Of course there were also the questions surrounding Rachel Blaine’s death. The timing of the attacks on Becca was suspicious as hell. Someone had tried to kill her hours after she’d shown up at the precinct claiming her mother had been pregnant and murdered. Which meant the assaults on Becca could be connected to her mother’s death.
Had Lena known Rachel was pregnant? Had she been behind the lack of investigation into her rival’s death? Was she behind the missing autopsy report? Did what had happened back then play into the attacks on Becca now?
“What do you remember from around the time Becca moved in with your family? Was there tension between your mom and dad?”
She smiled wryly at that, her fingers twisting together. A pensive look settling over her face. “There was always tension between them. They fought constantly.”
Surprised, he rocked back on his heels. Lena and Aaron Hart had seemed the perfect power couple. Lena with her roots in old money and Aaron with his political connections. Outwardly, the two had appeared to have the strongest of marriages. At least until rumors of a mistress and illegitimate child had surfaced.
Rio scratched at his eyebrow, trying to reconcile Adele’s account with his memories of the couple. “What did they fight about?”
“Take your pick. Money. Business. Politics. Me. Adam. Later Becca.” She sighed. “Those last few years before Dad died, they existed in frozen silence. I think they hated each other.”
Interesting… “Do you remember them fighting about Rachel Blaine, Becca’s mother?”
“No. But I used to hide when they’d start yelling. I never heard the actual arguments. Just the shouting.”
He grunted in acknowledgment, his mind shifting to Adam. While he’d verified Adam’s flight and the hotel key card information, he hadn’t talked to his onetime best friend. None of his calls had been returned.
Maybe Adele had a personal phone number for him. “What phone number do you use to reach Adam?”
He followed Adele over to an oval table against the counter that separated the kitchen from the living area. She picked up a pen and scribbled a bunch of numbers on a creamy notepad before ripping the top sheet free and handing it to him. “This is his phone number. But he’s flying home tomorrow morning.”
As Rio took the sheet of paper, his gaze fell on the framed photo on the table next to the notepad. He froze, his breath catching in shock.
Fuck.
It was a formal picture, the same one that had arrived with his wedding invitation. Neither Adele nor her fiancé were smiling. He looked stoic and stern. She looked terrified. But it was the necklace around her neck that caught his attention.
A brilliant blue stone glittered on a web of silver filaments. No wonder the pendant in Rachel’s diary had looked so familiar. Adele had been wearing it in her engagement photo. How the hell had the pendant in Rachel Blaine’s journal ended up around Adele Hart’s neck?
Chapter Twelve
The afternoon following the kiss—as Becca had taken to calling it—was a lazy one. Uneventful. Peaceful even. Which left far too much time to stew over recent developments… like the attempts on her life, her mother’s secret pregnancy, Adele’s extreme wedding jitters, but most of all—the kiss.
That damn kiss had occupied her mind far too much over the past eighteen hours. Time after time she found herself reliving those moments in Rio’s arms, the heady, euphoric taste of him, the sensual nibble of his teeth against her neck, the way his hands had burned through her shirt as they’d tightened around her waist.
Those moments on the couch, wrapped in his arms, his mouth against hers, had ignited the hunger and brought the urgency back to a boil. They’d also left her all tangled up, uncertain of what she felt or whether she felt anything for him at all—well, beyond the physical attraction anyway.
Hours later, her body still hummed and throbbed and dampened in places she’d all but forgotten existed. She tried to ignore its theatrics and concentrate on the book she borrowed from Emma’s library. But it was impossible to concentrate on the love story unfolding beneath her hands and eyes, when her pesky sex drive was all gung-ho to tap into a heaping dose of romance for itself.
The situation was even more uncomfortable because the two men sitting beside her were Navy SEALs, trained to assess body language and emotional tells. The last thing she needed was her body broadcasting its general horniness to the room at large.
