Wrecked With You

by J. Kenner

  The truth is, he’s right and I know it. But I spent too many years doing exactly what the government big shots said without question or objection because they held my life—and, by extension, Eliza’s life—in their hands. Years of following orders. Of doing what I was told and only what I was told.

  Eventually I got some leeway, sure. With my skillset, they allowed me that. And maybe there was a bit of trust there, too, at the end. I don’t know. All I know is that I was nothing but a toy for my father and then a puppet for the government. When I finally got clear and opened my own shop and started calling my own shots, the freedom was heady.

  And deep down, I’m really not sure that agreeing to join Stark Security was the best plan.

  Correction—that’s not a deep down fear. That’s a right under the surface fear. I’ve almost pulled the plug so many times, and yet something keeps pulling me toward this group. Something more than Eliza’s connection. Just because her man is an agent doesn’t mean I need to be one, too.

  No, I the truth is, I’ve seen how competent they are, not to mention how many resources are at the agents’ disposal. And there is a lot of appeal to being part of a group that does good work. I’ve been telling myself that for months. I think I even finally believe it. Hell, I accepted the job. God knows the pay took some of the sting out of the decision.

  But still, I’ve had these niggling doubts. And now they’ve become a little more than niggling since I’m already getting this subtle dressing down for my first mission. Which, of course, wasn’t really a mission. And which, of course, broke all of the SSA’s rules.

  “You get what I’m saying, right?” Stark continues. “No secret missions. No hidden vendettas. We expect it. I expect it.”

  I nod, but I already know I’ll break those rules if I have to. If it’s something personal—like to protect Eliza or myself from a ghost from our past—I’m not pulling the SSA into my shit. Fortunately, now that Cane’s dead, the last ties to the nightmare of our childhood have been severed. Now, I’m all about the job someone pays me for. And if the Stark Security Agency is footing the bill, then I’m an open book.

  “I get it,” I say.

  “Good. Other than that, we have only one firm policy.”

  “And that is?”

  “Do a damn good job.”

  “I always do.”

  He smiles, and I see the man who has so often charmed the world. “That’s why we hired you.”

  “Is this about my first official SSA job? Are you partnering me with Sanchez?”

  He glances over my shoulder at the man. “No. And yes.”

  I say nothing, just wait for him to explain.

  “He’s not with the SSA. But I do owe him a favor. He has a meeting scheduled with an informant on the Debauchery Resort. But he can’t get in—”

  “—without a woman.” I nod, trying to mask my annoyance—not to mention the fears that I jumped too quickly to join this team. I thought they wanted me for my skills. Instead, I’m accompanying someone who isn’t even with the SSA on a trip so that I can be arm candy?

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Actually, it is.” I cross my arms and shift my stance. “I thought you hired me because I’m all kinds of good at my job. But instead you’re pawning me off on some civilian who needs an escort?”

  “First of all, I’m not pawning you off. And second, I’m very aware of your skill set. You demonstrated some of those skills last night, very skillfully utilizing a litany of equipment you had Quince pull from SSA inventory.”

  “So this is a hand slap. You’re upset I didn’t get permission and so now I’m being punished and shoved into a bikini? Come on, Stark I got enough of that kind of petty game-playing working for the government.”

  “Emma, that’s not what this is.”

  “I know exactly what this is.” Who am I fooling thinking I can join this big family that Stark’s spouting off about? I can’t. I know it. And I should have known better than to even try.

  “This is a mistake,” I continue. “And you know what, Stark? If you owe him the favor, then you put on the fucking bikini. I’m out.”

  The words are out before I can call them back, but maybe it’s for the best. And so with that total career bomb still echoing across the court, I turn on my heel, shoot Antonio Sanchez a half-angry, half-apologetic look, and march straight off the tennis court toward my car.

  Chapter Four

  Advance Reader Copy

  Tony tried to keep a straight face as he crossed the court toward Stark, but it wasn’t easy. He wasn’t sure if he was amused, turned on, or just impressed as hell. But he knew one thing for certain—Emma Tucker had some serious cajones.

  “I’ll talk to Ryan about recalling Leah. She doesn’t have as much field work under her belt, but she’s smart and trained and—”

  Tony held up a hand. “I want Emma.”

  Damien raised a brow, and Tony looked into those oddly hypnotic dual-colored eyes. “As you just saw, I can hardly force her. For that matter, I’m not certain I still employ her.”

  “She’s ballsy. She can hold her own. And I don’t have a clue what I’m really walking into. Could be an easy meet and an exchange of info. Or I might end up with a gun aimed at my head.” He crossed his arms as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  Damien nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I told you in Paris that I owe you one, and I meant it. But I can’t compel her. And I won’t try. That’s not the way I work.”

  “I get it. I wouldn’t want you to. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve satisfied the obligation.”

  “I’m not sure—”

  “I am,” Tony said. “I walked into this party and told you I needed a woman. You found me the perfect partner for this job in under an hour. You did your part,” he added with a shrug.

  “I’m happy to find you another partner for the job,” Stark said. “Where you’re concerned, I’m inclined to go over and above. I want you on the team.”

