Taming the Fire (14 page)

“Long-lost friend…
Ryan?”

“It's been a long time—took him a while to recognize me.” Rik went into another room, closing a heavy door behind her. “Something's off. I'm not sure he actually recognized me or if he was just playing along. If I were a betting man, I'd say his memory isn't intact. In any case, he's spooked.”

“Do you think he's after Rik?”

“I couldn't tell.” He raised his voice to normal levels. “So yeah, cover for me. I'll be traveling—might not be in touch for a few days. I didn't want you to worry.”

“I'll send someone in to look for Ryan. You need to get to the southern safe house and stay there. I'll have a plane there by tomorrow. And stay in close touch, Trance. This is where it gets tricky.” Dev clicked off and Trance did the same, closed his phone and slid it into his pocket.

Rik came out of the bedroom with a bag slung over her shoulder. “I'm ready,” she told him, cocked her head to the side with that look she gave whenever he tried his hypnotic powers on her.

“I've got a place. A friend relocated to the States for six months—I've got free use of his house.” Trance kept his eyes steadily on hers.

“No one will know we're there?” she asked without breaking his gaze.

“No one but us,” he told her, the lie sitting uneasily in his gut.

D
EV ARRANGED
Annika's flight to England—and to Trance—seconds after hanging up with him. Those pressing matters made him late to a post-dinner meeting with the psychics, but he assumed they'd know that and adjust accordingly—which was far more efficient than a phone call.

Marlena was still pissed at him for being so abrupt, and so he'd planned on stopping by the caf to pick up her favorite cookies.

Walking around ACRO during the day wearing the black BDUs every other agent wore was one of his favorite parts of the job. Two bodyguards trailed him no matter where he went, but they didn't follow closely enough that he felt hemmed in. Truth be told, he barely noticed them, especially at times like this.

The caf was busy—and it appeared there was some kind of commotion going on inside the large room. Devlin waited just outside the doorway and scanned the area for the source.

Even before doing so, he knew exactly what the problem would be.

Or, to be more specific, who.

The new recruit was like a bull in a china shop, pushing his way through the line and not heeding any order.

Heads turned—women, because he was handsome as shit, and cocky enough too to be the object of a quick fantasy or two, and men because they were assessing what kind of powers the man might have.

Excedos were considered dangerous—as dangerous as any new recruit. Coupled with the young man's get-the-fuck-out-of-my-way attitude, the place had begun to buzz with tension.

There was something so magnetic about the kid, so fucking fresh—arrogant and yet vulnerable—that made Devlin want to take him on one of the caf tables. Instead, he dialed Creed's number—Creed, who would be taking over the new recruit's training while Annika was in England.

Creed was also one of Dev's best friends at ACRO—and Oz had been his brother. Both Creed and Dev had been grieving in private and propping themselves up for each other in public.

“Creed, I've got an eye on your trainee—he's in the caf. And he's not ready for public venues.”

“Shit, I told the guys at the excedo house to keep an eye on him. They were supposed to call me if he left. I'll come grab him right now,” Creed said. “You don't like this kid much, do you?”

“I don't know him” was all Dev said before he hung up the phone. He waited, watched until Creed arrived a few minutes later and went up to the blond man. They began to walk out of the caf, the new recruit following behind Creed, seemingly without argument.

And then suddenly, the young man turned and stared directly at Dev. Creed hadn't noticed, but the look hit Dev in the gut… and then traveled lower. Much lower, until Dev was forced to stick his hands in his pockets.

The new recruit simply grinned when he saw Dev do that, and then turned and continued following Creed out the door.

C
REED WASN'T
a complete idiot—he had eyes and senses and, best of all, he had Kat, the spirit who'd been attached to him since he was born. A spirit that his brother, Oz, had put in place to protect him, along with the tattoos that ran the entire length of the left side of his body—head to toe.

Gabe was into Devlin. And, based on the gruff way Devlin asked about Gabe, the same also held true for him.

The fact that Devlin put him in charge of Gabe meant that Dev was feeling protective. Because, yeah, even though Ani could shock the shit out of the new recruit, she was a much better choice than, say, Ender.

“I was just trying to get some fucking dinner,” Gabe was telling him now. “What the hell—do I need a babysitter every fucking step of the way?”

“Yeah, you do.” Creed shoved him through the outside door. “Dinner's waiting for you in your room.”

Devlin had been mourning Oz for what had seemed like forever. Creed understood, because it felt like just yesterday that he'd lost his brother. Oz hadn't tried to contact Creed at all, not even through Kat, and still, over the past couple of days, Creed had been sure his brother was close.

Probably wishful thinking.

And speaking of wishful, now Creed just had to find out if Gabe felt the same way—or if he was simply trying to get in good with the boss. He didn't get that vibe from the kid, but there was no way in hell he would let anyone hurt Devlin.

So here he was, stand-in trainer and matchmaker. Annika would tell him to leave it alone—so would Dev. But from the way Kat hummed in his ear about it, Creed knew he was onto something.

Meg cursed herself for choosing Ryan over the police as she struggled uselessly against the bonds. She'd been left alone on the private jet—with no pilot and no lights—for two hours now, by her count. He'd taken her cell phone and her bag and locked them up tight.

