Fatal Courage: Shadow Force International, Book 3 (Shadow Force International Romantic Suspense Series) (11 page)

Like hell he was. She took a step closer to him and lowered her voice so Mr. Eavesdropper couldn’t hear her. “This isn’t Take Your One-Night Stand to work day. I’m in enough trouble as it is. The last thing I need is you tagging along looking like…” She waved a hand at him.

He looked down at himself. “Like what?”

Like sex on a come-to-momma stick
. It wasn’t fair. He’d been through a traumatic night just like she had and he looked as delicious as ever.

“Hey, lady, do ya want a ride or not?” the cabbie called with that distinctive Chicago accent.

Ruby peeled her eyes off Jax and hustled toward her escape. She needed to get home and check her computer. Long ago, she’d put a GPS tracker inside the lining of her go-bag. She needed to know where Elliot was. “I’ll call you later,” she said to Jax over her shoulder.

“So do you know Emit?” Jax called. “I mean like, did you know him before today?”

“What?” She grabbed the taxi door handle. “No. I’ve heard of him. Who hasn’t? He’s one of the youngest billionaires in the country and your merry band of rock star security agents aren’t exactly keeping a low profile.

A black SUV—the same tricked out one that had picked her up that morning—slid to a stop in front of the taxi, blocking it in.

Jax stepped forward, grabbed Ruby by the arm, and leaned down to see into the cab. He handed the driver a folded bill. “Got her covered, man. Thanks.”

The cab driver absconded with the tip as Jax guided her to Emit Petit’s Escalade.

“I don’t need a ride.”

“Really?” Jax snickered. “That’s why you hailed a cab?”

The balls of this man
. Whatever. When she ripped them off, it would cripple him. “Look, I have no shoes, I look like I’ve been run over by an elephant, and I smell like a cross between the hospital and a roadside bar. I need to go get my car, get home, and change my clothes before Director Timms calls my boss at Langley and gets me fired.”

The passenger side window rolled down. Rory cocked his head at the backseat. “Get in.”

Jesus, these people were pushy. “You don’t understand.”

Emit leaned around Rory. “I’ll square things with Timms. You’re our client now because your life could be in danger. We’ll get you to Timm’s office after we take you to your apartment to clean up. While we’re at your place, we’ll give you an upgrade in security and make plans for where we’re going from here.”

“My life
isn’t
in danger.”

“Yeah, it is,” Jax said, opening the door and boosting her inside.

She ended up squashed between the guy Emit called Shinedown and Jax. Shinedown gave her a grin and handed her a small plastic coffee cup with the Rock Star logo plastered on the side. “Just go with it,” he said.

He was cocky like Jax, but not as big and broad. More athletic, like a runner or basketball player. Sandy hair, dark green eyes, and a dimple in one cheek when he grinned.

Lord have mercy.

What choice did she have? She’d sent Elliot away, Deuce was dead, Little Gus in the wind with a Homeland agent who in reality didn’t exist.

Or had Elliot been playing her all along? Was he working for Homeland as well as undercover with the CIA?

Don’t be ridiculous
. She and Elliot had no secrets. If he worked for Homeland, why would he work for the Agency too?

Before she could buckle in, they were moving, blending in with traffic. Rory played on a laptop, Emit dialed up a classic rock station. Morning commuters clogged the streets.

Timms is going to kill me. And when he’s done, the Colonel is going get his turn.

The head of the spy group had once held Ruby in his esteemed grace like she was the Royal Scepter in the Queen’s Crown Jewels.

Not any more. Now, she was his star operative who’d failed.

The Colonel didn’t do failure. He wanted the best and only the best in his elite army of operatives. She was lucky to still have a job, even if she was on probation.

One call from Timms and the tight rope she was walking would snap.

Ruby fiddled with the coffee cup. She had to admit, the coffee inside was good. Really good. She needed the caffeine if she was going to get through this crazy-assed day. “This really isn’t necessary,” she said over the music to Emit.

“You’re all signed up,” Rory said, hitting the enter key on his keyboard. He handed a bracelet to Jax. “Welcome to Rock Star Security, blah, blah, blah. Jax, who you will refer to as Megadeth from this point on, is your security agent. Your personal information is confidential, etcetera, etcetera, and all that other bullshit. Thank you for your business.”

“She didn’t sign the release form,” Shinedown said as Jax secured the bracelet around her wrist.

She tried to resist the bracelet, but she was holding the coffee and could barely breathe, much less move away, since Hulk and his little brother, who was only little compared to Jax, were book-ending her in the seat.

Rory wiggled his fingers. “The wonders of modern technology. I lifted her John Hancock from her hospital release form which was scanned and imported into the hospital database fifteen minutes ago.”

Ruby wasn’t all that surprised. Impressed? Maybe a little. “You forged my name?”

“Forgery?” Rory sounded as if she’d insulted him. “I prefer the term skillful manipulation.”

The bracelet, a pretty gold number that had Rock Star imprinted on a gold plate, jangled on her arm. She glanced at Jax. “Megadeth? Really?”

“You don’t like heavy metal?” He shot her a grin. “Let me guess, you’re a country fan. Taylor Swift, I bet.”

“Taylor Swift is a pop cross-over. Personally, I like contemporary jazz.”

“What?” Shinedown grimaced. “Nobody likes jazz.”

Jax leaned forward to look around Ruby. “I like jazz.”

“Dude.” Shinedown shook his head. “You gotta get out more.”

The two of them continued to rag each other about music selections while the coffee in Ruby’s stomach turned to acid. Was that
really
Elliot in the Cubs hat and long coat or were her eyes playing tricks on her? Had he offed Keon James and kidnapped Augustus Nelson?

The real question was why. Why had Elliot snuck out of prison? What motivation would he have to kill Deuce, the one man he’d claimed could prove his innocence?