  “Then you know how I feel about Emma. I want her, Stark. And I’m going to get her.”

  Tony pulled his hybrid Land Rover into the narrow driveway of Emma’s Venice Beach house, thankful that Quince had vouched for him with her sister.

  “You’re not going to get anywhere with her,” Eliza had told him. “Emma’s stubborn, and she makes her own rules. She always has. And it sounds like she’s made up her mind.” Her mouth twitched. “Once she’s dug in, there’s no digging her out. But if you want to waste your time, be my guest,” she’d added, then rattled off the address.

  Now Tony was here, and he sat for a moment with the SUV in park, mournful blues filling the car from the ridiculously awesome sound system he’d installed a month after he bought the thing. He intended to take a moment to hone his plan to convince her.

  He never got the chance. His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp rapping at his window, and there she stood. The plain silver band she wore on her right hand clacked against the glass, and he looked into her stern expression, her hazel eyes dull and expressionless.

  Stark had told him she was a pro, and one look at her face proved it.

  He hadn’t yet killed the engine, so he hit the button to roll down the window. “Problem?”

  “What the hell are you doing in my driveway? Did Stark actually give you my address?”

  “I asked, but he refused. I got it from Eliza,” he added, since that was a nice, subtle way to suggest that her sister was on his side.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

  He expected her to say more. To tell him to get off the property. Or that he should explain why he was there. Something.

  But all she did was turn around and walk back into the house.

  For a moment he simply sat there, looking at the spot where she’d been. Then he realized that he was smiling. This woman was turning out to be a hell of a lot of trouble. But he also had a feeling that she was worth it.

  He killed the engine, got out of th
e vehicle, and followed the path to blue door of her charming little bungalow.

  She opened it before he reached the patio. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”

  “You wouldn’t want to work with me if I did.”

  Her voice held no irony as she said, “I don’t want to work with you now.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “You do.”

  He waited for her to slam the door in his face. Instead, she opened it wider. “Convince me,” she said, and invited him in.

  He stepped into the tiled entry hall, then followed her into the spacious living room filled with both light and comfortable-looking furniture. The walls were wood and stone, and were covered in colorful paintings and framed photographs. A bookcase took up one wall, and he stifled the urge to study the spines, just to see what Emma Tucker read. He didn’t, but only because she was already in the next room, and he hurried to catch up to her in the kitchen.

  “Great house. You own or rent?”

  “I bought it years ago,” she said. “It was a dump. I made improvements.”

  That was obvious in the kitchen, which had very clearly been expanded. He guessed that she’d sacrificed what was probably a bedroom to make room for a huge granite island, a roomy prep area, and a dining section well-lit from the late afternoon sun that streamed in through huge windows, beyond which he could see a tiny, flower-filled yard.

  He took it all in, trying to reconcile the neat-but-lived-in kitchen, the flowers, and the streaming sunshine with the personality he’d built out in his head. It didn’t quite compute.

  “You look befuddled,” she said, nodding for him to take a seat at one of the stools by the island. “Coffee? Wine? Whiskey? Something else entirely?”

  “Whatever you’re having. And I’m not befuddled. I’m just reprocessing.”

  She reached into a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Charbay Release III, and though he tried not to react, he was certain his eyes widened. He happened to know that particular bottle cost upwards of four-hundred dollars.

  The corner of her mouth twitched as she lifted a shoulder then poured him a shot, neat. She slid it toward him. “I figure you deserve the good stuff. You came all this way for nothing, after all.”

  “Not for nothing,” he countered, then nodded at the glass. “I got the good stuff, didn’t I?”

  As he’d hoped, she laughed. He was starting to figure out Emma Tucker, he thought. Take it slow. Take it honest. If he couldn’t be real, don’t be anything at all.

  At least, that was his plan for the moment. He had the sneaking suspicion that she’d continue to surprise him. And damned if he didn’t like that about the woman.

  Across the island from him, she hopped up on the counter by the sink, her legs dangling. He hadn’t been that far behind her coming here, but she’d already changed clothes. Now she wore leggings and a form fitting tank top. And, yeah, he’d noticed the curves as he’d followed her through the house. He had eyes, after all.

  But he’d also noticed her strength. The subtle tightening of muscles as she pulled herself up. There was a toughness about her. Some of it visible in her physique and the fact that she was obviously in shape. But mostly it was in the way she held herself. As if she could take down a man with a harsh look—and if that didn’t work, she’d land a solid kick to his head and lay him out for good.

  Strength and power. That was the Emma Tucker he saw in this kitchen with flowers beyond the windows, herbs growing in pots on the sill above the sink, and kitchen towels decorated with cartoon-style cupcakes.

  To completely round out the contradiction, the toes of her bare feet were painted pink. And her practical ponytail was softened by the wisps of red hair that framed her lovely face.

  “Like what you see?”

  There was a challenge in her voice, but he didn’t try to dodge. Instead, he simply said, “What’s not to like?”

  She burst out laughing. Score one for the home team.

  “I’m not going with you to some island to make goo-goo eyes at you while my tits are falling out of a bikini.”

