by Debra Webb
He moved around her to help himself to another cup of coffee as if they had all the time in the world.
Anxiety and anticipation tightened her chest, making every beat of her heart an unnatural effort. Each second seemed an eternity. Each minute that got away from her was one she couldn’t get back, one that might prove pivotal as this case played out. Standing around here wasting those precious moments had her tension mounting at breakneck speed.
To make matters worse, standing this close to McBride, she found it impossible not to inhale his scent—a mixture of man, heat, and his many vices. He seemed taller than the six one his personnel file had listed. Definitely leaner than the one ninety he’d weighed according to those stats. The instant he opened the door, he had put her off balance. Scarcely dressed … all that naked skin culminating in the fuck-me vee exposed by his unfastened jeans.
She had arrived prepared for his bitterness and underlying anger. Like he said, the way his career ended had been ugly, and very public. But none of her preparation had readied her for his blatant sexuality. He had been handsome before, but this edgy, primitive version of that man had her scrambling to regain her usual poise.
The angles of his face were more distinct than in the photos she’d seen, as if time and living a life of debauchery since leaving the Bureau had chiseled them so. A couple of days’ beard growth accentuated those distracting changes. The whole package was very disconcerting.
“No luck tracing the IP?” he asked when he had made some headway on his second cup of coffee.
“None,” she admitted. That was one of the few things they did know already, the unsub was smart. “This one knows how to erase his cyber footprints better than most.”
“Sounds like you don’t have much considering you’re beyond the twenty-four-hour mark.” He turned his head, stared directly at her. “That’s bad, Agent.”
“That’s why I’m here.” She held his gaze, understanding on some level that he used this probing intimacy as an intimidation technique rather than as the crude invitation he would have her believe. “We need you.”
He set his cup aside. His hand shook and he immediately fisted it to halt the visible reaction to his apparent overindulgence in self-abuse. According to his psych evaluation, he hadn’t been a drinker or a smoker during his time with the Bureau. This raw, uncut demeanor gave the definite impression that the crash of his career had taken a significant toll. His brown hair was longer, shaggier, as if he hadn’t visited a barber in quite some time and didn’t care. The Florida sun had streaked it with gold. His current occupation, when he bothered to show up, was acting as a spotter at a local nightspot. He mingled in the crowd, watched for trouble, giving security a heads-up as necessary. From the look of things, he mingled a little too much.
Whatever McBride’s demons and addictions, the only thing she cared about was obtaining his cooperation. This was her first opportunity to play a principal part in a high-profile case. The only way she was going to get Worth’s respect, or that of any of her colleagues, was to prove herself in the field. She had to make this happen. They needed to know she could do it. She needed to know she could do it.
Challenging Worth’s decision on not bringing in McBride was a step in that direction even if it risked her career. Call it instinct, woman’s intuition, whatever, but she had a feeling that McBride was the only one who had a snowball’s chance in hell of stopping this unsub even if they did finagle the clues out of him.
Now if she could only get McBride to comprehend the urgency. Time was running out for Alyssa Byrne.
When he’d downed the last of his coffee, he lit a cigarette, blew out a lungful of smoke, and finally broke his silence. “Since I was personally invited to this soiree, did anyone take a look at who might have a hard-on for putting a bullet in my brain?”
The scent of seared tobacco invaded her senses, the knowledge that it had come from his lips irrationally disturbing. She resisted the urge to squirm.
“We understand that’s a possibility. As you know, at the moment, our primary focus is rescuing the child.” The theory that the unsub was attempting to lure McBride out of exile was still under consideration, along with the idea that the legend himself was somehow behind the kidnapping. She was not authorized to share that part with him at this point. “Of course we’ll do all within our power to ensure you’re protected.”
McBride tossed her a look that said exactly how much stock he had in that promise, then he started to pace. He forked the fingers of his free hand through his sleep-tousled hair; let the cigarette dangle from the other. “If …” He stopped abruptly, trapped her in the crosshairs of his full attention. “If I agree to do this, I’ll be lead on the case. I won’t be taking any orders from your SAC or any-damned-body else, including you. Is that clear?”
That authority wasn’t hers to give … but she couldn’t afford to let him see her hesitate. “I’m certain that can be arranged.”
He walked toward her, those blue eyes cutting straight through her like the laser-driven scope of a high-powered rifle. “You don’t have the authority to make that guarantee, do you?” He didn’t stop until he stood toe-to-toe with her. “Do you?”
“I’m certain,” she reiterated, not about to let him see her sweat, “that every effort will be made to accommodate you. Your cooperation isn’t optional; the unsub requires it.” Somehow she managed to hold that intimidating gaze. “I must stress again how little time we have. The sooner we get started, the better our chance of success.”
“Make the call.” He tossed the butt of his cigarette into the sink without shifting his piercing glare one centimeter. “Confirm that condition and I’ll consider your request.”
At least he hadn’t said no. She reached for the cell phone clipped to the waistband of her skirt. That he’d crowded into her personal space, pinned her against the counter, had jolted her pulse rate into a faster rhythm. As much as she needed his cooperation, she wasn’t standing for his physical intimidation tactics any longer. If she didn’t get some boundaries in place soon, this situation was only going to fly further out of control. That was a risk she couldn’t take. “You’re crowding me, McBride.”
