Badass: Deadly Target (Complete): Military Romantic Suspense

by Leslie Johnson

  Moving away, he shrugs out of his jacket and grabs another chair, turning it backwards until he’s straddling it with his tanned arms crossed on its back. “Who sent you here?”

  My mommy, I want to say, but I can’t. First, I’d probably burst into tears and second, I don’t know if I can trust him. Do not trust anyone, Mia. I can recall the sound of her voice precisely, the fear in her eyes as she said it.

  “Can’t you tell me?” he asks more softly. “Is it really that top-secret?”

  I lift a shoulder and stare down into my cup of water, avoiding his penetrating blue eyes. “All I know is that I was sent here. That’s all. I was given the key and told to retrieve the contents of this box. I don’t know why.”

  That much is the truth. And if I don’t get out of this room, I will never know why.

  “So you didn’t know the person who gave you the key?”

  I’ve always been a good girl. I’ve always wanted people to like me. Always wanted to make people happy and be praised for doing a good job. I’ve hardly ever gotten into trouble. Not with my mom or in school. And if I did, I’d always break down and tell the truth because I am, if nothing else, a terrible, horrible liar.

  I swallow, then take a sip of my water and swallow again. I don’t know what to say or what to do. Maybe I should just keep drinking water and eventually plead the fifth.

  Through my lashes, I watch his fingers tap on his muscular forearm and can tell with that rhythmic motion that he’s becoming annoyed at me. I look higher, and he’s simply watching me, a look of intense patience on his chiseled face. A strand of his dark hair has fallen over his forehead; dark stubble is a shadow on his cheeks. Full lips that should look too feminine on a man somehow don’t. As I look, they spread into a grin and that dimple takes up residence once again.

  “Like the view?”

  I resist the urge to sink down into my chair. “Not particularly. But since it looks like we’re going to be here awhile, it’s marginally better than the eggshell paint on the walls.”

  The grin grows bigger. “We could hurry things along if you’d answer my questions,” he reminds me, and his fingers start their tapping again.

  “We could hurry things along if you’d simply remove yourself from in front of me and let me go about my business.”

  He blows out a breath and runs a hand through his hair, swiping that stray lock back into place. “You know I can’t and won’t do that. Not without the contents of that box.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “Well, then maybe they’ll let us order pizza in a couple of hours, maybe bring in a couple cots at bedtime.”

  His eyes narrow. “Don’t make me do this the hard way.”

  Holy crap. Did my eyes really just flick down to his crotch straddling that chair? To cover it, I snap, “Whatever. I don’t care. Hard or soft, you’re not taking my mother—” I clap a hand over my mouth.

  He smiles. “So this information belongs to your mother?”

  Crap. Crap. Crap. “No,” I lie. “I was going to say ‘you’re not taking my mother fucking stuff.’”

  Oh, good cover, Mia! If I wasn’t so scared, I’d pat myself on the back.

  “And why exactly did you smack yourself when you said it?”

  Think. Think. “Because I’m trying hard to break a cursing habit,” I lie again. That was the first time I’d ever said fuck in my life. “I don’t want to have to stuff another dollar into my cursing jar back home.”

  Whew. Nailed it.

  He simply stares at me. “Look, Miss … I don’t even know your name.”

  I consider giving him a fake name but know it would take only one look in my wallet to know the truth. “Mia. Mia Hewitt. And you?”

  “Jaxson Hathaway, but everyone calls me Jax.”

  “Well, Mr. Hathaway, this has been fun and lovely, but I do need to go.” I stand, and he does too. Now, I’m staring at his chest and can just see the outline of one nipple. I sit back down and groan. Crotch level is worse. I stand back up and turn my back to him.

  Staring at that stupid blank wall, the weight of the day pours down on me again. My face burns with emotion even as anger burns in my heart. How is any of this happening? My mom. Now this. The uncertainty of what to do or who to trust. Not knowing what’s in that box that is so important or who wants it.

  Hands fall on my shoulders and turn me around. I’m staring at his chest again. “Sit down.”

