by Cindy Gerard
She stood there. Heart racing. Breath caught.
While he watched her, eyes piercing, eyes searching. Finally understanding what she was offering.
He slowly unfolded his arms, stood up straight and pushed away from the counter, never taking his eyes off her face.
Her heart nearly exploded when he started walking toward her. She held his gaze, smothering a cry of relief when he finally stood in front of her, their bare toes touching, his strong arms drawing her hard against him.
She tipped her head up to his. It was all the invitation he needed. His mouth slammed down on hers and she stopped thinking, stopped doubting, and reacted. She opened her mouth under his, met his tongue with wild, hungry strokes, and wound her arms around his neck when he picked her up and carried her back to the bedroom.
There was no talking. No reasoning. What happened now was all about feeling, all about loss, all about giving as his rough hands tunneled under her shirt and slid against her bare back, then reached for the hem and dragged it over her head.
She gasped as he bent her backward onto the bed and followed her down, his mouth hot and wet and ravenous on her breast. Electric shocks fired to her core as he suckled and licked and fed like a man whose appetite had not been satisfied for a long, long time. Like a man whose desire was in frantic need of slaking. Like a man whose heart was in desperate need of healing.
She arched against him, reached between them, and slipped her hands inside his pants to cup the hard, pulsing length of him. He groaned and gently nipped her, hard enough to sting, soft enough to excite, and rocked his hips into her clasping hand.
Out of body. Out of mind. Her responses were primal, raw and consuming. When he reached down and undid his pants, shoving them away, she was right there with him, wriggling out of her borrowed boxers and parting her thighs, making room for him there, where she was wet and achy and… Oh, God… so much in need.
She bit his shoulder when he touched her, rubbing her all the right ways until she rocked against him, digging her nails into his back and begging him to come inside her.
She didn’t know where he got the condom. Only cared that he got it on. Then he was holding himself above her, his biceps bunching, his hands braced on the bed on either side of her waist, nudging her center with the tip of his erection, asking her with his eyes to guide him home. She raised her knees to her chest, open, vulnerable, and did exactly what he wanted. She surrounded him with her hands, tilted her hips toward him, and centered him over her core.
“Hurry,” she begged. “Deep,” she demanded, gripping his hips and offering everything she had as he slowly entered her. “Hard,” she all but whimpered as he stretched her with the thick hot breadth of him and drove to her very center.
Sweet, hot, rough friction, unbelievably perfect. She didn’t question how she could barely know him yet know him. Instinctively. Know his rhythm as well as she knew her own heartbeat. Know what pleased him. Know what moved him. It wasn’t possible to feel this level of intimacy and trust, to feel his need and know exactly how to fulfill it—and yet she did.
He thrust; she met him stroke for stroke. He plunged, she tightened and flexed; losing herself in the union, the incredible sensations, and the welcome weight of him pressing into her.
And then the rush consumed her, transported her to that place where body met mind and pleasure courted pain and nothing, nothing mattered but the wild, reckless release that shot her into a pulsating orgasm that had her gasping and grasping him closer and deeper, marrying body and soul.
• • •
Mike sat on the bed in the dark with his back to Eva. His feet were on the floor, elbows propped on his thighs, head in his hands. Utterly, totally spent. Lightheaded and sweaty.
She’d fallen asleep behind him.
He was still reeling.
He wasn’t a man to rhapsodize about sex. It was a basic human function. Sometimes necessary. Primarily physical, and if done right, purely pleasurable. No hearts, no minds, no souls involved.
But what he’d shared with Eva went beyond anything he’d ever experienced. And he was an experienced man.
“How will I know she’s the one, master? The final one? The only one I’ll ever want to be with?”
“Well, Grasshopper, when the top of your head blows off and your heart explodes along with it, you can pretty much bet your sorry ass that you’ve entered dangerous new territory.”
He dragged a hand through his hair and fought a flat-out panic that told him he was in some deep, serious shit here.
