Savi laughed, then lifted an eyebrow at the large-caliber bullet shaped bottle opener in her hand. “What’s up with this?” she asked when she handed it back to him to open his own beer. “Are you one of those guys where everything has to be extra super macho?”
“Not at all.” He grinned a little as he glanced at the metal in his hand. “This was a gift, from somebody important. It’s more nostalgic than anything.”
“Mmhmm.”
Savi noted the hint of sadness in his eyes as he returned the bullet to his pocket, but pushed it from her mind. She wasn’t interested in his emotional plight – she was worried about her own.
No matter how many of her superiors, or more seasoned operatives claimed that taking someone’s life would get easier, it never did, not for her. She did it because it was her job, and because her targets were truly awful people, so there was at least some gratification in that.
Though she was ridding the world of scum, the fact remained that she was taking the role of grim reaper, wielding unearned power over someone else’s life. It didn’t help that she was medically trained as well, and instead of using that knowledge for healing, she took the exact opposite route. It was a moral dilemma that haunted her, but every time she considered retiring, some new evil came along, another coded file on another bastard terrorizing people in one country or another. And she always told herself... maybe next time.
So yeah, the hottie could keep his nostalgic bullshit to himself.
“What brings you to Brazil?” she asked, taking a swig from the freshly opened beer. “Business or pleasure?”
He drank from his own, then answered: “Pleasure.”
Although she’d posed the question in a way that begged for the cliché response, she rolled her eyes and laughed. “So… you’re in Brazil for pleasure, and instead of finding yourself a gorgeous Brazilian woman, you find the black American. No foreign booty for you?”
“Not that kind of pleasure,” he chuckled. “Supposed to be vacationing, you know? But no, no “foreign booty”. Black women happen to be my favorite flavor.”
Something about the way those words rolled off his thick lips made heat blossom between her thighs, and she knew right then that before the night was over, she would put his statement to the test. Savi took another long drag from her beer, then pressed the cold bottle to her neck. She suppressed a smile as condensation dripped from the glass to her skin, and his eyes followed the drip from her neck to between her breasts before he brought them back to her face.
“What brings you to South America?”
“Pleasure,” she responded, with a slow grin. “I was with my friend, but she left with someone, so… here we are.”
He nodded. “Here we are.” He drank again, and said nothing for a few moments, then finally, “What’s your name?”
For a second, she considered lying, then said, “Savannah. Yours?”
“My friends call me Cole.”
“I’m not your friend.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You could be.”
“You don’t want to be my friend,” she scoffed, then leaned forward, putting a hand high on his thigh. The hard muscle of his leg almost made her lose concentration, but she shook her head, meeting his eyes. “You say you’re not here for “that” kind of pleasure, but be honest, Cole. If that’s really your name. You approached me because you want to sleep with me, don’t you?”
His eyebrow crept higher, and a smile teased the corners of his mouth before he took the final gulp from his own beer. He swept her with his eyes, and then he leaned forward as well, hooking his fingers under her knee to stroke the sensitive back of her thigh. His touch sent pinpricks of pleasure over her in a wave that started at the point where they were skin to skin, and extended to her fingers and toes.
“Honestly, yes. You’re a beautiful woman, and I’d love the pleasure of your company tonight, if you so choose.” His fingers crept higher. “Do you?”
“I do.”
He smiled then, a slow, sexy smile that soaked the flimsy panties she wore under her skirt. “Your room or mine?”
“Mine.”
“Lead the way.”
present day
Savannah cringed as the disconcerting sound of a fist against the door pulled her away from the memory of the night she and Harrison met. Hours had passed, and she knew what that insistent knock meant.
“Is he going to live?”
She’d heard that question with varying degrees of ire directed at the subject from every person packed in Inez’s house. Taylor, Kennedy, and maybe Renata were the only ones who seemed to really have an interest in him remaining alive outside of the answers he could provide. When Marcus asked, his voice was so scarily lacking emotion that she honestly wished the answer was “no”, so that he wouldn’t have to endure whatever abuse this group had in mind.