  I bristle at the command, but do as I’m told, briefly wondering what he’d do if I tried to make a run for it. Shoot me? Does he even have a gun? I curse myself for leaving Mom’s in the car, but how could I have ever even considered something like this occurring?

  “Mia, who told you to come here?” he asks, straddling his chair again. “I mean, really. Who do you work for?”

  “Schubert and Company,” I answer automatically and again, wonder if I should have lied.

  “Who’s that?”

  “They produce machine components for aerospace, automotive, medical device, and technology industries. I’m a clerk there; I’ve been there for five years now.” See, I want to say, I’m just a normal, boring person.

  He barks out a harsh laugh. “Either they have you trained so well you’re incredibly convincing, or you’re actually telling the truth. I’m not quite sure yet.” His eyes travel from my eyes to my mouth, and my stomach does that little twisty thing again.

  “Well, I did spend six weeks in training and have hopes of rising to supervisor within the next couple of years. I’d love to go back to school and get my engineering degree, but…”

  He blinks at me. What? My eyes grow wide with the unspoken question.

  “Mia, who do you really work for?”

  I throw up my hands. “I’m a stripper by day and call girl by night.” I spread my arms and look down at the pink sweater set and chocolate colored trousers I wore to work this morning. “Can’t you tell?” I point to the box. “That’s a list of my Johns. Can we go now?”

  His lips twitch.

  “I’m an ex-Army Ranger,” he admits out of nowhere. “Was in the army for ten years before I was recruited by the CIA. I’ve known bad guys, Mia. Killed a bunch of them, captured even more. I take my job seriously, and I will do anything needed to protect and serve my country.”

  He looks at me, those blue eyes piercing into my soul. I swallow and twist my fingers together.

  “You are either a very talented spy who wants to do bad things to the country I love, or you don’t have a clue as to what you have in that big ass bag right there. And you don’t have a clue how quickly the information you want to carry out of this bank will get you killed. Because it will get you killed. From either side, Mia. The good guys who want to protect it will kill you for that very reason and might feel a little bit bad for it later once they learn you were just an ignorant mule.”

  Mule? Indignation rises and I open my mouth, but he bulldozes on.

  “Or the bad guys will consider you an ant that is merely in the way of what they want. They’ll delete you from their memory banks once they murder you. The only thing in this world that will remember you is the shark they feed you to when they toss you into the middle of the ocean. Then even it will forget you after it says ‘yum.’”

  I can’t breathe.

  Or swallow.

  I very well might pee my pants, but I’m holding on hard to that bodily function.

  “You’re scaring me,” I finally whisper.

  “Good. You should be scared. I’ve not seen anyone who should be as scared as you in a very long time.”

  I remember the fear in my mother’s eyes. Her fear for me. Her fear for herself. But I think more than anything, the fear of these documents getting into the wrong hands. I look down at his. Can I trust them? Are they the right hands or the wrong hands? I just don’t know.

  I eye him again, trying to decide if he looks trustworthy. He has an open, honest face. He did admit to being a soldier and then working for the CIA, but wa
s that even true? Something inside me cracks and I struggle to hold it together. Sadness. Fear. Uncertainty. They are swirling together into a toxic soup of self-doubt.

  What I do know is that I’m all alone in this. My heart pounds harder as I make a decision.

  “I’m fulfilling my mother’s final wish,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “I don’t know what’s in the box or what it means. She didn’t have the chance to tell me.”

  I stiffen when Jax gives me a “good girl” look. “I’m almost afraid to ask this, but why didn’t she have the chance?” he asks softly.

  I look away, unable to meet his intense stare. “She died,” I say simply. “She died before she had the chance to tell me what I would find here.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he murmurs. He does look genuinely sympathetic.

  “So you understand how important it is to me, that I manage to do this,” I say. “I don’t know exactly why these … whatever they are … are so important. Just that they are. It was important to her that I do this. Don’t you see?”

  “I do see, but you have to understand, it’s important to me too. At least, it is to my boss and to the government.”

