Storm Warning (Security Specialists International Book 4) (28 page)

“Um, you can’t go to the ladies room with me, Ace.” She rubbed her cheek affectionately over his shoulder.

Thank fuck, she wasn’t pissed. In fact, she sounded amused. Though there might have been a wee bit of chastisement mixed in with her teasing words.

DJ could gently scold him all she wanted, but the Albatross wanted her with a viciously sick hunger that everyone at dinner couldn’t help but notice.

Even O’Riley had taken his man aside and had a low-voiced, nasty-sounding argument with a lot of arm waving and finger-stabbing-chest action. The intensity of the altercation had sent ice shards straight to Tweeter’s gut. The two men had almost come to blows, but Salazar had calmed them down.

Tweeter didn’t trust the slimy Salazar either. That S.O.B. was just as much of a predator as Rossi. Salazar also had a filthy rep with women, but coated it in an educated and well-clothed persona.

“Stay away from bloody-fucking Salazar also,” Tweeter gritted out. “He’s even more dangerous than Rossi.”

“I know,” soothed DJ. “The sly, charming ones are always the worst. Keep in mind, I’m armed. Plus, they think I have as much intelligence as a cotton ball. They might want to stay away from
me
, because I’d rather shoot them then deal with them.”

Tweeter’s sentiment exactly. He stiffened as someone attempted to sneak up behind him. Since DJ hadn’t warned him or pulled a knife on the person, the person wasn’t a threat. Then he smelled roses and musk.

DJ muttered, “Goth girl.”

A light laugh came from behind him. She joined them and tapped a finger to her ear. He noted a small device, probably an amplifier, so she’d overheard their conversation. She played with one of her many earrings and plucked the small bud out and slipped it into one of the many pockets her over-sized clothing sported.

“I’m with DJ. We need to kill both the fuckwits before we leave the resort. Do the female portion of the world a favor.” Dawn winked at DJ, then flashed her smart watch at him. He recognized the app on it as one Keely had designed and patented. It glowed “green.” No listening devices were active nearby.

“So, has DJ told you how she knows me?” She lowered her voice to match his and DJ’s. While there might not be any active bugs, they didn’t need to have their conversation overheard by passers-by. Who knew who else among the many contestants or even hotel personnel might be spying for O’Riley and gang?

“Yes.” Tweeter would let Dawn lead this conversation.

“I can guess why you’re here. Probably overlaps with my intelligence-gathering mission. If we work together, we can get what we both need and leave sooner.” Dawn shivered slightly. Then, loudly, for benefit of some of the hackers lurking nearby, she said, “I hate the bloody jungle. Can’t effin’ stand heat, humidity, or insects, not to mention big kitty-cats that would sooner eat me than not.”

“I like the jungle.” DJ picked up the conversational ball. “Earlier, we took a nature walk and followed a path into the rainforest. But you’re right about the heat, it was like a steam bath. I much prefer my heat with ocean breezes such as we had on the yacht trip down from Cancun. But walking where there wasn’t
one … living … person,
” her emphasis was to clue Dawn on the watcher in the jungle, “around was sort of exciting.”

“Exciting? You are either very brave or stupid, doll. Lots of lovely predators of all shapes and sizes around here that love to eat silly little female humans.” Dawn arched a brow and mouthed “which direction?”

DJ looked to the east. Dawn winked.

Tweeter snorted softly. “Watch it, ladies. Three of those predators are looking our way.”

Rossi, Salazar, and O’Riley mingled with the contestants. The Albatross’s rapacious gaze kept zeroing in on DJ as he worked his way across the room.

“If Dahlia wasn’t so leggy and blonde, Rossi wouldn’t be an issue … the prick,” Dawn muttered. “The only other centerfold material here is Olga, and she’s Russian intelligence.”

Dawn’s gaze sought out the Russian. Tweeter recognized the woman as the one he and DJ had seen playing tennis earlier. “The vampire-pale guy with her is one of the leading hackers in eastern Europe,” Dawn said. “Hell, he might even be a vampire for all I know. Anyway, poor git has no fucking clue he’s being used to get Olga closer to Oraio’s operation.”

“Crap, Rossi is definitely heading this way.” DJ turned toward Tweeter and planted a kiss on him that made his head swim.

The urge to carry DJ away from Rossi’s vile presence hit him hard yet again. But he knew DJ would fight him every step of the way. She was a member of the team, and he couldn’t forget it. If he did, she’d remind him with a punch to the gut or somewhere even more sensitive.

