“Tell me about your children,” he said, still watching her eat. Still loving the way she licked her lips, and still jealous of her spoon. Caramel, huh? Caramel and whipped cream… that actually gave him an idea… But no. Not with Tara and not tonight. Probably never.
“They’re not mine,” she sputtered as a spoonful of the custard got away from her and tumbled down the front of her tank top. “Oh, darn. Look at me.”
It was hard not to look at her, or to reach across the table and dab the creamy mess away. To cop a feel, maybe get in close. Smear the rest of that caramel over her throat and inch his lips down to her—
He cleared his throat to banish the temptation. Nope. Not happening.
Renner cranked his head toward the bar, stayed on his side of the table, and kept his hands to himself. Tara needed her space more than she needed him, and he needed to get away from her before he lost his mind. Man, she was pretty. All that red hair. Those eyes. Her mouth had a way of turning hard and then soft in the blink of an eye, as if she could read him the riot act, then kiss him better after she had.
Yeah. He needed to get her into an Uber and forget this night ever happened.
By the time she’d wiped her shirt and her chin, his pants were too tight and he needed a long breath of fresh air and a cold shower. If he’d been able to walk. But no. Renner wasn’t going anywhere soon.
“Anyway…” She drew that word out with a big smile. “Like I was saying, they’re not my kids. I work at a halfway house for runaways. I’m kind of like you. I’m in security, too.”
Renner rested his chin on his palm and his elbow on the table. “And…” he prompted. “Kids are still kids. They’re smelly and noisy. What are yours like?”
“They’re terrific,” she said with star-bright enthusiasm. Her smile could’ve honestly lit the entire Eastern Seaboard.
“For instance…” He made a circle with his fingers for her to keep talking.
Tara set the spoon into the plate of half-finished dessert. “Well, my favorite is Jessica. She’s the sweetest little African American doll-faced liar you’ll ever meet. When I first arrived, she didn’t want help getting away from her abusive pimp brother. She’d just come down from Boston, but she made it clear she didn’t need anyone. She was all ‘Leave me alone! I can do this myself! Back off and stop bugging me, you crackers!’”
Renner could’ve watched Tara the rest of his life. He chuckled at the image of a spitfire like little Jessica. What made that little girl so fierce and so determined? Kids weren’t born like that; they evolved into it to survive. So, what had Jessica survived? Just her brother? For that matter, little boys weren’t born pimps, either. What had her brother survived to turn him into a user?
Tara’s words snapped him back to the moment. “She was just eleven, can you imagine that? But something I said must have gotten through to her. Jessica needed my help, and she got it. No questions asked, just ‘thank you, ma’am’,” Tara said with attitude. “Her brother got schooled in the law of the jungle, that bigger truly is better, and he got schooled hard. He never touched Jessica again. A guy with broken fingers isn’t very intimidating.”
“You broke his fingers?”
Tara blinked then. She’d only had root beer, not even all of it. But it seemed to have loosened her tongue more than she’d wanted. “Umm, no,” she answered, her enthusiasm squelched. “But in my line of work, I, umm, know people and…” She shrugged. “If I can help kids who are homeless and in trouble like Jessica and…” She coughed. “I mean…” Cough, cough, cough.
Another clue. The covert cough. Renner sat there and took it all in. The way Tara’s lashes dropped as if she thought she could shut him out by not looking at him. The hitch in her breath when she thought she’d said too much. The side glances, always looking over her shoulder. He’d seen these indicators before. PTSD, plain and simple. At one time in her life, Tara had been in trouble like the kids she now served and obviously loved. Renner let the moment of truth pass. Tara would tell him in her own time and way. That was just the way it was.
“Any other kids you’ve taken to heart?” he asked to get her back on track.
Her lashes fluttered as her gaze locked onto him. “Yes. Tyson. He’s a local runaway from the other side of the river.”
She’d lost the fire that had lit her up from the inside out, and Renner wanted it back. “The Anacostia?” It stood to reason. The most troubled neighborhood in the District lay across the Anacostia River.
