the baby Sig nestled. Just as she reached the room, a dull crash thumped from the kitchen. Whoever it was had gone around to the back door. Rather than kick it in, he had simply broken the glass pane, and was no doubt even now reaching through to unlock the dead bolt.

  It could be a random robbery, but Christina didn’t really believe that. Someone had found the safe house.

  The small residence had two access points, front and back. With Trevor’s team in the house, they could have covered both directions. She wracked her brains. Not knowing who or how many, would it be better to try to force her way out or shoot it out inside the house when the person came in?

  The faint creak of the kitchen door made the decision for her. She thumbed the safety off the Sig Sauer and crept down the hallway, back sliding against the wall. She waited, heart pounding. The house remained silent.

  A slam against the front door made her jump. They would be able to force the door open, she had no doubt. This suburban home had been chosen for its anonymity, not its ruggedness. If she did nothing, she would be flanked on both sides.

  Left with little choice, she threw herself around the corner into the kitchen. Two men wearing ski masks raised their weapons, one stepping back in surprise. She pulled the trigger in rapid succession. The man on the left collapsed. The other one rushed her, tackling her around the middle and bodily taking her to the floor. Her head smacked against the linoleum hard enough that she saw stars. He snatched the handgun from her and threw it in one smooth motion. It bounced and spun crazily across the tiles.

  Undaunted, Christina smashed her palm into his nose. He rolled away from her, grunting and cursing. She went with him, digging into his pockets, looking for anything that would help Gabe find her. She would lose, ultimately. Three against one were bad odds even for a Delta Force operator; she would go down fighting, but go down she would. Her fingers curled around some paper, and she pulled it out and dropped it onto the floor even as she brought her knee up, missing his groin by a hair’s breath as he turned his hips.

  The Taser caught her high on her shoulders. She spasmed under fifty thousand volts of electricity, back bowing as her muscles short-­circuited, pain streaking through her body. When it was over, she flopped onto her back, gasping, knowing she needed to get up, face her attackers, fight. Cursing the lethargy in her muscles, she made it to her hands and knees. She looked up into the face of the third man, who had stripped off his ski mask.

  He grinned, and triggered the Taser again.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  GABE BROWSED THE aisles of the supermarket, looking for tidbits that might appeal to Christina. He was frustratingly unfamiliar with her tastes, although he could confirm a fondness for strawberries and whipped cream, as cliché as it was.

  “Kan ik u helpen iets te vinden?” A young woman stood in front of him, wearing a red checked apron and an inviting smile.

  Gabe shook his head. “Don’t understand.”

  “Ah. I asked if I may help you find something?” Her look suggested she would help him find whatever he was looking for.

  “No, thanks. I got it.” He gave her a brief smile and turned away.

  “Häagen-­Dazs ice cream is on sale at the moment. The mint chip is especially tasty.” Somehow she had crept closer. Gabe looked her over. Blonde and curvy, but too young for him. Besides, now all he could see was Christina as he’d left her, curly mahogany hair spread across the pillow and a minx’s smile on her lips. He briefly thought about finding a specialty store and picking up some handcuffs and strawberry-­scented massage oil, but that would take too long, and he was anxious to get back to her.

  “I’m good. Thanks.” This time, he turned and walked away. She did not follow.

  He did browse to the proper section and picked up a box of condoms. They’d made short work of the two he carried. He wanted her exactly where she was—­naked and in his bed. Maybe he should reconsider the handcuffs. If he did, though, he suspected she’d turn the tables on him fast, and have him tied to the headboard and at the mercy of her pleasurable torment. He paused to consider that, and discovered the thought turned him on. Straddling him. Moving on top of him as he strained upward . . .

  His cell phone rang. He pulled it out eagerly, hoping it was Christina. No such luck.

  “Trevor. What’s up?”

  “I’ve got bad news,” Trevor said, and suddenly Gabe was all business.

  “Tell me.”

  Trevor’s voice was calm enough, but Gabe heard the thin edge. “The third guy folded. Once he realized he’d been left high and dry, he spilled his guts. He claims they had nothing to do with Émile Bonnet. He maintains he was as surprised as anyone when Jansens fired at them. He didn’t even know Jansens wasn’t with us.”

  Oh, shit.

  “They were separate groups,” he said flatly. He’d suspected as much.

  Now they knew.

  “Did he say who he worked for? Or why they attacked her?”

  Trevor whistled through his teeth. “Here’s the bad news, mate. The three men were a mix of Iraqi and Ukrainian enforcers, working for a man by the name of Fedyenka Osinov. That name mean anything to you?”

  “The smuggler from Baghdad. Christina killed his brother.” He searched his memory. “Yuri.”

  “Yes. My team went in and yanked them out of there. It was a little too close for comfort.”

  “Is Christina in danger?” How could he sound so calm when he wanted to rip someone’s head off?

  “I’d have to say yes. Fedyenka Osinov is wily and dangerous, with a wide network of contacts. If he knows Christina killed his brother, he’d never stop until he extracts revenge.”

  Gabe dropped his shopping basket and ran for the door. The girl in the checked apron gave him a strange look as he rushed past. No doubt he looked nearly as der
anged as he felt. Nothing mattered except getting to Christina and keeping her safe.

  Christina had told him Fedyenka saw Christina shoot Yuri in the stomach. Now his men were here, in Concordia. These same men must have been behind Christina’s mysterious panel van in Washington, D.C., and they must have followed her here, to Parvenière. Ronnie hadn’t been the only target.

  Had Ronnie ever been the target?

  He broke every speed limit getting back to the safe house. He was out of the car and running up the walk even before he shoved the car into park. Nearing the front door, he slowed, crouching, sliding to one side of it and pulling his Glock.

  Shit. It was ajar.

  Carefully, he placed his hand flat on the door and pushed it open a few inches. The silence scared the crap out of him. If Christina were inside, she would be struggling, fighting, making noise. The silence meant that she was either no longer inside, or . . . he could not make himself think it.

  Without hesitation, for he knew the house would be empty, he went through and cleared each room. As he entered the kitchen, he observed everything at once—­a coffee cup shattered on the floor. The bowl of plastic fruit from the counter sat upside-­down on the linoleum, two apples and some grapes strewn nearby. And a body by the open back door.

  He holstered his Glock. Christina was gone.

  And there was blood on the floor.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  CHRISTINA CAME AWAKE abruptly, hacking and choking as water rushed into her nose and mouth. A blurry man set a bucket down next to her and retreated a few feet. She tried to raise her arms to wipe the water from her face, and discovered her hands were tied to the arms of a chair. So were her feet. She yanked and pulled.

  Blinking her eyes rapidly to free them from water, she stopped tugging and looked up. Her gaze immediately found the man sitting in a chair across from her. The chair was identical to hers; a straight-­backed teak dining room chair with a blue-­and-­green patterned cushion. Unlike hers, however, his had no arms. Why did she notice such trivialities? Why note his Burberry slacks and dress shoes, with a suit jacket hanging neatly nearby?