Dangerous Games

by Lora Leigh

  "Someone knows," she whispered. "I know I didn't give myself away, Clint. I know I didn't. We weren't even close to finding out who's supplying that drug. All we caught were three of the dealers, and they had no idea I was involved."

  Clint swallowed tightly. He agreed. There was no reason for a hit against her, not now, not yet. Unless the suppliers were aware that she had been behind the arrests of the dealers. And if any of the Fuentes family were still operating behind the drug, then it would be a matter of personal satisfaction to take Morganna out.

  "We'll figure it out." He couldn't stop touching her. Even as she moved to sit up, he pushed her back down.

  "Stay down a while longer," he whispered. "If they're looking for us, they're looking for a man and woman together, not just a man. We'll be at the hotel soon."

  Her hand curled over his knee as her head rested on his thigh.

  "I was scared," she whispered. "I'm glad you came back."

  She hadn't looked scared. Determined. Defiant. But she hadn't looked scared.

  "I never left." He kept his eyes between the windshield and the mirrors, his body tense as he watched the traffic coming up on them.

  He couldn't think about that now. He couldn't think about how close that knife had been to her throat, how easily she could have died in front of his eyes. He couldn't let himself admit, yet, how he had nearly failed her.

  He slowed down and the cars behind him passed. He sped up and they fell back. There was no sign that he had been followed, that anyone cared one way or the other about the gray extended-cab pickup heading for the next off-ramp.

  The assailant in Morganna's room had been sloppy, but that didn't mean he couldn't track her and Clint. The only thing that had saved Morganna was that her attacker hadn't expected a fight. He had expected a victim. And he hadn't expected Clint. The advantage of surprise had been on their side. This time.

  "If I had lost you ..." He swallowed tightly, his throat tightening at the thought as her hand tightened on his knee. "I'm okay." But she was still shaking; her voice quivered. "A miracle." He kept driving. He knew where he was going, but he was determined to take his time getting there.

  "Well, I have to admit, it wasn't looking good there for a minute." Her laugh was shaky as she rubbed her cheek against his thigh.

  His teeth clenched at the vibration of pleasure that echoed into his rapidly aroused cock. God, he couldn't even keep his head out of his pants long enough to get her to safety.

  This was one of his greatest nightmares, that his need for her, his hunger, would affect his better judgment, his training. At the moment, all he could think about was getting her to a hotel, locking the world behind them, and sinking into the soft, blistering heat between her thighs. He had to assure himself she was alive, breathing, whole.

  He wanted to hear her scream for him. He wanted to taste the sweet, soft syrup that ran from that tight pussy and become drunk on the taste of her.

  He licked his lips, tightened his hand on the wheel, and made another turn. His gaze was never still; his mind assessed every vehicle he passed, every flash of headlights in his rearview mirror. His senses were as alert now as they were in full combat mode, despite the arousal. At least so far.

  "Why did you come into the house? I thought you were leaving." She suddenly asked the question he was hoping she wouldn't think of.

  Clint inhaled roughly. He could feel the invisible bands of steel tightening around him with the knowledge that it didn't matter what he had told himself over the years. He couldn't walk away from her.

  "It's a good thing I did," he grunted, his fingers luxuriating in her thick mass-of curls. "You were holding your own, baby, damned good. But he was better than you."

  "No kidding," she sighed. "But you didn't answer my question."

  Silence filled the truck then. He made another turn as he leaded back to the interstate.

  "I couldn't walk away," he finally breathed out roughly. "I couldn't."

  "Why?"

  He knew what she needed to hear, knew what she wanted. He glared at the signs along the interstate that pointed him to his destination.

  "I can't answer that, Morganna," he breathed out roughly. "You were right earlier, though. You deserve better. But maybe, we both deserve to know where this could go, too."

  She stiffened for a second before he felt her inhale deeply. The tremors still raced through her body, but they were no longer shudders; she was no longer fighting to breathe from terror.