She nodded. “Yes, most of our kids are black, but Tyson’s special. He’s just a skinny little thing, but he’s courageous and he’s fierce. Only he witnessed a gang murder. He was scared and he wouldn’t go to the police, so he came to us, said word on the streets is we’ll help anyone. The gang threatened to torture his mom and little sister if he ratted on them. They demanded he join up to prove he was one of them. He didn’t know where else to go.”
“Would that be the Tufts who committed that murder?” Renner asked. The Tufts, so named by a pack of idiot young men who thought they were ‘tough’ and who also wore short mohawks of—tufts. Yeah, not the brightest bulbs in that box of dimwitted Christmas bulbs. But they were mean and their crimes were escalating.
She nodded, her eyes on what was left of the dessert, her fingers once more fidgeting with the handle of her spoon. “Yes, um, you know who they are?”
Renner leaned back in his chair. “I’ve had a few run-ins with them.”
It had to be hard, not knowing how much to say without admitting anything that would get Tara or her employer into serious legal trouble. He watched her neck muscles tighten. She was definitely on edge.
But this case sounded a lot like one he’d recently handled for Alex. He and Beau had made a trip across the Anacostia Bridge one dark night. They’d tracked down the leader of that worthless pack of punks, and made a few points with him, points he’d opted not to heed. So, Beau made a few more points a day later—on that gang boss’s hard head. By the time the discussion was done, Mr. ‘Big-Mouth-Tuft’ wasn’t so tough anymore. He also knew Beau meant business when he said he’d be back and that he’d be watching.
“You like working with children,” Renner said to move the conversation along. Tara needed to talk, and he didn’t mind listening.
She met his gaze then. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
She wiggled out of the bench and rounded the table, sliding in next to him. “Do this.”
His heartbeat soared at what he hoped she was doing.
“You make me feel like I could tell you anything.” She looked at his mouth.
He looked at hers. They were close enough he was going cross-eyed. “Because you can. I owe you. You saved my life, remember? You’re my hero.”
She cracked a smile. “You’d better be gender specific. I think that’s ‘heroine’.”
“I think you’re right.” He leaned in closer, breathing heavier.
Sizzle. Crackle. Boom.
She jerked him into her face and planted her warm, wet mouth on his lips and...
Yessssss. This was what he’d wanted since she’d pushed him off that ledge. This sassy mouth. This warm, moist breath. This sensational wet, wild, unexpected kiss of a lifetime.
Renner circled one hand around the back of her slender neck, not willing to frighten the brave, bold woman now breathing hard in his face. Life was all about timing, and sometimes things worked out, but never often enough. Best-laid plans often fell through. Every jarhead knew strategy never survived first contact with the enemy in combat. Which made this surprise one of the best moves ever.
He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this moment, but it was now, and she was here, and… Jesus. She tasted sweeter than the bread pudding on her tongue.
Tara moaned and linked her arms around his neck.
His hands shifted down to her hips, his thumbs on her taut abdomen. Everywhere his fingers went, he discovere
d solid muscle. Slender but washboard hard. She worked out and it showed. But man alive, she was all woman. Trembling. Moaning into his mouth. Angling her head for easier access to his mouth, so more of his tongue could reach inside her. She wanted him, and that was all it took. Her fingers dropped to his belt. Every all-male receptor in his body sprang to life, and Renner was a man on fire.
But not here. “Whoa,” he growled before he lost control. The wall around the booth gave them plenty of privacy for talking. Not—that. “Slow down a little.”
By then she was nearly on his lap. Renner took firm hold of the situation. He could do one-night stands, but he wasn’t good at them. Didn’t like the way he felt the morning after. Didn’t like being a user or a loser, being used or tossed aside. So, he’d sworn off the bar and single scenes. Until now.
Tara dropped her forehead to his chest, panting hard. “I’m… God, I’m sorry.”
He pressed his index finger under her chin and tipped her face up. “I’m not,” he told her honestly. “You’re beautiful and you’re smart enough to go after what you want. Just glad it was me.”
“I don’t know what came over me,” she whispered, her lips swollen and wet, so damned delicious.
