Angela. “Yeah.”
“It’s as if the fact we ever loved one another has been buried beneath a mountain of pain. I can’t forgive him for what he did to Michael, or to me.” Her voice cracked. Her fingers gripped her arms so tight the knuckles shone white. “I don’t want anything to do with him ever again.”
“Not even to save yourselves from terrorists?”
She flicked a look at him, and her smile grew sad. “I actually trust you more than I’d trust David to keep us safe.”
Every bit of anger or resentment he might have harbored evaporated. Trust was a big thing for Vivi, and this was the biggest endorsement of faith she could give him. He had to do his best not to screw it up.
She crossed the room and put a log on the fire.
Killion called, and Jed took it into the bedroom to answer.
“How’s the vacation?”
“Sipping mai tai’s on the beach. Saw the folks. Did some snowshoeing.” Jed stared out the window, examining the gloom for any activity. “How’s the investigation going?”
“It’s a nightmare. Presidential visit is making all the bosses figure out how to cover their asses about why we haven’t caught the female tango yet.” He sounded like he hadn’t slept in days.
“Why haven’t you caught her? Thumbscrews not working?”
“Heh. Believe me I wouldn’t mind turning a few screws on our friend in detention, but we’re playing by the book, fucking feds.”
“Goddamn Geneva Convention.”
“Pity the asshole terrorists don’t sign up. The other guy in ICU died.”
“Bastard.”
Killion’s laughter was strained. “No kidding.”
“What did your guy from MI6 tell you?”
“He was a she.”
“Sweet and curvy?”
“As a rattlesnake.”
Jed waited.
“MI6 had a file on one of the guys from the safe house. Guy was a merc.”
“What?” That was not what he’d been expecting to hear.
“A German called Klaus Schmidt.”
What was a mercenary doing attacking a US Marshal safe house? “And the others?”
“With the exception of Klaus, the others all originate from Arab countries, although IDs aren’t conclusive for all of them.”
Had Klaus been a convert, or had he just enjoyed killing people? Maybe he’d been doing a favor for a jihadist buddy, but that’s not how they usually operated. “Any luck finding the one who got away?”
“Vanished without a trace. They seem to be a bunch of highly-trained professionals. If you hadn’t found Michael Vincent at the hotel when you did, Abdullah would have killed the boy and walked away without a qualm. Something tells me you fucked up their plans big time when you caught him.”
“I live to serve.”
Killion grunted. “Doesn’t get me any closer to figuring out who was behind this attack. VP is putting pressure on the president to start an offensive against Syria.”
The vice president was Jewish and a definite opposite of President Hague’s no-war-policy. Shit. This thing was already escalating, and they didn’t even know for sure who was responsible yet.
Jed had another question he wanted to ask Killion. “Did you contact Vivi’s ex?”
The silence at the end of the line crackled with sudden hyper-awareness.
“I spoke to him.”
“Had he heard from them?”
“Not a dicky bird.”
“Did you believe him?”
Killion didn’t answer him directly. “I have to go. McKenzie is yelling at one of the marshals about whose fault the safe house shooting was…oh, and the marshal just tried to deck his ass.”
“I would have liked to see that.”
“I suspect you have much prettier things to look at.” He hung up.
Damn. What did that mean? Did he know Vivi was here? The guy was fishing. Maybe. Fuck.
Jed headed back into the living room. Michael was still drawing. He appeared to be working backward through time, oblivious to Jed and his mother, and everything except the images that poured from his pencil.
Vivi slipped a banana into her son’s hand, and he started eating without even looking up.
“He needs to rest,” she said quietly, but insistently after another hour.
“It’s only ten PM.” Jed knew he had to let the kid sleep, no matter how desperately he needed to not stem the flow of information pouring out of his brain. “Let him finish the next one, then see how he is.” He’d beg if he had to. “We need this information, Vivi. He might hold the key to averting a full scale war.”
The blood drained from her face at that. “Fine, but if he doesn’t rest he won’t be able to get up in the morning, let alone draw anything.”
Jed held onto his patience. She knew Michael better than anyone and was trying. He was already pushing her way past her comfort zone.
Funny that she did the same for him, but in a totally different way. He shifted, finally recognizing the irritable itch for what it was. Unabated sexual frustration. He still wanted her. A wave of anger rose inside him. Anger at himself. This wasn’t the type of federal agent he wanted to be. He wanted to be honorable and focused. The weakness reminded him of Angela and what that mistake may have cost him.
Suck it up.
He was stuck here until they finished this and that was that. But it was torture to be near her, because he couldn’t stop remembering the softness of her lips, or imagining those mile-long legs wrapped around his hips—
He blew out a breath and forced himself to stare at his computer screen. No more thinking about sex. No more remembering those kisses or her explosive orgasm. Better tell the snow not to fall while he was at it.
“As soon as he starts drawing someone you can’t identify, I’ll need to tell my boss you guys are alive and share the images with him.”
Her expression grew somber, but she nodded. Their whereabouts might be compromised. He’d have to bring in more security, at least on the perimeter.