She shifted uneasily before forcing herself to stillness. She was stretched out across the sofa, her back against the armrest, with Cuddles curled on her lap. Brett Taggart—who’d picked up a copy of Tactical Weapons from the coffee table and was working his way through it one bored finger flip at a time—had wedged himself into the left end of the couch next to her sock-clad feet.
Lucas Trammel had taken the recliner and was sprawled back with his eyes closed. He looked like he was napping. Something she doubted was a normal daily activity. She suspected the two men were bored, which was good news for her since that meant nobody was currently trying to kill her. But bad news also, as the monotony was sure to expose her current horny state to shrewd eyes and quick minds.
When the sound of a cell phone’s musical ringtone suddenly broke the companionable silence, everyone stirred. Tram stretched, sat up, and reached for the phone he’d set on the edge of the coffee table.
He glanced at the screen as he picked it up and paused. “Son of a bitch.”
Tag tossed the magazine onto the coffee table. “Let me guess. It’s Dev.”
Tram’s response was a disgusted grunt. He swiped his finger across the screen and lifted the phone to his ear.
Becca glanced between the two men. This Dev, whoever he was, had certainly injected a dose of tension into her bodyguards. Their muscles had morphed from pliable to rigid. Their expressions had altered too—intensity had chased away the laziness of seconds ago.
She frowned, watching Tram’s face as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line. His expression flattened. His biceps tightened. His eyes chilled.
Something was going down.
Cuddles picked up on the tension too. The dog, which had been sound asleep and snoring lightly, suddenly jackknifed up. Her mismatched gaze locked on Tram’s expressionless face. A shrill whine broke from the animal, and she started to shake.
“It’s okay, baby.” Setting the book down on the coffee table, Becca went to work, comforting the animal with gentle strokes and a low, soothing voice.
But Cuddles wasn’t buying it. Her whining got louder, and the shaking escalated to long, violent tremors.
“Got it,” Tram said, his voice as flat as his face. “On our way.” He paused to listen, and his gaze shifted to Tag. “Yeah, he’s with me. Okay. An hour.”
“What’s going on?” Becca directed the question at Tag since Trammel was listening to the caller again.
“Sounds like we caught a call.” Tag’s narrow gaze didn’t budge from his buddy’s face.
“A call?” Becca echoed, raising her eyebrows.
Trammel was nodding absently, a frown wrinkling his forehead. He glanced at Becca, and the frown deepened.
“We’ve been called to duty,” Tag said. “You’ll need a new set of bodyguards.”
Tram was headed back out on deployment? Emma was going to be beside herself with worry.
“But Lucas is only a month away from retirement,” she protested.
Poor Emma! Her hostess had been hoping Tram wouldn’t get called back into action before his papers went into effect.
Tag replied with a fatalistic shrug.
“When?” Tag asked as soon as Tram lowered his phone.
“Two hours.” Tram’s attention immediately returned to his phone. He punched a few icons and raised the cell back to his ear. “Hey, dude, we just got called up.” He paused, nodded. “Right, we need to book.” His gaze flickered toward Emma and fell to her lap. Cuddles had dropped the whining but was shaking harder than ever. He frowned, concern tou
ching his face. “Sure, I’ll tell her. I’ll catch a ride with Tag and leave the Jeep for you. Do you need a list of go-to guys?” He paused to listen. “Okay, we’ll see you on the flip side.” He punched the End Call button with his thumb and lowered his arm, his attention returning to Becca’s face. “He wants you to sit tight. He’s on his way.”
Becca’s throat tightened as Emma’s bright face and sunny smile rose in her mind. “You’re leaving? Can’t you sit this one out? You’re so close to retirement.”
Becca thought back to her panic all those years ago when Rio had been about to deploy. Her chest constricted.
Poor Emma.
Trammel ignored her question. Skirting the coffee table and couch, he headed across the living room. Tag rose to his feet and followed. After a second or two of sitting there in stunned silence, trying to wrap her mind around how fast everything had changed, Becca tucked Cuddles beneath her good elbow and rose to her feet, trailing behind the pair.
