Shadow of Doubt (An SBG Novel Book 2) (12 page)

His shaft jumped and he knew just how he wanted her help.

Magician stepped forward, her eyebrows snapping down and her mouth opened to—

“Howard!”

Isis winked. “That’s my exit cue.” She flattened her palm on his chest and leaned forward, whispering, “I’m in room—”

“Stiles,” SAC Bingham bellowed with his hands on his hips. “Escort Howard over here since she can’t seem to find her own way.”

He grinned at Isis. “Guess that’s my cue, too.”

Magician stepped forward as if to follow but SAC Bingham pointed toward a small group huddled around a coffee table. “White, need you to brief the Marshals, then help them anticipate Michelle’s next moves.”

Michelle ground the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying to clear the gritty gumminess clinging to her lids. She hadn’t cried that hard in a long time.
Way to show Jeremy you’re a strong independent woman,
not
a simpering female.
Moron.

Smashing her hands against her sockets would do nothing to reduce the puffiness, so she stretched and clicked on a table lamp, then grimaced. Perfect. A slew of items were scattered everywhere. The zipper on her purse must have loosened during her episode.

She rolled to her hands and knees and scooped the crap spread in an impressive arc back into her bag.
This episode had been a doozy.
She pulled a tube of lip balm from behind the TV stand.

Where is . . . ?
She swept the area again, her gaze catching on the tip of a bright blue package.

“There you are,” she whispered, climbing under the dining room table. Without a toothbrush, the gum was the next best thing she could do to clear her mouth after her troubled sleep. She chomped down on the small square and felt better when the intense peppermint filled her taste buds.

Bright light swamped the room just as a deep baritone voice asked, “What are you doing under there?”

She jerked up at Jeremy’s sudden question. “Ow!” She rubbed her aching head. Dang it. Would she ever be suave or smooth around this man? Or better yet, would there be a time when she didn’t have her butt displayed in front of his face?

Crawling out from under the table, she held up the package of gum. “Just cleaning up my mess. Want any?”

Cappy’s lips twitched. “No, thanks.”

Great. Just as she suspected, she looked like an idiot.

He held his hand out and she begrudgingly grabbed onto it. She barely registered the zing of electricity for the quick ease he hauled her off the floor. Daggone he was strong.

Heart pounding at his close proximity, she inhaled and got a nose full of Cappy. Holy crap. She hadn’t felt such a gooey, toe-curling, must-have-him-now reaction since . . . ever. After Colombia, she hadn’t even experienced a flutter.

Peering over his shoulder to distract her inflamed libido, she asked, “Where’s Talon?”

“Should be at the hospital by now.”

A lance of remorse punched through her growing yearning. “I’m so sorry about that.”

“No need. Just a precaution. He says he’s had a broken nose before and doesn’t think it is this time.”

Michelle snorted. “I’m not surprised, but it still doesn’t excuse my actions.”

“You don’t need to explain PTSD to me. Seen it plenty of times.”

“Yeah, but have you experienced it?”

Cappy frowned. “Not really. I mean every soldier experiences nightmares after . . . but—”

“You’re lucky,” she said, not meaning to make him uncomfortable. “Until you lose all concept of when and where you are, you won’t truly know how frightening it is.”

“I’ll give you that, but you have
nothing
to be embarrassed about.”

“Yet, I still am.”

“At the risk of setting off an argument, I was there, remember? I know the hell you were in.”

She swallowed, choking at the way the gum shot down her throat. Trying not to let on she couldn’t even handle chewing gum, she thumped her chest once, cleared her throat, then stated (though it came out more wheezy then she’d have liked), “Don’t think I’m not going to get answers to my growing list of questions, but I have something I need to say first.”

He stiffened and his face grew wary.

Clearing her throat, she said simply, “Thank you.”

Cappy jerked, his eyebrows slammed down and his frown deepened. “You don’t have to thank me. I didn’t join the Green Berets for praise or glory.”

“Spoken like a true patriot.”

He grunted and looked away, the fierce reaction receding from his handsome face. “Listen, it’s been a long day, and I suspect you’re still recovering from a wicked hangover. I promise, you’re safe here. How about we get into what happened last night first thing in the morning?”

A giant weight lifted off her shoulders. Sure, that meant she wouldn’t get her answers either, but for the next twelve hours, she’d get to live in her fantasy world with a real, live Jeremy.

