In the Line of Fire: Hot Desert Heroes, Book 1

by Jett Munroe

  “You need to open up to me,” she whispered. “Because I don’t think I can accept you giving only half of yourself to me.”

  “Or you’ll walk?” He wasn’t a big fan of ultimatums, even if this was the plan he’d just settled on.

  Her response was a slight shrug.

  He drew in a breath. “You stay with me until we’ve neutralized Dujardin,” he told her, jabbing a finger in her direction. “Then, if you’re not happy with me, we’re done. Over.” He opened his office door. “I gotta get some air,” he muttered and walked away from her. He thought he heard a curse break from her but steeled himself to not turn around and go back. Decisions had consequences, as they were both finding out.

  * * * * *

  Three days later they were no closer to flushing out Dujardin than they had been before they even knew he was in town. Even Ty, with his contacts, was coming up dry. They’d given their reports to the police, and Delaney had sat with a sketch artist to describe Edmond Barras, aka Germano Dujardin. Beck had gotten a copy of the sketch and had almost crumpled it in his fist when he saw the face.

  Fuck. Dujardin had obviously gone through extensive plastic surgery to change his features, and Beck had seen the bastard in Coffee & Confections more than once, usually sitting by himself at a table, reading a newspaper or just sipping coffee and eating a scone. Fucking cocksucking asshole bastard! He’d been there all along and could have struck at any time. But he’d waited until Beck and Delaney became a couple before he lashed out, because right in front of his face was proof Beck had gotten on with his life and had the reward of all that was Delaney.

  Beck’s temper grew shorter and shorter. The night of the bomb threat Delaney had tried to sleep in the guest room. He’d gone in and carried her back to their bedroom and put her in bed with him. When he’d woken the next morning, she was already up and dressed for work and that was when he realized she’d moved her clothing to the second bedroom and her toiletries to the guest bath.

  Last night he’d tried to talk to her, but she’d shut down on him. She’d gotten ready for bed, wearing one of his tees and a pair of sleep shorts, and climbed into bed. When he’d acted surprised, she muttered, “You’ll just move me.” As soon as he’d joined her, she turned on her side, away from him, as close to her edge of the king-sized bed as she could get. He’d lain there sleepless, feeling like miles separated them instead of a mere two feet.

  Now it was late morning. The men were gathered in Beck’s office, Delaney at her desk out front. Quincy had been out front with her, but after making sure the front door was locked and reminding her not to buzz anyone in, he popped back into Beck’s office for their powwow.

  The men had noticed the lack of warmth between Beck and Delaney, though neither he nor she talked about what was going on. From the killer looks he’d gotten from her girlfriends when they stopped by the office to take her to lunch yesterday, he knew she’d spilled her guts to them, at least. And also to Gabe’s wife, if the frost she’d dealt him this morning was anything to go by. She’d dropped something off that Gabe forgot at home and said hello to him with ice dripping off her voice.

  “If looks could kill,” Gabe had muttered before he beat a hasty retreat to his own office.

  Now frustration rode high on Beck. He slammed his hand down on the desk, making Rafe, nose in the computer, jump. Beck glared at Ty. “You mean to tell me that not one law enforcement officer in this whole goddamn county has seen the bastard?”

  “That’s what I’m telling you.” Ty’s eyes glittered. “And don’t take your frustration out on the rest of us, brother. You fucked it up with Laney; you’re the one who has to deal with it, not us.”

  Before Beck could respond, Rafe said, “I’ve got something.” When the men looked at him, he put his face back to the computer screen and started tapping away at the keys. “I hacked into the traffic-control cameras and caught this.” He pointed to the screen and there, large as life, was a picture of Dujardin, still in his light-blue sedan, driving through an intersection. “He ran the red light about three hours ago and the camera snapped his picture. It’s of no help in tracking his movements now, but at least we know he’s driving the same car.”

  Beck straightened up. Looking at Ty, he growled, “Call Maxwell again. See if he has anything more.”

  Ty shook his head but obligingly got on his cell phone. He walked into the hallway as the men continued to discuss Dujardin. At least Beck continued to discuss the Frenchman.