“I do,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. “Adrenaline and bread pudding will do it every time.” This time he coughed into his fist as he soldiered through the erotic image of Tara covered in caramel and whipped cream. “Yup, mix those two together and…” Cough, cough, cough. “…you get one helluva…” Hard-on. “… aphrodisiac.”
A sad little smile lit her face, and Renner was smitten. He peered into her soft blue eyes. A woman of worth glowed back at him, but she came with baggage, and he had the feeling Tara didn’t know for certain who she was right then. That she was searching, exploring, maybe fighting her own brand of demons. A smart man didn’t take advantage of a woman when she wasn’t on her A game, and Renner’s mother hadn’t raised any fools.
Threading his fingers through her rich red hair, he cupped the back of her skull and kissed her forehead instead of those luscious tempting lips. “Mom makes the best Irish coffee this side of the river,” he breathed. “You interested?”
He knew he’d said what she’d needed to hear by the way the tension sighed out of her. Which made letting her go more difficult. But the last thing Tara needed was some pushy guy in her bed. She needed more. She needed something solid to hold onto. Someone who wouldn’t let her down. She needed a friend.
He’d only known her a couple hours, but he couldn’t help it. Renner wanted to be that friend. He would’ve luxuriated in that deeply sensitive, personal revelation, but his cell vibrated like an angry wasp in his pants pocket. Oh, shit, Alex.
“You lost Montego?” his boss spat without introduction. Yup, Alex was smoking-hot pissed at Renner’s lack of a timely sitrep, and as usual, Alex assumed the worst.
“No, Boss, I never had her. Someone else was already inside McCormack’s penthouse when Montego showed.” Renner stared Tara in the eye. She looked like she might bolt, so he’d grabbed her hand to hold her in place. Just in case.
“Who?”
“Not exactly sure yet, Boss. I’m still tracking her.”
“Her? You got sidetracked by a female?” Not that Alex was misogynistic. Just a trifle old-fashioned.
Well, yeah. Kinda. Sorta. “Why not? Females are as capable as males.” Why that commercial for women’s rights poured out of his mouth, Renner hadn’t a clue. Yet he did. A kid wasn’t raised by an independent woman who owned and ran her own business, only to turn into a male chauvinist.
“Tell me you at least got close enough to lock onto Montego’s son of a bitchin’ cell.”
Ouch. Renner winced. Each TEAM cell was not only ruggedized to endure all manner of shit, but it came equipped with a tracking app. An agent had only to come within feet of the person in question to link their cell identification with that app and begin tracking. “Didn’t have time, Boss. Sorry. One minute I was inside McCormack’s apartment, the next thing I was standing outside on his window ledge about to fall.”
“Son of a bitch!” Alex’s favorite curse stung Renner’s eardrum again.
“But I’m okay,” Renner interjected in case Alex forgot McCormack’s penthouse was sky high.
“Well, shit, that’s something.” Alex wielded sarcasm as lethally as cursing.
“And I landed without breaking my neck,” Renner deadpanned.
“You fell from Jed’s penthouse?”
So far, Renner had sidestepped every direct question, but he had to come clean. This was Alex. He’d find out later, so he might as well know the entire story now. Renner inhaled a deep breath and said, “Yeah. I did something stupid tonight. Thought I had Montego, so I cuffed our wrists together to make sure she didn’t get away. Only it wasn’t her. I’d locked myself to a woman named Tara. She was inside McCormack’s place to steal a few trinkets, and no, I’m not still tracking her. We’re, umm, eating dinner at Mom’s.”
Tara’s eyes widened when he revealed their location. She jerked away from him and jumped to her feet, but Renner held on tighter while he talked faster and explained further.
“She saved my life, Boss. If not for Tara’s fast thinking, we’d both be dead, or—you know.” There was no way he’d tell Tara what Montego would’ve done had she caught them. Blood, gore, and torture did not a good first date make.
“You jumped?” Alex finally sounded interested, maybe even a little incredulous.
“Had to. There was no other way out of there. Tara’s a wingnut, Boss. She came prepared, and she’s good. Damned good.”
She stopped struggling then.