  "And the operation?"

  He snarled silently. "We'll work together. You were right about that, too; it wasn't fair to take it from you. But you'll follow my rules, my direction. Period."

  "You mean that?" The vulnerability in her voice tore at his heart. God, how cruel he had been to her. He had hurt her in so many different ways that her voice echoed with distrust.

  "I mean it, baby." He shook his head as he drove into the enclosed parking garage attached to the Sheraton. "Come on. Let's get a room and see if we can figure out what the hell is going on here."

  He pulled the truck into one of the upper-level parking spots, a shadowy corner with the elevator and stair entrance shielding it from oncoming vehicles.

  "Stay put a minute." He slid from the cab, reaching into the back and pulling free the emergency duffel bag he kept there.

  He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and replaced it with the one in the duffel, then pulled the extra license plate from inside and moved to the rear of the truck. A quick change and he was back to the cab and storing the old plate beneath the seat.

  "Interesting." She was staring back at him with wide, stormy eyes.

  "It should be effective." He shrugged. "They're looking for Fulton County tags, not Cobb. Ready?"

  He ran his gaze over her intently. There was no blood, a few scratches, and .one of the most gorgeous bodies he had ever seen dressed in leather.

  Smooth sun-kissed flesh that he knew needed no sun to darken it. Long, loose curls twisted down her back, fell around her shoulders. And those breasts cupped by leather and held in place by the flimsiest ties were enough to send his blood pressure rocketing. The soft rise of the flesh over the cups tempted him, drew him until his head lowered and he heard her gasp as he breathed a kiss over the closest one.

  She was warm and sweet, a bounty of passion and need that he knew he couldn't deny himself any longer.

  Raising his head, he stared back at her, realizing his hands were gripping her soft hips, holding her in place where she sat sideways in the seat.

  "Ready?" He stepped back, extending his hand to her.

  "I'm ready." She slid from the seat, balancing her weight as she drew in a deep breath, her hand gripping his tightly for a moment. "A little shaky, but ready." Her smile was quick, nervous. Her eyes were still big for her pale face, though.

  "Let's go then." He gripped her arm as he pulled her to him before slamming the truck door. He hit the automatic lock, then headed for the elevators. "There's a bathroom right as we get off the elevator in the reception area. Hide in there. There's no way to hide all that leather and that curvy little body. I'll get our room and come back for you."

  She snorted. "And you think you're easier to forget?"

  "There are plenty of dark-haired men in leather," he informed her. "Especially in this area. I have what I need to get the room in another name and hide us for a night or two until I can get this figured out. You, on the other hand ... every man breathing would notice that outfit. It's distinctive."

  "Whatever." She shook her head as he escorted her into the elevator and hit the lobby button. "Just hurry, Clint, because I think I've about had it for the night."

  She had been pushed to her limits; he could feel it. She needed to be fed, soothed, and eased into sleep. God help him, he prayed he could soothe her, but he was very much afraid that once he touched her, all bets were off. He was going to love her instead.

  Chapter 10

  SHE LOOKED LIKE HELL. Morganna dampene
d a soft cloth beneath the running water and washed the smudged makeup from her face before grimacing at her pale reflection. There was a scratch on her neck that she had no idea where it came from, a few fingerprint bruises off tier bare arms-only God knew if they'd come from Clint jerking her away from the assailant or the assailant himself.

  She breathed in deeply. There hadn't been time to be terrified during the attack, but the moment Clint jerked her from the knife heading for her throat, it had set in.

  The attack didn't make sense.

  She braced her hands on the sink as she lowered her head and fought the weariness washing over her. Through her. Nothing about this operation was making sense now. Why would she be targeted now? And how had anyone learned she was even working the case? Only her commander, Joe's team, and now Clint knew that she was more than a secretary.

  The job in the local law firm had gotten her through the Law Enforcement Academy, nothing else. No one had known what she was doing. Not even Raven had known until after the graduation.

