Badass: Deadly Target (Complete): Military Romantic Suspense (13 page)

The reporters from before begin talking again, but at this point, it’s clear that everything is just speculation. They’re tossing out body counts from as low as ten to as high as a hundred, country wide. One thing that’s interesting is that none of the explosions seem to be inside the terminals themselves, meaning the terrorists wouldn’t have had to get past security. They all happened in the ticketing area, if what the reporters are saying is true. It doesn’t seem as if any carrier was targeted, so that much appears to be random. So, what’s the connection? The purpose?

As I process these questions, I take my exit, then drive deep into the city. As we get closer to the safe house, I turn up and down random streets, checking for tails. When I’m sure no one is following, I head to Fourth Street.

Shit.

A black SUV.

I think.

Unless it was my imagination, one was sitting deep in shadows between two homes a few houses down the street. If I hadn’t been looking, or if it had been darker, I’d never seen it.

I keep going, past the safe house and turn left on Butler. Another left on Fifth brings me behind them. And there it is, the SUV, windows blacked out.

“What’s wrong?” Mia asks, sensing my concern.

“Black SUV hiding between two houses.”

She turns in her seat, wincing as she does so, looking behind us. “You’re sure it’s a bad one? Surely innocent people drive them too.”

Pulling to the side of the street, I throw the 4-Runner into park. “I don’t like it. There were two empty driveways, so why park in the yard?”

She says nothing, just starts biting her thumbnail, still looking anxiously behind us.

“What’s that?” she asks and points up through the sunroof.

“Dammit. A drone. We’ve got to get out of here. Keep your face down.” She goes all rag doll again, this time her chin lolling onto her chest. She’s funny. If we weren’t in so much trouble right now, I’d laugh.

Easing away from the sidewalk, I come to a complete stop at the next intersection. No hurry. Just a couple of normal people out for a drive. Keeping one eye on the rearview and one on the sky, I keep going, heading back to downtown.

From the little I could see of it, that drone probably has a range of four to six miles, but they’re making bigger, badder ones every day. Of course, government issued drones can circle the globe, but that wasn’t one of them. Which gives me a clue. Or maybe just another question. If the drone wasn’t government, then who did it belong to?

“Hey, Raggedy Ann, do me a favor and be on lookout for the drone.”

I glance at her just as she’s mouthing, “Raggedy Ann?” with a confused look on her face. But she doesn’t say anything, just straightens and looks up through the sunroof, then through the window on her side. “I don’t see anything,” she says, but I don’t relax. I need to put this area miles behind us.

Heading back to 99, I change my mind, no longer liking the highway, and cut across until I’m heading down 101. Mia is still ramrod straight, looking in every direction. I turn the radio back up, but there’s still nothing solid about the airport explosions. Now, reporters are interviewing survivors, asking stupid questions to anyone who’ll answer. I rub my temple, where a headache is making itself known.

We drive for another few hours without spotting an SUV or any aircraft at all, and Mia gradually relaxes until she’s napping on and off. The traffic is unusually light and I’m glad that most people seem to be staying put. Because I don’t know how long air travel will stay grounded, I can assume that hotels in airport cities will be full of disgruntled and scared people fighting over available rooms. Definitely want to avoid those areas if I can.

Signs pointing toward San Luis Obispo look as good as any.

“Do me a favor and keep an eye to the sky while I find us a place to stay.”

She’s instantly on high alert, big gray eyes looking in every direction all at once. “Did you see anything?” she asks, her hand clutching my forearm.

“No, darlin’. We need to find a room and I need to figure out what’s going on. Make a couple stops, get an iPad, get back online. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Pee. I need to pee.”

I grin at her. “We’ll make that a priority.”

She grins back, then the smile fades and she lets go of my arm, yanking her hand off like she’d been burned, like she’d forgotten it was resting there. I say nothing, try not to think of how much I like her touching me. I need to focus.

Stopping at a huge discount store, Mia takes care of her business while I wait outside the restroom like an overprotective boyfriend, holding her big ass bag that’s still carrying the bank box. I didn’t want to leave it in the car. Didn’t want to leave it with her. So she huffed and puffed a bit, looking ready to fight for it again.