She stopped short at making a determination of whether or not that abuse would be deserved.
Instead, she’d swallowed hard, and gave Marcus the same “that’s yet to be determined. Be patient, please.” she’d given everyone else, and lifted an eyebrow in response when he clenched his jaw, as if her answer wasn’t acceptable. He narrowed his eyes and stared, and she’d stared right back, crossing her arms over her chest, daring an argument, until he backed down.
All she wanted was to let the man sleep. He needed a hospital, and more care than Savannah could provide, even with the sophisticated medical facility Inez had in her compound. Three gunshots in one leg, hours of surgery in attempt to reverse that damage… he deserved to sleep.
So he would.
Because she said so.
Because... it was Harrison.
Things between them had started as a one night stand. But they’d left that hotel room with contact information for the other that hardly anyone else had. Their secret rendezvous had given way to long talks on the phone, and long hours spent cuddled together in bed. Feelings so deeply ingrained she couldn’t forget them no matter how hard she tried. Words of love she honestly wished she’d never said.
Maybe it would have been easier that way, when he told her they were done.
Someone pounded on the door again, and beside her, Harrison stirred. She put a hand to his arm, the sensation of skin on skin making him open his eyes. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other, but then another knock came, and Savannah mustered a smile.
“I hope you studied,” she joked, weakly. “You have some questions to answer.”
Four.
Inez could tell it was taking every bit of self-control Marcus had not to punch the smug expression from Harrison’s face. It was obvious, from the tension lining his jaw, to the strain of his skin over fisted hands as he paced the back of the room.
Good thing I have Kendall and Quentin here to keep him in check, she thought, as she took a seat in the chair beside Harrison’s hospital bed. They’d had as close to a knock-down-drag-out fight as they could without actually exchanging blows, over which of them would be the one to ask the questions.
To Inez, she was the obvious choice. She was the only person there with no vendetta, the only one who could possibly be neutral in all of this. Kendall was a close second, but he had a personal beef with Terry King. Sure, there was the whole an enemy of my enemy is a friend thing, but at this point, with so much confusion happening, who really knew which was which?
Which brought her to the man in front of her.
Harrison Cole, right hand man of Damien Wolfe, and a bit of a mystery. He’d been with Wolfe for years, helping plan and organize his crimes, then cleaning up after. But, Quentin and Renata had both been on it, and so far, they couldn’t pin Harrison to a crime. He kept his own hands clean, even cleaner than Wolfe’s. So what was the true nature of their involvement? Was he really just an assistant, or more?
Those were the important things they needed answered. Logistical things, not the emotional stuff the others wanted to know. It wasn’t that Inez thought those answers were
unimportant, or undeserved, but when their safety – all of their safety—was in question, and they were leaving in less than an hour, the other stuff took precedence.
“Let’s not waste time,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. Harrison looked positively bored, but she had a strong suspicion it was a front. Inez knew she looked badass, in fitted, all-black, assassin-style gear, and an expression that said she would kill him without a second thought. She had guns openly holstered at either side of her waist, one in a shoulder holster, and countless hidden blades she could pull and put through a particularly painful spot of her choice.
Harrison wasn’t stupid. He knew what was up. The only question was whether he was going to make this process easy and pain-free, or hard, with lots of blood. Inez hoped for the former.
On the other side of Harrison, Savi sat with her arms folded, cool dejection in her eyes. Inez knew that if she acted against Harrison, her immediate next move would have to be against her friend, and she didn’t want to resort to that. She wasn’t afraid of Savi, but she didn’t want her as an opponent either. She used to be black-ops, a for real assassin, with the medical training to know the most efficient methods, not just someone who dressed like it. There was a strong likelihood that Savi could slice Inez’s throat and be back in her chair before she even got to Harrison.
It wasn’t a game Inez wanted to play.
