Hot for His Hostage (24 page)

“Crap,” Mom mumbled.

“No shit,” Zoe concurred.

Shay glared harder at Ghid. “In case you don’t know, lizard breath, they’re the good
guys.”

If it were possible, Ghid’s face turned stonier as he pulled out a gorgeous SIG pistol,
checked the chamber then glanced back at Mom. “You didn’t get a chance to fill him
in on much, did you?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” But Shay had part of his answer deduced
already. It meant that his conclusion from before, that his mother was here because
of
both
force and choice, was true. It also meant that all the questions surrounding that
theory were back—this time with a load of friends just to heighten the confusing fun.

Because this whole situation wasn’t enough of a cluster fuck already.

When Ghid yanked open the door again, that assessment was proven in detail. The other
side of the hallway wasn’t visible anymore through the smoke, and paint chips dusted
everything like snow. A couple of abandoned gurneys now lay on their sides, no attendants
or patients in sight, causing Mom to clamp a hand over her gasping mouth.

“Breathe, Mel. You know Simon and Nick would’ve carried those guys out on their backs
if they had to.” Ghid’s order was the perfect combination of patience and power. Shay
admitted it grudgingly. Patience and strength aside, why the hell was Mom trusting
a granite slab who spoke of Cameron and his gang almost like comrades and referred
to a Special Forces team as
suckwits
?

He forgot the anger as he turned back to Mom. Her lips trembled as she lowered her
hand. “But—but what if they couldn’t make it? What if they’ve been st-stopped? What
if they got t-taken back and—”

“Taken back where?” Shay asked. Ghid impaled him with a silent version of
don’t ask, dude.
But it was too late. Mom’s tears thickened, ripping at his chest. And galvanizing
his actions. “I’ll make sure they made it.” Though he couldn’t believe what he was
promising, the words sprang from the depths of his heart, connected to the desperate
little boy who tried to soothe her bruises with ice packs. The man he’d become could
do something real for his mother’s hurt. “I’ll make sure every one of your boys gets
on the plane. I promise.” When Zoe added her own anguished sob, he leaned and gave
her a quick, hard kiss. “Ssshhh. I’ll be okay. My cover’s still solid. I’m the logical
one for this, dancer.”

Ghid fired off an approving snort. “He’s right.”

Hell. The man was making it damn hard for Shay to decide which column to put him in,
asshole or ally, which was likely how Ghid wanted it. “What’s your destination for
the chopper?”

The fucker quirked up one side of his mouth. “I could tell you but then I’d have to
kill you. Not that your corpse wouldn’t feel right at home at our rustic little backup
camp.”

Shay sighed heavily. “Fine. Keep the twenty on your magic treehouse a state secret.
Just tell me you can get Zoe safely back to Vegas from there.”

“We have plenty of resources. She’ll be safe.”

Who the hell is “we?”
He didn’t bother pushing for the answer again. Ghid’s enigma act was firm on the shut-down
right now.

There was another matter to deal, too. One ticked-off little dancer, now launching
herself at him with new terror in her eyes. “
Pendejo testarudo
. No.
No
.”

Ghid clearly recognized a good moment to pull away when he saw one. “You ready to
roll, Doc?” he asked Mom in a tone too intimate for Shay’s comfort. Despite every
asshole move Dad had pulled, including death due to an exhausted liver, it had never
occurred to think of Mom with someone else. Shit. The notion was reasonable, even
justifiable. Just didn’t stop it from being weird.

Mom raised a brave smile. “I have to grab my backup drives and the source serums.”

“Shit,” Ghid returned. “Yeah. Good call.”

No more mortars hit the building, which was good and bad rolled together. Instead
of the big blasts, gunfire
rat-a-tatted
nearby like Chinese fireworks, indicating whatever team had been sent for the party
now had boots on the ground. Though the battle still raged at the other end of the
building, adrenalin jacked Shay’s blood as he took advantage of the few seconds he
had left with his tiny dancer.

