Omega Force 01- Storm Force

by Susannah Sandlin

  Kell flicked on the TV and half dozed/half watched the evening news. Tropical Storm Geneva still churned in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, almost stationary as she gained strength and waited to see which of two slow-moving weather systems would arrive first to steer her toward land. Still could go anywhere.

  The water shut off in the bathroom, and he heard Mori open the door, retrieve the T-shirt, and shut it again. Kell sat up, took a deep breath, and prayed for patience. Getting her to open up would test his composure and tact. Neither were among his strengths.

  A couple of minutes later, she came out, skin moist and pink from the shower, her shoulder-length hair damp and slightly curled from the humidity. His Ranger shirt looked a hell of a lot better on her than it ever had on him, especially tucked into those jeans that hugged every curve.

  He was so fucked.

  She threw her old T-shirt on the dresser and turned to face him. “What now?”

  Keep it cool, man. “We need to talk. About you, about the bombing, about the governor, about Michael Benedict.”

  She’d remained stone-faced until Benedict’s name was spoken; then she blinked and looked at the door, the other bed, the floor. Everywhere but at Kell.

  “I wouldn’t know where to start. Plus, it’s nothing you can fix. Knowing will only get you—”

  He’d expected her to pull out the it’s-for-your-own-good card. “Stop trying to protect me. I know how to take care of myself. Did you ever happen to think maybe I could help you? Because from where I’m sitting, you are way over your head in this thing, whatever it is.”

  Mori opened her mouth to speak. Closed it. Kell could practically hear her teeth grinding against each other. She wanted to talk, but someone — Benedict — had her too scared.

  He’d try easing her into it.

  “How long have you known Michael Benedict?” He leaned back against the flimsy headboard. Relaxed, that was his middle name. Just making conversation.

  He could almost hear the thought process going on behind her frown as she decided whether it was safe to answer the question. Finally, she shrugged. “My whole life. He owns the land next to my grandfather’s ranch, so I don’t remember a time when he wasn’t around.”

  It rang of truth. “He’s a lot older than you, though, right? I mean, I’ve never seen the guy, but you’re mid-twenties and I figure he can’t be that young if he’s head of a shipping empire, unless he’s some kind of genius.” According to Gadget, Benedict was fifty; would be fifty-one next month. He’d sent photos. The man was big, burly, probably considered handsome enough by the ladies. Definitely a power broker.

  Mori laughed, and with it, some of the tension drained from her face. Her shoulders relaxed, and she shook her head as she walked over to sit on the other bed. “He’s twice my age and used an oil inheritance to start Tex-La, not his own business savvy. That’s not to say he’s not an evil genius.”

  Interesting choice of words. Kell kept his tone light. “Like, set-up-the-woman evil or bomb-the-building evil?”

  Too far. Mori stood up and paced back to her spot leaning on the dresser, her posture again stiffened. “Just…ruthless, I guess. When he wants something, he goes after it.”

  Kell sat up. “What is it he wants, Mori? You? Is he the one who hit you?” The bruise on her jaw still shadowed a little. He was surprised it wasn’t worse; in fact, it seemed to have healed even since they’d gone into the restaurant at lunchtime, and the marks on her neck had disappeared.

  Mori crossed her arms tightly over her chest and traced a line of pattern in the carpet with the toe of her running shoe. Shit. He’d gone too fast.

  “We just had an argument,” she finally said. “No big deal.” But she wouldn’t look at him.

  It was a big fucking deal. He didn’t care how much money or power Michael Benedict had — he had no right to hit a woman. And while Mori wasn’t expressly defending him, she was making excuses. The beaten, stunned look on her face when he’d come to her apartment and found her hurt had burned itself into his psyche, and he wanted to kill the man who’d done it.

  But he stuffed down the feelings. That was a sidetrack to revisit later. “Was Michael the one who implicated you in the bombing?”

