Renner (In the Company of Snipers Book 19)

by Irish Winters

  That actually made sense. It hadn’t been that long ago he’d lost his war hero son. Now his wife. McCormack might just be insane.

  Chapter Two

  Once Montego sashayed her ugly ass down the hall and disappeared into Jed’s suite, Renner followed. Montego hadn’t bothered turning on any lights. Maybe she had some dignity after all.

  He waited outside the door to make sure the shower came on before he entered McCormack’s bedroom. Extracting flex cuffs from yet another pocket, he whispered as he crept into the bedroom, “Sorry Jed, but this is for your own good.”

  Was this B&E legal? No way in hell, but Renner meant to get Montego under wraps and out of McCormack’s penthouse before anyone knew what happened. Which suited Renner fine. He did his best work in the dark.

  Prepared to face down this crazy alpha bitch once and for all, he advanced silently, his weapon in one hand, the cuffs in his other. He’d have to be quick. She’d think she was safe in the shower, and the water would provide the perfect white noise. She’d never see him coming. But if she fought back? Renner didn’t mind pistol-whipping the witch senseless if it made her compliant. That was the least she deserved.

  He glanced over his shoulder, distracted by the sheer curtains fluttering in a breeze that shouldn’t have been there. That window hadn’t been open when he’d cleared this room. A shadow skulked behind those sheers. How’d Montego get over there? Did she know she’d been followed? Was she waiting to kill him now, too? Pissed at her cunning, conniving mind, he lowered his shoulder and barreled into her. She wasn’t getting away this time. “I’ve got you now, you bitch.”

  “Let me go,” she hissed, elbowing his chest.

  “Not on your life, you piece of shit,” he growled reaching for her wrist. On went one cuff even as he mashed her against the glass, his knee between her legs and his arm across her throat. Snap. Zip. She was caught now. To make sure she didn’t escape, he clipped the other part of the dual cuff to his wrist.

  It dawned on him then. He was touching spandex or something just as skintight, not bare skin. But Montego had been nude. Add that little detail to the black knit cap pulled snug over this woman’s head and—

  Shit. She’d spoken in clear American English, no accent. The shower door slammed in the en suite bathroom behind Renner, sealing the deal. He peered closer at the woman in the dark whom he now knew was not Montego. “Who are you?”

  “Not your bitch, you asshole!” she shot back at him. “Who the fuck are you?”

  McCormack’s toilet flushed, and Renner’s heart damn near stopped. It didn’t matter who he was. He’d just made the worst rookie move in the book. He’d forgotten all about that out-of-place noise he’d heard before in his eagerness to catch Montego, and he was trapped. The now cracked-open bathroom door at his back cast a long stream of light into the bedroom. Running would land him and this unknown woman in Montego’s path. At least he’d cuffed his left wrist to this mystery woman’s right wrist. Which meant they could run side by side. If they lived.

  “How’d you get in here?” he asked even as the sheer curtain billowed around them in the wintry breeze.

  She rolled her eyes. “Are you stupid or just plain dumb?”

  Ah, both? “You’re shitting me? You came in through the w-w-window?”

  “What’s the matter, tough guy?” She sent an angry puff of frozen vapor into his face. “You’re brave enough to rob one of America’s richest men, but scared you’re going to fall and go boom?”

  That did it. Now fastened to quite possibly the most obnoxious woman he’d ever met, Renner pushed the stranger through the open window she said she’d come through. Then quietly, he shut the slider, careful to not trap the sheer curtain in its track. If only it had opened onto a lanai or a deck, anything wider than the narrow concrete ledge he found himself balancing on. Those cars on the streets below looked awfully small and—

  “Don’t look down,” the lady jerking his cuffed wrist snapped. “You look down, you fall. My eyes only.” She pointed two fingers at her eyes, jerking his left hand again. “Look at me, asshole. Like it or not, I’m your way out of here.”

