Clarity (The Admiral's Elite Book 3) (19 page)

“Yes
,
Captai
n
,” Kenneth snapped out.

Michael nodded once. “Good, now go see if you can get anything off someone on the line down there. Rub shoulders, press the flesh. This is the town for that.” Michael’s allusion to the political machine in this town would have been funny if not for the other factors swirling at the moment. Like the imminent demise of one of them, and Michael’s biggest secret being within reach of a vampire with the mental stability of a pop princess.

A spin on the heel and all that was left of Kenneth was the ghost of his malodorous words. Michael twisted his neck to watch him cut through the crowd, seemingly following his orders. After he was gone and it was just the two of them in their little bubble of space, Michael’s arms loosened and Becca took a tentative step back. Sure enough, her knee buckled but his hands on her arms steadied her until she nodded and he let her go. Becca noted that his hands were at his sides but not in his pockets, he was prepared to catch her should she flop like a wet shirt. Inwardly she cringed.

“Love, can you walk?”

The gentleness of his words brought a tear to her eye. Who would have thought hard ass Captain Michael Rossi could be so compassionate or so loving
.
I will do better
.
“Yes, Michael,” she forced a reassuring smile, and squared her shoulders.

Concern tainted his blue eyes and Becca’s frustration spiked. She went back on one foot, bumping into the person behind her. She turned to apologize but the mass had shifted and someone new looked at her, curious but unoffended. Becca flashed an apologetic smile anyway and turned back to Michael. 

“Of course I can walk, I’m fine,” she snapped, cringing at the bitch she heard in her tone
.
Inhale, count to five, exhale
.
“I’m fine,” she told him with a smile. “Thank you for your help but I need to start proving myself and I can’t do that if I’m hanging around your neck like an orphaned sloth.”

Manners or love kept him from responding but she could also see by the tension in his frame that he agreed.

“What do you need me to do?” Sliding to the side she gave herself a clear view through the heads and shoulders of the throng.

“Jump.”

“What?”

“Find someone who looks useful and jump.” His pained expression and the fact that the words sounded like they were being pulled out of him through a rock grinder had her questioning the source of the order.

Becca waited for more, but there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Like Michael was miles away from her. Worried he would continue to fight Black on her behalf, terrified what that might mean for him, she stepped up and rested her hands lightly on his chest.

“Michael, tell him I’ll do it.” Thinned lips parted and she lowered her voice, heading him off with a harsh whisper. “It’s okay, I’ve got this.” That brought his eyes to her and she caught her breath. Deep blue showed in slivers outside irises triple their normal size. Michael was indeed battling for her
.
A battle he has no chance of winning.

Hand still on his chest, she eyed the crowd, searching for her best bet
.
An authority figure. Somebody talking to another authority figure
.
Eyes wide to see around the pixelation she was coming to learn was her new stress-o-vision, Becca searched for what she needed and found it.

Two men in black suits, matching shoulders and haircuts stood at the far side of the ruined SUV in front of a black sedan with government plates. Hands on hips, even their stances matched. The only difference was their hair color. Their names were probably Anderson and Smith
.
Maybe Anderson and Anderson.Originality isn’t company issue.

Taking a breath, Becca focused on the darker haired of the two and jumped. Just as her consciousness left her body she felt a hand close over hers and press her palm to his chest.

“Careful, love,” she thought she heard as she followed where her sight led her.

Chapter 16

Becca’s vision split; close up on Anderson and his square jaw, beneath that her pixelated view from afar looked on to watch in lovely picture in picture duality
.
Too bad I don’t see in hi def anymore
.
She couldn’t help taste the bitterness on her tongue
.
Enough with the pity party, do your job
.
Her father’s stern tone cut through her dance down her personal shame spiral and sent her focus back into Smith. Or Other Anderson. Whatever.

“...if we can believe the intel.” Blonde Anderson’s mouth was moving.

“He didn’t give it up until over seventy days in and how many hours of sleep deprivation. The guy might have been checked out during the whole confession.” The Anderson she was wearing had his own ideas about the company’s stance on torture but he knew enough to keep his thoughts private. “Besides, where did he come from? Did you get a clear answer on that? Seemed like he just showed up.”

“A spook? Who knows where they come from, our job is to get answers and use them.” Blonde Anderson shrugged and twisted his big head to take in the carnage. Becca’s host did the same, presenting her with a close up view of twisted metal and flames.

The SUV’s skeleton lay on its roof, the blast having sent it up who knew how high in the air, enough to have flipped it like a fiery pancake. Flames continued to illuminate the wreck from within. Becca could see two skeletons, one in front, one in back. She counted her blessings that she couldn’t smell through her host’s nostrils. At ground zero the smell of smoldering human would be unbearable. Unbeknownst to her, her real body broke out in a cold sweat.

“See it?” Blonde Anderson asked.

“See what?”

Lifting one hand from his hip he gave a quick flash of a point, presumably to be sneaky.

Tight lipped, her host nodded. “Device mounted on the under side of the frame. Force blew the asphalt down and launched the vehicle.” Both were silent for a beat. “That a motor pool vehicle? I can’t read the plates, they’re too damaged.”