“Again, thank you,” she whispered, cocking her head and openly studying him. Deep creases lined his forehead and his tanned skin appeared weathered and thick. Faint lines radiated from the corners of his eyes, giving him an air of wisdom and experience. Masculinity poured out of him, defying anyone to call him anything other than a soldier. All that made him truly breathtaking.

Their gazes locked and her mouth dried as she fell into the trance of his deep rich eyes. She tried to plumb the depths, but he wouldn’t show her much. What she did find had her breath quickening. Desire constricted his pupils and darkened his irises.

The package of gum slid from her hands as her eyes drifted to the succulent lips that had fueled her fantasies for years. What would he do if she acted on her longing and threw her arms around him, kissing him with all the pent-up passion she harbored for him but never thought she’d get to pursue?

The tips of his fingers whitened as the grip on his hips contracted.

Stubborn man with his rigid control.

Her heart slammed against her ribs as she considered her options. She could back down and wait on him or she could take the initiative and turn a fantasy into reality. Her hands shook and a thin layer of sweat coated her palm. She had never attempted to seduce a man. With her scarred body and flashbacks at the most inopportune times, she just took care of her own needs.

She closed the small space between them and lifted a hand.

His expression froze. “What are you doing?”

She gently traced one of the deep creases to his temple then smoothed the area with her thumb.

His posture stiffened and he captured her hand. The rough calluses electrifying every nerve in her skin.

“This is a bad idea,” he said, his voice hoarse. “We need to focus on something else.” His thumb traced circles against her palm, causing her blood to boil. “When Talon calls, what do you want him to pick up for you? Toothbrush, pajamas—”

“I sleep in the nude,” she lied without a thought, so focused on the sensations he elicited, probably projecting what she hoped to happen.

He swallowed audibly and his eyes glazed. “Nude?”

She lifted her other hand to caress his cheek.

“Unfair,” he replied roughly. “Below the belt.”

“Not yet, but it could be,” her saucy mouth retorted, surprising her.

“We can’t do this, Michelle.” His eyes lasered in on her lips, belying his words.

Her lips tingled and she could actually feel his gaze roving over her mouth. Her heart pumped a harsher, heavier rhythm, increasing the urgency coursing through her. She moved closer, blocked by his holding her hand between them like a defensive wall.

“I’ve been dying to kiss you since the second you cradled me in your arms six years ago,” she admitted softly, stroking his cheek, reveling in the freeing recklessness of stating the truth.

His hand constricted around hers. “There’re too many reasons—”

“Later.” She pressed closer, running her fingers through his short hair. The soft spikes felt glorious against her fingertips.

“I’m too old for you.”

She flattened her hand against the back of his head and pulled. “Nonsense.”

“This is not healthy,” he protested, though he allowed her to inch him forward,
slowly
. “What those men did. You don’t really want me—”

“Want to bet?”

He froze and she tightened her hand. Was he going to pull away?

“You want this too, Cappy,” she whispered, a breath away from his mouth. “Just as badly as I do. No more excuses. One kiss. If it sucks we’ll never speak of it or repeat it again.” Her fingers caressed the stubbly hair at the base of his neck. “But if it doesn’t . . .”

He groaned. “The Fates hate me right now.” His eyes burned with fire. “It’s going to be a mind-blowing, life-altering event. I just know it.” He dropped her hand and grasped both sides of her head, closing the distance.

The second his lips met hers she knew he was right.

She leaned into him, pushing against his frame. He took a step backward, flattening his back against the wall. She melted against him, setting off sensory storms as every part of her front touched his.

He angled her head and ran his tongue along her seam. She opened her mouth and he didn’t hesitate to delve inside.
Sweet Lord, he tastes so good
. Their tongues danced and dueled with such intensity she didn’t want to come up for air.

Pressing closer, she sucked in a breath at the growing bulge poking against her stomach.
Heck yeah!
Her juices amped higher at feeling the proof of his desire. Tension coiled low in her belly and she dug her fingers through his shorn hair.

He lifted his hands from her face and smoothed them down her back until he cupped her butt, kneading it as he trailed a line of kisses to the sensitive spot below her ear. The same place he had kissed six years ago.

“My favorite spot,” she moaned.

“Mine too,” he murmured against her skin, and continued his exploration. Fire erupted over her hips and up her stomach until he captured her breasts through the fabric, one in each palm.