  Jesus, it was cold up here. But solid. There was no ice on the ledge, not that he couldn’t still fall off. Sweating bullets now, Renner’s eyeballs locked onto the smart aleck lady in the black bodysuit. Black cap. The tiniest black booties he’d ever seen. Nope, those were definitely climbing shoes. Velcro straps instead of laces. Probably some kind of suction-cupped soles, he hoped. Which weren’t going to help him, not with his everyday steel-toed anchors on his stiff as cinder block feet.

  There was a reason he hadn’t signed with the Army’s 101st Airborne. Renner hated heights, that and a little thing called hypoxia, the lower-than-normal oxygen saturation in a guy’s blood when skydiving, made him pass out. He hated flying commercial, too, never went anywhere he couldn’t drive—unless he absolutely had to. Yet he’d never admit it, certainly not to the chick he was now cuffed to.

  Once a year, all TEAM members had to qualify for HAHO, high altitude high opening, and HALO, high altitude low opening, parachute jumps. Adam Torrey, the resident SEAL and the only flying squirrel on The TEAM, loved that shit. He’d even organized the Mile-High-Bastards club to which every agent, except Renner—the only smart one on The TEAM—belonged. They’d all go flying together—in a perfectly good plane—then jump out of that plane like a pack of idiots. Not Renner. He only qualified when he had to. Once a year was enough.

  “What now?” he asked, his mouth dry and his heart pounding up high his throat at his two very real possibilities. One, standing on this ledge all night until Montego left. That would suck. Two, dying of a heart attack while standing on the same narrow ledge—that was getting narrower with each passing second—until Montego left.

  “Now we let go, tough guy,” she replied evenly, her gaze still on him.

  Renner couldn’t not look at her by then. He was frozen. Paralyzed. That third possibility of letting go had never entered his mind. He had to give her credit, though, this gal had guts. But the rappelling rope coiled over her neck and one arm, a thin piece of nylon, wouldn’t even begin to hold his weight. She had some kind of pack on her back, too, but it wasn’t big enough to be a parachute, certainly wasn’t two.

  Then this was it, how everything ended. He was going to die.

  “How long’s your rope?” he asked like a dick, as if she could possibly carry one long enough to put him safely on the ground.

  Instead of answering, she reached around his head, ran her glove across his neck, then down his back and asked, “Do you trust me?”

  “No,” he replied quickly. This was not one of those “Aladdin” moments when the sultan’s daughter got suckered by a street rat asking the same question. Renner was no princess and there was no damned magic carpet in sight. He would’ve watched what was making that clicking sound behind him, but he’d lost all capacity to think calmly or logically. To think at all. Fear did that to a guy. “I don’t know you enough to trust you.”

  But she’d also gotten in close, and she smelled like flowers and wind. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment, until a sweeping sense of vertigo spoiled everything. He snapped those eyes back open, needing something—anything!—to hold onto. The window behind him would do. Like an idiot, he palmed his free hand to the cold glass behind him that offered no handhold. Not a one.

  Maybe Montego wouldn’t notice if they sneaked back in. Maybe there was another way, a better way to get out of this mess. Damn it, the ledge was too high, too narrow. His boots were too large. He was going to fall. Like a pig. A frozen pig. By the time he landed, they’d have to scrape him off the pavement and use DNA to identify what was left of him.

  “R-R-Renner Graves,” he managed to spit out. It seemed important now. Someone should notify his mother and sister, his niece. Not that Alex wouldn’t, but this woman was here and…

  She cocked her head like she was really seeing him,
as if she’d read his mind. If it hadn’t been for the altitude, he might’ve called her cute in a boyish, pixie, kind of way. She was small like Montego, but her facial features were delicate, not coarse. For certain, this cocky Wonder Woman was strong, but she was also kind, not cold and brutal, certainly no sadist. She didn’t give off that kind of vibe. He could tell. There was a warm, motherly light in her eyes, and she had breasts that stretched the front of her jacket just right—like they wanted to be let loose.

  Shit! He nearly slipped. Renner palmed that slippery glass window again, mad at himself for getting distracted by two very fine breasts.

