Kick A** Heroines Box Set: The UltimatumFatal AffairAfter the DarkBulletproof SEAL (The Guardian)

by Karen Robards

  The desire that pumped through her veins and clouded her brain began to lift. As if waking from a dream, she planted her hands against the flat, smooth planes of muscle shifting across his chest. She pulled away from his demanding mouth, backed away from the prodding erection that promised a night of heaven and a morass of hell.

  “Quinn. We’re not doing this.” And how much of “this” was a trick to lure her into trusting him?

  Quinn’s large frame shuddered. He dropped his hands from her shoulders and clenched his fists at his sides.

  Rikki felt the loss of his touch like a cold wave washing over her. Tears ached in her throat. While she’d been locked up, she found out it had been Quinn behind that sniper rifle, and her hatred of him had kept her alive in the labor camp—that and his baby in her belly.

  Without her anger, what did she have left but love? And loving Quinn McBride had only ever brought her heartache. That’s all love ever brought.

  Flexing his fingers, he turned away from her and plucked his shorts from the floor. He stepped into them and ran a hand through his messy hair. “I just hope you believe me, that I’d changed my mind about the assignment. You can’t stand there and tell me that if the CIA had given you orders to take me down, you wouldn’t have done it.”

  “I guess we’ll never know.” She shoved her hands in her front pockets to stop herself from reaching for him again and smoothing her palms against the muscles that bulged and dipped beneath his flesh. “It’s not like we were…together at the time of your mission, anyway.”

  He sliced a hand through the air. “Don’t put that on me. I tried to follow up with you, but you’d disappeared and wouldn’t respond to my messages.”

  “I had my own assignment going on. That’s when David told me about Vlad and the North Koreans. At the end of our affair, I thought we’d decided to call it what it was.”

  “And what was it, Rikki?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, the skin across his biceps tight.

  She flipped the unfamiliar dark hair over her shoulder. “A fling—a dangerous, ill-conceived fling that defied all the rules of the Navy and the CIA. A fling that would’ve gotten both of us written up and reprimanded.”

  “You really believe that shooting you offered me a way out, a way to keep our affair secret?” His dark eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “What we did wasn’t the brightest move on either of our parts, but it wasn’t enough to get me court-martialed or ruin my career. And you spooks break the rules all the time to justify the means in the end.”

  Licking her lips, she took a step back. “I’ve never slept with someone to get intel.”

  “Neither have I.”

  “I didn’t mean…” She waved one arm over his shirtless body. “I didn’t think that’s what you were doing here.”

  “Really? ’Cause you sure pulled away fast. The Rikki I knew wouldn’t have been able to turn off her desire like that. The Rikki I knew ran as hot as blazes.”

  A pulse beat at the base of her throat, and tingles ran up the insides of her thighs. Their need for each other had been undeniable and unquenchable. Whenever he’d touched her, she’d responded like a feral creature, her hunger not satisfied until he’d taken control of her body and mind in every way, slaked her thirst, tamed her wild cravings. He’d been the only man in her life who’d understood what she needed—before she’d understood it herself.

  Her nipples crinkled under her T-shirt, and the familiar wanting throbbed between her legs. Beneath half-closed lids, her gaze wandered to the handcuffs Quinn had let slide to the floor.

  If he didn’t ask now, if he didn’t wait for her consent, if he restrained and ravished her body like he used to, he’d fill the need she’d carried with her since the day she left him in Dubai.

  She cleared her throat and stuck out her hand. “Truce? You don’t get in my way, and I won’t kill you.”

  He ignored her outstretched hand. “I can help you. Someone must already be giving you information, since you seem to know a lot of what went down. One of David’s guys?”

  “You’re right. Someone else is already helping me, so I don’t need your assistance.” She swept her weapon from the counter and shoved it into the back of her waistband. “I just needed to hear a few things from your own lips.”

  Her cell phone buzzed, and she pulled it from her pocket. She entered her code and swiped her finger across the text message that had come through. She read the words Gator Lounge and then shoved the phone back in her pocket.

  When she raised her head, she almost bumped Quinn’s chin. He’d moved in on her again, and the heat coming from his body seemed to find its way into her pores.

  She stumbled back, crossing her arms over her chest.

  He held up his hands. “Since you wanted to talk to me, does that mean you already suspected I’d changed my mind about assassinating you?”

  She’d been hoping like hell he could convince her, and he had done so, but she still didn’t think she could tell him about Bella—not yet.

  “I was blinded by rage when I found out you were the sniper on that hill, but I’d already figured any Navy SEAL sniper worth his salt would’ve been able to take me out before dropping those soldiers—especially you.” She held up one finger. “But the fact that you took the assignment enraged me just the same.”

  “I’m sorry, Rikki. If I had to do it all over again…”

  “You’d do the exact same thing. Duty and country.” She crouched down and picked up the handcuffs, then snapped them in their holder on her belt. She had no intention of leaving them here for Alice.

  “I won’t be staying in New Orleans long, and you can get back to doing whatever it was you were doing.” She wrapped her fingers around the neck of her beer bottle on the kitchen counter and tipped it back and forth. “But if you’re getting deployed again soon, I suggest you clean up your act, sailor.”