In any case, the women had an understanding. Inez could say or do anything she wanted to try to get answers out of Harrison, as long as she did him no real harm.
“How did you find us?”
It was a simple enough question, but Inez expected a cryptic answer, full of roundabout bullshit, even though she’d already been told about the phone call. Instead, Harrison simply said: “Savi.”
Immediately, Inez looked to her, but Savi’s eyes were narrowed on Harrison, her face twisted in undeniable shock. Harrison kept his gaze fixed on Inez. “I caught a glimpse of her, in the background of a call one day when Damien was talking with Renata. Savi was re-bandaging her shoulder, and I saw her.”
Savannah sat forward, nostrils flared. “That doesn’t explain—”
“I’ve been keeping up with Savi, for the last few years,” Harrison continued, as if no one else had spoken. “Since she and I stopped speaking. She didn’t know, but I wanted to make sure she was good.”
Savi shook her head. “I would have noticed that, you’re lying.”
“You wouldn’t have. It wasn’t a tail, or anything around the clock. It was just somebody checking on you. Seeing where you were, if you were okay. That’s all.”
Inez watched closely for Savi’s reaction to Harrison’s words. The other woman sat back, arms still crossed, but she was noticeably less stoic. Her eyes were suddenly wet, and she kept swallowing hard, looking at her feet, the ceiling, the monitors, anywhere but either of them.
“So,” Inez said, turning her attention back to Harrison. “You saw Savi, figured out the connection, figured out where we are. Okay. Fine. Why come to us? You had to know you wouldn’t be welcomed with warmth and affection.”
He grinned. “Yeah, I wasn’t expecting balloons and confetti but,” – his expression shifted into something more serious – “It wasn’t about me. I knew the girls would be safe if I brought them here, so that’s what I did.”
“Safe from who?”
“Terry King. He showed up at the house ready for war, so I got the kids and got them the fuck out of there.”
Behind Inez, Marcus snorted. “Saving your own ass in the process.”
“Goddamned right,” Harrison said. “I’m not a fucking bodyguard, and it wasn’t my day to die. I had my orders. My responsibility in that kind of situation was to look out for the kids, so that’s what I did. I’m sure your girl appreciates me saving her sisters. I mean… it’s not like you did.”
“Mothafucka I will kill you, don’t you—”
“Dios mio.” Inez pushed out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers. She didn’t have to look to know that the cursing, scuffling commotion she heard behind her was Kendall and Quentin keeping Marcus contained. “Marcus, relajarse, or you can leave,” she called over her shoulder. “We don’t have time for this.”
“Yeah,” Harrison chimed, smirking. “Chill, Agent Calloway. You’ve got nothing to have your panties in a bunch about.”
That set Marcus off again, and with her patience already very low, Inez stood up, drawing both guns from the holster at her waist. She pointed both at Harrison, one at his knee cap, the other in the area of his groin.
“You ever had a gun pointed at your cojones, Harrison?”
Inez lifted an eyebrow as she waited for him to respond, ignoring the chaos around her. Savi had risen to her feet, gun aimed and ready for double-taps to the head and heart. Kendall and Quentin were struggling to keep Marcus under control. But then, faintly, she heard the unmistakable sound of broken glass, and her veins frosted over.
“Callarse!” she snapped, turning to point one of her weapons at Marcus. Her demand to shut up was unnecessary, because the others had heard it too. There was a moment of stillness, and Inez almost wondered if they’d all imagined it, but then in the silence, she heard the crack of gunshots. Everyone sprang into action at once, and Harrison was quickly forgotten as they clamored for the door.
&
Thirty minutes earlier…
“Let’s have breakfast before we go.”
Naomi watched Renata level that suggestion at the teenagers, only for it to be met with rolled eyes. Even after a few hours of sleep, the girls still appeared to be upset over the comments they’d overheard about Wolfe. Renata’s eyebrow moved slowly, cocking up, twitching with her effort to remain calm and understanding with the teenagers. Naomi wouldn’t have been nearly as diplomatic.