  The slightest smile quirked her pursed lips, lips that were luscious and wet and shining and—

  What a time to be thinking about sex. But yeah, no. His last visit home and the bright smiling face of Frankie, his four-year-old niece, overrode those crazy, wonderful, erotic—but totally inappropriate—sensations bubbling through his veins. He was going to miss Frankie’s sweet hugs most of all. Not this woman he didn’t know. Frankie adored him, and Renner loved that little girl with every beat of his devil dog heart. This gal didn’t care if he lived or died.

  But those breasts…

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Renner Graves,” the woman he was now bound to in death whispered beguilingly as if she’d known precisely what he was thinking.

  “Yeah, I’d say the same back to you if I hadn’t just jacked up both our lives,” he murmured, still trying to get a grip on that glass. Still fighting to keep his eyes off her chest. “Sure sorry about this.”

  For the first time he realized that, because of his brilliant idea to use flex cuffs, this woman’s arm was now extended along with his. She was letting him palm the glass even though she knew there was no support there. The only thing keeping him from dropping to his death was her and this tiny ledge his big feet were now precariously balanced on. Damn, he was stupid, but she probably knew that, too.

  She shrugged, that sparkle in her gaze drawing him in. “No worries. It’s part of the job.”

  The bedroom light flashed on behind them. Jesus, Montego could see through those sheer panels!

  “But we need to go now, Mr. Graves,” his lady of the night said calmly. “We fly together. All the way. Are you with me?”

  WTF? Fly? “No,” he meant to say, but it came out in one long, “Nooooooooooooooooooo!” Because his diving buddy pushed him! Him! The guy without a parachute or a rope or a—

  She’d pushed him! He was airborne and falling and—

  “No! Just no!”

  But then his body jerked against the drop like he’d been caught. But he wasn’t. Renner peered up. There was no chute, but his cuffed hand was now interlocked with Wonder Woman’s, her grip tight and dry and sure. Warm. He squeezed her hand tighter before he noticed she’d also managed to capture his other hand, those fingers now interlocked in the same tight grip. They were facing each other, both falling to their deaths. Only slower than he expected. And her legs were spread wide. Some kind of webbing shimmered between them and under her arms and—

  His brain kicked back on. She was as crazy as Adam. That outfit of hers was a wingsuit, the kind that adrenaline junkies wore when they jumped off skyscrapers and mile-high cliffs for the thrill of it. That was what she was doing up there. She was a human bat, a wingnut, with strong tensile fabric-wings now stretched taut under her arms and between her legs. He was still dead weight and still falling, just not as fast.

  “We’re coming in hard,” she shouted across the noisy air space between them. “My chute won’t slow us down enough. Whatever you do, don’t tense up. Bend your knees when you land or you’ll break your legs.”

  She had a chute? Another good thing to know.

  “Did you hear me?” she yelled louder that time.

  Renner nodded, his heart pounding like a mother, and the ground coming up like a freight train riding rails of sheer black ice. “I’m going to die,” he muttered at himself. “Even if I live, I’m still going to die because Alex will kill me when I tell him I almost had Montego, only not really because I cuffed myself to a flying squirrel. Shit, I’m so dumb.”

  “What’d you say?” she bellowed.

  He shook his head. No sense repeating that. No sense talking at all, not unless he could give himself Last Rites.

  The cars on the street below grew larger. His throat got drier. At the last moment, she deployed her chute and it seemed to slow them just enough they didn’t crash and burn. But then he’d bent both knees, anticipating crashing on the top level of a nearby parking terrace instead of in the middle of the busy street, and praying, ‘Please, God. I’ll go to Mass with Mom every Sunday if You let me live tonight.’

  At last, touchdown.

  In better control of his senses and his bowels by then, Renner rolled into the landing to lessen the impact. As if she’d anticipated his move, his cat burglar friend rolled with him. Somersaulted really. It wasn’t pretty. By the time they came to a full stop, they were a pair of awkward conjoined twins. Renner was face down to the pavement with his left arm twisted behind his back. She’d ended splayed over him like a rag doll, her face in the crook of his sweaty neck, her right arm between them, and her knee stuck between his thighs. Which he was totally okay with because a simple patch of concrete had never felt so good or so immovable. He let the last of the sun’s radiant heat stored in it remind his cheek that life really was good, and he was alive. Yup still breathing. A childhood rhyme sprang to mind. ‘God is great. God is good. Let us thank him for our food. And for living. Hell, yeah.’