  Quincy, on the other hand, wanted to talk about someone else. “You and Laney done?”

  Beck’s gaze snapped to him. “What?”

  “You heard me.” The Southerner’s face was impassive, though something burned in his eyes. It was fleeting, so Beck couldn’t get a handle on it before Quincy said again, “You and Laney done?”

  Beck felt heat roar up his neck. “Why?”

  “Because if you are, I want my shot.”

  “Your shot?” Beck asked, his voice going low with the beginnings of what promised to turn into full-blown caveman rage. The heat expanded into his head. Either the top of his head was going to blow off or he was about to have a stroke. Whichever, he’d make sure he flattened Quincy first if he was about to say what he thought he was about to say.

  The other man either didn’t recognize the danger he was in or chose to ignore it. “My shot at Delaney.” When Beck made a move toward him, he held his ground and muttered, “Man, you know if it ain’t me it’s gonna be somebody else.”

  Beck took another step forward and that brought Gabe out of his chair. He put a hand in the middle of Beck’s chest. Beck glanced down at it then stared into Gabe’s eyes.

  “Don’t give me the evil eye,” came Gabe’s response. “I’m with Ty on this one. You’re the one who fucked up. You fix it.”

  He backed away. “It’s her decision. Nothin’ I can do about it.”

  “Bullshit. What it is, is you bein’ an idiot.” Quincy stalked to the door. “Let me know when you get somethin’. I’m going back out to the lobby to keep Laney company.”

  Beck almost called him back but stopped at the last minute. Ever since the bomb, Delaney hadn’t been left alone for more than five minutes. When she wasn’t with Beck, she was with one of the other guys, even if that meant they had to sit in the reception area with her.

  He scrubbed the back of his neck and glanced at Gabe, who was looking at him with a mixture of anger and pity. “Don’t say it.”

  “Say what? That I also think you’re a fool? You’re the one who went after Laney, remember? She’d been doing a damn fine job of avoiding you, avoiding all of us, until you cornered her and asked her out. What were you expecting? That she’d sit around taking whatever little bit you decided to give her and be happy with it? Or maybe you figured you’d just have sex and not talk at all.”

  Fuck. “You think Dujardin’s the only one out there with a grudge?” he asked softly. “What happens five years from now, ten, twenty, when someone else comes lookin’ for revenge?”

  “Then we’ll deal with it.” Gabe gripped his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You know why Delaney and you ended up being okay? Because we had your six, Commander. We’ll always have your six.”

  Ty came back into the room. “Maxwell may have somethin’. One of Dujardin’s old contacts got a call asking him to wire some money. Looks like ol’ Germano might be runnin’ outta cash.”

  “Huh.” Rafe tapped along on the keyboard then whistled. “Boys, I think I have something.” He pushed his chair back from the desk and pointed to the screen. “Two days ago one Edmond Barras closed out two credit cards and his checking account after ten thousand dollars was wired to it.”

  “How does that help?” Beck asked impatiently.

  “You didn’t let me finish. A Mr. Charles Smith has booked a flight for this afternoon at four from TIA to New York with a layover i
n Atlanta. A nonstop flight to London leaves JFK at six tomorrow morning, and our Mr. Smith is booked on that flight as well. All of this paid by cashier’s check.” Rafe leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. “Which someone would do if they didn’t have credit cards or a bank account they could get to without being caught.”

  Beck exploded into motion. “Gear up,” he told his colleagues. “Rafe, you stay here with Gabe. Gabe, call the local US Marshals’ office. Dujardin is an international fugitive. They can coordinate with us at the airport. Tell ’em to meet me in the airport police department. Also, scan that sketch of Dujardin and send it to our phones. We’ll share it with them.”

  They left, Ty heading toward his office to get his firearm, and Rafe and Gabe moving toward the lobby. Beck grabbed his gun from the desk, checked the clip, then slid it into the shoulder holster and shrugged into it. Then he grabbed a suit coat hanging in a cubby by his desk and shoved his arms into the sleeves. As he got the jacket up onto his shoulders he left his office and went to the supply room. He laid his palm on the scanner mounted on the wall by the door, and when the lock clicked, he pushed open the door. He grabbed three clips of extra ammunition and enough earbud communication devices for all of them.