None of this made sense.

Thirty seconds later, the club came into view. In the early morning light, it looked sad, empty, yellow crime scene tape draped across the entrance and back exit. A couple of reporters were out in front, using the tape and the desolate atmosphere of the place as a backdrop for their follow-up stories.

She pointed toward the rental. “That’s my car, down there.”

Emit pulled the SUV up behind the Ford and idled. “We’ll follow you to your place.”

Jax opened the door, scanned the area, and held out a hand to her.

As Shinedown bailed out the opposite side, doing his own scan of the area, Ruby juggled her coffee and slid across to that big hand waiting for her. The hem of her dress caught on the leather and rolled up, revealing her leg holster with its pockets containing her gun and her phone.

Jax’s gaze dropped down and did a slow perusal from her bright red toenails, all the way up to her gun.

“Stop gawking,” she said, snatching the hem of the dress down as she set her coffee cup in his hand.

He switched the cup to his free hand and grabbed her elbow, helping her out of the vehicle. “Hey, you’re the one laying that leg bomb out there. You can’t expect me not to look.”

She landed on the sidewalk, a gritty rock digging into her left heel. Her right ankle was secured with tape and felt pretty stable. Picking the rock out of her heel, she took a moment to look over the building. Questions with no answers continued to swirl inside her head. What if Jax was right? What if Elliot wasn’t the man she believed him to be?

What if he
was
a killer?

If only she could get inside and do her own assessment of the place. But really, what was there to look for? Deuce was dead after firing off a weapon inside the club. The police had no witnesses, no surveillance video, no suspects.

The only thing Ruby could do at this point was to play along with Jax and his Rock Star buddies and hope that Elliot contacted her again.

She needed answers, and by God, she was going to get some.

Chapter Seven

_____________________

______________________________________________________

B
EATRICE
L
AY
O
N
a collection of pillows and bolsters in her office and felt like a beached whale.

Her pregnant belly was a giant mound pointed at the marbleized ceiling above her, her back finally finding a smidgen of relief from the tight band that seemed to circle it 24/7 these days.

“That’s right,” Trace Hunter said, adjusting a folded blanket under her neck, then a pillow under her knees. “Close your eyes and relax.”

Close my eyes.

Relax
.

Right.

Like that was going to happen. She could close her eyes, sure, but relaxing? How did one relax when your baby was three days overdue, your husband was consulting at the White House on a secret program for God-only-knew what, and the founder and CEO of the business you were in charge of was in Chicago, getting the third Rock Star office up and running?

Not to mention he’d taken your computer guru with him, and your system’s software had taken a timely dump last night, which meant client files, employee files, and your daily calendar had all disappeared. Poof!

Trace’s deep voice cut through the ever-jumping thoughts in her monkey mind. His handsome face swam into view as he leaned over her. “Beatrice, you’re thinking again.”

Imagine…Trace Hunter, super soldier and elite SFI operative, teaching her yoga and meditation techniques. A waste of his skills to be certain, but she had to admit, he’d been a godsend in the past couple of weeks. A few daily stretches, some simple breathing exercises, and twenty minutes of restorative poses with her eyes closed had lowered her blood pressure and kept her off bed rest.

No way she could handle being stuck in bed until this baby—her first, and quite possibly her last at this point—decided to make his entrance.

Three days late. How many more?

Stubborn. Just like his dad.

His dad who called or texted her hourly, afraid she would birth the kid without him.

Another reason her blood pressure was on a merry-go-round. Cal’s project was top-secret and she didn’t like secrets. In her opinion, nothing good had ever come out of the Oval Office. She doubted anything good would come out of it this time.

Along with her distrust of the government came a healthy distrust of all agencies associated with it. The CIA had hired Shadow Force International to hunt down Elliot Hayden and her computer system had done a Chernobyl meltdown all in the same day.

Coincidence?

I think not.

Omen was more like it.

Good thing she didn’t believe in nonsense. “You’re goddamn right I’m thinking, Trace.” She had a business to run and a child to deliver. “You should have gone with Jax.”

“Cal assigned me to you while he’s playing nice with the new president. Deal with it.”

She wasn’t sure who was more annoying—her husband or his stand-in. Since Trace was here and within striking distance, she took out her frustration on him. “You’re the super soldier. Why didn’t he and Emit send you to talk to President Milton?”

“After I shot the previous leader of the free world, it didn’t seem like a good idea.”

Sighing, she closed her eyes. “I taught Jax that 2 to 1 breathing exercise you suggested. The white room visualization as well. He said it helps.”

“Of course it helps.”

“I don’t think he’s actually tried it. He only said it helped to get me to leave him alone.”

“Quit worrying about Jax and Cal. The only thing you need to think about is yourself and your baby.”

“Don’t you know some yoga poses to activate labor?”

“Will you relax for ten minutes if I promise to show them to you later?”

Langley was breathing down her neck about Jaxon catching Agent Hayden. Mostly because Jax’s face had been all over the news that morning and Hayden was still in the wind. “Did you read the file on Elliot Hayden?”

“Yes.”

So like Trace to be succinct and irritated all at the same time. Of course he’d read the file after she’d told him to. As a SEAL, and later as the former president’s number one cleaner, he’d been a good soldier, following orders to the letter until the president had ordered him to take out an innocent pregnant woman and her child. He’d refused, and ended up going head-to-head with his commander-in-chief.

But Trace was still a good soldier. He did what she asked.

Most of the time.

She pictured the white room. Trace had told her to imagine a waterfall, but that hadn’t worked for her. The white room did, giving her a visual blank slate during their daily restorative appointments. The window looked out over a garden. Today, her busy mind saw a hummingbird flitting around a trellis covered with purple flowers. “Anything stand out to you?”