His
tiny dancer.

He’d have to let go of that concept as soon as this moment was over.

On that dismal note, he hauled her tightly against him. They simply stood for a long
moment, absorbing each other’s energy, until he sifted fingers into her hair and tugged,
lifting her face for one more selfish gaze.

“Damn,” he murmured, blown away as if beholding her beauty for the first time…forcing
his mind around the miserable truth that it was the last. She finally lifted both
arms, tangling her hands against his scalp too, forcing his mouth down to hers. She
didn’t wait for him to do the invading this time. Her lips and tongue pulled and sucked
on him with hot hunger. Her tearful mewl echoed through the deepest reaches of his
being. Whatever part of his soul that hadn’t been branded by her yet was officially
lost to the resistance now.

When he pulled away, her protesting whimper filled the air between them. She kept
her hand in his hair, soaking him all over again with the midnight blue magic of her
eyes, as she repeated her sweet little rasp from just an hour ago.

“This is crazy, right?”

Like that perfect moment from the medical room, he pushed their foreheads together
and nodded.

“Shay?”

“Hmmm?”

“I’m scared.”

“Don’t be scared.”

“What if—”

“Ssshhh.”

He kissed her into silence not only for the words, but all the shitty things his mind
filled in to the blank after them. Life in Special Forces was all about
what ifs
. Some sucked harder than others. He’d had to confront them every day he went out
with the team, including the real possibility of his own death. But that knowledge
had always existed in the game room of his mind, like an irreverent neon beer sign.
Other than Tait, who fully understood the hazards of his job, he’d never had to worry
about anyone missing him much.

In the space of twenty-four hours, the perfect woman in his arms had changed all that.
Dammit.

Mom reappeared, bearing a small satchel filled with notebooks and rattling with computer
flash drive sticks. In her other hand was a clear Lucite box loaded with a dozen tubes,
all filled with dark gold liquid. Shay stared at them. He blinked, struck by a strange
memory from those days when Mom and Homez were intense at work on their project in
the garage. He saw Homez with one of the vials in his hand, holding it up so the afternoon
light made the liquid glow like—

“Magic honey.”

The words fell out of him with the amazement from the memory. Mom stopped and blinked
now, too. She didn’t look amazed. She looked stressed. To the power of ten. “Shay?
Why did you say that?”

“Because I was the one who thought of it.”

“Why?” Her questions were demands now. “How?”

“During the summer, when you and Homez were working so hard, he used to let me watch
him during the breaks you took to go get lemonade and shit.” He wondered if she would
pinch his cheek again but she was clearly too upset about something, still beyond
his comprehension, to wield the discipline. Hoping to yank free the sword he’d apparently
jabbed into her, he went on, “It was only for a few minutes at a time, Mom. He never
let me stay for very long. I was just a curious kid, and—”

“He never let you near it, did he?” She jerked free of Ghid’s hold, though Shay couldn’t
tell if the guy had attempted to comfort or restrain her. “The magic honey…” She ran
her gaze over him with eyes that were different than a mother adoring her son. This
time, her attention was filled with…fear. And horror. “Tell me, Shay Raziel Bommer,”
she insisted. I know Homer adored you, and I know you knew it. Did you ever talk him
into letting you touch the serum…or taste it?”

As soon as she ignited the question, more years burned away between then and now.
His recollections crashed on each other like the gunfire that grew closer, and clawed
at him like Ghid’s impatient growl.

He grimaced as an image rose from that fuzzy fire.

“I—I didn’t know,” he murmured. “The note…it was from you, Mom…right?”

He should’ve cussed. Even one of her treacherous pinches would’ve been better than
her motionless silence. “Wh-what note?” she finally asked. “Didn’t know about what?”

He took her hands. Needed to feel her reassurance. The consequences for this one felt
much worse than getting grounded for two weeks. “It was the night after you disappeared,”
he began. “Dad had hit the sauce all day, and was already passed out. Tait was watching
TV. I went to my room. One of the vials was just there, in a gold holder on my nightstand,
with a note.”