  He left the room to see Ty and Gabe coming down the hallway toward him from opposite directions, Ty from his office and Gabe from the lobby. “Getting my gun,” Gabe said. “Told Quincy he’s with you and Ty. He’s already armed.” He kept going and disappeared into his office.

  Beck and Ty reached the lobby, where Beck handed Ty and Quincy each an extra clip of ammo and pocketed the third one for himself. He also gave them an earbud apiece. Quincy immediately slid the bud into his ear. The extra clip of ammo he shoved into the back pocket of his jeans.

  Beck kept an earpiece and handed the final two to Rafe. “We’ll be in constant communication. I want you and Gabe ready to move Delaney out to a hotel room if we give notice the mission has failed,” he said, continuing to bark out orders. “Laney is not left alone until we have Dujardin in custody.”

  Rafe nodded. “You got it.”

  Beck told Quincy, “You’re with me and Ty. Details on the way.”

  He tried to ignore the fact that Quincy, rather than sitting in one of the comfortable guest chairs, had planted his ass on the corner of Delaney’s desk, where he could lean over her and be within touching distance. Beck hated the thought of Quincy, hell, of any other man, touching her, but he didn’t want to give her the secrets he was holding. He’d made some hard choices in life, and if circumstances were repeated, there weren’t many decisions he’d change. She needed to accept him for the man he was now, today, and not judge him on things he may or may not have done in the past, and he just wasn’t sure that she could. Or would.

  If he told her and she walked away, he knew it would break him. At least if he kept his mouth shut, she’d walk out of his life but she’d be free of his darkness. He also knew he owed it to her, and himself, to be open, to really give them a chance.

  He just couldn’t.

  Delaney’s eyes had purple shadows beneath them, the expression in them… There was no expression. They were lifeless. It killed that he’d done that to her, that he’d taken away her vivacity, but she’d get over him. She had to.

  “Rafe and Gabe are staying with you, Laney,” he told her.

  She nodded. “Yeah, I got that.” Her eyes darted to his shoulder. “Be careful,” she whispered.

  God, it was like the past several weeks had never happened. She was back to avoiding his gaze. He tried to ignore the remonstrating looks he was getting from his team, and as Gabe rejoined them in the lobby, Beck snapped, “Move out.”

  He’d get Dujardin back behind bars if it was the last thing he did.

  He glanced over his shoulder and briefly met Delaney’s gaze. Why couldn’t she just accept him? He couldn’t lose her and go back to living in the cold.

  He’d have to deal with that later, though. Right now he had a fugitive to catch.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Attentive to his surroundings, Beck walked out of the REG building by the back door. Dujardin might try something again, desperate to get revenge before he caught his flight to New York. Assuming that Charles Smith was, indeed, Germano Dujardin. But at this point it was all they had to go on, and Beck had to do something.

  His phone binged a notification. He pulled it out of his pocket and saw that Gabe had scanned and forwarded the sketch of Dujardin. As Beck slipped his phone back into his jeans, a car he didn’t recognize pulled into the lot. He stiffened and slid his hand beneath his suit coat to wrap his fingers around the grip of his gun. Ty and Quincy flanked him, hands on their weapons as well. The driver climbed out of the car and, recognizing him, Beck relaxed and told the men, “Stand down. He’s a friendly.”

  The smile on Alexander Kemp’s face fled at the combat-ready stance Beck and the others were in. “What’s goin’ on?” Beck’s boyhood friend asked.

  Beck made the introductions, letting Ty and Quincy know that Alex had skills simply by telling them he’d been a member of the elite Delta Company, then answered Alex with a terse, “Dujardin’s out.”

  Alex’s eyebrows shot up. “He’s out? Thought he was doin’ life in an Afghani hellhole.”

  Beck had shared with Alex all that happened as soon as he hit stateside on leave, because he knew Alex, having served as an Army Ranger, would understand what he’d done. “Was supposed to,” Beck muttered. He headed toward his SUV. “Come with us. We could use the help.”