The woman had played him, for God’s sake. She’d drugged him. Cuffed him to a frickin’ bed. Held his own gun on him and accused him of every crime known to man short of killing puppies.
Not much more than a day later, he wanted to crawl back under the covers with her, saturate his senses with her scent, the touch of her skin, the taste of her breast, and stay there for the next millennium.
What a putz.
Gabe had known he was in trouble even before he had. Just before he’d turned in, he’d pressed a couple packets of condoms into Mike’s hand. “Jenna and I don’t need these at the moment.”
Mike had glanced at the foil packets with a snort. “And what makes you think I do?”
“Because the chemistry between you two could blow up a science lab.”
Had he been that transparent with her, too? Had he let her see how damn needy he was? Is that why she’d come to him? Because she’d known how important—yeah, important—what they’d shared would be to him?
God, he hoped not. Because this couldn’t go anywhere.
And he didn’t want to be that man. The man he’d never understood, who needed a woman in his life.
Carefully, so as not to wake her, he made himself leave her bed. Made himself, because he sure as hell didn’t want to go. Another first.
He groped around in the dark and finally found his pants, dragged them on, then walked quietly out of the room. Once outside, he leaned back against the door, made a gun out of his index finger and thumb, pointed it at his temple, and pulled the trigger.
20
Thin wisps of daylight peeked beneath a closed blind when Eva woke up after not nearly enough sleep. She hadn’t expected to find Mike in her bed come morning and wasn’t surprised that he was gone. She had expected to feel exactly the way she did: weighed down by a mix of satiation, stupidity, and second thoughts.
Brown knew his way around a woman’s body; she’d have been shocked if he didn’t. What had shocked her was his attention to her needs. Men who looked like him leaned more toward selfish than selfless, in her experience.
Guilt stopped her cold when she realized she’d been comparing him to Ramon. Don’t go there, she warned herself as she rose and got dressed. Thoughts of Ramon did not belong in a bed she’d shared with a man he had despised. And second thoughts about last night were pointless. There was no taking it back, and she wouldn’t if she could. But a replay wasn’t going to happen for too many reasons to count, starting and ending with the fact that they both had too much baggage to make any kind of a relationship work.
Relationship? Okay. That soaked it. They’d had great sex, and yes, maybe they’d even tapped into something deeper. They’d both needed an emotional outlet, had given and taken mutual comfort, but that’s where it ended.
Her head back on straight, she stepped out of the bedroom. When she saw that the light was on in Gabe’s windowless office, she stopped in the open doorway. Both men were already hard at it. Neither saw her there, and she took advantage of the moment to look, really look, at the stunningly beautiful man who was so much more than she’d expected him to be. If he’d lived down to her expectations, this would be much easier.
She could tell by the fatigue etched on Mike’s face that he hadn’t slept much. Still, he was clearly revved and chomping at the bit to get things moving. Just like it was clear that he was as determined as she was to avoid revisiting last night. Because when he sensed her standing the
re, he looked up, then directly away.
A classic case of buyer’s remorse. Well, take it times two, buddy.
She moved on to the kitchen in search of coffee, glad they were on the same wavelength. They had bigger fish to fry. Armed with caffeine and her own determination to let that sleeping dog lie, she walked back to the office and joined them at the small conference table.
“What’s happening?”
Without looking up, Mike handed her several sheets of paper.
“And this would be?”
“A roster of known members of United We Denounce.”
She scanned the pages of names, then glanced at Mike, who was still practicing zero eye contact. “Who’s Barry Hill?” His name was highlighted in yellow on page three.
“Big dog in UWD. And it so happens that I know him—sort of. He was in the Navy around the time I was in boot camp in San Diego. I didn’t cross paths with him all that much but I knew who he was. Everyone did. He was a radical even back then. Made a habit of pissing off the wrong people. Wasn’t much on respect for authority. Was already spouting an antigovernment doctrine.”