  “Where are you off to next? You can stay here until you leave.”

  She snorted. “Not a good idea. Take care of yourself, Quinn.”

  She held out her hand for a shake again. This time he took it, but instead of squeezing her hand, he cinched his fingers around her wrist and rotated her hand around. He pressed his lips against the center of her palm. “I’m glad you’re alive, Rikki. Makes the world a whole helluva lot more bearable.”

  She pulled away from him and crossed the room to the front door. As she grasped the handle, she tried to think of some flip, clever way to say goodbye, but her throat closed and her bottom lip trembled.

  In the end, Rikki slipped out the door without another word or backward glance.

  The sultry night air pressed against her as she loped along the streets not far from the French Quarter. She ducked into a clump of bushes in a park a few blocks from Quinn’s apartment and pulled out her scooter.

  Just after midnight, the bars would still be open, and Rikki had another appointment at the Gator Lounge before she settled her business in this city. Before she left Quinn—maybe for good this time.

  She hopped on the electric scooter and motored back toward the lights and action of downtown.

  One quick glance over her shoulder, and she let out a sigh of relief. Nobody had followed her. Why would anyone be following her? As far as the CIA knew, a North Korean soldier had shot her dead in the DMZ and a trustworthy Navy SEAL had witnessed her death.

  She could trust Quinn not to out her. Besides, if he did and the CIA brought her in, he’d be going down with her. She’d make sure of that.

  Traffic got heavier as she got closer to the French Quarter. She kept her eye on the side mirror to monitor anything unusual behind her, and would slip between cars if someone seemed to be following too closely or for too long.

  When she reached the streets of the French Quarter, still teeming with tourists, she located the bar and then stashed the scooter on a side street. S
he slid from the seat and ran her fingers through her hair. Her contact had indicated the bar had a casual atmosphere, but she didn’t want to look like she’d just come in from a horse ride.

  She ducked to peer into the side-view mirror and pulled a lipstick from the purse strapped across her body. She hadn’t thought to primp before accosting Quinn in his apartment, but then she hadn’t thought much at all about what she wanted to accomplish by seeing him.

  To make sure the heat still blazed between them? Check. To see if he still had a body that could weaken her knees? Check. To find out if her presence would make him happy? Check.

  She had to admit to herself that seeing him…disheveled had given her a small, petty sense of pleasure. It had also backed up his claim that he’d had a change of heart about shooting her. Quinn wouldn’t be drinking if something weren’t troubling him.

  Now that she’d confirmed that, she’d have to tell him about Bella. He deserved to know about his daughter, even though he’d never mentioned wanting children to her.

  She straightened up and pulled her blouse over the gun in her waistband. She didn’t expect trouble from her contact, but she had to be prepared for anything. Ariel had vouched for him, and that was good enough for Rikki.

  She’d know her guy by his blue Dodgers cap in a city with no pro baseball team. Rikki joined the throng of tourists still crowding Bourbon Street after midnight, and quickened her pace when she saw the street for the bar up ahead.

  Someone plowed into her and she spun around, her hand hovering at her waist. The drunk who’d bumped her gave her a sloppy smile and raised his drink. She stepped to the side and rounded the next corner. A green neon sign announced the Gator Lounge, and Rikki surveyed the pedestrians behind her before ducking inside the darkness.

  She shivered as the air-conditioning hit her warm skin. She’d overdressed for the heat and humidity in jeans, a blouse and tennies, but shorts and a T wouldn’t have worked for breaking into Quinn’s place and carrying a weapon and cuffs.

  Her gaze flickered across the small cocktail tables and then rested on the back of a man seated at the bar, a blue baseball cap on his head.

  Rikki scooped in a breath and threaded her way through the tables. As she hopped onto the stool next to her contact, she waved at the bartender.

  “What can I getcha?” The bartender slapped a napkin on the bar in front of her.

  “Light beer, no glass.” She slid a glance to her right to see if her words registered with the man in the Dodgers hat.

  She waited for his prearranged response—a folding of all four corners of his napkin.

  He picked at the label on his beer bottle with his fingernail.

  She held her breath.

  The bartender placed her beer on the napkin. “Three dollars. Running a tab?”

  “No.” Her eyes glued to her contact’s cocktail napkin, she unzipped the front compartment of her purse and pulled out a five.

  Finally the man beside her dipped his head. “I have what you want, but who are you?”

  The question had her convulsively clenching her fist around the bill in her hand. That was not part of the deal. He wasn’t supposed to ask any questions. He was supposed to hand over a flash drive with information—after folding the damned corners of his napkin.

  She turned toward him and smiled sweetly. “You can’t possibly have what I want…sugar. And who the hell are you?”

  He jerked his thumb upward, hitting the bill of his cap.

  Rikki’s heart stuttered. None of this made sense. He had half of the plan right, and it couldn’t be just a coincidence. Who else would be wearing a Dodgers cap in this particular bar in New Orleans at this exact time?

  Her laugh tinkled as she creased her money and tucked it beneath a candle. “Sorry, I’m no Dodgers fan. In fact, I don’t even like baseball.”

