Deadly Force (25 page)

He touched her cheek, slid his fingers into her hair, wishing he could believe that. “We can’t take the chance. I don’t know what could trigger an episode.”

“Having sex with me could trigger PTSD?” She arched an eyebrow at him. “You really know the way to a girl’s heart, don’t you?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Jeez, he was digging himself in deeper. “I mean…oh, hell. You know what I mean. The stress of sex could trigger it.”

She held out a hand. “Give me your gun.”

“What?”

She waggled her fingers at him. “Come on. Give it up.”

He withdrew the gun and handed it to her. Setting it on the bar top, she sent it sliding down to the other end. “There. Nothing to worry about.”

He set his hands on her hips, pressed into her ever so slightly “I can kill you with my bare hands.”

Her eyes were excited, eager. “Sexy.”

Leaning in, he dropped his eyes to her lips. “You’re sick. Or crazy.”

“Don’t use the crazy word with me.”

“Sorry.”

“You won’t hurt me. I believe in you.”

As she tried to kiss him, he drew back. “You shouldn’t.”

She grabbed his shirt, balling it in her fist and pulling him forward hard enough that he had to grab the bar to keep from falling completely into her. “Stop it. You’re the only person in my poor, pathetic life that I’ve ever trusted one hundred percent. I still do.”

“But I
have
hurt you.”

“Not physically. Emotionally, yeah, we’ve both thrown our share of daggers at the other. Relationships are hard. Harder yet between people like me and you. We don’t do well with emotions or sharing our thoughts and feelings.”

“It doesn’t come easy.”

“Nothing worth fighting for does.”

She was right. He searched her face. “This is different.”

“How?”

God, how could he say all the thoughts crashing around in his brain? He started to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come.

She waited, her gaze still steady and eager. He tried again. “You mean everything to me, B. Letting you down tears me up. And I’ve let you down time and time again.”

“Because you’re a hero. A hero I kept trying to keep all to myself.”

She released his shirt, smoothed it. “It’s me who needs to let you go. That’s why I filed for the divorce. You’re the real hero, here, Cal, and I’ve been holding you back. I wanted the white picket fence and all that. A real family. You, me, and a kid or two. But underneath, I was scared and stupid, so I kept sabotaging myself and our relationship.”

Hero. He hated that word. “And now?”

She raised her eyes to his. “Like I said, nothing worth fighting for is easy. My whole life, nothing has ever been easy and I’m tired of fighting. For my career, for people’s respect, fighting to make a difference in the world. But one thing has become clear to me over the past two days.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re the one thing I
do
want to fight for.”

Plunk, ping, smack
… Tiny pieces of his resolve were crumbling to the ground in his mind. “You sure about that? I’m not exactly a prize right now.”

She moved in close and clutched the front of his shirt again, drawing his face to hers. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Her lips were on his before he could reply, her hold on his shirt keeping him close. The final pieces of his resolve collapsed under the realization his wife still loved him, no matter what.

He grasped her head between his hands, kissing her in return. He raked his fingers through her hair, as she released his shirt and she sighed into his mouth.

Relief.

Her fingertips slipped under his shirt, her nails raking his back, clutching him to her as he bent her back over the bar. He couldn’t help it. He needed her, wanted her. He’d never been able to resist her and never would.

She laughed, low and wicked, laying back to give him access to her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. A smile crept across his face and he drew a breath…the first in weeks that felt right, normal.

Bianca was right; they were a team. Together, they could take on anything.

“You and me,” he said to her.

“You and me,” she echoed.

He dipped his head and kissed her jawline, then nuzzled her neck, making his way down to those glorious breasts she had put on display.

Everything was going to be all right.

Chapter Twenty-four

When the knock on the door came, Bianca was in such a lust-induced stupor, she didn’t notice.

Cal had set her on the bar, pressing himself between her legs as he ran his hands over her body and murmuring how badly he needed her. How much he wanted her. She’d heard those words before, but this time they’d seemed more urgent, more…emotional.

Hot damn. She was really and truly making headway with him, and that alone was an aphrodisiac to beat all aphrodisiacs.

She’d lost her—
his
—T-shirt somewhere along the line and was getting ready to lose her bra when he froze, one hand cupping her left breast and his mouth gorging on her right. His lips vibrated against her skin…was that a growl coming from his throat?

“What…is it?” she murmured. Over Cal’s shoulder, she could see Maggie facing the door, ears pricked and body on alert.

The knock sounded again, and oh, yeah, she’d heard the first one but had been too deep in Wonder-Cal-land to put two and two together.

Cool air replaced Cal’s mouth on her breast and she groaned. He kept his back to the door, shielding her. “Go away,” he called.

“Sorry to interrupt, bra.” Emit’s voice was muffled through the wooden door, but his tone was serious. “We have a situation.”

Cal let out a heavy sigh and hung his head for a second, his hair tickling Bianca’s breasts. “Can’t it wait?”

Bianca looked down at the top of his head, baffled for a moment. While she was completely annoyed at the interruption, it surprised her Cal hadn’t switched gears in a heartbeat, ready to throw open the door and take on whatever Emit was worried about.

“Turn on the TV above the bar to the local news station. You’re going to want to see the breaking story.”

“Shit,” Cal mumbled, his head coming up and his gaze locking on hers. He released her and scrambled around behind the bar, searching for the TV remote. Bianca found her lost shirt and pulled it back on.

A second later, the screen came to life, already on a local channel. The headline at the bottom of the screen read,
Senator falls seriously ill during wine tasting. Rushed to hospital
.

As Bianca listened to the reporter state the facts, Cal opened the door to Emit. The two men joined her at the bar as the reporter went on.