“With any luck this will be over soon and you can go home,” he reminded her.
Her head shot up, and she met his gaze. Then she looked away, hiding whatever thoughts had gone through her mind.
He couldn’t read her anymore. He thought he could, but the more time he spent with her, the more she backed away—as if she was starting to trust him less, rather than more.
It bruised his pride, which was pretty dumb.
He rubbed his chin, deciding he needed to shave before he sprouted a full beard. So he grabbed a quick shower, glad of the excuse to avoid the woman he was growing more and more attached to.
Despite her words she wasn’t the sort to have a quick fling, and he didn’t have the sort of job that was a good fit for a family—although others did it, plenty of agents he knew had full family lives.
Dammit, he liked the bachelor lifestyle.
Except, for the first time in years, he couldn’t think of a single reason why.
***
An hour later, showered, shaved, and still pacing, Jed had to concede the little guy was toast. Michael’s chin rested on the table, and his eyes drooped as his pencil made smaller and smaller scores on the paper. But he’d done several sketches of people Vivi couldn’t identify, and Jed figured they were finally getting somewhere. Jed watched as Michael’s eyelids closed and the pencil lay flat. Vivi immediately stood, ever the vigilant mother, but Jed was there before her. He eased the kid out of the hard-backed chair and into his arms. A few hours’ sleep and hopefully the kid would start up where he’d left off.
“I can do that.” Vivi offered.
The self-sufficient look in her eyes tied him in knots. “Did no one ever help you with Michael before?”
Her mouth fell open, and then her face crumpled.
Shit. “I didn’t mean to—”
She held up her hand. “No. No, I’m just tired. I am grateful for the help.” She wiped rapidly at her chee
To love him, she’d been going to say.
Jed’s throat hurt from the emotions that he had to choke back. That a man had walked out on this woman and this child made him want to hurt someone, preferably her poor excuse for a human being ex at the DIA. It took him a moment to find his voice, and when he did, it was low and grim.
“It was his loss, Vivi. Not yours, remember that. Not all men are assholes.” And then he walked away, feeling like it was his loss too, because this woman and child weren’t his, they could never be his. He just had to make sure they survived long enough to go back to their own lives, which were thousands of miles from his.
***
Elan had rented snowshoes from the man who ran the motel where he was staying. His people had discovered the locations of the properties owned by the Brennan’s, but not a lot else about the family. No social media, no press except that regarding their jobs. A website showcasing the cabins and facilities, but not the specific locations. They were more cautious than most modern Americans. He’d checked out several of the cabins and found that while a few were empty, others were occupied by hunters and families. He’d had to watch them for several hours to be sure the redhead wasn’t there.
It was so cold his fingers were stiff and uncooperative. Not that a little discomfort mattered, but he didn’t want his abilities compromised. He’d gone back to the motel for a hot shower and something warm to eat before venturing out again. Three more places to check before staking out the parents’ cabin and that of the brother. He’d left this particular property until after dark, even though he was going to have to cover a lot of rough ground on foot to get eyes on it. It was isolated and remote. Hard to get close to without obviously trespassing, situated on a little island—one road in, one road out, a semi-frozen lake protecting the rest of the approach.
He parked the truck near woods that flanked the property from the west. The two mile hike on snowshoes felt more like ten in the deep powder, and his muscles burned. Even the rifle slung across his back weighed heavy. Considering his training it was pitiful, but they didn’t get these bitter temperatures where he was from. Snow occasionally, but not this ravenous cold that hurt when it touched flesh. He was getting old.
Thankfully, the snow made everything bright enough to see where he was going without the risk of breaking his neck. He came to the last rise before he got a clear view of the big log cabin surrounded by trees and approached cautiously. There were lights on, and smoke billowed out of the chimney. He looked through the scope of his rifle, but the blinds and curtains were all drawn. The hairs on the back of his neck rose.
Would you really worry about closing the blinds when you were in a place this remote?
But Brennan was a federal agent. He might not like to sit around as exposed as a big, bare ass in a pair of police headlights.
It was entirely possible Brennan was holed up here alone, taking a break while the rest of the world went to hell. Didn’t seem likely though.
Elan couldn’t see the vehicle from this angle—might not be Brennan at all. He might be staying with his parents, hell, he might be in Canada by now. Elan was going to have to get closer. Much closer. He ducked down behind the ridge and checked his pistol before he trudged back through the snow. The sweat started to cool on his back and made shivers wrack his body. This whole idea had seemed like such a sure-fire plan two months ago. Now he was hunting children for the sake of his country.
He placed his feet carefully in the snow, unable to be completely quiet with the need for haste nipping at his heels. The silent quality of the woods spoke to him. There was a feel to this world that reminded him of the stakes—survival, pure and simple. It didn’t get more elemental than that. The old Robert Frost poem echoed in his head. He too had a long way to go before he could rest.
It took another twenty minutes, fighting his way through thick brush and briars that edged the lake. The lake was crusted by thin ice, not strong enough to hold his weight. It made the cottage the perfect defensive position from a ground attack. One way in. One way out.