For a couple of seconds, then ten, she was certain he wouldn’t back off. To her immense relief he relented, if only one step, giving her room to breathe.
She put through the call. Worth had been waiting to hear from her. He let her know that up front. She bit her tongue to hold back the argument that she wouldn’t even be here were it not for Alyssa Byrne’s father. When more than eighteen hours had passed without any measurable progress, Byrne had insisted on McBride’s inclusion on the case. Worth had balked, just as he had earlier when Vivian vian suggested the same, and Byrne had reached out to his political allies, overriding any possible excuse the special agent-in-charge could hope to toss out.
“He needs an assurance that he’ll be in charge of the case,” she told the SAC without preamble. She barely managed not to flinch at his bellowed answer.
“Tell him that condition is nonnegotiable,” McBride interjected as if he’d heard every single word of the response. The way Worth had yelled, it was possible he had.
“This condition is nonnegotiable,” she passed along before endeavoring to moisten her dry lips. Didn’t work, considering her throat was as parched as an Alabama creek bed in August. Worth gave her all the reasons that McBride’s proposal was completely out of the question then he told her what she needed to hear. Promise him whatever you have to, but get his butt up here.
“Thank you, sir.” She severed the connection and tucked the phone back into its holster. “You’ll be in charge.”
McBride’s eyes tapered with suspicion. “That easy, huh?”
She refused to allow him to bully her. “You have my word.”
He laughed, one of those soft sounds that lacked any glimmer of amusement and reeked of arrogance. “I hate to tell you this, Agent Grace, but I find that less than reassuring. You see, I know a
rookie when I meet one.” He reclaimed that step he had surrendered, leaned close enough to plant his hands on the counter on either side of her. “You can’t guarantee me shit.”
She fought the trepidation tugging at her composure. No more beating around the bush. “We’re wasting time. You’re either going or you aren’t. If you want to help that little girl, then I would suggest that you get dressed so we can get this done. Otherwise,” she added, her temper temporarily overriding her good sense, “get out of my way. I don’t have time for the macho methods you evidently consider charming.”
He didn’t move. The fear that she had pushed too hard—that she couldn’t handle this man—welled … clawed at her, but she kicked it back, refused to submit to it. She wasn’t about to let him see that he could get to her so effortlessly. If she gave him that inch, he would take a mile she didn’t have to spare. She might lack his experience, but she was the one with the badge. And the gun.
His haughty gaze dropped to her mouth. “I gotta tell you, Grace, you got some great lips.”
Enough. She flattened her right hand against his chest, pulled her lapel aside with her left, leaving her weapon in plain sight. “Back off.”
One corner of his mouth tilted shamelessly, but he straightened away from her, his hands lifted in mock surrender. “No need to get testy.” He dropped his arms back to his sides and all signs of any amusement or smugness vanished. “What kind of transportation do we have?”
The sudden turnabout had her grappling. She reached for calm, couldn’t find it handy, so she settled for quietly furious. “Private plane. It’s waiting at the airport in Marathon.”
Surprise lifted his brows. “Well, that’s traveling in style.”
“Mr. Byrne insisted, considering the time crunch. The Learjet belongs to him not to the Bureau.”
McBride considered her a moment, stretching her patience to the limit, then said, “I’ll need to shower first.”
He was going.
The overwhelming sense of relief was almost more than she could hold inside. She shored up her professional deportment by hanging on to a little of that fury he’d ignited. “Make it fast. Our time is limited.”
He acknowledged her order with a nod and walked away.
She wanted to kick herself for watching. For admiring the way his jeans gloved his lean hips. That he got to her on that level was not only infuriating but startling. No one ever got to her that way.
As if he had felt her gaze on him, he hesitated, turned back once more. “Just so you know, Grace, I’m doing this for the kid. Not for you. And definitely not for the Bureau.”
He swaggered off, leaving Vivian struggling with emotions she couldn’t begin to label—she was grateful for that small mercy. It was better not to know.
Keeping former Special Agent Ryan McBride under control wasn’t going to be an easy task. The man he had become was far more than a loose cannon.
He was dangerous.
CHAPTER THREE
5:00 P.M.
1000 Eighteenth Street
Birmingham, Alabama
18 hours remaining …
Three floors. Bulletproof, sound-insulated tinted windows. Without a doubt, state-of-the-art security. Metal detectors, X-ray machines, maybe even facial and retinal scans. Gaining entrance to the building was more complicated than getting past the most stringent security measures at any of the nation’s international airports. Accessing the damned parking lot wasn’t even permitted without authorization.
Welcome to today’s FBI.
McBride moved his head slowly from side to side. What the hell was he doing here?
Temporary insanity.
No more tequila for him. Better to stick with the devil he knew.
As Agent Grace’s silver Explorer came to a necessary stop at the gate, he scanned the block. An iron fence contained the entire area, including the guard station. Though downtown, the location was somewhat isolated, giving the impression of a small upscale prison. He imagined some of the agents inside felt that way from time to time whether or not they said so.