“While in uniform? Interesting.”
“He pulled a lot of other stunts, too. Ended up with a big chicken dinner.”
Big chicken dinner, military slang for a bad-conduct discharge, was a step above a less than honorable discharge and generally didn’t result in a court-martial.
“Until three months ago,” Mike went on, “Hill was Lawson’s second in command at UWD. Ran the Idaho operation when Lawson wasn’t around.”
“So what happened three months ago?” She handed him back the list of names.
“Hill got busted on a weapons charge,” Gabe said. “Rather than have his trial draw unwanted attention to UWD, he took one for the team. Pled guilty, did not pass go, did not collect two hundred dollars, and went directly to jail. He’s currently doing eight to ten in California State Prison.”
“Okay. I get the connection and the story. But how’s any of it going to get us what we need from Lawson?”
“Maybe Lawson’s still looking to replace Hill,” Mike said. “Maybe with a rec from Hill, I could be that man—going in under the name of Dan Walker.”
A rush of apprehension hit her broadside. She glanced from Mike to Gabe then back to Mike again. “You’re going to try to infiltrate the Idaho compound?”
“Unless you can think of a better way to access Lawson. If I can get close to him, I might find out what he was up to in Afghanistan.”
She had to talk him out of this. He could get killed if he went in there. She didn’t know which terrified her more: the fact that he could die or the fact that she cared so much about what happened to him.
“Okay, wait. This is a horrible idea. If Lawson and UWD are on the FBI or ATF watch list, how do you know the feds haven’t got a team inside already? You could muck up their operation.”
“They’re not inside. Not yet,” Gabe assured her. “But my contacts tell me that’s about to change, possibly within a few weeks. As soon as they can assemble a team, they’re planting some agents and setting a sting in place. They want to nip in the bud any possibility of Lawson brokering a weapons deal with La Linea.”
“That’s why I need to do this now,” Mike added. “If they get in before I do, it’s bad news.”
“How could that be bad news? They’d be doing our work for us.”
“Get real. They either arrest Lawson and he lawyers up and makes like a clam, or they spook him and he flushes like a quail and goes to ground.”
“Either way, there’s wildlife involved,” Gabe dead-panned, making her grin in spite of everything.
“Either way,” Mike restated with a glare, “we’ll never get to him if they get in before I do. Nothing changes for either of us.”
“You seriously want to interfere with a government operation?” She was determined to find a way to keep him from this crazy scheme.
“You weren’t listening. So far there is no government operation. I’m not interfering with a damn thing. If anything, I’m helping them out… launching a preemptive strike. They’ll probably want to give me a medal,” he added, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
“Look.” He finally met her eyes, and the emotions she saw there made her heart weak. “If going in gives me an opportunity to clear my name, I’m going to do it. That’s what this is about, right? Wasn’t that your selling point when you goaded me into coming back?”
Yeah. And right now she’d give anything to not have been so convincing. “There’s got to be another way. This is too risky.”
“What’s risky is doing nothing when there’s someone out there wanting both of us dead. Or were you planning on hiding out the rest of your life?”
She didn’t have an argument for that.
“It’s the only way, Eva. UWD is Larson’s home base. Everything he is, everything he has, will be in that compound. Personal papers. Photos. Mementos. Spoils of war. Hell, one photo of him on the ground in Afghanistan, shoulder to shoulder with a Taliban operative or in that Mi-8, and I’ve got proof he was there. Best case scenario, he spills the beans. Worst case, I find enough evidence to get the Joint Spec Ops Command at Bragg to reopen the Operation Slam Dunk file and investigate, and we flush out the top dog.”
She still didn’t like it. “But if Lawson knows you—”
“He only knows my name. I never saw him face-to-face. And even if he saw photos of me, it was eight years ago. I’m betting he won’t remember.”
“I’d take that bet.” She couldn’t believe he’d bank on a memory lapse.
