Reed

by Mariska Hutchence

  MARISKA HUTCHENCE

  Reed

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  Reed

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Epilogue

  Sneak Preview: Luke (Release Date late November 2016)

  About Mariska Hutchence

  Other Works by Mariska Hutchence

  Connect with Mariska Hutchence

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  Acknowledgements

  The people I need to thank the most are those that were so open to my first novel, Bolo. The warmth of the responses made my heart glow, and I want to give it my all to keep writing stories that make people happy! As I’ve said before, please feel free to contact me anytime at mariskahutchence@avppublishing.com. I love hearing from readers and promise to personally respond to each one, whether it be a question, a criticism, or something you’d like to see in my next novel.

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  Copyright 2016 by Mariska Hutchence, All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this work may be distributed, transmitted, or reproduced in any form or means, including photocopy, facsimile, recording or other electronic and mechanical methods without the express written permission of the publisher. Brief quotations in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by the copyright laws governing this work. For permission requests, email: editor@avppublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction and any name, characters, incidents or settings are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or decease, or to business, companies, events, institutions, or places is completely coincidental.

  Reed

  By Mariska Hutchence

  Reed Calhoun is a gun smuggler, but it's definitely not what he had planned. The last thing he wanted was the tough, but beautiful FBI agent he was stuck guarding as a hostage in his basement. He didn't want that sort of trouble in his life...until he realized he needed her in his life! Unfortunately, Duke and the rest of the syndicate have significantly different plans.

  Natalie Dejardins is a newly-minted agent. Her friends call her Des, though those are few and far between. Her first case has been a fiasco so far, held against her will in the basement of the quiet and handsome Reed. She's always been the strong one, but the tender heart she finds beneath his decidedly masculine exterior breaks her own tough-as-nails persona down.

  His sacrifice for her sets her on a whirlwind week, filled with suspense, passion, and heartbreak; causing her to re-evaluate what she wants from the world, and her lover as she and Reed try desperately to live the life they both desire...together.

  Author’s Note: Reed is a fast-paced drama told in dual-POVs and flashbacks with just enough passion and fire to leave you longing for your own blonde-haired California Adonis with a tender touch. I promise to give you action, steam, and a healthy dose of HEA with NO CHEATING. - Mariska

  Prologue - Des

  The pain spreads out from the base of my neck, working its way to my eyes, which start to go gray. I realize this isn’t the best point in the operation to be blacking out, but I don’t have much control over that, do I? A question is floating there in the darkness as I see the lights in the parking lot flicker and fade, though I’m not sure if it’s the lights themselves or my rapidly fading consciousness. It’s simple and to the point, though, and I carry it with me as I go out.

  What the fuck did I miss?

  Actually, what I missed couldn’t really be put into a single point. I missed a lot, but that’s the nature of starting a new case. I had just jumped out into the deep end without enough background information to be safe. They had certainly advised against that in the Academy, but I had barely made the cut as it was. Fortunately, we all start out with the same badge and the same title, regardless of our ranking at graduation. It’s not that I don’t have what it takes, at least that’s what I tell myself; it’s more that I’ve never been one to put in too much more effort than is minimally required to get the job done. For most things, that can be a plus. Hell, maybe this is the time all of that comes back to bite me in the ass.

  When the stars clear a few minutes after I open my eyes, the headache rushes in to replace them, as if I have to have something to remind me that I fucked up. The thought of my supervisor tearing me a new one is almost laughable. Cisneros will only get the opportunity to berate me over this if I ever make it out…

  …of wherever the hell I am.

  Dark, damp and with that familiar musty smell of concrete. My eyes haven’t had the opportunity to fully adjust, but I’m not confident that they will. The darkness just creeps into everything, following my eyes as they track back and forth.

  “Hello?” I whisper. It’s less of a desire for a response than an opportunity to judge the size of the room by the acoustics. I want to say it’s a basement, and I’m probably right about it. Big consolation prize.

  The cold metal at my back is a pipe, I’ve got that much. A good three inches in diameter and full of all the cold that has apparently been sinking into my muscles for however long I’ve been in here. The little bit of moisture condensing on its surface does little for me, or the cuffs that are keeping my hands behind my back, wrapped around it.

  It was supposed to have been a simple contact meet, in the hopes that I could pick up an informant within the organization I had been tasked to investigate. Most likely, it had been a throw-away assignment for the new girl. Gun-runners were probably the last thing that I had been expecting to deal with when my first assignment turned out to be the Milwaukee field office. Not that it had been my choice. The needs of the bureau and all. Bullshit. I know it is more about taking people out of their comfort zones to get them used to the fact that they need to rely on their office and their fellow agent.