“Oh God,” she groaned, fumbling to grasp his shirt. She knocked into the gun holstered at his side and almost cried out at the spark flaring through her core. Such a masculine weapon displayed by a man who proved he’d protect others.

She needed to touch him. Now. Frantically, she yanked the bottom of his shirt free from his cargoes.

His thumbs grazed over her nipples and she saw spots. Throwing her head back for him, he got the message and kissed a path from the base of her throat up to her chin. She tilted until she could recapture his lips.

Greedily, she feasted on his mouth while pulling the rest of his shirt free. Once she had space, she slid her hands up his abdomen, brick by delicious brick, basking in the way his stomach trembled beneath her fingers.

His body stiffened and he ripped his mouth away. “Fuck.”

What? She blinked and stared at him, dazed. Then she heard it. His cell phone.

Cappy gently set Michelle away from him and pushed off the wall. He yanked his phone out of the holder, wincing at the way his pants smashed against his unbelievably hard cock.

By the time he could focus his lust-hazed eyes, the phone stopped ringing. Almost immediately, it started its annoying tone again. He glanced at the screen.

Talon. Just the ice bath he needed.

He hit Answer. “You patched up?”

“So you weren’t sending me out of the house to screw the murderer, huh?”
Talon answered coldly.
“Care to enlighten me as to what type of interrogation technique involves sticking your tongue down her throat?”

Cappy’s eyes jerked to the sliding door but he only saw their reflection in the glass.
Son of a bitch.
He should have known Talon would slip back here before he called. It was one of the reasons the man was such a good operator, never taking things at face value, but it also made him a wild card and hard to control.

Michelle fiddled with her shirt then touched two fingertips against her swollen bottom lip. Satisfaction at seeing the evidence of her thoroughly ravaged mouth warred with his conscience at what a dumbass he was to allow it to happen.

A small crease lined the top of her nose and she took a step back.

Talon
, he mouthed.

She nodded and increased the distance between them.

“No answer? Or would you rather continue your private conversation with the—”

“That’s enough.”

Michelle flinched at his harsh tone.

Talon just snorted
. “Next time, turn the lights off. The house is like a fishbowl. Last time I peered through a set of doors, I witnessed Casper about to screw Wraith on the dining room table.”

Cappy winced. That had to have sucked.

Michelle rubbed her eyes and gave him a small wave. He could have stopped her retreat down the hall, but decided to let her go. No need for her to stick around while he bickered with his subordinate.

“. . . figured I’d call,”
Talon continued, yanking Cappy back into the conversation,
“before I had to burn my retinas when you repeated history.”

Cappy glanced out the doors but knew he wouldn’t see his teammate in the darkness. Operators like Delta Squad were trained to blend in, and standing under the glaring lights of the chandelier fried his night vision.

“So what’s the verdict? Broken nose or not?” Cappy asked to steer the conversation away from his temporary insanity and onto a safer subject.

A door clicked shut and Cappy leaned to the side to see Michelle had gone into the bathroom.

“Awww. Look at you showing concern for lowly me.”

Cappy pinched the bridge of his nose instead of flipping the man the finger like he
really
wanted to do. Counting down from one hundred backward helped settle his roiling system.

“Not broken,”
Talon finally answered when Cappy reached forty-nine.

“Have you been to the store yet?”

“No. I raced back here, thinking you were wringing your hands, all worried about me.”

Prick. “Fine. We need basic food supplies, the usual stuff, and some clothes for Michelle.”

“Since you just had your hands all over her, what size should I get?”

“We’re done with that topic,” he snapped, wishing the man was in front of him so he could begin the attitude adjustment now.

Talon snickered.

“Pick up something she can wear to bed and a set of loose clothing for tomorrow. All with long-sleeves.” Cappy jabbed the Disconnect button. He hadn’t missed the way she kept adjusting her shirt to keep herself covered.

An image of her battered body filled his mind. That had to have left scars. Son of a bitch.

***

Ignacio Ramirez pressed Power then tossed the black remote onto the cheap bedspread. The oversized TV—which was the farthest cry from a flat-panel as possible—blipped then remained black while the tubes warmed up.

He paced the length of the pressed-wood dresser. “ComeonComeonComeon.”

The screen finally flashed to life and the volume blasted a commercial about tampons.
Calmate guey!
He lunged for the remote and jabbed the sound button down furiously.

The scene changed to a local news station with a heavily coiffed woman and a generic-looking man sitting stoically behind a large counter. The newsroom behind them bustled with activity as they fiddled with a stack of papers.