He rested for a moment and caught his breath, lungs and muscles burning from the exertion. The slight pain felt good. It made him feel alive. Somehow more worthy of the prey.
A low, rumbling noise had him freezing in place. His eyes searched the dark, and he made out the faint outline of a dark colored vehicle half hidden in the shadows of the trees. Cop car. Elan smiled.
He’d come to the right place.
***
Since she’d first met Jed Brennan her body had been slowly waking up from a long sleep. It was making her short-tempered and angry at herself that she couldn’t ask for what she wanted—a chance to make love with a man she trusted. To recover some of her femininity. To give him back what he’d given her that morning. Even just once.
She stood in the shower, warm water cascading over her. She washed her poor abused feet, pleased they were starting to heal. She imagined it was his hands slipping down her body in a soapy glide. His big, strong hands cupping the weight of her breasts, pinching her nipples into taut nubs, sliding lower, over her navel, between her legs to hot, dark, secret places that wanted him so badly. She squeezed her thighs together, and her legs trembled as she remembered what he’d made her feel that morning. It had been so long she’d almost forgotten she had needs and desires only a man could meet.
There had been a time when she’d been confident of herself in bed. Before. Before Michael had needed every scrap of energy and concentration. Before her husband had turned on her and made her feel like a failure as a woman.
She’d withdrawn into such a pathetic ball of hurt she was almost ashamed to think about it. The control she’d let her ex have over her self-worth was staggering. She touched herself then, and her head dropped back, her dark hair plastered to the tile. Her finger slid over herself and inside and it felt wonderful, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted a man. She wanted Jed.
She gritted her teeth in frustration. Her son was in danger, and she wanted someone to screw her? What sort of mother did that make her?
Flawed. Weak. Needy. Like the rest of the human race.
The events of this week had obliterated her nice, safe, little world. It had reminded her about a place that existed outside school schedules and specialists’ appointments, outside working her butt off to make ends meet. Surviving had become paramount, blowing aside all the reasons and fears she usually had about opening up to a man, about trusting one. Heck, there was now a handgun in her bedside drawer ‘just in case’—life didn’t get any more surreal than that. So she shouldn’t feel guilty for thinking about sex. It was perfectly normal.
It might be the only normal thing about her life right now.
Everything else went against human nature. Blood. Death. Murder. But wanting to feel Jed Brennan’s weight pressing her into the mattress, pushing between her legs, was normal and healthy and OK. It was OK.
The water started to cool so she turned off the faucet. Still aching and frustrated and hungry for a man who was determined not to get involved with a woman he was ‘protecting’. She climbed out of the shower, dried off, and towel dried her hair. Then she wrapped a fresh towel around her torso and walked out of the bathroom, steam billowing in her wake.
Jed stood in the shadows placing a glass of wine on the nightstand.
“You forgot your… I thought you might like…” He trailed off as he looked up and seemed to become aware she was only wearing a towel.
The light from the bathroom was enough to show his eyes darkening with desire. He wanted her. Even though he’d held her at arm’s length since that morning, he wanted her. Even though he’d said he wouldn’t get involved. He wanted her. And she wanted him.
Was that selfish? Probably. But their time together was coming to an end.
He started to back out of the room, so Vivi made a decision and let the towel drop.
His jaw clenched. Lust shone clearly in his eyes, almost violently, but he was determined to resist her, and he didn’t move from the spot. Still trying to be noble. Still trying not to take advantage of her. Well, she intended to take advantage of him. She wanted to be a woman again. To make love. Have sex.
She didn’t need a lifelong commitment, just mutual respect and a whole lot of like.
She walked toward him, and his eyes glittered darkly as he tilted his head to one side, clearly disappointed in her. Because she’d tempted him, and she intended to take it further than temptation, much further, and he knew it.
Her palms found heated muscle through the warm cotton of his shirt, and she smoothed her hands up his abs, over his pecs, and across the broad shoulders that did funny things to her insides when she looked at them.
She reached up on tip-toe and pressed a kiss beside his mouth. “I don’t need forever.”
“You deserve more than a quick fling.” His voice was rough. He hadn’t touched her yet, but she could feel the strain in his body as he fought to hold back.
She reached up further, dragged her teeth over the lobe of his ear. Took a chance. “It might be the only opportunity we get.”
He shuddered, then put both hands firmly on her hips. She thought he was going to push her away, but instead his fingers dug in, and he pulled her against him. The length of him shockingly hard against her stomach. Oh, yes. He definitely wanted her. She moved closer. God, she had missed this. It had been years since she’d had sex and was almost embarrassed by how much she wanted to jump this man. His mouth grazed her neck, and she rubbed her aching breasts against his chest.
He groaned and turned them both around so her back was pressed against the door, and she was trapped in his arms. He dipped his head and licked his way down to one nipple, drawing the sensitized bead into his mouth and making pleasure flick along her nerve endings. His other hand slid lower, and he dragged her thigh around his hip and leaned against her hot, wet core, sending sensation shooting through her like sparks.
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