“Yes, let’s,” she said, coming to Renata’s aid, before the other woman popped a blood vessel. She ushered the girls into the kitchen, where she sat them down at the island, propping glasses in front of them.
They were on hour five of the six hours they’d given themselves before they headed out. Already packed up and ready to go, just waiting now to make sure Harrison was stable, and talk to him before they started moving anything or anyone.
Naomi understood, without asking, that Renata was trying to normalize a completely abnormal situation. Waking up at the butt-crack of dawn to move from one safe house to another, running from an unknown enemy, trying to piece together the dysfunction of this entire situation… none of this was normal, at all.
But if having breakfast would help them pretend… so be it.
Naomi handed Renata the orange juice from the fridge, and the other woman proceeded to pour glasses for Taylor and Kennedy. A scowling Taylor snatched hers away, leaning forward to pull the carton from her mother’s hands. “I can pour my own,” she muttered, doing it quickly, then taking her glass to the table, with Kennedy right behind her.
Naomi looked back to Renata just in time to see the sigh she gave before she turned to the other side of the counter, cracking eggs into a bowl. Saying nothing, Naomi poured herself a glass of juice, snagged a muffin from the basket on the counter, and sat with the girls. Her stomach grumbled – in hunger or irritation she couldn’t tell – until she lifted the muffin to her mouth and began to eat, swallowing every few bites with a gulp from her juice.
Something isn’t right.
She felt it in her gut, and the thought made her lower her hand to her stomach. Maybe it was just the stress of the current situation. It wasn’t like her radar for such things had been accurate lately anyway. She took another bite of her muffin, then turned toward the window. A moment later, shattered glass from the huge bay window was raining down around them.
The old Naomi, the badass that had been hovering just out of reach since the news of her pregnancy, knew exactly what to do.
Get Taylor and Kennedy down, away from the window.
Hand them over to Renata, who’d abandone
d the making of an omelet to stow the girls in Inez’s pantry, where AR-15s were nestled between cases of seltzer water.
Pull out her weapon, because even though she was having breakfast, even though she was pregnant, even though Inez’s compound was supposed to be an impenetrable safe haven, she remembered.
Diligence. Focus. Agility.
Of course she was armed.
The words of her mantra never left her, but with everything that’d happened, they’d been impossible to grasp. Now, as she ducked behind the granite slab island with Renata at her side, she found a finger hold, and held tight. Intruders would be next, and they would be armed.
Canisters on the floor, probably the cause of the broken windows, began to fill the room with smoke. Thinking quickly, she kicked the floor-level button that would activate the huge vent-hood over the island, a new-ish feature Naomi had honestly considered blowing up a few weeks ago when Inez wouldn’t shut up about it.
Now? It was a blessing.
The vent worked fast to clear the smoke, but that was a double-edged sword. If they could see their attackers, the attackers could see them. It was pointless to scream, because even if the others did hear them, all the way downstairs, they would be long dead before anyone could spring into action. Pointless to attempt a call, because the reception down in the basement level was spotty.
Naomi looked at Renata, and the two exchanged a nod.
They were on their own.
Wordlessly, they moved to opposite ends of the granite island, weapons pointed. Naomi took a quick, deep breath, then pushed out into the open, staying low, because they wouldn’t be looking for her there. The acrid smell of burnt eggs filled Naomi’s nose as she pulled the trigger, double-tapping the head of every black-clad figure that stepped through gaping hole where the window used to be. She hated guns, hated them so much, and a little piece of her died with every resounding boom in her ear. But if it was between her and them… she chose herself.
She tripped over something as she moved forward. She fell, and her face connected hard with the polished hardwood floor, but she kept her grip on her weapon, and got back up. Her ears rang from the booming gunshots, and the air was smoky, but she was alert. She counted three figures slumped in the path before her to the window, and to her right, Renata had eliminated another three on her way to cautiously peer through the shattered glass.
Save Me If You Can Page 4