  Send the California girl to Wisconsin, shake her up a little. I hate to even use the term. California girl brings up images of bronzed blondes, likely roller-skating down the beachfront in a Katy Perry video; just about the last thing I could be accused of being. The proverbial translucent-skinned ginger, more interested in criminal justice and philosophy than surfboards and tasty waves; to steal a line from Spicoli.

  All of my reverie is peeled away with the sudden addition of a light overhead, the humming of the fluorescents adding as much to the throbbing in my head as the blow that had put me here.

  The footsteps make me unscrew my
lids, bringing even more pain in from the brightness of the lights, but I need to be aware of my surroundings. Residential, definitely a basement. Washer/dryer combo looking neglected in the corner by the water heater. Combat boots coming down the stairs.

  The boots go up into a pair of jeans, leading to a plain white t-shirt as the person they belong to comes down the stairs far enough for me to see him. Big guy, biceps stretching the shirt sleeves, blonde tousled hair on a face that was definitely more ‘California’ than I’d ever be.

  “You’re up.” He says. I’m not entirely positive whether it is a statement or a question.

  “Not entirely sure about that.” I say, wishing I could rub my forehead for emphasis, or just for a little bit of relief. My sarcasm crutch gets me in trouble just about as often as it gets me a laugh. Life’s a balancing act like that.

  He finally reaches the bottom of the stairs and makes his way over to my uncomfortable spot on the floor. “I was getting a little bit worried.” He says.

  I look directly up at him, noting the blue eyes. For later, I tell myself. “Well, usually worrying about someone’s health and well-being normally manifests itself by not hitting them on the head, but that’s just me.”

  He smiles, the pearly-whites just another blatant sign of California.

  “I brought you an ice-pack, if you want it.” He says, looking down at me as if suddenly remembering.

  “I’ll just hold that over the swelling then, shall I? I say, rattling the handcuffs attaching me to the pipe.

  “I’ve got it.” He says, leaning over in front of me, placing the wrap over my shoulders. The sensation is a relief, despite my mood. “How’s that?”

  The proximity of him makes me forget all of my training, and I’m not looking for distinguishing features, tattoos, nothing. The smell of him is a pleasant change from the dank of the room. Okay, so if you’re going to be kidnapped and held prisoner in a basement, there could definitely be worse captors. I laugh at how ridiculous the thought is.

  “You okay?” He asks.

  “Peachy.” I reply, closing my eyes to blot out the pain.

  Chapter One

  Des

  “I don’t care what the fuck you think. I want you to get her the hell out of here. This was never part of the arrangement.”

  For the most part, I’m able to follow the conversation, even though it’s coming to me from the floorboards overhead. The last voice belongs to Spicoli. That’s not really his name, but I’ve applied the moniker to my California-Guy captor; more of a place-holder than anything else.

  “Give it a couple of days, man.” Another voice. This one I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting. “Duke will get things cleared up.”

  There’s a couple of exchanges that I can’t quite make out, but from context, it’s pretty clear that my captor doesn’t want the responsibility of the chained FBI agent in his basement.

  “Twenty-four hours.” Spicoli says. “And she’d better be long gone.”

  “Duke isn’t going to like the push-back, Reed.” I put a name to the face. I probably wasn’t supposed to hear that.

  “Fuck Duke.”

  The words go more muffled, as I try to make some sense of the shuffling footsteps coming from above. I can hear the door slam clearly, though.

  I’m getting ready to resolve myself to a few more boring hours when I hear the door creak upstairs, followed by the sound of my captor coming down the stairs. Reed. He looks like a Reed; I say to myself.

  “I’ve got breakfast if you want it.” He says, ducking down to see me below the landing.

  The words are music to my ears, though I try to hide that fact. It’s been at least twenty-four hours and I’ve been granted two trips to the bathroom and nothing else. “Denny’s sounds great.” I quip. Humor and sarcasm have always been crutches for me.

  “I can do eggs and bacon, but my ‘Grand Slam’ needs a little work.” Reed shoots back. He doesn’t seem like an axe-murderer, and the overheard conversation has definitely helped a little with that judgement call.

  “Well, I’m not really in the position to be fussy, am I?” I say. Even the thought of food is making my mouth water.

  “I’ll bring something down.” He says, disappearing back through the opening in the ceiling along with the stairs. I spend the intervening minutes going over details once again. My meeting with a potential contact had gone awry and I ended up here. Spicoli…Reed, I correct myself, has been nothing but nice, if not a little aloof. Cute guy, I think, and the thought reminds me that my personal life has been a disaster since going into the academy. Making googly-eyes at even the bad guys now, eh Des?