  “Not a problem. We’ll make sure the bikini fits properly. And goo-goo eyes aren’t necessary. Just a few adoring glances should do the trick nicely.”

  She almost laughed again. He could tell by the way she held her mouth firmly closed, keeping it back. Too bad. She had a hell of a nice laugh.

  “You surprise me,” she said.

  “Then we’re even. You surprise me, too.”

  “Do I? How?” She leaned forward, the position revealing an enticing bit of cleavage, and his body responded in a way that made him remember that he’d been celibate for going on four months now.

  “Yo. Antonio. Up here.”

  He looked up, ignoring the embarrassment of getting caught and going instead for brutal honesty when he said, “Just one more reason to convince you to come with me. It would suck if I had to escort a woman who did nothing for me.”

  “Nice save. Now tell me how I surprise you. Other than my cleavage, that is.”

  “Your house. I mean, your hand towels not only have cupcakes on them, they match the oven mitts.”

  “Sweet of you to notice.”

  “And for someone with your reputation and history, I’m surprised how accessible this place is. The front door is solid, but it’s just wood, and there’s a vertical window beside it, albeit shuttered. You have a back door off the living room and off the kitchen. And that wall of windows? Anyone wants in here, you’re not keeping them out.”

  “Aren’t I?”

  He glanced around more, looking for hidden security cameras. He didn’t see any, but he was certain they were there. “You can’t monitor the place twenty-four/seven. To be honest, I expected a fortress.”

  “Like Stark’s place? I don’t have the luxury of buying acres and acres. Especially considering I like living here. I’ve been in Venice Beach my whole life. Well, all of the life that counts, anyway.”

  “I’ve got no beef with the location. From what Stark said about your skillset…” He trailed off, uncertain how much Damien had actually been authorized to tell him.

  “You mean doing covert ops for a top-secret, unacknowledged government agency?”

  “Pretty much. You must have made enemies.”

  She nodded slowly, and though he tried to read her expression, he failed. And when she spoke, she once again surprised him. “You’re carrying, right? A Glock 9mm. Right-handed draw. I’m assuming it’s out of habit and not because you don’t trust me.”

  He was suddenly aware of the familiar weight. “Habit, yes. How did you—”

  “Shoot the window.”

  He blinked. “Say again?”

  She nodded toward the array of windows looking out over the back yard, then reached beside her and pulled out a drawer. She tossed something small at him. He caught it in one hand. “Go ahead. Shoot.”

  He opened his hand. Ear plugs. She was either insane or trying to prove a point. Either way, he wasn’t inclined to argue. He put in the ear protection, pulled his weapon, and then, after one last curious glance toward Emma, he aimed at the center pane, fired, and immediately cringed in expectation of both the clatter of shattering glass and the flying shards that might—maybe—make it back to where he sat at the island.

  But none of that happened.

  Instead, the bullet just stopped. From his perspective, looking at it from yards away through the almost obsessively clean glass, it looked like a bullet suspended in midair.

  He glanced toward Emma, who looked ridiculously pleased with herself. “Take a look,” she offered, but he was already on his way. Sure enough, the bullet had been captured in what appeared to be a one-inch thick pane of glass. And there wasn’t even a hint of a spiderweb crack, much less outright shattering.

  “What kind of sorcery is this?” he asked, turning toward her.

  “We call it science these days.” She hopped off the counter and moved to join him at the window. “Lots of R&D where I used to
work. I’ve added a few perks to this place over the years. The scanning system caught your weapon and sent me a text. If you try to pick a lock or pry open a window, you get a nasty shock. And if you were to try and shoot the lock instead, well, that gets really fun. Want to see?”

  He balked. “You want me shoot your lock?”

  “Nah. I’ll just show you what would happen. I can do it manually. But it’s automated under certain circumstances.” She tapped her phone, and he immediately wished he hadn’t taken out his ear plugs. At the same time that metal gates crashed down from the ceiling to the floor over every window and door, a piercing shriek of an alarm started blaring.

  It stopped almost as soon as it started, and the fortress unraveled itself, transforming the house from a kickass safe room back into a cute beach bungalow.

  “Holy shit,” he said. “Do you have a price on your head?”

  “Not anymore,” she said with a casual shrug. “But you never know, do you? That’s just the basics, by the way. There are more bells and whistles.” She smiled and batted her eyes. “Don’t cross me, okay?”

  He laughed, even though he wasn’t entirely sure she was kidding. “Wouldn’t dream of it. And honestly, I know you’re predisposed to tell me to fuck off, but after seeing all of that, I want you on that island with me more than ever.”

  She glanced around the room, as if the security system were still fully engaged. “High tech security systems get you hard?”

  No, but I think you could.

  Fortunately, he stopped himself before that admission rattled off his tongue. It might be true, but he had a feeling that saying it out loud would be a very bad idea.

  Instead, he told her a different truth. “I’m looking for someone who can hold their own. I’m going in blind here. Possibly to meet someone who wants to help me. Possibly to meet someone who wants to kill me. I don’t need arm candy. I need a partner. A female, true. But someone with skills and experience.”