“If you aren’t with the Phantom, DJ,” Dawn muttered, “come find me. That fucker is nasty.”

Tweeter’s gut eased a bit and nodded at Dawn who, in turn, gave him a chin lift. The agent and he were on the same page.

“I can handle Rossi, but would rather not.” DJ patted Dawn’s arm and then slid one of SSI’s ear bud receivers into the woman’s hand. She wouldn’t be able to talk to them, but could hear what was going on, if there was trouble. “After the session is over, maybe we can get a drink or a snack?”

“Count on it.” Dawn turned to move away. “I need a lot of fuel when I’m hacking. In fact, I’m going to see if I can still snag one of those fruit tarts from the dessert bar and another cold soda before we start.” She walked by Rossi who ignored her as if she didn’t even exist.

“Dahlia, come.” The fucking bastard held out a hand the size of a dinner plate.

“I’m fine right here, thank you.” DJ’s voice was so icy Rossi should’ve turned instantly into the Abominable Snowman.

The poster-boy-for-steroid-use ignored her cold tone and didn’t move away. Instead, Rossi said, “Phantom needs to work.” He reached for DJ’s arm. “You leave.”

“She stays.” Tweeter pulled DJ into his side and anchored her there with an arm around her back, his other hand resting possessively on her stomach. He could feel her full-body shudder, but knew she was mentally present—and not in the past—when she covered the hand on her stomach and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I need her to keep me focused. I worry about her if she isn’t near.”

“Is there a problem here?” O’Riley came up on Rossi’s left and one of the other security men was on the hulk’s right.

“Yes. This person is making moves on my fiancée.” Tweeter made sure his anger was present in his tone and expression. O’Riley wanted the Phantom so badly for Oraio, Tweeter could taste it.

O’Riley’s demeanor might’ve read calm, but his eyes blazed with anger over the situation.

“I informed y’all when I registered that I need Dahlia with me. You agreed. This cretin needs to leave my woman alone.”

O’Riley’s pale face bloomed red and his mouth thinned. He turned to Rossi who was breathing heavy like an enraged bull, his black-pit-of-hell gaze fixed on DJ’s cleavage. Rossi ignored everyone around them, but DJ. He licked his thick lips and began to move forward.

“Stand down, Alberto.” O’Riley grabbed Rossi’s left arm. The security guard snagged his right.

Rossi looked at his boss and snarled, “She comes with me.”

DJ stiffened and gave a small cry. Her breathing turned shallow and rapid. Her eyes dilated.

Hell, she was on the verge of a flashback. He tightened his hold on her and crooned against her ear, “It’s okay, sugar. I’m here.”

Tweeter sensed her fighting the pull of the past. After a few seconds, she heaved a sigh, allowing her body to go limp against his. She petted his chest. “I know you are. I’m good.”

Her pale face looked strained, but her gaze was steady and fierce. His warrior-woman had a core of steel. She’d defeated her demons again. Would’ve beaten them whether he’d been there to support her or not, because she was a fighter … a survivor. “Yeah, you are.”

Someone came upon them from behind.

Tweeter readied himself to shove DJ aside and turn to face whoever had attempted to sneak up on them when the man spoke, “Is she okay?” It was Salazar.

“
She
can speak for herself. I’m all right.” DJ’s voice wobbled. She shot a dismissive look at a glowering Rossi, then snuggled even further into Tweeter’s hold. Under her breath and against his shirt, she muttered, “Fucking assholes.”

Tweeter had to bite back the smile threatening to take over his face.

“That man…” she waved an arm in Rossi’s general direction while her face remained buried against his chest, “reminds me of an abusive ex. I don’t like him.”

DJ was definitely focused and playing her role as the helpless arm candy.

“Alberto will not bother you again,” O’Riley promised. “Come on, boyo. Leave the lady alone. She has a man.”

“He’s not a man.” Rossi snorted like the bull he resembled. “He’s a nerd.” The fucktard thumped his chest. “Me. I’m a man. Can protect her better.”

That did it. Time to show Oraio’s men the other side of Erik Slade’s carefully crafted reputation.

“Excuse me, sugar. It seems I have to prove I’m man enough to protect my own.”

Rossi would never heed O’Riley or Salazar when it came to DJ. The Albatross was a narcissistic sociopath. Rossi’s dossier detailed how once he was fixed on prey, he didn’t stop, whether they were people Oraio wanted to eliminate or a woman the Albatross wanted in his bed. The beast was fixated with DJ, so he needed to be taught that such an obsession was dangerous to his continued existence.

