McCabe

by Jenna Ryan

  “What the hell,” she said, and grabbing his shirt, yanked his mouth back onto hers.

  The return kiss might have caught him slightly off guard. With McCabe, it was hard to tell. The hunger, though, and the strained control…she felt both of those things inside him. She tasted them. And, dammit, she gave them right back to him.

  When she broke away this time, it was with regret as she rested her forehead against his cheek. “This has been a very weird reunion.”

  “Can’t argue with that.”

  “However.” Shoring up, she stepped away. “I really do have to go. Plane to catch, son to rescue. I have my phone, I’m out of here.”

  “Rowena…” Reaching into his waistband, he drew out a cell phone identical to the one in her possession. “This is yours, not the one in your back pocket.”

  Smiling slowly, she shook her head. “Front pocket now. I switched them while we were getting each other all hot and bothered.” Reaching up, she kissed his cheek. “I loved you, McCabe. I learned a lot from you, too. And from James. Please don’t get in my way with this. I want my son back. Period. And any emotional confusion where you’re concerned is off-limits until that happens. Your vendetta is your own at this point. My priorities changed the moment James took my son.”

  He didn’t say a word, but she felt him watching her as she slipped out the door. It wasn’t until the metal frame rattled closed behind her that she began to shake.

  Chapter Two

  McCabe fully intended to help her get her son back. It wasn’t a question. He was simply going to do it whether she liked it or not. No way was he going to let an innocent child be harmed, by Mockerie or anyone else. Parker was a part of Rowena, and he’d loved Rowena with everything he had. He still did love her.

  Maybe if he’d told her the truth, or some portion of it, none of this would have happened. But it had. And no one, not even Rowena with her stolen information would be capable of taking Mockerie on in a direct war. He might go down, but he’d drag her, Parker, and a lot of other people with him.

  So he gave her a thirty-minute head start before he ambushed her at the back door of her hotel.

  She was dressed in full, albeit well-used, biker gear, and son of a bitch she looked hot. Not in the sweltering South American jungle city way, either, but in a way that dried out his throat and tied his groin muscles into tight, painful knots.

  He admired the way she paid off the three young boys who’d been guarding her motorcycle. It was no Harley, but any vehicle that worked in this city was fair game to be stripped or stolen. Picking up a helmet, she shook her ponytail back and slipped it on.

  She’d spotted him; he knew she had by the cool way she ignored him. Well, fair enough. He’d had sufficient time to think things through and come to the conclusion that, yeah, he’d acted exactly like the rat bastard she’d called him. Still, though. Letting herself be charmed by Mockerie? How in God’s name was he supposed to deal with that? At the moment he had no idea what the answer to that question might be. But one thing was sure, Rowena was providing him with a golden opportunity to bring Mockerie down, and he was damn well going to take it.

  She spoke to him as he walked toward her. “I’m not going to explain myself or apologize for snatching my phone from you in the middle of a spectacular kiss. You probably let me take it anyway. No, scratch that.” She fastened the chin strap, checked the helmet for a proper fit. “You did let me take it. Go away, McCabe. You’ll muddy up my thoughts if I spend too much time around you.”

  “Ditto. I like the chaps, by the way, and the jacket’s a cool touch.”

  “It’s a black leather steam bath.” She pulled on a pair of gloves. “Gotta ride before the little boys”—she nodded at the trio of young males huddled near a rickety fence watching them—“big brothers show up and decide they’d like to take a spin on my wheels.”

  “Or on you.”

  “That, too.”

  He slid his gaze upward from her long legs. “I have a plane, you know.”

  “I’m sure you do. Government issue, at your disposal. You’re an important man of mystery, I’ll give you that.”

  “Not overly important. And the plane belongs to me. So does the pilot’s seat.”

  Head cocked, she regarded him. “I guess I have to say I’m impressed. Not surprised. You flew fighter jets in Afghanistan, didn’t you?”

  He tucked the small smile away. “Briefly. Military was desperate.”

  “And desperation is your cue to appear and take over. I’m desperate, McCabe, but not enough to climb into a cockpit with you. You have kamikaze written all over you.”

  “Only when I’m alone, sweetheart.”

  She gave herself a shake; he saw her do it. A step forward to his mind. Of course, given the right time and place, Rowena wasn’t above shoving him three steps back.