  Mori scrubbed her palms across her cheeks and let out a whoosh of breath. “Kell, it’s more complicated than that. You have to promise to stay away from Michael. I mean it. Away. Completely. You have to let me handle him.”

  Yeah, because she’d handled him so well when he put a fist to her jaw. “I can’t do that, Mori. At the very least, he tampered with a federal investigation, diverting resources spent watching you instead of looking for someone else.” Someone like Benedict himself. “I’ve got to ask again. Was he involved in the bombing?”

  Mori pushed herself off the dresser and walked to him, reaching down to stroke her fingers across his jawline. “Kell, I wish things could have been different. I really do. You’re a good guy, and I’d almost forgotten there were good guys left in the world.”

  She leaned over and kissed him, smelling of motel shampoo and sunshine. He slid a hand behind her head and angled to take the kiss deeper, ignoring his raging conscience and focusing on where her left hand was headed as it slid up the inside of his thigh.

  She trailed kisses across his check until her mouth was poised above his ear. “I’m sorry, Kell.”

  Focused on the moral dilemma growing inside his shorts, he didn’t notice what her right hand had been doing until the click of the cuff around his left wrist.

  “What the fuck?” He jerked his left arm away, but she pulled harder, snapping the other cuff around the leg of the nightstand and backing away from him.

  “Mori, don’t do this.” The nightstand proved surprisingly sturdy — he pulled against it until he thought his arm would separate from his shoulder. He only succeeded in cutting his own wrist.

  He quit struggling and stared at her. For several long seconds, they simply looked at each other with regret and sadness and, Kell thought, a sense of inevitability.

  “Good-bye, Kell. Don’t try to find me. Sit tight, and this will all be over in a day or two.”

  Mori didn’t look back as she opened the door, strode out, and closed it behind her.

  CHAPTER 16

  Across the Super 8 parking lot, through the line of big rigs parked in the lot of the truck stop, over the low hedge separating the brightly lit cafe from the shadowy lot of the self-storage business next door, Mori walked with purpose.

  She circled behind the far row of storage units and leaned against the concrete wall, her heart pounding so hard Kell’s T-shirt vibrated. She’d bought some time, but probably not much. She was a bad liar, and Kell knew he was on the right track with his questions. Damn it, why hadn’t she run in the parking lot of the Mexican restaurant instead of getting in his car after they’d heard the governor’s accusations? Why hadn’t she run when they got to the motel?

  She’d been careless with Kell’s life, hoping he could save her, when, deep down, she knew better. There was only one possible way to fix this, and she prayed it wasn’t too late.

  Her fingers shook as she retrieved her cell phone and turned it on. She scrolled to his name on her contact list and punched the number marked HOME.

  He answered on the second ring. “Mori, I keep underestimating you.”

  “You win.” She hated that her voice shook, but even taking a deep breath didn’t stop it. His cool, smug laugh calmed her, reminding her that as much as she hated him, she still held some power. “I’m coming to you now. I’m ready for this to be over.”

  “Come to my house in town. We’ll discuss your conditions over dinner.” He paused. “If you’re half as smart as you think you are, you’ll come alone.”

  Well, he’d made sure she was totally alone in this world, hadn’t he? “Give me an hour. I’m way out on the east side of town.”

  “I’ll send a car. Tell me where you are. It isn’t safe, and we wouldn’t want any harm to come
to you.”

  God forbid anyone hurt her besides him. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

  She disconnected the call and turned off her cell phone. No point in letting the police try to track her and somehow end up finding Kell. His friends were on the way and would uncuff him. With any luck, they’d talk him into leaving town and forgetting she existed as soon as Michael somehow deflected blame for the bombing and kidnapping on someone else. The thought made her sad, but she had to be realistic. Even if she were able to get away from Michael and her obligations, she and Kell didn’t really know each other. Theirs was simply a physical attraction between two strangers who’d told each other too many lies. It felt more real than that, but it wasn’t.