  It was apparent that someone else did know Morganna was working the case, though.

  And what had the attacker said just before Clint came into the room? Something about divine retribution? What the hell was divine retribution?

  Shaking her head, she dropped the cloth into the basket under the sink before washing her hands and forcing back the edge of shattered nerves pushing at her mind.

  Adrenaline. She recognized it, though it was stronger now than it had ever been. Coming down from it was a pain in the ass.

  She was shaking from head to toe, fine tremors more than shudders, a heightened awareness, as well as a heightened arousal. Now that one was different. The arousal was burning inside her, a flaming ache in the center of her sex that refused to be ignored.

  "You've lost it, Chavez," she told herself as she lifted her head, staring back at her reflection. "You just can't learn your lesson, can you?"

  She knew not to trust Clint. How many times in the past had he allowed her to hope, to dream, only to pull back?

  But he had never promised her before.

  Clint always kept his promises. He never broke his word. At the least, he wouldn't take this operation from her. The sense of accomplishment that filled her with was overwhelming.

  "Morganna, are you okay?" Clint's voice was husky, soft, from the other side of the door.

  "I'm fine." She drew in a deep breath before opening the door and coming face-to-face with him.

  His expression was concerned, his eyes dark in his suntanned face, his big body tense as he towered over her.

  "I have to get out of this leather." She moved past him and into the sitting room of the suite he had taken. "I hope you have something I can wear in that bag of tricks you carried up with you."

  "I laid it on the bed," he drawled behind her. "I called room service. We'll have something up here to eat soon, then you can shower."

  Morganna sat down on the couch, breathing out wearily as she unzipped the high boots and dragged them off her feet. Pleasure eased through her as cool air enveloped her tired feet, the cramped muscles relaxing as she pressed the pads of her feet into the floor.

  "That sounds good." She set the boots to the side as she fought to ignore the fact that he was shirtless. That all that bare, powerful muscle was on display and nearly impossible not to look at.

  Besides, she wasn't here to have sex, she reminded herself; she was here because someone had decided they wanted her dead.

  "I guess tonight clears up whether or not the drive-by shooting the other night was aimed at me." She kept her gaze on the floor, determined not to stare up at him. Not to eat him with her gaze.

  "Someone knows what you're doing." He paced across her field of vision, long legs encased in snug leather. "But that's not enough to put out a hit against you. Craig maybe. Joe definitely. But not you. You're just a watcher, and easy enough to avoid if they know who you are."

  That was what she thought.

  "Then what's going on?" She lifted her eyes wearily, feeling the effects of the late nights, the excitement, the raging emotions she had dealt with over the past two days, catching up with her. "Why risk getting caught? If they know of me, then they know of the team. Why not just move to another club?"

  "Arrogance." He shrugged as he leaned against the frame of the entryway across from her. "To make an example of you. There could be several reasons and all could apply. Or none of them." His expression was thoughtful, somber. 'They tried to take another girl tonight. One of Drage's men caught up with them before they managed to maneuver her through the back entrance. She was drugged, heavily."

  Morganna's eyes widened at the information as she stared back at him in shock. "They moved fast. We just arrested the three suspects attempting to drug that girl last week."

  "They have a schedule then," he mused. "The hit bothers me more, and the fact that they waited until you left to drug the girl."

  "We move between several clubs in one night, and Joe's team isn't the only one working this. We have three teams on the task force here in Atlanta. The DEA is determined to shut this down now, before the drug goes further. We suspect the sale of the videos is being used to fund terrorist activities, tat there's no confirmation on that."

  "How many agents?"

  She stared back at him with dismay. "There are fifteen agents total working this. But only the individual teams and the commander know the 'watchers' such as myself."

  "Watcher, my ass. You're bait. But that doesn't explain why you were targeted with a knife instead of the drug."

  "Divine retribution," she muttered, staring back at him. "That's what he said just before you came into the house. Divine retribution."