“Oh, my God,” she rasped, before squaring her shoulders in a you’re-a-mother-don’t-you-dare-fall-apart
jerk. “Okay, tell me. Wh-what did the note say?”

He looked up and at her anguished face. Her lips shook harder than before. Desperate
breaths worked in and out of her nose. Without a doubt, if he spoke again, he’d drive
the damn sword in deeper. But had he come all this way, worked this hard to find her,
to hide them both from the truth—even if that reality wasn’t a perfect movie plotline?

He hauled in a huge breath. “The note said…‘Magic honey for my Little B.’”

“Oh.” There was barely volume in it. “Oh…”

“Shit, Mom, I thought it was from you. I saw it as a sign that everything would work
out okay. There was a part of me that probably believed it
was
magic…that by drinking it, I’d instantly teleport to be with you or something.”

Their hands were still twined. Mom gripped him back so hard, she trembled from the
effort. “He knew,” she whispered. “Somehow, he knew I’d signed with Cameron, so he
went back to the house and put it there…for
you
to find.” Her head dropped forward between her shoulders. “Bastard!”

“Mom.
Mom
. Who’re you talking…”

His words drifted out beneath the weight of his shock—because of the agony in her
tears. Mom peered at him like he’d been gunned down in front of her. “Homer. I had
no idea he could be so cruel.”

“What?” Shay uttered. “Why?”

“You drank it.” Her voice was flat and grim. “The honey. Didn’t you, Shay?”

Hell.

This wasn’t like line-driving the baseball through the kitchen window. He couldn’t
stick the flower vase in front of the hole and be assured it wouldn’t be discovered
for another week. They were already out of time. He heard men bellowing orders over
the gunfire, meaning it might already be too late to scoot his ass safely back down
the hallway. But that didn’t mean he could shirk the responsibility of his reply,
either.

“Yeah, Mom. I drank it.”

He felt nine years old all over again, confessing it. But even his nine year-old self,
who could peg the woman’s reaction to a healthy list of shit, wouldn’t have predicted
the impact of his admission on his Mom.

Who fell against him in a dead faint.

“Fuck!”

He and Ghid spat it in unison as the walls quaked again around them.

The military was here. The building had been breached.

Ghid snatched Mom’s satchel and the case of vials, and thrust them into Zoe’s hands.
As if Mom weighed the same as those containers, he scooped her into both his arms.
“This way,” he ordered Zoe with a jerk of his head toward the stairwell. “Now!”

Shay didn’t stop to ensure if Zoe followed. He prayed she was smart and simply did.
He bolted the other direction, sticking close to the wall and praying that CENTCOMM
had sent some guys with decent brains in their buckets—and reason in their trigger
fingers. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t see them at all.

He didn’t get lucky.

“
Freeze
, dickwad! And get your ass on the floor right now, before I blast another hole in
it!”

He complied without question. He knew better. Though it was torment to rein back his
temper, especially when his face was “accidentally” grinded into the floor as they
cuffed him, he accomplished the miracle by gritting his jaw and thinking of Zoe. He
slid his eyes shut as they rolled him over and a boot pushed into the cavity between
his ribs, crushing his hands beneath his body and all the air in his lungs.

But when the boot released, he still couldn’t breathe. The voice belonging to that
foot, just as angry as the stomp it had delivered, ensured that fact with crushing
precision.

“Hello, little brother.” Tait flung down a glare full of revulsion and hate. “Fancy
meeting you here, asshole.”

Zoe shivered, curled her legs under her in the patio chair, and wrapped her purple
pashmina tighter against her shoulders. It was early November in the high desert,
meaning the temperature descended with the sun. Though a few violet streaks lingered
in the sky beyond the peaks of Red Rock Canyon, nighttime was definitely on the prowl.