“I’ve changed since then. I’ve ma—”
“Do not say matured,” Gabe put in without looking up from a report, breaking another small chip off the iceberg of tension.
“Physically I’ve matured,” Mike clarified without missing a beat. “Probably put on a few pounds. No military buzz cut. No uniform. So I look different. And I’ll be going in as Dan Walker, so he won’t have any reason to connect the dots.”
“The team’s already reaching out to Hill.” Gabe glanced up and the look on his face told Eva that he understood her concern. “We figure he’s going to like the promise of a few perks, possibly a good word at his next parole hearing, in exchange for vouching for ‘Dan’ if someone from UWD makes the call to verify his story.”
Eva knew all about the maneuvering that sometimes took place behind the scenes to get someone to step up and tell the truth—or in this case a bald-faced lie. No harm no foul, as long as no case was affected. No doubt they’d offer Hill better conditions—a single cell, some extra rec time, conjugal visits, help with his family—to get him to play ball.
She still wasn’t ready to jump on board. “Even if Hill vouches for you, an organization as secretive and paranoid as UWD won’t accept just anyone into their ranks. Lawson will run his own check.”
“And he’ll find exactly what we want him to. By the time we get done with him, not only will Dan here be besties with Hill, he’ll have a documented vendetta against Uncle for all the reasons UWD loves. He’ll be a poster child for the cause.”
“I still don’t like it.”
Mike lifted a hand in frustration. “You don’t have to like it. I just have to do it.”
That pissed her off. “You’re right. I don’t have to like it.” She looked at Mike, who was busy avoiding eye contact again. “But I can do something about it. I’m going in with you.”
That got his full attention. “The hell you are.”
“Seriously?” His Lord of the Manor look was so not going to work on her. “You’re going to dictate what I do? I don’t think so. I’ve got as much at stake in this as you do. Someone’s trying to kill me, remember?”
He lifted his chin and shifted gears. “Exactly. And it could be Lawson.”
“I’ve thought about that. It doesn’t make any sense that he’d be after me. I wasn’t in Afghanistan. My husband was, and he’s dead.”
&nb
sp; A shadow darkened Mike’s eyes, but she pressed on. “But you’re alive, so if Lawson was behind this he should have come after you first. You, Taggart, and Cooper. You’re the loose ends.”
“You made yourself one when you started digging in the OSD file, Eva.”
“Agreed, but I’m not Lawson’s loose end. I’m a problem to whoever’s calling the shots, and they’re above him on the food chain. Possibly on the top. Lawson’s tied to him in some way, no doubt about that, but the only reason that shooter aimed at you is because you were with me.”
“We’ve come to the same conclusion.” Gabe’s admission earned a scowl from Mike. “Haven’t pinned down the specifics yet but we agree. The intel we’ve turned up says Lawson’s not top dog in this pack. The money, the calls… it’s all coming from higher up. Lawson is definitely high on the pecking order, maybe even an equal partner, but he’s not making the calls by himself.”
“So… what are you thinking? An Al Qaeda splinter group? Russian mafia? Chinese Triad?”
“Could be,” Mike put in grudgingly, “but our money’s on a smaller-scale ‘for-profit’ organization or someone cutting a deal with one. These guys are in it for the money. That’s their bottom line. And while we figure they have business ties to any number of international organized crime syndicates, we see this threat as much smaller potatoes—or it would have been on everyone’s radar from Interpol to Langley long before now.”
“Agreed,” Gabe said. “They’re suppliers and their puppet master has hidden himself behind layers of front men and smoke screens. Lawson’s still our best lead to get to him. We figured he’s had his fingers in illegal weapons and international drug trade for years. Most likely he was into both in Afghanistan, and hasn’t changed his MO since. This tie with Lawson and the Juarez cartel? It’s just another link in the chain. We’re thinking that they might have been locked out of the cartel until Hernandez was caught and convicted. New leadership equals new openings, and they didn’t waste any time getting their foot in the door.”