  "Nothing else?" Cold purpose glittered in Clint's eyes.

  Morganna shook her head as she moved to her feet, unable to sit still. Rubbing her fingers over her brow, she paced to the small office desk on the other side of the room before stopping and tapping her fingers against the desk softly.

  "It was personal," she finally said. "You could hear it in his voice. There was an accent...." She frowned, trying to remember the sound of her attacker's voice. "I can't place it."

  God, she wanted to curl into Clint's arms. His broad chest looked wide enough to shelter her, his arms strong enough to hold her. And she needed him to hold her. She had needed it for so long, though, that she wondered if she wasn't more used to the hunger than she would be to easing it.

  "We'll rest this weekend." He straightened from the door frame, his arms dropping to the pockets of his pants as he stared back at her. "You'll have to call in to the office you're working at, take next week off while we work on this. Joe had a good idea, setting up in the clubs like that. But the community he's dealing with is far more extensive than he could imagine unless he was part of it. Monday, we'll start making some calls."

  "Then you were serious about working together on this?" His lips quirked. "As much as I needed to keep you out of this for my own peace of mind, whoever's behind it seems more intent on dragging you into it. The only way to keep you safe is to neutralize the threat. And I called Drage while you were in the bathroom and had him rescind the request that you be banned from the clubs. You're now under sponsorship. We know they're after you; we just have to use that to trap the suppliers." It was more than obvious he wasn't pleased with the situation.

  "Will you or Craig be set up to buy?" "Me." His voice was a hard rumble. "You'll not be playing a role. You'll be yourself. By now, everyone will have figured out I'm so damned hot for you that I can't breathe for the hard-on killing me." And he didn't seem pleased by that. "I don't want you to play the submissive. Fight me as you would any other time."

  A knock at the door had him whirling away from her as he pulled the .45 from the small of his back and moved in complete silence to the door of the suite.

  "Room service," a cheerful voice announced. Bedroom. Clint turned and mouthed the word at her as he neared the door.

  Morgan
na grabbed her boots and moved hurriedly across the room and ducked into the bedroom, careful to hide along the side of the room. Clint had been adamant that no one, including hotel staff, know that she was in the room with him. "Good evening, Mr. Sizemore." The waiter's voice moved into the sitting room. "I have your dinner, sir."

  The sound of footsteps, then a heavy tray being placed on the wide coffee table in the other room could be heard. "Is there anything else I can get for you, sir?" "That will be all." Clint's voice was clipped, businesslike. "Thank you for being so quick."

  "Yes, sir!" The waiter's exclamation had her rolling her eyes. Must have been a helluva tip. "You need anything, sir, you just call right down. We'll take care of you."

  "Will do," Clint responded as the steps moved back to the door of the suite.

  Seconds later the sound of the door closing and the bolt lock had Morganna moving quickly from the bedroom. The smell of food had her stomach growling. She was starved and she knew for a fact he had ordered enough to feed an army.

  He was waiting on her when she walked into the room, his gaze frankly sexual as she moved to the food tray. She hadn't eaten since lunch that day and her stomach was voraciously reminding her of the fact that even that meal had been incredibly small.

  She pulled the metal covering from the cheeseburger and fries she had ordered. Being attacked and nearly having one's throat sliced called for calories to celebrate life. Lots of calories.

  Clint pulled the nearby chair over to the low table and followed suit as she poured a glass of tea from the pitcher and began to dig in.

  She tried to ignore Clint sitting across from her, as well as the implications of what he had implied before the waiter knocked on the door. If Clint intended to take her to his bed, she wouldn't be able to refuse him. Just as she wouldn't be able to protect her own heart. He was her weakness; he had been her weakness for most of her life.

  "The girl that was drugged, Cathie Fitzhugh, she worked in the same office complex as you." Clint stated as he slathered mayo over his own hamburger, glancing up at her with steely-eyed purpose as he spoke.