Renner kept going, watching her and thrilled he might’ve said something right. “By the time we touched down, the police were already on site, so we ran. Honestly, I should’ve contacted you right then and there, but—”
“Yes, you should have. Bring her in,” Alex ordered.
“No,” Renner told his hard-assed, stubborn-as-hell boss. “She’s free to go. I already told her that.”
“Junior Agent…”
Renner rolled his eyes at that drawn-out threatening growl. Alex was prone to pull rank on his agents to get his way. Not this time. “I said no. She’s not part of this mess. She doesn’t need to be, either.” It dawned on him that it might convince Tara if he actually released his grip. So, Renner did. He let her go.
Oddly, she didn’t jump up and walk away. If anything, she looked interested and sat back down beside him.
“By your own admission, you caught a thief in the commission of a crime against one of the most beloved men in our country,” Alex said. “This is no small thing. Bring her in.”
Tara whispered, “It’s okay, I’ll go. I’d like to meet your boss.”
Renner shook his head. She might be able to hear both sides of the conversation—Alex was loud—but there was no way Renner would take her willingly into the lion’s den. Alex could be volatile, downright nasty when pushed. There was no knowing what he’d do when it came to his friend McCormack. Alex had nearly lost Beau to the witch. Then he’d discovered that Montego had kidnapped and tortured one of his USMC buddies from years before. So yeah. Introducing this friendly neighborhood cat burglar to his boss was out of the question.
Until she smiled that sultry, come-hither smile and kissed him on the side of his mouth. “Trust me,” she whispered, her fingertips walking up his chest to his neck. Into his scalp. Stimulating him in ways he hadn’t known were possible. “It’s still early, and you said your car’s parked close by. I don’t mind walking with you.”
Renner licked his lips, wanting more of her mouth and less of Alex. “But he might have you arrested.”
“But he might not,” she murmured, her voice low and sultry as sin.
At the same time Alex snarled, “Oh, for hell’s sake, Graves, I will not have her arrested!”
Renner knew it was already too late. Hi
s boss had just called him Graves. Not Renner. Not dumbass. Yup. They were going to TEAM HQ.
Chapter Five
“We’re leaving?” Renner asked the moment the elevator opened to reveal his ornery boss. “Already?”
“Home,” Alex retorted, his bulging briefcase under one arm and his gut tied in knots. “You must be Tara,” he said to the pretty woman in black at Renner’s side. They did look good together. An angel and an assassin, her with all that wavy red hair, him with his usual dark and deadpan expression.
She gave him her chin and a cold glare. “Who else would I be?”
Make that smartass instead of angel. “Tara what?”
“Tara Tumulty. You must be Alex Stewart.” Obviously, Renner had forewarned her about this meeting. She stuck out her hand. “Do you want my mother and father’s names as well? My blood-type?”
I like her. “That won’t be necessary. Pleased to meet you, Tara Tumulty,” he said politely as he shook her hand. Alex gave her instant credit. She’d been considerate and courteous when he had not. He reined in his temper. “Good Irish name.”
“Yes, it is. Thank you.”
She had a firm grip. Another point earned. He hated the oatmeal hand clasps of so many weak-kneed men around the world, including Congress. Give him a strong American girl any day.
“You break into many homes lately, or is it an impulse you can’t control?” he asked outright.
Again, with the audacious chin nod. The cool, icy, blue-eyed stare. The way her tongue worked the inside of her mouth like she didn’t know whether to spit in his face or answer. “If you must know, I only break in when I want something I can’t have. But the bloodsucker who has attached herself to Mr. McCormack’s left arm? Her I’d rob just for spite.”
His nostrils flared at the implied insult to his friend. “You know Catalina Montego, do you?”
“So, that’s Catalina Montego. Thought her name was LuAnn? Huh.” Ms. Tumulty shook her head, but she’d said that as if she knew something about Montego. Interesting. “No, I don’t know her, just what I see on the news. But every time, she’s had her hooks in your billionaire friend. How stupid is Mr. McCormack? Can’t he see what she’s doing? That she’s only pretending to like him?”
Renner (In the Company of Snipers Book 19) Page 5