She took another sip of the Cabernet Brynn had brought to go with their lasagna and
salad. As the wine slackened her limbs, she leaned back, trying to let it ease her
mind and heart, as well. A bite of wind rustled through the juniper and willow trees
then across the in-ground reflecting pool, a nice reminder of why she’d decided to
rent a place in Canyon Gate and commute a little farther to work on the Strip. When
a girl’s post-shift happy hour was at two in the morning, it was skies like this,
blanketed with a thousand stars, that bested any cocktail for “taking the edge off
the work day.”

But she’d never had edges this harsh.

The stars began to glitter more brightly, but tonight, she didn’t see any friends
in them. Instead, they were heart-stabbing reminders of the gorgeous glints in Shay’s
eyes. The mighty silhouettes of Turtleback Peak and Mount Wilson only made her think
of every perfect ridge in his muscles, of how safe she’d felt in his massive embrace.
And the wind, stronger now, sucked her breath away just like he had on so many occasions.
The first moment their gazes had met. Every single time he’d kissed her. Every second
he’d filled her body with his.

The wind died.

It was eerily quiet.

Just like his four days of silence.

All the better to hear the desperate questions on their ridiculous repeat loop in
her head.

Where the hell was he
?

Was he safe
?

Was he
alive?

If so—and she wouldn’t allow herself to believe anything else—then was he still playing
his dangerous ruse with Stock? Or had he returned to his Spec Ops team, gone from
the country on a completely new mission?

You knew it would probably go down like this. Even after you learned his truth, you
knew the possibility of seeing him again was never as sure as splitting aces
.

“Shut up,” she muttered, gulping more wine.

Four days. Why did it feel like four thousand? Yet in so many ways, it could’ve been
yesterday…even a few hours ago. She could almost hear the deafening roar of the helicopter
again, carrying her, Ghid and Melody Bommer away from the raid. She could smell the
wildflowers in the meadow where they’d landed, near the ghost town in the middle of
nowhere. She’d guessed they were at one of the long-forgotten mining camps that were
scattered across northern Nevada. Though a tour wasn’t offered, it was clear Ghid
and his gang had taken over the place as a remote outpost, probably in preparation
for exactly what had happened at the base.

The setting had been remote and chilly, a perfect match for the instant plummet of
her spirit. Logic dictated that the despair was due to her sudden adrenalin drop,
but that concept was paltry satisfaction for a mind still coping with the surreal
somersault her life had taken. In a little over a day, she’d gone from watching her
friends chug margaritas at LAX to sitting in an old gold panning trough as Ghid and
his team refueled a helicopter in a meadow…

Okay, maybe “surreal” wasn’t the right word.

Or maybe it was perfect.

Zoe glanced to the lavender bushes lining the yard, waiting for Morpheus or Glinda
the Witch to emerge and confirm she’d really jumped into an alternate reality. She
probably wouldn’t mind things so much then. Glinda rocked great shoes, but bending
spoons in a kick-ass leather trench definitely appealed, too. Hell. What a dilemma.

No.

She knew what a dilemma really looked like. She was just fighting the memory—which,
as her mind’s eye so lovingly helped demonstrate, only pulled the whole thing closer.

Much too close.

She twisted her scarf harder as the recollection hit with brutal clarity.

She saw every tormented crease of Melody Bommer’s face while Ghid relayed that Stock
had been stopped from getting the airliner back off the ground. When Melody asked
about the “guys,” who Zoe assumed to be the strange patients on the gurneys she’d
seen in the hallway, Ghid’s features had succumbed to rare emotion. He had no answer
for her, and was clearly ripped apart by it. By the time Melody’s tears surfaced,
he’d become a human wall again, holding her while she sobbed out phrases about being
helpless and pissed and confused, then pissed again.