The only thing Rossi respected was force. Wasn’t it handy that Tweeter had made sure his alter ego’s background had all of his real-life skill sets?

Also, the demonstration would put O’Riley and Salazar on notice that acquiring the Phantom by force was not a smart idea.

Tweeter gently nudged DJ out of the way.

She grabbed his hand. “You shouldn’t be doing this.”

Rossi laughed. “See? Even your woman worries you are not man enough.”

Tweeter eyed DJ, a smile in his eyes. “Is that what you meant?”

“Hell, no.” DJ sniffed, then stalked to the side of the room and stood by Dawn, who’d re-entered and watched the scene with an expression of amused horror. “I don’t want you to bruise your hands. You need them to get this damn job.”

Salazar burst into laughter and O’Riley grinned. As he expected, Rossi charged. Using a Krav Maga move his SEAL brothers had taught him, Tweeter turned Rossi’s mass and movement against him and sent the much heavier man flying into a table.

Rossi wasn’t smart enough to stay down.

Thank fuck. Tweeter had a driving need to punish.

The Albatross shook himself off and then with an enraged roar, rushed at Tweeter once more. This time Tweeter grabbed, twisted, and tossed him over his hip. Rossi landed with a thud. Tweeter followed through by using every dirty street move his dad and older brothers had taught him. He kicked Rossi’s steroid-shrunken pecker and nuts into his abdominal cavity and then put the man’s thick neck in a triangle headlock. The move served to cut off oxygen to Rossi’s pea-sized brain. When the fucking idiot was unconscious, Tweeter let go and Rossi’s head thunked on the limestone floor.

Tweeter stood and looked around at the stunned crowd. DJ and Dawn smiled at him. He winked at them and said in a loud enough voice to carry to the hallway where even more people had gathered, “Dahlia’s mine. Stay the fuck away from her.” Finally, he turned to focus on O’Riley and Salazar. “Just because I’m a hacker, doesn’t mean I’m not a man.”

“Never said you weren’t, boyo.” O’Riley smirked. “I tried to tell the lad that my investigation into your background had turned up a multiple martial arts history, but the blighter didn’t believe me. Now, he does. Later, would you show me the headlock variation you used?”

“Sure.”
Not
—as in never. Well, unless he needed to use it to get O’Riley out of the way. “It’s a submission move used in MMA, called an Anaconda choke.”

“Very appropriate for the rainforest,” Salazar responded with a chuckle. “Let’s remove Alberto so the hackers can get to work.” The man turned to DJ and bowed. “Be assured Alberto will not bother you or Erik again. Good evening.”

Salazar’s words were everything appropriate under the circumstance, but the man’s eyes held heat and an intelligence missing from Rossi’s.

Tweeter went to DJ, pulled her into his arms, and whispered into her ear, “Definitely stay away from Salazar.”

“Planned on it.” DJ leaned into him. “Hack fast, Ace.”

“You got it.” He kissed her forehead, then guided her back to his computer setup … right next to Dawn’s.

“Your setup wasn’t there before,” he said to the Interpol agent.

“No, but it is now. I switched it while you were loudly proclaiming your possessory interest in DJ.” She winked. “This way, we gals can hit the loo together and talk fashion.”

“Appreciate it.” Tweeter sat and booted his computer.

“You’re welcome, not that DJ needs me to back her up. I figure she has her own special moves, don’t you, doll?” As Dawn’s fingers flew over her soft touch, customized key pad, she glanced at DJ.

“Why do you think that?” Tweeter asked as he set a program running to slither its way through the network. While his program did its thing, he proceeded to hack the Russian intelligence agency’s secure network, his first test for the evening, one he could do in his sleep. So, he’d begin with shock and awe, then slow down and let his mole program tunnel into Oraio’s systems.

“She thinks that, because…” DJ leaned over his shoulder and whispered, “…she spotted the small syringe of ketamine that Conn gave me. I pulled it from my evening bag and was ready to jab Rossi in the neck. I held back. I was glad I did. Watching you take that behemoth down was … exciting.” She breathed the last word against his neck and then teethed the edge of his jaw.

Tweeter turned and kissed her, quick and hard. “I’ll show you some of my better moves … later. For now, sit between me and Dawn and watch two hackers have some fun.” He slapped the time clock like the ones used in professional chess tournaments to indicate the completion of a move, but in this case, a task.

Dawn paused and looked over at him, obvious shock on her face. “You already hacked into Russian intelligence and planted a virus?”