  Mori dug in her purse and found her debit card. She slipped around the storage units and waited a few minutes outside the truck stop, watching people come and go, looking for any sign of Kell or his friends. She didn’t know who they were, but two military-looking guys would stand out in the Lucky Trucker.

  No sign of anyone who didn’t look like he’d spent too many hours on long, empty roads with cigarettes and caffeine for company. Mori walked in the store and found an ATM near the cash register of the convenience mart. She knew the police would be monitoring her bank account; she only hoped it hadn’t been frozen.

  Crap. ACCOUNT ACCESS DENIED flashed across the screen, and the damned machine probably went right through to the police.

  She looked at the middle-aged woman behind the checkout counter, who was engrossed in a tabloid. “Could you call a taxi for me?”

  Mori’s heart sped up as the woman gave her a longer look than was comfortable. Did she recognize her from the photos on TV?

  “Sure thing, honey.”

  Only when the United Cab pulled up in front of the truck stop fifteen minutes later, only after she had her butt planted firmly on the ripped vinyl seat and had given the driver Michael’s address in River Oaks, only then did she relax.

  Maybe Kell would be safe now. As long as she stayed away from him and kept Michael happy, maybe he’d be safe.

  She’d expected to have enough time on the cab ride to pull herself together and prepare for whatever humiliation Michael served up to punish her, but just her luck, she’d get the one driver in Houston who knew all the back roads from Baytown into the city. Too soon, the well-manicured lawns of one of America’s wealthiest neighborhoods surrounded her, everything neat and tidy, with working streetlights, a young couple strolling in the rapidly falling dusk. They’d probably wandered over from one of the adjacent neighborhoods to gawk at the $10 million houses.

  That was how much Michael had paid for the Italianate estate whose curved driveway the cab pulled into, rolling to a stop in front of the arched, carved double front doors. He’d bragged about it enough.

  Soft light shone through the tall windows nestled behind the five stone archways that stretched across the front of the house. Michael walked out and paid the cab driver without a word, and Mori watched the taxi drive away as if it contained her last hope.

  “Good, you’re here before my guest.” Michael looked like a millionaire shipping magnate relaxing at home after work — dark slacks, tailored white shirt with the collar open, even a flashy gold chain around his neck. A handsome, self-assured, and 100 percent arrogant asswipe. Just looking at him made Mori feel like a shabby interloper from the wrong side of town.

  “What guest would that be?” She stepped past him onto the polished oak floors of the octagonal foyer, a curved stairway flanked by an ornate wrought iron banister spiraling up one side. Her running shoes squeaked until she walked onto the round medallion-print rug that filled the center of the floor.

  “A business associate, here to sign the final agreement on a new shipping contract out of New Orleans.” After closing the door, Michael walked to the foot of the stairs, leaned on the rail, and gave Mori a head-to-toe, disapproving look. “It will be your first appearance as my fiancée, although you’ll have to hurry to make yourself at least halfway presentable.”

  “Are you serious? We need to talk about this” — she waved her hands in the air — “arrangement.”

  Michael took her elbow and pulled her toward the stairway. “And we will. But I need to take this short meeting, and it’ll be good experience for you in your new role as my mate.”

  Mate, my ass. She might have to play the role of wife. She might have to bear his children. But “mate” implied an intimacy that wasn’t going to happen.

  Mori grabbed the wrought iron banister to avoid Michael pushing her onto the bottom step. “How are you going to straighten out this legal mess you’ve created? It’ll be hard for me to be your fiancée from federal prison.”

  Michael grinned. “Don’t worry. Once we’ve consummated our arrangement, the governor will recant his statement. In fact, the governor is taking all his direction from me now.” He motioned up the stairway. “Top of the stairs, first door on the right. I had some things delivered for you a while back. Wear the navy.” His tone turned sarcastic. “There might be dust on it, as stubborn as you’ve been. Our guest arrives at eight.”

  “Fine.” That statement about the governor sent chills through her, and Mori climbed the stairs without looking back. Obviously, Michael wasn’t going to talk until his business appointment was over. He hadn’t made any more threats. In fact, her arrival had made him downright jovial. One big, jolly asshole.