Zoe had been unable to sit by and watch anymore. She couldn’t very well blurt that
she’d fallen like a lead brick for the woman’s son after knowing him for a day, but
she could help by taking over the tear-wiping duties. The action was a balm for her,
too. Being closer to Melody helped her notice many wonderful traits the woman shared
with her son—the brilliant amber eyes, the caramel highlights in the thick chocolate
hair, the strongly-angled face—and best of all, the similarities in their personalities.
Even in her grief, Melody let out one-liners full of wicked sarcasm. Her protective
side showed when she voiced concern about Zoe’s growling stomach. But best of all—and
oddly, worst of all—her smile was exactly like Shay’s, easily formed and persistent
in its strength.

When it had come time to say good-bye to Melody, she’d clung longer than she planned…and
cried more than she wanted to.

And Shay’s silence had stretched on.

At least the troupe had finally been reunited yesterday. Stock and his goons had taken
away everyone’s phones once they’d all become hostages, only now that everyone in
the troupe was the media’s hot flavor of the month, a cell company sponsored a big
“get reconnected” celebration for them on a yacht at The Lakes. The last thing Zoe
had felt like was a party. She dialed in from her own new phone, kindly messengered
over to her, and video-chatted with everyone until she couldn’t stop thinking about
the moment she’d turned the device on, finding fifty texts and phone calls from Ava,
about that many from Ryder, twice that many from
Papi
—and a grand total of zero from Shay. The ruse of cheer became too much. She excused
herself, hanging up to indulge a self-pity bawl over the stupidity of falling so hard
and fast for a man in one damn day.

It almost matched the dumb-ass move of picking up the phone when it rang with a new
video call, even when she recognized the number as Brynn’s. She should have known
that no matter how many margaritas Brynn had swigged, her friend would be instantly
wise to her swollen eyes and cherry nose—explaining why she, Ellie, and Ryder were
here for dinner tonight.

“Somebody’s glass is almost empty.”

Ry’s sing-song, a usual natural for making her giggle, cracked only a small smile
tonight. With a resigned sigh, she lifted her glass for the cheeky boy to refill.
Ryder sloshed more Cabernet in as he settled into the chair to her right. “Thanks,”
she said, arching a brow at the large puddle of vino he’d managed to spill to her
deck. “Good thing this is used brick.”

“And good thing I wore my lined jacket,” Ry quipped back. “Holy shit, girlfriend.
It’s cold enough for Otter Pops out here.”

“Then I’d like a Sir Isaac Lime, please.” She sipped from her refilled glass. “And
the cold is…good. At least tonight.”

“Needing a little distraction?” He waited for a decently long moment, like any good
friend, but jumped back in as soon as he possibly could. “From thinking of a certain
Dom-alicious individual who rocked your world a few nights ago?”

“It’s…a little more complicated than that.” Though she managed to keep the tears from
completely ruining the last of her statement, Ryder’s sympathetic
tsk
pushed her over the edge.

“Ohhhh, honey.” He fell to his knees next to her chair and pulled her into his warm
hug. “Crap. I’m so sorry. Me and the nasty cesspool of my mind. Like you’d be thinking
of shag-worthy Shane after all the shit those cockbags put you through, and—Zo?”

She buried her face against his shoulder, letting the sobs come again. “Oh, Ry…”

“Jesus.” He slammed down his wine in order to hug her more tightly. “Zo. Shit, girl.
What is it?”

She shocked herself by actually growling. The sound blatantly dazed Ry, who’d never
heard her pull a blubber-fest like this since they’d known each other. “Screw it,”
she finally blurted. “I’m a mess and I don’t care who knows.”

That caused the guy to squirm. Ryder might have been a walking, talking expert about
everything Sondheim, Prada, and penis, but he also hated rom-coms, GaGa, and people
who whined in the gym—which meant a bawling woman in his arms likely didn’t rank high
on his list. “You want to talk to Ava? I could get her on the phone, sweetie.”

“No!” she snapped. “She’ll call
Papi
. His cardiac check-ups have finally been better, and I’m not going to ruin that energy
two months before her wedding.”