  Wedging one foot on the floor, she took a quick gulp of her beer. She needed to abandon this rendezvous—and fast.

  As she shoved herself to her feet, the man grabbed her wrist and growled in her ear, “I have a gun pointed at your ribs. Make a move, and I’ll take you down.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Quinn plowed through the crowd of people on Bourbon Street, stepping on a few toes and upsetting a few drinks. The Gator Lounge occupied a side street, and he made for the corner of that street like a heat-seeking missile.

  Before he stepped through the front door of the bar, he tugged his baseball cap low on his forehead. If Rikki made him as soon as he walked into the bar, he’d lose his chance to find out what business she had in New Orleans. He might lose his chance of ever seeing her again.

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, he hunched his shoulders and dipped his head. Two steps into the bar, he scanned it quickly, and his heart jumped in his chest.

  His gaze locked onto Rikki and a man in a blue cap heading for the back of the bar. Quinn had frequented enough bars in the past few months to know this one led to an alley running behind it. Rikki and her companion were headed either for the restrooms or out the back door. Either way, he’d be in the vicinity to intercept them.

  He backed out of the Gator Lounge and jogged through a small courtyard between buildings. He hugged the side of the bar and poked his head around the corner into the alley.

  The blood in his veins ran cold as he watched the man propel Rikki in front of him—by force. Every line in her body screamed that she didn’t want to be in his company or be going anywhere with him.

  Plenty of people had seeped into this alley off the main street, and Quinn joined their ranks, edging closer to Rikki and her abductor.

  The guy in the cap seemed distracted. He didn’t notice the pedestrians who passed by him and Rikki, wasn’t expecting any kind of intervention—and that was the way Quinn liked it.

  Quinn joined a trio of late-night revelers and as they walked past Rikki and the man, Quinn dropped back. He reached out and grabbed the man’s arm, twisting it behind him before he could use the weapon gripped in his hand.

  Rikki made a muffled cry and dropped to the ground.

  Quinn gave the man’s arm a quick yank and heard the crack of his bone.

  The man howled, his legs buckling beneath him.

  Quinn heard a shout behind him. “Hey, hey. What are you doing?”

  Plucking the gun from the man’s useless arm, Quinn kicked him in the gut for good measure.

  Someone came up behind Quinn and grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?”

  As Quinn shrugged off the stranger’s hand, he slid the man’s weapon beneath his shirt. “Dude was taking off with my girl. You’re comin’ home with me, Lila.”

  Rikki grabbed the sleeve of Quinn’s T-shirt, glanced over her shoulder at the concerned onlooker and shrugged. “Jealousy.”

  Quinn hustled Rikki out of the alley before someone called the cops or an ambulance. When they hit Bourbon Street, Quinn whipped the hat from his head and clasped it against his side with his arm. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. How the hell did you know where I was?”

  “Car?”

  “Scooter a few blocks away.”

  “You wear a helmet with that thing?”

  She poked him in the side. “You’re concerned about helmet safety at a time like this?”

  “Let’s get that helmet from your scooter, and then we’ll hop on my bike.”

  “If you see me to my scooter, I’ll be fine.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” He gripped her upper arm. “I’m not letting you out of my sight. Some guy with a gun almost took you away—again. I wanna know what kind of danger you’re in, and I wanna help. I owe you that.”

  “Really…” She tripped as he pinched her arm tighter. “Okay. My scooter’s around the next corner.”

  Quinn loosened his hold on her and smoothed his fingers over the bunched material
of her blouse. If he’d learned anything about Rikki during their short affair, he knew she didn’t respond to halfhearted attempts at persuasion—or lovemaking.

  She pointed to a small electric job with a white helmet locked to the back. “That’s it.”

  “Let’s grab it and go. You don’t know if they ID’d your vehicle or followed you.”

  “No.” She bent over the scooter and released her helmet. “I was not followed from your place—unless it was by you. How’d you know where I was?”

  “Later. My motorcycle is back toward the bar.” He patted his waistband. “I got the guy’s gun, so unless he has a backup he’s not going to be taking any shots at you.”

  “The way his bone cracked when you twisted his arm behind his back, I don’t think he could handle any weapon right now.” She crossed her arms over her helmet, hugging it to her midsection.

  “When I saw him hustling you away at gunpoint, I wanted to do worse than break his arm, but I don’t need to be charged with murder or even questioned at this point. Who was he?” He placed his hand at the small of her back and propelled her across the street.

  “Later.”

  As they reached the other side of the street, Quinn ran his hand along the waistband of Rikki’s jeans, sitting low on the curve of her hips.

  She stiffened beneath his touch. “I don’t think it’s the time or place to be groping me.”

  “I’m not groping you, unless you want me to.” He briefly cupped her derriere through the tight denim. “What happened to your gun and handcuffs?”

  “He relieved me of them and dropped them in a Dumpster right outside the club.”

  Quinn muttered an expletive. “Maybe we can retrieve them tomorrow.”

  “We?”

  “Here’s my bike. Get that helmet on and hop on the back.”

  She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay to drive this thing? You were sleeping off a bender when I sneaked into your apartment.”