  She might as well play along for now and put the word consummate out of her mind.

  Off the landing at the top of the stairs, long hallways stretched left and right, and a boat-sized window at the back of the landing looked out on manicured formal gardens circling a fountain. Gas torches lent a soft glow to the whole vista.

  Mori paused to look at the gardens, with their rows of neatly trimmed hedges and sections of riotous flowers left unclipped to give the illusion of wild growth. Reflections of the torches seemed to make fire dance in the fountain’s blue water.

  If she’d given in to Michael six months ago, would all those lives lost in the Zemurray bombing have been saved? How many women would trade places with her, thinking a loveless union was a small price to pay in order to live in such luxury and help her people at the same time? Had she been completely blind and selfish?

  And now that Michael had literally gotten away with murder and, if his claims were true, gained control of the governor, would he stop at Texas? Why not Louisiana? Mori could only hope he’d be satisfied with what he had, with her thrown into the bargain.

  She took a deep breath and turned the knob of the first door to the right of the landing. The bedroom suite was a confection of cream-and-gold fabrics and dark polished wood. Ceiling medallions, as in the formal room downstairs, were etched with gold leaf. Two windows overlooked the front lawn, and a bathroom full of marble led off to one side. It looked like a professional decorator had been told to “make it look wealthy,” without adding a single ounce of personality. The tops of the dresser and chest were bare, the only wall adornment an antique tapestry.

  Mori thought of the collection of stuffed animals that filled her little bedroom in Montrose and felt a pang of sadness. If Michael let her bring them here, no telling what she’d have to give up in return.

  She looked around for the closet door and opened it to find several items of clothing, all with price tags still attached. Awesome. Only one item was navy blue, and Mori’s heart sank as she pulled it out. A silky curve-hugging dress with a deep V in the front that would guarantee she couldn’t wear a bra, a sparkly beaded collar that held the whole thing up, and a backless silhouette that dipped almost to the waist. At least it wasn’t short. It looked exactly like something that Michael would love and that Mori would normally never wear.

  Except tonight. She would force herself to make nice until things were settled.

  She only had a half hour before Michael’s deadline of 8:00 p.m., so she rifled through the dresser and was horrified, but not surprised, to find a supply of silky
panties — bikinis and thongs, of course — and, in another drawer, teddies and negligees.

  Maybe Mori’s sudden wave of nausea was due to hunger, but she thought not. The idea of Michael touching her the way Kell had touched her…

  She shook her head and pulled out the least offensive panties — black, with more than an inch of fabric. Her legs were tan enough to forego hose.

  You can do this. She pulled on the dress and stared at herself in the bathroom’s full-length mirror. Thank God she’d thought to bring her backpack when she left the hotel. She dug out a small first aid kit and breathed a sigh of relief when she found two Band-Aids. She flattened them out over her nipples and inspected herself in the mirror again. She wouldn’t have Michael mistaking air-conditioning chill for arousal, even if she did have telltale bandage outlines if she pulled her shoulders back far enough.

  How could he have thought to buy her a might-as-well-be-naked negligee but not a hairbrush? Huffing, Mori dug hers out of her pack and brushed out the kinks from the hotel shower and the night air. She grinned at herself in the mirror. One thing about tonight she could control. She went to the bed where she’d thrown her jeans and reached in the pocket for a lime-green elastic band, which she used to secure her hair in a ponytail.

  She had a feeling small acts of rebellion were all she’d be allowed for a while.

  Mori looked at her running shoes, a five-year-old pair of Nikes that had a lot of dust and miles on them. While they’d definitely make a statement, she didn’t want to humiliate Michael and risk his anger. The ponytail would annoy him, but the shoes would embarrass him. She’d noticed a few shoeboxes on the floor of the closet, so she opened them and found a pair of silver sandals with low heels she could live with. All the shoes were her size, of course — information probably supplied by her traitorous mother.