“Simmer down,” I tell her and her eyes grow huge, outraged, her hands tightening into fists. Then she laughs, turns on her heel and limp-walks inside with as much dignity as a limp-walker can muster.

God. Please don’t let her be a spy. Or either of us get killed.

After purchasing an iPad, a burner phone, sandwiches from the deli, and a few other supplies, I drive around looking for a hotel. Twenty minutes later, I’m carrying bags into a decent looking room with two double beds, a small fridge and microwave.

Mia huffs. “Why did you have to park so far away?”

“Security.”

She just shakes her head and goes straight to one of the beds, pulls back the blankets and begins checking the sheets. She then takes some spray shit she insisted we purchase and begins spraying everything down. My bed too. Then the floors, before starting in on the bathroom.

While I choke on fumes that don’t seem to bother her one bit, I unpack the iPad and phone and start getting my ass back online. A quick search through the TV channels show that everything is still about the bombings. It’s still all speculation, more interviews with witnesses, and an address from the President promising to annihilate the perpetrators.

Burner phone in hand, I stare at Dave’s phone number, hesitant as hell to text or call him. I don’t want anything to point his way. But I need Mia’s passport so I don’t have a choice. If we end up crossing the border, we’ll need that passport. If I could get access to a safe house, I could create her one onsite, but I don’t know how many are monitored. Even more worrying, I don’t know how these people would know their locations. But apparently they do.

Finally, I punch in his number. When he answers, I rattle off the hotel address twice. He hangs up, and I pray I didn’t just sign his death warrant. But he’s smart. Capable. Hell, much more capable than most people I know.

When I’ve gained all the information I can from online sources, I pick up the phone again to call in. I dial the number from memory, tapping my fingers on the small desk while it rings.

“Haun,” a voice barks into the line.

“Sir, Agent Jaxson Hawthorne, reporting status on a non-secure line.”

His voice sounds weary this time. “Agent Hawthorne, you know what all we’re dealing with right now?”

“Yes, sir. Reporting that the Los Banos safe house is being watched by unknowns and I’m currently housed in a hotel until further orders.”

There’s a very long pause. “The hell you say. Safe house is breached?”

“Breached is inconclusive, but the Los Banos location is being watched with air drone support.”

Another very long pause. “How many others?”

“Unknown, sir. Drove past Sacramento locations, and out of an abundance of caution, continued south nearly two hours before stopping.”

“Alright, Hawthorne. Sit tight. Let me put out about four million fires and I’ll get back to you.”

“Sir, that’s not all. Possible Russian agent was murdered today. I have her daughter with me, she was accessing the same bank box at her mother’s request.” I give him Mia’s mother’s name and the address she’d written down for me earlier.

“She’s in your custody?”

“Yes, sir, though not officially. Same with the bank box. Contents are in Russian.”

“Are you capable of reading them?”

“No, sir,” I mutter. Dammit, I hate like hell that I can’t.

“Can you translate?”

I grip the phone harder. “On an unsecure network, sir?”

“No, no,” he says with an extended sigh. “You’re right. Can’t risk the search phrases being traced. Give us twenty-four hours to extract you.”

“And if that isn’t possible, sir?”

“Then I’ll let you know what to do when that time comes,” he growls and hangs up.

“Fuck you too, sir,” I spit into the dead line and toss the phone on the desk.

“Any news?”

I turn the chair to look at Mia, standing in the bathroom doorway, spray can in hand. “Nothing helpful. We’re to stay here until further notice.”

She sighs and walks back to the bed, setting the can down on the nightstand. “Are we going to be okay?” she asks, her voice as small as a little girl’s.

No.

“Yes, of course we will.”

She looks doubtful, and glances around the room. “Hungry?” she asks as if desperate for something to do.

“Sure.”

We both get up and she pulls sandwiches from the bag while I break out the chips and drinks. She unwraps my sandwich and then takes a plastic knife, cutting it in half. She places a pickle to the side and reaches for the chips, looking up when I don’t hand them over. “What?”

I can’t move.

Can’t breathe.

She could be Laura right now.