If she'd told Mose that, yes, she needed to hide out in Florida for a while, he would've been meeting her now, would've known that she was in trouble when she didn't show.

But something was… wrong with Ryan. He came across as a big tough guy—and she had no doubt that he was—but something in his eyes held a desperation she recognized.

Plus, he didn't seem to know what she'd been talking about—had been taking her cues about the missing money. And he couldn't remember if they'd had sex, never mind an Internet romance.

At one time, he'd told her that he'd never be able to forget her. And she'd believed him, but obviously he'd been promising himself to a lot of women.

She'd never thought of herself as memorable beyond a few minutes behind the computer screen anyway, but somehow she'd been certain that Ryan had seen her differently.

When she'd told him earlier that he'd only been a mark to her, it had taken everything she'd had to force out that lie. He'd been the furthest thing from a mark, but having him find out why she'd really taken the money would be too humiliating to bear.

A few more tugs on the ropes and they loosened, but nothing more. It was no use—the bonds were tied too well, by a professional.

When Ryan got back, she'd find a way to throw him off his game a bit, maybe bring up the money again.

The door swung open—Ryan stood there, illuminated by the lights of the runway. His face was slightly flushed, his hair was tousled, like he'd been running his hands through it, and he looked… turned on.

She swallowed hard and tried to pull it together. This man had the same effect on her he'd had when they'd played computer games together years earlier—the thrill of trying to one-up each other had always made her pulse race. In person, he was even more devastating and even though these thoughts were completely inappropriate, given the situation, being face-to-face with the consequences of her actions made her feel more alive than she had in years. “Can you please untie me? I'm starving and I have to pee.”

He strode toward her, moving easily in his black boots, the leather jacket swinging open to reveal the holstered gun he wore. He stopped right in front of her, his crotch in her face, and she was forced to strain her neck to look up.

“You're a real tough cookie, aren't you?”

“Not so tough. And my name isn't Cookie.”

“Right. It's Coco.”

She took a chance. “It's actually Meg.”

He leaned in close, his breath warm on her cheek—smelling faintly of whiskey and mint. “Is that what you want me to call you when I'm fucking you?”

Her mouth opened at the explicitness of his words… words she'd heard before from him, albeit on a computer screen.

What do I call you when I'm making love to you? When I'm fucking you so deep you'll lose your mind?

Meg
, she'd told him.
Not Coco. Meg
. “Meg,” she said, her voice barely registering above a whisper. “I want you to call me Meg.”

She swore she saw a flicker of something in his eyes when she spoke, but when he smiled, it was wicked, and it made her stomach clench.

R
YAN SMILED FIERCELY
at C
OCO
—Meg—whatever the fuck her name was.
Is that what you want me to call you when I'm fucking you?

He didn't know what had come over him to make him ask that, except that he was highly frustrated and beyond pissed at having lost Ulrika. He'd spent hours searching for her after she disappeared from the club, had tried activating her collar to see through her eyes, but all he saw was her with the guy he'd spoken to at the club. There had been no way he could tell where she was, and now he just had to wait until she was looking at something a little more telling than that guy's dick.

Itor was going to have his ass for this. But how could he have anticipated that ACRO would already be sniffing around?

Motherfuck
.

He looked down at Coco—he'd go with that name for now, since it was the only thing he remembered from his erased past. She looked back at him, her gaze strangely serene, as if being kidnapped were just another day at the office.

An office where she spent her time ripping off people.

The reminder that she'd stolen from him pissed him off, and he released her, yanked her out of the seat and took her down to the floor. “So, you like to be called Meg when you're being fucked, but what about when your marks are throttling you? What do you like to be called then?”

She struggled futilely beneath him, her glower as hot as her skin as it rubbed on his. Which worked for him, because he was in serious need of something to take the edge off. He was as coiled as an unpinned grenade, ready to blow.

So much had happened lately, and hanging out in that sex club had been the final straw. He was supposed to be familiar with the lifestyle, to be turned on by all the leather and restraints and sounds of pain and pleasure. And yeah, he'd been turned on, but was it because he'd been in the club, or because he'd been picturing Coco in place of all the women there?

Frustration screamed through him. He'd snatched Coco in order to learn something about himself, but if anything, he was more confused than ever. Because for the past few months, he'd felt nothing, and now, after being at the club, and with her writhing beneath him, he definitely felt something.

Obviously, being a bastard worked for him, just like Itor said.

He wasn't letting this opportunity go to waste.

“This might hurt a little, Coco,” he said, as he stretched her arms above her head and cuffed them to the leg of a seat. “But don't worry. You'll like it.” He nipped the top of her ear. “I'll make sure of it.”

Snarling, she bucked her hips and tried to bite his arm. He jerked away from her just in time to avoid having a chunk of flesh taken out of his biceps. Annoyed, he grabbed her chin and held her face still.

“That was stupid,” he said, his voice deep and rough. “Anyone else would break your jaw for that. Me? I'm more into the spankings. And that earned you a good one.” He reached down and palmed her ass beneath her skirt. “Right here, on both cheeks, both thighs, until the skin is so hot and red you need ice with your orgasm.”

She squealed in outrage and bucked more as he moved down her body. The Doms at the club had been all hard-bodied leather mamas, but Coco was softer, a little rounder, and a hell of a lot hotter. She kicked at him until he straddled her knees.