A phone appeared in Blonde Anderson’s hand. “Got anything on ownership yet?” He waited presumably while the other party talked or looked something up.

Her host continued to survey the scene, eyes flicking up into the crowd. Trained soldiers never forgot. Becca followed his gaze, noting his traveled exactly where hers would if she were in charge of this body. A familiar dark head of hair flopped behind the row of human shields keeping observers at bay over on the plaza side across from where her Anderson stood. One caramel colored hand lay on a suit clad guard’s shoulder as its owner’s lips curved into a smile
.
Kenneth.

More sirens. Closer. Her eyes were pulled back to the road behind where she stood.

Shit, where did he go?

A fire truck stopped just behind the vehicles blocking traffic.

“Need me to move the cars?” Her mouth asked an approaching fluorescent yellow clad man.

His head shook, his helmet following a little behind the motion. “Nah, it’s contained. We can just bring a hose through here, have it out in five minutes.” She watched the newcomer’s eyes scan the scene. Interesting that her host didn’t follow to see what he looked at but rather watche
d
ho
w
he looked at it. “Pretty specific device, huh? Designed to take just the one vehicle, not maximum damage.” He twisted his mouth, maybe a habit of his when in deep consideration. “Be good to tell the press as soon as possible this was an assassination, not terrorists.”

The two Andersons exchanged a look. Her Anderson was relieved to hear what he had to say but wondered how he knew. Other Anderson was more vocal in his curiosity.

“What makes you so sure?”

The fireman’s face turned back to each of them, giving her a full view. Sun and exposure might have accounted for some of the crow’s feet that creased the corners of his eyes but it was the ghosts of experience haunting his eyes, not memories of sailboats and surf that weathered that face. “Bomb squad up in New York for six years and a tour in Iraq before landing here.” Brown eyes darkened as memories swirled behind them. “I’ve seen my share of these damn things.” He lifted his scruffy chin. “This was meant to take out just the one.”

All three were quiet, eyes swinging back to the scene.

Another fire retardant individual trotted past behind Blondie dragging a flat hose. A third followed close behind with the other end and a wrench. Becca’s host looked on as they quickly located and tapped into the nearest hydrant. The hose filled, coming to life in the hands of two men. The fire tried to fight, sizzling its displeasure, but the water won. A few minutes and it was done. Thin trails of smoke and blackened car were all that remained of a once beloved man and his driver.

Having dropped his knowledge bomb and done his job, the expert on all things fire signaled his men to wrap it up. A screech of metal on metal as the wrench broke the connection, water fled the hose leaving it flat and lifeless only for seconds before the men worked in reverse. Hose coiled, hydrant capped, men trotted back to the truck.

“Gentlemen.” He bobbed his head, hat bobbing just that little bit again and the last fluorescent man was gone.

The two Andersons looked back at the scene, her host’s eyes going out again to scan the crowd. Becca caught a glimpse of Ryan standing at the outer edge of the human guardrail. Her host thought nothing of it he fit in so well. Gabrielle and Kenneth were out there somewhere, neither visible in her Anderson’s field of vision.

“Becca, come back.” Michael spoke quietly in her ear.

Sensing she wasn’t going to get much more from her host or his blonde cyborg twin she released her hold and let her mind rush back to her body. Blinking, she took a moment to acclimate
.
Weak. Crap vision. Smells guaranteed to give me nightmares for a week; yep, I’m back in my body.

“Did you get anything?”

She nodded. Close as they were, there were still too many ears all too willing to listen in.

Michael’s phone was at his ear. “We’ve gotten what we can, you?” A pause. “Right. Meet us back at the hotel when you’re through.” Phone came away, screen was pressed, and it was back at his ear. “Still have eyes on him?” A pause. “Keep on him, get what you can. We’re heading back.” His phone returned to his pocket, hand back on Becca’s arm so she was cradled gently to his chest and supported by him on all sides. He might not have been physically warm but the gesture was. It did its job. Becca felt safe.

“Let’s go.”

***

Voices buzzed in her head. Becca slowly woke. Soft bed under her. Part of her. She was reclined, laying back on something. Or someone. The familiar weight of his arm across her waist, holding her against his firm chest and the smell that was uniquely Captain Michael Rossi greeted her nostrils when she turned her head and inhaled. She wanted to ask why he was acting so clearly affectionate, proprietary even, in front of the others. Then she opened her eyes and understood. Kenneth sat on the end of the bed facing them, his usual creepy smirk firmly in place. Eyes focused on her. This was protection, not ownership. His face dipped down, voice lowered.

“You ever smell heroin cooking?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re socially awkward?”

Michael’s arm tightened infinitesimally. Becca lifted a palm to his thigh and pressed it gently, a reminder
.
Don’t bait him.

“No, Kenneth, I can’t say as I’ve ever smelled heroin cooking.” She kept her voice even
.
What the hell goes on in this guy’s head
.
Reality check
.
Like I should talk.

“I’m assuming you’re going somewhere with this,” Ryan growled from the doorway to the short hall spilling into the bathroom.