  I chew on my bottom lip, then ask, “Do you know what’s in there?”

  He sighs loudly. “No, I don’t.” His shoulders seem to relax a little as if it having this conversation has given him some relief. “I do know it’s important that I get them to my boss so they can be in safe hands.”

  “So it looks like we’re both in the dark.” Even as I say it, my mind flashes onto an image of the two of us, alone in the dark. What in the world? I look away from him and focus on a small chip in the paint.

  “Mia.” He waits until I look at him again. “At least neither of us is in the dark all alone.”

  Chapter 7 – Jax

  She’s adorable.

  I have to give her that. And either the best-trained spy I’ve ever encountered, or she’s telling the truth, and her dearly departed mother has sent her on a death mission.

  Who was her mother? She had to have been someone of some importance to have possession of such important documents.

  Mia tucks a curl of her long chestnut hair behind one ear with shaky fingers, giving away her nervousness. My own nerves aren’t doing much better. Her presence complicates things significantly.

  Especially when those light eyes brim with tears and the very tip of her nose turns pink. Or when she bites her lower lip to stop herself from crying. And when her chest heaves with the effort to suppress a sob, my damn cock twitches every time.

  She’s playing you.

  The warning whispers through my brain, and I know it’s right. Well, I must assume it’s right until evidence proves otherwise, at least. No way can she be as innocent as she appears. Just my luck too. The first damn woman I’ve been attracted to since … since Laura … and she’s most likely a fucking criminal.

  “Have you looked inside yet, Mia?” I ask her, nodding toward the bank box.

  She sniffs and wipes at her face with both hands. “No. I was just getting ready to open it when you came in.”

  I need to get her to trust me. “Want to look in it together? Rip off the band aid to see the extent of the damage?”

  She chews that damn lip again and nods. “I think we should. At least we’ll know what we’re dealing with.” She laughs, a soft giggle that goes straight to my groin. “Won’t you feel foolish if it turns out to be my great-great-great-grandmother’s secret chicken recipe?”

  I smile and watch her eyes move to my lips. She blushes the prettiest pink and looks down at her hands. “I’m actually very hopeful it’s something as innocent as that. I hope this is just a huge mistake, a misunderstanding. For your sake.” God. I really hope that’s true.

  She nods and moves around to the side of the table. I push her bag and my jacket out of the way, giving her plenty of room. She blows out a breath, and we both reach for the lid at the same time, my hand covering hers.

  “What are you doing?” she snaps and smacks my hand like I’m ten years old.

  Automatically, I snarl right back, “Helping. Is that a new concept for you?”

  “You’re such an asshole!”

  Her sudden jump from sane to crazy is a damn surprise. “Me?”

  She pokes a finger in my chest, twisting. “Yes, you! I confide in you, tell you this is my mother’s dying wish, and you’re still dead set on getting your hands on what’s mine!”

  I grab her wrist before she can dig a hole through my shirt and don’t let go when she tries to jerk her arm away.

  She’s shouting now. “My mother wanted me to have what’s in here, don’t you see. Whatever it is. Good or bad. Right or wrong. She wanted me to take care of it.” The shouts turn to wet aching sobs. “She said I was the only person she trusted. She was the most wonderful mother in the world, and I loved her so much, and now she’s dead, and she wanted me to do this and you…” she takes a deep breath, “and you won’t let me.”

  My own anger builds, mostly because I want to believe her so fucking bad. But if what’s in that box is as dangerous as I’m afraid it is, the very fact that she has a key makes her guilty. “Maybe if your mother had been a little more upfront with you, you’d know that this,” I jam my finger against the box, “is better off in the hands of the government.”

  “If she trusted the effing government, don’t you think she would have contacted them in the first place?” She’s on tiptoes now, trying to get in my face. “And then maybe she wouldn’t have gotten killed.”

  “Wait–what?” I manage to re-focus in the face of this announcement. “She was murdered?”

  Her shoulders shake, and she crosses her arms, holding onto herself. She takes in a breath and nods.