“The police are still searching”—the picture switched to a blurry video—“for the woman seen running from the Blakely Hotel.” The image showed a young female with a banging body fleeing from the front door. The camera angle was too far away to get a clear look but Nacio didn’t need it.

“Police are asking anyone with information to call the number listed below.” The picture changed back to the newsroom with a wide blue bar spanning the bottom of the screen, highlighting a phone number.

Nacio resumed pacing. He knew exactly who the
puta
in the video was. Did his revenge mean more than seeing her go through a lengthy trial and her name smeared in the news? He thought of the last six years on the run, avoiding his family because of that two-faced bitch. No way could that make up for those years or make his family forgive his mistake.

He spat on the carpet in front of the TV.

Bitter rage poured through him and he thanked God she hadn’t been found yet. He marched to the window and swished the heavy drapes back. Not much scenery to look at in this dump, but he couldn’t afford anything else and staying anywhere near the Blakely wouldn’t be smart. Too many cops nosing around, asking too many questions. Better if he set up his base in this dive and traveled in than constantly looking over his shoulder.

The dealers were worse than the cops. Most belonged to his family and couldn’t wait to snitch on his whereabouts. As much as he hated them, he didn’t blame them. If his uncles found out they knew where he was and didn’t report it, they would be executed and replaced with someone else.

He paused, scanning the parking lot.
Wait, is that still true?
With Carlos Osvaldo’s murder last week, a civil war had broken out among the family to claim the crown. Many of his uncles and cousins sought to become the new head of the cartel. An opening like this hadn’t been possible for the last fifteen years when Ramon slid into the top spot. Then succession had passed to his two sons after he had been killed six years ago. When Sanchez had been executed seven months ago, his brother Carlos had run the cartel on his own. Without any more sons, Ramon’s legacy was now up for grabs, and every person vying for the spot egotistically assumed he or she had the right to the throne. Since only one could claim victory, the battle had begun in earnest.

No one would probably give a fuck if Nacio blended back into the fold. Shit, he bet he could even sway at least one of the contenders to grant him a pardon if only to piss off the other vying members.

A warmth he hadn’t felt since fleeing Colombia stole through his veins.
Home
. A flash of Michelle smiling at him from the back of the ATV flitted through his mind and shattered the fuzzy glow.

Talk about delusions of grandeur. Until that
puta
paid for her crimes, he could never face his family without shame.

But God had finally given him His blessing with a second chance at his quest. During his first attempt to strike at Michelle he had almost succeeded in taking out her
mother, but the woman eventually pulled through. He had waited day and night outside the hospital, sure the tragic accident would draw Michelle out of hiding, but she never showed. Then before he could follow them home to try again, the hospital was surrounded by federal agents and he barely escaped capture.

When the video appeared online last night, clearly showing Michelle living in Indianapolis, he almost pissed his pants.

Finally, he’d be able to go after her directly.

It took almost all his money to buy the bus fare to Indianapolis but it was worth it.

The first break he had gotten in six years.

Michelle was going to pay for her lies and tricking him into taking her onto his family’s land. Uncle Ramon died because of her treachery and he had been disowned. Vengeance was his right to claim.

***

Michelle swallowed hard, thankful for the solid bathroom door helping her to stay upright.

She fanned her face.
Holy moly.
That man could kiss.

The tingling in her toes still lingered and her pulse beat erratically. None of her fantasies had even come
close
to the inferno she just experienced.

She closed her eyes and relived the feel of his hands against her face. The way he angled her head so he could deepen the kiss, how his palms kneaded her butt, the way his stomach contracted when she caressed his skin—

I’m in trouble.

Why had she started something she knew she couldn’t finish? Jeremy may have witnessed the aftermath in Colombia, but he had been in “soldier” mode, focusing on rescuing her to complete his mission. How would he react to seeing the scars and feeling the myriad of ridges as a man? Would they kill the passion like they had for the two men she had allowed see them since then?

The rampant desire raging a second ago died. She turned away from the mirror as she had done a thousand times before and unbuttoned her top.

This whole crazy situation was getting out of control. She had to remember to keep her guard up. Just because he arrived like a white knight and kept her from the FBI’s clutches didn’t mean he could be trusted.

Dumping her stained and dirty clothes in a pile on the floor, she ramped up the showerhead. The man had too many secrets and deftly dodged too many questions for her to blindly follow him.