  “Yeah. Sure.” Alex jogged to catch up with them. When the other three men started checking the vehicle, he watched for a few seconds then said, “Uh, hey, fellas? You think Dujardin would set a bomb in your vehicle? From what I remember hearing of the man, it’s not his style.”

  Certain the SUV was clean, Beck opened the driver’s-side door and checked the seat before climbing in. Ty got in the front passenger side and Quincy and Alex folded their large frames into the backseat.

  “He left a bomb with a mercury switch for my girlfriend three days ago,” Beck said in answer to his friend’s comment. He started the vehicle and backed out of the parking spot.

  Alex let out a low whistle. “Man, he’s got a hard-on for you, don’t he?” Then, “Girlfriend?”

  Beck barked a short laugh. “We’ll talk about her later.” He guided the SUV into traffic and headed toward the airport. He didn’t care that it was just after eleven o’clock and they were going to have to wait for nearly four hours for Charles Smith, if he was indeed Dujardin, to show up. But they’d have to coordinate with airport police and the local office of the US Marshals Service, so they needed time to get people in place. He hoped Dujardin didn’t have the same idea of getting to the airport early. His gut tightened on this thought—the Frenchman could go back to REG with only Rafe and Gabe there to protect Delaney.

  But Rafe and Gabe were both skilled marksmen and cool under fire, and the building had limited access. Beck trusted they’d keep her safe. And when this was all over, regardless of his status with Delaney, they were putting up surveillance cameras and setting up a monitored security room in his own goddamn company.

  “Well hell, that explains your voice mail, I guess,” Alex mused.

  Beck drew a blank. “Voice mail?”

  “Yeah. You left me a voice mail last month, telling me you’d spotted me one mornin’. I came here to let you know it wasn’t me who was tailin’ you. Must’ve been Dujardin ’cause I’ve been in Paraguay for the last three months.”

  Beck could have kicked himself. He’d gotten so tied up in knots over Delaney he’d completely put that damn blue car out of his mind, had convinced himself he’d imagined it. Now he figured it probably had been Dujardin trying to locate where Beck lived or worked.

  Then Delaney got laid off and Beck gave her both a place to live and to work, and they happen
ed to be in the same building. All Dujardin had had to do was follow her, and he’d been golden.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. He maneuvered his cell phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and handed it to Alex. “Open the pictures folder. First pic that comes up is him. Keep in mind he might have a few days’ worth of beard growth, could’ve gotten a toupee or be wearing glasses or a hat.”

  “This ain’t our first rodeo,” Quincy said. His tone suggested he still thought Beck was an idiot.

  “You got a problem with me, you tell me now, Quince. You can stay in the SUV.” When Alex tapped his shoulder with the cell phone, Beck reached up and took it. He dropped it into the cup holder in the center console.

  “Yeah, I got a problem with you and you know it. But what I also got is your back.” Quincy muttered something under his breath that Beck didn’t catch but figured it was totally uncomplimentary.

  “I miss somethin’?” Alex asked.

  Beck opened his mouth to deny it, but Ty jumped in with, “Beck’s got a lovely lady who he’s encouraging to walk outta his life because he’s too chickenshit to reach for the brass ring.”

  Beck made a sharp turn that got mumbled expletives from his passengers. “Sorry,” he muttered in return. Though he wasn’t. People riding in motorized vehicles should be careful about antagonizing the driver. Alex was unfortunate enough to have come along for the ride. Beck took the ramp to the freeway and merged with the traffic headed south.

  “She the one you told me about six months ago or so?” Alex asked. “The pretty one who’s really shy and kept runnin’ away from you at the coffee shop?”

  “That’s the one,” Ty said. “He finally cornered her, got her settled down, and she bloomed, brother. Like a fuckin’ flower. But Beck, bein’ Beck, thinks she’s too delicate a flower to take in all that he is, so he’s holdin’ back on her. Thinks all she needs to flourish is sunshine and no rain. Thinks she’ll wither in his darkness if he shares.” Ty gave him a sidelong glance. “I got that right, Cap?”