  “When? Under what circumstances?”

  “Today. Just a little while ago.”

  “Damn.”

  “I came straight here from my mom’s house,” she whispers, her chin quivering, but the tears seem to have dried up. “She called me at work. She sounded really strange and has been acting so weird lately. I even thought maybe she’d had a stroke or something. You know? Or dementia.”

  Sympathy pulls at me, but I shove it back. “What happened then?”

  “I went straight to her house, and she told me about the key to the safe deposit box. Told me I had to go to Russia. She was so frightened. For me, I think. As she was giving me instructions, there was a crash and…” she shudders and struggles for control.

  Russia? Damn.

  “Mia, have you been to Russia before?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Why there?”

  “I don’t know,” she shouts. “She said the instructions were in the envelope, money in the box. She said I’d need my passport and…” Her eyes fill with tears and she brushes them angrily away.

  “Take a deep breath. And then tell me everything. It could be critical.”

  “It’s all critical!” she whispers fiercely. “Someone kicked in the front door. We were upstairs in the bedroom, and she made me hide. There was a struggle, terrible noises from downstairs, then a man came into the room. He searched each room but didn’t find me. He called someone, told them to come search the house, then left. I went downstairs and…”

  “And you found her?”

  She nods.

  Cold creeps deep into my bones. Who was this woman’s mother, and who killed her? And why did my boss send me here, seemingly right after her murder? And how is this box connected?

  If she’s telling the truth, my gut whispers.

  “Mia, this is bigger than either you or I imagined,” I say, calmly and slowly. “Bigger than a dying wish, as important as I know that is to you.” I hold up a hand when I see anger flash in her eyes. “Listen. I’m pretty sure your mother was involved in something you have no ability to face on your own.” I grasp her thin arms in my hands and wait for her eyes to connect with mine. “I hate to be the one to tell you, but she may
have been part of something very dangerous. You can’t do this alone.”

  Her gray eyes question me, searching for answers. Or maybe for a new possibility that doesn’t cast a shadow on her mother’s memory. I watch her closely and see the moment she surrenders to what I’ve been saying. There’s understanding there. Acceptance as well.

  I blow out a breath. Does she finally trust me?

  I don’t get the chance to find out.

  Mia jumps as the door behind me opens so hard it bounces off the wall. Instinctively, I turn, shielding her with my body from a tall, hulking man filling the doorway. Dressed head to toe in black, there’s a blank, dead look in his eyes. His bald head completes the menacing look. So does the bulge of the concealed weapon underneath his suit jacket.

  Behind him, Mr. Lunden tries to get through. He fails and calls out to us instead. “Apologies for bothering you both, but this gentleman also possesses documentation for the—”

  Big bald guy steps into the room and slams the door in the little guy’s face.

  “What do you want?” I ask him and feel Mia’s fingernails sink into my arm. She’s moved to my side to see more clearly. I glance down at her. She’s frozen. Petrified.

  “It’s him,” she whispers.

  I know immediately who “him” is and push her behind me again. In less than a second, the man is crossing the small room and lunging for the box.

  Mia comes alive. “No!” she screams and reaches for it. I try to hold on to her while also going for my ankle holster, but she’s too fast, slipping from my arms.

  Black seizes the opportunity. He grabs the box and flips the table in my direction. I’m pushed into the wall by its weight, and shove it aside quickly, but not fast enough. Before I can secure my weapon, he has Mia, one arm hooked around her neck. He’s holding the box as well; it’s pinned to his side under his right arm. He can’t hold it because his hand is busy jamming a gun into Mia’s ribs.

  “I’m leaving with her,” he mutters in a deep, low voice, those eyes still as blank as the dead. “I suggest you pretend this never happened.”

  Mia surprises us both by stomping on his instep, the three-inch heel connecting well. He curses and she brings an elbow back into his ribs. His grip loosens enough for her to spin out of his grasp, and I lunge, bringing my hand down on his wrist, knocking the gun away, the metal box clanging to the floor.