  The footsteps are coming back as I shift to try to make myself a little more comfortable. My arms are screaming at me from the position they’ve been in for so long.

  Reed comes down bearing a plate, and my mind immediately listens, and doesn’t hear, any rattling of silverware. Probably a wise move on his part. So, fairly sharp, big guy, not a big fan of keeping me in his basement. The summary complete in my head, I look over to him.

  “This should be challenging.” I say, rattling the handcuffs.

  Setting the plate down on a stool opposite me, he reaches into his pocket, extracting a keyring. Without a response, he moves behind me and removes one of my cuffs. He gestures me to turn around, which I do, allowing him to snap it back in place, this time with the pipe in front of me.

  “I’m sorry, it’s the best I can offer.” He says, bringing me the plate, which I set on the floor.

  “The bacon or the handcuffs?” I reply.

  He smiles.

  “Des.” I say.

  Reed looks at me for a second. Admittedly, it was a non-sequitur.

  “My name. Well, Natalie Desjardins, but that’s more of a mouthful than most people care for.” I add. Humanize yourself, Des. It always amazes when a little bit of training suddenly becomes useful.

  I can see it sink in. Maybe just the name, maybe more guilt about what’s going on in his basement.

  “Cal.” He says. It conflicts with the conversation that I heard above, but I let it slide. I’m trying to make him like me and the irony of that almost makes me laugh. It’s not something I’m really very good at, hence the personal life issues.

  The small talk ceases as I plow into the food, knowing that he’s watching me, though I’m not entirely sure why he hasn’t just left again. I can feel the good that it’s going to do me, but I remind myself not to overdo it. If the last day is any indication, I won’t be getting a break from my captivity very often. The new position is good, though, letting me stretch out some of the cramped muscles while I eat, still wondering what options I have, if any.

  “Is there anything else you need, Des?” He asks as I push the plate away, leaving some behind. I know I’m going to regret it either way.

  “You wouldn’t be able to stop by my place and feed my dog, would you?” I ask, smiling.

  He leans back on the stool a little, smiling. “I’m sure the Bureau will take care of her for you.”

  “Him.” I say, then add. “It sounds cheesy, but you know they’re looking for me, right?”

  The stool clacks back to all four feet. “Oh, I’m well aware. Name?”

  It throws me for a second. “Ted. He’s a Jack Russel mix. You like dogs?”

  “Haven’t had one since I was a kid.” He says immediately. “Someday. They a good breed?”

  “Jacks are assholes, but they grow on you.” I say, smiling. This conversation isn’t going nearly how I expected it would, but I start thinking about it. What do I really expect? Interrogation? What would that gain him? I’m getting the impression from this morning’s conversation and this one that this isn’t the normal state of affairs at Reed’s house.

  Apparently, he can see me thinking. “I’m sorry about all this, you know.” The smile on his face following my last words fades.

  I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t respond. He absently pushes up one of h
is sleeves, revealing a little more of the tattoo gracing his bicep, but I can’t make out the design from where I’m sitting.

  “Do you need to…” He asks, his words dropping out gracefully. I know what he means, though.

  “That would be sweet.” I respond. He laughs and I hope that I’m winning him over.

  Removing the cuffs for the second time, I note that he leaves them off. Even with my training, the size disparity is too much anyway and I have no idea what kind of training he holds himself; but the casual way he does it tells me he’s not too worried about the little redhead agent. Whether that is a bad call is yet to be seen; but he’s given me no reasons to believe he isn’t right about any potential matchup. I’ll just have to wait for the right opportunity.

  I rub my wrists. I’m not complaining, but he does notice, and I can see it in his eyes that he’s none too happy about it.

  “You know where it is.” He says. “I’ll be back.”

  That does surprise me a little, but I’ve already noted that the only feasible way out is up the stairs. The windows up high on the walls letting in what natural light they can aren’t even suitable for someone my size. I’m about average as far as height, but I struggled through the academy keeping enough weight on to stay in regulations. I’ve been told that it’s a blessing, but I’ve certainly never taken it that way. The grass is always greener, right?

  I hear the overhead door click shut, then hear a bolt being drawn as I hustle over to the little blocked in half-bath, probably a renovation project that was put on the shelf long ago, as there don’t seem to be any tools around. It’s functional, though, but I wouldn’t mind finding a screwdriver or something like that.

  Just coming out, I hear Reed coming down the stairs again, dragging what appears to be a futon mattress behind him. “Thought this might help a little.”

  “Thanks, Cal.” I say, catching myself before I use his real name, but just barely. “I don’t have a lot of ass to keep me comfortable.”