He huffed. “So much for not caring who knows you’re a mess, hmmm?”

Mierda
. The only one who did hot angry better than him was Shay. “
Ay. Callate, pendejo.
” She forced a tease into it, throwing a hand through the trendy new crop cut of his
dark blond hair.

“Hey. Not the hair!”

Just before they debated trying to fling each other into the reflecting pool, there
was a forceful knock at her front door.

“Odin’s fucking beard.” Brynn emerged from the kitchen, intercepting Zoe on her rush
to the door. “Did you invite Thor
and
his hammer and not tell us?”

Zoe swung open the portal as the pounding started again. She barely avoided a fist
in the face from the man who stood on her porch—correction, consumed her front doorway—like
a full-scale Malibu Ken doll.

“Are you Zoe Chestain?” His guttural demand cut the Ken doll impression by half. The
accent immediately gave him away as a Texas boy, only it was the Chuck Norris side
of Texas, used to confronting a lot of danger.

Which wasn’t a great comprehension for her gut. “Uh…”

“Who the hell wants to know?” Ryder stepped forward, producing an inner alpha dog
that Zoe didn’t know he had. It was stunning. A little scary.

The guy tossed a furtive look over his shoulder as he stomped in and slammed the door.
“My name’s Dan Colton.” He flashed a gold badge. “I’m with the CIA. And you were the
dancer with Shay at A-fifty-one, weren’t you?”

“Don’t tell him a thing, Zo.”

Ryder had gone to full-on protective hound mode. Now the whole thing was a little
irritating. Zoe gave him a bop on the shoulder and a soft she-growl.

“Yes,” she told the agent, “that was me. Is he okay? Are you his contact from the
agency?”

“I am.” His face tightened. “Or at least I was.”

“
Was
?” Zoe clutched at Ry. Her body went cold. Oh, God. Didn’t they bring priests along
when they informed loved ones that a soldier had died?

But she wasn’t Shay’s “loved one,” was she? What
had
she been? A nice diversion, if that? Maybe she should be grateful for Colton’s house
call, instead of a phone message or email.

“Yeah.” Colton’s green eyes turned stormy. “I’m pretty damn certain my involvement
with the guy is past tense.”

From clenched teeth, Zoe demanded, “Which means what?”

The agent pierced her with a harder stare. Whatever he saw in her face clearly disturbed
him. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

The urge to drill her fist into the man’s jaw intensified by the second. “Tell you
what
?”

“Okay, back up the trolley. I’m not on board.” Ryder frowned. “Who the hell is Shay?”

“Ditto,” Ellie and Brynn added in unison.

Zoe glanced up, biting her lip. “Remember when I told you it was complicated?”

“Complicated enough to involve the CIA?” Her friend dropped onto an ottoman when she
only bit her lip. “Holy shit, Zo.”

“Pop a chiller, sparky. Let the man explain.” After the sarcasm of her jibe at Ry,
Brynn pulled a one-eighty in her cordiality to Colton. “Come in, Agent Colton. Are
you hungry? I just pulled some lasagna out of the oven.”

“Sure. Whatever.” The agent was oblivious to the fact that Brynn clearly thought he
was better than Thor and the hammer. His palpable stress crunched Zoe’s gut even harder.
“So Shay hasn’t contacted you at all in the last four days?” he turned and asked her.

Zoe joined Ryder on her worn leather couch. “No. I’m sorry, Agent Colton. I can see
how stressed you are about this. If I could tell you anything else, I would.”

“How about telling your friends who the hell this guy is?” Ry snapped. “Or was?”

“
Is
.” Zoe bit it out before falling against the cushion, cradling her head in her hands.
“His name is Shay Bommer, but you know him as Shane Burnett. Agent Colton was his
main line at the CIA because he was working with them on an undercover basis, and—”

“Whoa,” Ry cut in. “Now the trolley’s jumped all the tracks.”