So this was where Vivian Grace worked. During his decade with Quantico he’d never had the occasion to consult with any of the Alabama offices. He turned his attention to her as she flashed her credentials for the guard, who promptly opened the gate allowing her to enter the sacred compound. Even in profile those lips were something special. Seemed wasted on such an uptight chick.
A strand of glossy brown hair had slipped loose and draped against her cheek. His fingers twitched at the idea of touching that smooth skin. Grace had the kind of pale complexion that would age well, with those high cheekbones a woman either had to be born with or envied her whole life. Too bad she was one of them.
She jammed on the brake hard enough to engage the lock on his safety belt. “Do you have a question, McBride?” The glare she aimed at him provided a major clue to just how pissed off she was.
Busted.
“Just one.” He met that furious glower with unrestrained curiosity. “Do you have a problem with men in general, or is it just me?”
She pointed her fury forward, rolled into a parking slot, and shoved the gear shift into park without so much as a kiss-my-ass. He would take that as a “no comment.”
The lady had a hang-up about her looks or about men looking at her; the question was, why? Was she really an ice princess or was the attitude a defense mechanism? Maybe the boys in the office gave her a hard time. He could definitely see her working more diligently than the rest to garner the respect she deserved. Hey, maybe that was the reason she’d ended up with this low-man-on-the-totem-pole transport job. Her SAC probably figured that sending her versus one of the guys would prove a better incentive for cooperation.
McBride couldn’t deny he was curious about the lady, but like he had told her, he was here for one reason. To help the kid. Admiring Grace’s numerous physical assets and giving her a hard time was just something to pass the time.
He opened the door and climbed out of the SUV. The hellacious headache was gone thanks to Grace, who had insisted on hitting a fast food drive-through before going to the airfield in Marathon. At the time he could have cared less about eating, but now he was glad he had. Between the food, a handful of aspirin, and a nap on the plane he felt remotely human. But the tension contorting deep in his gut right now wasn’t going to be relieved so easily.
What he really needed was a drink, but that wasn’t happening for the next nineteen or twenty hours. A smoke would have to do.
He pulled out the pack, tamped loose a Marlboro, then dipped two fingers into the pocket of his jeans and fished out his Zippo. Lighting up, he inhaled the comforting nicotine, instantly relaxing a fraction. The dozen or so vehicles he counted in the lot told him that most of the staff was still on duty. A field office this size wouldn’t likely employ any more than that.
“Looks like your colleagues are all on hand for your big coup.” He felt a little like the trophy African buffalo at the end of a safari. What was the prize, he wondered, for bringing in the beast? Respect or sympathy?
Grace stepped out of the smoke’s path, her nose wrinkled with distaste. “As certain as I am that everyone here is anxious to have your assistance and will be honored by your presence, no one’s going home until Alyssa Byrne is found. Standard procedure. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten how things are done.”
She just doesn’t know how far I’ve fallen. He stared at the entrance, his tension spiraling out of control way too fast. From day one of his Bureau career he had been assigned to the Child Abduction Unit at Quantico. He’d been damned good. The best, as Grace said. But that was a long time ago. He had forgotten more about this business than most people ever hoped to know. And why wouldn’t he forget? He had stopped expecting to get called in on a case two years ago.
If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could still see the face of each child for every Amber Alert issued that first year following his termination. After that he had stopp
ed watching or listening to the news. Eventually, when he had learned just how much Jack Daniel’s was required to get the job done, he’d passed the point of caring.
Yet, here he was. Definitely a case of temporary insanity. A trip over the edge that he was sure to regret.
He was here for the kid, he reminded that cynical voice nagging at him. One final drag from his cigarette, then he flicked away the fire and shoved the snuffed-out butt into his pocket. “Before we go in, I need one thing from you, Grace.”
Even though there had been time on the plane, they hadn’t discussed the logistics of how this would work. He had taken a seat and had promptly closed his eyes for some much needed sleep. When he had awakened, Grace had been dead to the world. Probably the first shut-eye she’d had in more than twenty-four hours. He remembered how it was.
“What’s that?” The grim set of that gorgeous mouth warned that she was suspicious of anything he might ask.
“Whatever goes down … no matter what your SAC says, or what you think of me, you back me up. If I can’t count on at least your cooperation, I’m outta here. Do we have an understanding?”
The slight flare of those wide brown eyes told him he had hit a nerve, saddled her with a heart thumper. Going up against her SAC wouldn’t look good on a performance evaluation, but he wasn’t backing off on this one. This was every man for himself and he wasn’t going in there without at least one ally.
“We have an agreement,” she conceded, “as long as backing you up doesn’t jeopardize rescuing Alyssa.”
That was a condition he could live with. He indulged in one last, lingering survey of his new partner. “Good,” he said just as anger, motivated by his flagrant ogling, sparked in her eyes. “Let’s do this thing.”
She led the way into the lobby.
Sprawled across the marble floor was the FBI emblem found in all Bureau offices. The same emblem that had once inspired great pride in him. Now on seeing it the only thing he felt was animosity.