  “Thank you, God,” he whispered to the grime and oil and whatever else was ground into the cement under his face. “Not for the ride down so much, but definitely for the landing.”

  Wonder Woman whispered in his ear, “The police will be here soon, tough guy. Should we stay and get better acquainted? Maybe they won’t notice us mugging each other like we are.”

  “No, ma’am,” he growled. “Let’s haul ass.”

  Still feeling like a pretzel, Renner waited until she rolled off before he climbed to his hands and knees. Which was so not his style. He was in reasonably good shape. He was a fit athlete, jarheads had to be, damn it. He was certainly not accustomed to kneeling at a woman’s feet. But after dropping from a penthouse in the dark…

  Jesus. Never again.

  They made it up and on their feet at the same time. “Hold up,” he ordered. Digging into his boot sheath, he pulled out his knife and made short work of that stupid damned flex cuff.

  Man, her smile was a beacon that would give their position away all by itself.

  Renner still held her wrist. Red and blue lights flashed from the street below. The police were there, but he didn’t want to let this mystery woman go. “Who are you?”

  “What’s it to you?” she asked, eyeing his fingers as if she might bite them. “Are you going to arrest me after I saved your life?” She gave him that cocky chin nod again as she dragged her cap off with her free hand. Shimmering, touchable, scarlet red spilled over her shoulders and tumbled down her back like a gleaming river.

  A man could get lost in there, and Renner was. Long hair and breasts, his two favorite kryptonites rolled into one sexy package. He shook his head to clear the sudden steam between his ears. “No, but I would like to know who to thank for saving my life.” His voice had gone hoarse and low. It was hard to swallow again. This woman was no pixie. Maybe a siren who called men to their deaths? That seemed a better fit.

  He couldn’t quite decide the color of her eyes, but he guessed blue. Maybe green. Suddenly it seemed a critically important detail, something he should know after the intimacy of nearly dying together.

  The roar of tires squealing up the parking ramp killed his need to know. They both looked toward the sound. “Tara,” she said when she turned back around to face him. “I’m Tara Tumulty. Now grab the chute and run!”

  Like a dumb jarhead recruit with his f
irst badassed drill instructor, Renner grabbed the chute, rolling it into a ball as he ran. He had a feeling then. Even without the cuffs, he’d follow this woman anywhere.

  Chapter Three

  Tara led him through the door marked STAIRS, down three winding levels, then out onto the quiet, frigid streets of Roslyn, Virginia. Facing east, she began jogging even as she stripped her all-in-one wingsuit off, stopping only to step out of the pants. Down to black running pants and an Under Armour tank, she wrapped the suit into a tight roll as she ran. Renner had already handled the chute into a neat, tight package under his arm. No longer out in the open, she breathed easier despite the cold sharp air.

  Now that he had his nerve back, Renner Graves made an excellent running partner. Not too fast. Not too slow. She’d kept watch on her first ever wingnut trainee. He wasn’t even breathing hard. Good to know. The man was in shape, something she respected. Not enough people kept themselves in prime condition.

  The quiet slap of their soles against the pavement made Tara smile. So had the astonished look on his handsome face when she’d pushed him off the ledge. That was priceless. This big tough guy hadn’t expected she’d do it, which had made it the right thing to do. They hadn’t time to argue, and she’d learned long ago arguing solved nothing. Action was what brought results. So, she’d acted, and here they were, still alive and headed east, away from her perfect mark. But only for tonight. She’d climb that landmark apartment building again and soon. She had plans for those diamonds.

  “We should stop for a drink,” she told him. Too much adrenaline made a person thirsty. This guy had to be parched by now.

  “Yeah, sure. I know a place,” he said, still running and still keeping up. “Turn left, next corner. On the right. You can’t miss it.”