“Don’t you need to pack?” she asked as the men converged on the door.
“Our go bags are in the Jeep.” Tram turned to face her as Tag disappeared out the door. “Lock the door behind us. Don’t open it for anyone except Rio or Emma.” He tilted his head and scanned her from head to toe. The tautness of his face softened. “You’ll be fine. Rio will be here in half an hour.” His gaze dropped to Cuddles. While the dog had stopped shaking, she was watching Tram’s face with huge, sad eyes. He ran a soothing hand over her head and around her neck to scratch under her chin. “You take care of Emma for me, you hear?” The comment was directed at Cuddles, not Becca.
With a long, mournful whine, the dog stretched her neck and licked his broad hand.
“Stay safe,” Becca murmured, only to immediately chasten herself.
What a stupid, useless comment. While SEALs led dangerous lives, they trained extensively to limit the risks as much as possible. He wouldn’t purposely put himself in danger. If something happened to him, it would be something out of his control.
“Always.” His smile back was lopsided and understanding, only to fall into a frown far too quickly. He hesitated, rolling his shoulder uneasily. “Do me a favor and stick around for a couple of days and keep Emma company. The first week after we deploy is always the hardest. She’ll need someone to help her through it. A distraction.” He frowned, shoved a tense hand through his hair. “I know it’s asking a lot, but—”
“Of course I’ll stay.” Becca interrupted him.
“Thanks.” His smile looked forced. He started to turn.
“Wait.” Her voice rose shrilly as the realization hit that she was about to be abandoned. Left alone for the first time since she’d been shot.
If her attacker was watching the house, they’d move on her once Tram and Tag were out of sight. Not that she could tell Tram her fears, not when he had so much on his mind already.
“Maybe you should leave Emma a note or something?” she stammered.
“I’ll call her from the truck.” He offered her a tight smile and turned, following Tag out the door. He took the porch steps in one leap and followed his buddy across the yard with a ground-eating lope.
Becca closed and locked the door behind him, the weight of the house’s silence pressing against every last nerve. Luckily, she had Cuddles to comfort. The dog had started whining again, and her compact, bristly body vibrated against Becca’s ribs.
The poor old girl was probably picking up on Becca’s escalating uneasiness. Which was rather ridiculous. There shouldn’t be any tension. She’d spent the past decade alone and had always found the quiet of her home comforting.
Maybe that was the difference. While Emma had been the perfect hostess, this house was not Becca’s home. The silence here felt different and not in the least comforting.
As it turned out, Cuddles did most of the soothing. Just having the dog’s warm, heavy weight in her lap—her breath whistling in and out, splitting the silence with the audible proof of companionship—eased Becca’s mind and calmed her heart and breathing. She sighed, her body relaxing as she stroked the dog’s rough coat. Cuddles was such good company. She should check into adopting a canine companion herself. The right animal could even act as a therapy dog. Several of her clients would benefit from adding such an animal to their sessions.
By the time Rio’s knock struck the door, Becca’s heart and respiration had stabilized. At least until Cuddles jolted awake and rocketed off the couch, attacking the door with deep-throated growls and a flurry of barking. Becca approached the foyer more cautiously, leaning over Cuddles’s vibrating body to look out the peephole. Rio’s chiseled face stared back at her.
The dog’s growls escalated, growing more throaty and vicious. Before unlocking the door, she bent to scoop the animal up. No sense in letting her dart outside and take off as Rio came inside. Losing Tram and Cuddles on the same day would devastate Emma.
She opened the door and stepped back and to the side, allowing Rio to pass through. The house, which had felt empty mere moments before, suddenly brimmed with life and intensity.
“I’ll be damned.” Rio settled an approving eye on the animal in her arms. “The little rat knows how to impersonate a guard dog.” He closed and locked the door and turned back to Becca. He waited for her to set Cuddles on the floor before scanning her face and shoulder intently. “How you doing?”
“I’m fine.” She tried for a light tone, but her voice turned solemn when she caught sight of the concern in his eyes.