“Senator Patrick Halston was on a wine tasting trip through the Sacramento Valley today, meeting with local farmers on a last swing through the state gathering votes for President Linc Norman. On his third stop of the day,”—
the reporter searched her notes—
“at Woodglen Winery off Interstate 80, the senator gave a rousing speech on President Norman’s behalf, and then enjoyed a lunch and wine tasting ceremony. During the lunch, Senator Halston fell ill and was rushed here, to UC South Medical Center. Details on his condition are pending, but a source inside the hospital claims Senator Halston is seriously ill.”

Emit used the remote to mute the TV. “I have a source inside the hospital who says Halston’s initial symptoms resemble potassium cyanide poisoning. He’s a very sick man. They don’t know if he’ll make it.”

The air went out of Bianca’s lungs and she staggered against the bar stool next to her. “A poison pill?”

Emit nodded. “Sounds like he thought it was his irritable bowel acting up when he got sick and didn’t seek immediate medical attention. The cyanide was probably in his wine.”

The room spun; the floor under her feet dipped. The wine in her stomach, while not much, threatened to come back up. Cal’s warm hands landed on her arms, supporting her.

Thank God. Otherwise, her butt would be making quick friends with the floor.

Her voice sounded floaty and far away as she spoke. “Someone tried to kill Senator Halston?”

From the look Emit and Cal both shot at her, it was a dumb question. And yes, she knew it was before she even asked, but her brain couldn’t seem to wrap around this latest turn of events. The man could die. The horror of it rushed over her and once more her legs went weak. “I need to sit down.”

Cal started to help her onto the bar stool, but she shook her head. “Chair. I need a chair.”

With his help, she staggered over to a table and plopped down. Maggie followed, wagging and head-butting Bianca’s hand for attention. Bianca’s fingers delved into the Lab’s soft fur and held on. She needed something to ground her.

Not only had Halston been poisoned, he was the key to resolving the issues surrounding Cal’s mission and the bounty on her head.

Not the only target on this mission
…

Bile rose in her throat. She’d thought Tephra was insinuating Linc Norman was on someone’s kill list. Instead, whoever it was had gone after Senator Halston.

Why? Because he’d leaked information? Or because he was her only hope of clearing up this mess?

Only Cal and Emit knew her plan to talk to him. No one else did, so whoever poisoned Halston hadn’t done it because she’d been waiting to talk to him. At least she could take comfort in that.

Emit set a glass of water in front of her and pulled out a chair. He brought out a computer tablet and laid it on the table. “There’s more.”

More?
She set her teeth, forcing herself to swallow the lump in her throat.

Under the table, Cal took her hand—the one not embedded in Maggie’s fur—and squeezed.
Team
. They were a team. Bianca exchanged a look with him and nodded. He said to Emit, “Give it to us.”

Emit touched the screen, bringing it to life. “I ran TrackMap, my people-mapping program that shows relationships between people and groups they belong to. Bianca would recognize it as a version of Net Map, used by her coworkers to track everything from human trafficking networks to targeted digital attacks on government and financial websites. Anyway, I put in all the variables I had. You two, Tephra, Halston, Linc Norman. An interesting correlation popped up.”

On the screen were clusters of dots, some gray, some white, and some red. The clusters were labeled “Family,” “SEAL Teams,” “Congress,” “White House.” Emit pointed at a large gray dot on its own. The dot was labeled Rory Tephra.

From Rory’s gray dot extended several lines. Emit traced one that led to the SEAL Team cluster. Inside that cluster were dots labeled with Patrick Halston’s name and Cal’s. “The three of you were all SEALs.”

Cal shrugged. “We knew that.”

Emit traced the finger back to Rory. “Rory Tephra entered the training program in 1996. Do you know who his BUDs trainer was?”

Cal shook his head. “Before my time.”

Emit tapped the dot with Senator Halston’s name. “Patrick. He left the Navy and became a senator in 1998. Two months after 9/11, he was appointed to the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, and within ten days, Tephra was declared MIA.”

Emit was looking at them as if he’d given them the answer to all their questions. Bianca’s brain cells felt as frayed as her nerves. She blinked, hoping that clearing her vision would unscramble the message Emit was giving her. It didn’t work. “I’m sorry, I don’t see it. What’s the connection?”

Cal released her hand and set his elbows on the table, staring at the tablet. “Tephra was commissioned by Halston to go MIA so he could do ghost work.”

“Exactly.” Emit sat back, seemingly proud that Cal had gotten it.

Bianca was still lost. “Ghost work for Halston?”

Cal nodded. “You said he was doing wet work for the CIA? Same thing, except in the Spec Ops world, we call it ghost work. Black operations in foreign countries that only a few top ranking officials ever know about. They perform missions similar to what you were telling me about at the cabin. Things the government doesn’t want made public. The men and everything about the mission, right down to the budget is kept off-record.”

“Lots of ops are run that way. Every division has a black budget and a specific team of experts to deal with sensitive targets.”

Emit shook his head. “We’re talking completely unofficial here. There’s a specialized group called Command and Control. It’s run by a ruthless SOB who has dirt on every politician and financial mogul in America. Thing is, he doesn’t bother with blackmail. You cross him or whoever he’s backing at the moment, and he simply wipes you off the face of the earth. His group does things that would make your hair stand on end.”

Bianca’s hair was already standing on end. A low tingling had started at the base of her neck the moment Emit had said Command and Control, and now a buzzing filled her ears. How did he know about C&C? About Jonathan?

Jonathan was made of steel, sure, and had one heck of a short list of enemies, but he did what he did to protect America and support the men and women of the military on the ground defending her. Jonathan looked at the big picture twenty-four-seven, and he wasn’t afraid to pull the trigger to defend his country.