Laura cutting my sandwich in half, making sure everything is in place. Moving the pickle to the top of the wrapper, laying the fork to the right. Laura would also stick out her hand, waving it for whatever she wanted. And she would look up with wide eyes while tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. She’d lick her lips as she wondered what was wrong. She’d step closer and place a hand on my chest. Right there. Right on my heart.

“Jax, what’s wrong?” Mia-Laura asks. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I cover her hand with mine, my heart beating faster beneath it. “No, not a ghost. Maybe an angel.”

And I pull her into my arms.

Chapter 16 – Mia

I gasp as his mouth slams down on mine, then moan as he deepens the kiss. I don’t know what just happened, what just set him off like that, but his eyes, the way he was looking at me... No one has ever looked at me with such pure … need.

And heaven help me, I need him too.

He lifts me until I’m wrapped around him, my fingers in his hair, my legs around his waist. My ribs are burning, protesting the movements, but I simply don’t care. Nothing else matters but being right here, right now. Just like this.

Teeth scrape my bottom lip, and I cling to him even as he lowers me until my sex is pressed into his already hard erection, and moves my center up and down its length. Bringing me more pleasure that I’d ever known was possible with clothes on.

He drops me to the floor and I protest, wanting to climb back up. But he’s sliding my sweater from my shoulders and pushing both straps of my tank down my arms until my breasts are freed and they’re in his hands. “Beautiful,” he murmurs before dropping to his knees and my nipple is in his mouth.

Sucking, pulling, licking, I cry out with the pleasure his mouth creates, my fingers digging into his shoulders to keep from falling. When he bites down, grazing his teeth over my sensitive flesh, the pulse of it moves from nipple to clit and I whimper, yearning for more. For everything.

The hands on my hips move to the waistband of my pants and they’re soon sliding down my legs. Then his face is against my lower stomach, pressing against the plain white cotton of my panties as he wraps his arms around my hips, pulling me closer, holding onto me like a desperate man. When he inhales my scent, I start to cry.

I don’t even know where the tears came from or why they chose that exact moment to appear. It’s just the way he is holding me, pressing against me, as if I am some treasure to be cared for. Adored.

He looks up at me then, and a tear falls off my chin and onto his cheek. And the spell is broken. Just. Like. That.

Standing so quickly he almost causes me to fall backwards, he turns and walks away, his hands digging in his hair. “I’m so sorry,” he grinds out between gritted teeth. “I promised.” He turns back to me and looks haunted. Yes, haunted. And grief stricken. And so sad. So desperately sad.

I step toward him. “It’s okay, I want—”

“It’s not okay, don’t you see that? This is wrong. I can’t … can’t take advantage of you. I can’t…” His jaw tightens and he steps toward me, his hand lifting to cup my cheek. “I can’t…” His hands fall to my tank and he pulls it up to cover my breasts, his fingers tracing my collarbones once he’s finished.

I watch his face, and there’s a war there, but I don’t know who he’s fighting, who the enemy is. Me? Yes, I know he still doubts me, but something — someone — else is a player in this war. He’s been hurt, that much is clear. I’ve never seen hurt so clearly take over another person’s features.

Stepping toward him, my gut tightens when he holds up a hand, then steps away. “I’m going to take a shower. Go ahead and eat. I’ll be back in a little bit.” He turns his back on me and heads to the bathroom, stopping at the door. “I’m sorry, Mia. So very sorry.” And he’s gone, the door closing quietly behind him.

Now, I’m at war. I want to follow him, step into that shower with him, holding him until that look on his face disappears. It’s such a paradox to see this big strong capable man look so, broken. To feel hands that fight with such strength touch me so softly.

Walking to the door, I press my cheek to it as the water turns on and the scrape of the shower curtain slides along its rod. Would he push me away again if I stepped in there with him? Could I take the rejection if he did?

“I’m sorry too, Jax,” I whisper into the door, hoping he can feel the words, if nothing else. And I am sorry. Sorry to have stepped inside that bank just seconds before he did. Sorry that my mother was who he thinks she was. Sorry that he can never fully trust me because of this person to whom I was born. And that’s the bottom line. He can’t trust me. He thinks I’m like her and the people he works for probably think the same thing. I will forever be under their microscope. Watched. Looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. If I get the opportunity to live very long.