She didn’t remember seeing that emotion from him before. Desire, sure. Frustration—absolutely. But never concern.
He gave her a slight smile, regret darkening his eyes until they were a dark, mysterious gray. “Don’t worry about Tram and Tag. I’ve got calls out. I’ll have another team in place in no time.”
“I’m not worried.”
She almost told him not to worry about hiring new bodyguards, that she would ask Detective Wilbanks to provide a couple of men. But at the last moment, she bit the suggestion back. Judging by his annoyed reaction the last time she’d made such a suggestion, he wasn’t a fan of Wilbanks. No sense in shattering the growing peace between them.
As they stood there in the foyer, silence settled over them. They were so close she could smell the spicy aftershave he wore, feel his body heat warming the air between them. The hush deepened. Pulsed. It wasn’t the forbidding silence of before, rather an exhilarating silence. A tantalizing one. A silence full of hushed expectancy and sexual heat.
They were alone… just the two of them…
Apparently that realization hit him too. His face tightened. His gaze darkened and dropped to her lips, lingering. She caught her breath and leaned forward and up, waiting for the touch of his mouth… waiting for him to release the hunger. She could see the urgency of desire contracting the muscles of his face, highlighting his cheekbones in a blaze of red.
He bent slightly, his head lowering to meet hers, and then he froze.
“Hell.” He sighed, pressed his forehead to hers, and groaned beneath his breath. “You have no idea how much I want to taste you right now.” He rolled his forehead against hers but kept his mouth closed and to himself.
Tasting each other sounded like a fine idea to her. Her body tingling, she shifted closer, her good arm sliding around his waist. He smelled so good—spicy and hot and all man. She drew a deep breath, filling her lungs with his scent, and almost asphyxiated herself when they refused to release the breath they were hoarding.
“Devouring each other sounds good to me,” she murmured against his closed lips.
As her lips lightly brushed his mouth, he froze again. She could feel the tension in the muscles pressed against hers, could sense the strain they were under, their urgent need to react… but then he pulled back, a low, frustrated groan breaking from him.
“Sweetheart. As much as I’d love to take you up on that offer, the timing sucks.”
He had to be freaking kidding.
S
he drew back and looked up. One glimpse of his resolute face told her his comment had not been a joke.
She dropped her arm from his waist and frowned up at him. “Why?”
“That shoulder for one thing. You’re in no shape for what I need from you.” He shoved a frustrated hand through his hair, his gray eyes shadowed and hungry. “You know damn well that a kiss is bound to lead to a hell of a lot more, which you aren’t ready for.”
She frowned harder. That might have been true ten years ago, but recently? “Seems like you had no trouble pulling back yesterday.”
He snorted and slid an arm around her shoulder, steering her toward the living room. “Trust me. I paid for those moments with your tongue in my mouth all damn night.”
She choked at the graphic reminder and felt the heat of a blush spread across her face.
His arm tightened around her. “Next time you’re in my bed, I’d rather it be literal, rather than virtual.”
It took her a second to figure out the meaning of that. “You dreamed about me?”
“All fucking night,” he admitted wryly.
Which wasn’t the kind of admission she’d ever expected to hear from him. Something inside her softened. Went all sloppy and hot.
When they reached the couch, Rio let her go and leaned down to scoop up her mother’s diary. He flipped through to the last page and offered the open book to her. “Do you remember seeing your mom wearing this?”
Now that was what one called changing the subject. But she dutifully took the journal and ran her fingers lightly across the sketch. “No. It’s beautiful though. I don’t think it was ever made.”
“Oh, it was made.” His voice was grim.
“How could you possibly know that?”
She puzzled over his claim as he reached into the back pocket of his charcoal-colored slacks and pulled out a folded square of thick ivory paper. He unfolded the square—which proved to be a photo—and took the journal back. Silently he presented the sketch and photograph to her side by side.
Loyalty Under Fire (Operation: Hot Spot Book 3) Page 14