  After tightening the straps on her saddlebags, she walked right up to him and tipped her head back for a look under his cap. “I know everything and nothing about you. It’s my burden that mystery men appeal to me. My burden and my son’s downfall. I have to get him back as fast as I possibly can. You’ll want me to do it the safe way, and I simply don’t have time for that. Every minute he’s with James is a minute for him to absorb another bad habit from his father. And God, do I not like saying Parker’s name and his father’s in the same breath.”

  “I don’t blame you.” Without asking, McCabe swung a leg over the seat of the bike and hit the starter.

  “What? Wait.” She grabbed hold of his arm. “You are not taking control here.”

  “Don’t have to. They already have.”

  His slight head motion had her glancing at the boys behind them. “Dammit. They’ve got cell phones. And I paid them in cash. You’re right. It’s time to go.”

  McCabe detected movement in his peripheral vision. Night was approaching, but that only gave the three, no, make that five men descending on them, an extra layer of cover.

  “Too late.” He swung off the bike and yanked Rowena down beside him. “We’ve got company. Can you fire a hand gun?”

  “I prefer a rifle, but yes. Give me anything. Those guys look like the Piranhas of Peru.”

  “Call them the Cobras of Colombia. Literally. My guess is they’ll strike us dead without a second thought… Shit!”

  The arm motion ahead of them wasn’t gun related, but the knife he glimpsed could inflict plenty of damage, on a motorcycle or a person.

  Whipping out his Glock, McCabe fired. His first bullet struck the blade and deflected it. His second got the thrower in the wrist.

  Rowena dug in his waistband and pulled out one of his backups, a Magnum with a full magazine. Bracing her wrists on the rear seat, she squeezed the trigger. They heard a shout, a grunt, and a thud.

  The young boys, former guardians of the bike, joined their older counterparts. McCabe recognized the stream of Spanish coming from their preteen mouths and shook his head. “We can’t beat them from down here.”

  “So we what, join them? Emulate them? I don’t want to hurt a kid, McCabe, even one who just called me an American cunt.”

  “Shoot the big one next to him.” Swearing now himself, McCabe placed a hand on her head and pushed her down. Two knives whizzed over top of her. A third one grazed her arm.

  Okay, now he was pissed.

  “They can’t have an endless supply of knives.” Rowena ignored the line of blood on the sleeve of her jacket. “That means more recruits, right?”

  “Yep. Look left. How many bodies do you count?”

  “Four and three more at one o’clock. We’re screwed if we don’t get out of here.”

  Easing up higher, McCabe fired in a three-quarter circle. “Your turn,” he told Rowena. “Shoot over and around them, then switch positions with me and mount the bike.”

  “I’m not leaving you here.”

  “I’m not asking you to. Just shoot and mount. Second seat. And hold on tight when we take off. I’m going to stir up some dust.
”

  She didn’t argue, and she didn’t hesitate. With her arms extended across the back of the bike, she fired. Bullets zinged and ricocheted, but the only one that struck flesh did so in a flexed bicep. Or so it appeared to McCabe as the man in question jumped sideways and scowled at his arm.

  “On, now!” he shouted to Rowena.

  She complied as he took over shooting duty. The second she was in the seat, he hopped on and took off. Pebbles and dirt flew when he spun into a fast three-sixty and hit the throttle.

  “Hang on!” he ordered over his shoulder.

  “Plan to!” she shouted back. “Feel free to drive like a maniac.”

  In Bogota, crazy was pretty much normal. McCabe wove through the traffic flow with more luck than finesse.

  “No amusement park thrill ride will ever match this,” Rowena called out over his shoulder. “Do you fly your plane the same way you drive?”

  “I fly the way I live.”

  “Meaning the thrill’s barely begun. Where are we flying to?”

  “Where’s Parker?”

  “I can give you ten different possibilities.”

  He could give her thirty, McCabe thought as he narrowly avoided two taxis, a scooter, and a bus spewing blue-black exhaust from its tailpipe. In the end, however, they were all located in much the same place. Every property James Mockerie owned sat squarely in the darkest corner of hell.

  …

  There was a section of the airport designated for small, privately owned planes. McCabe’s craft had a chunky fuselage and a pair of propellers that looked tough and serviceable. Absolutely nothing about it surprised her.

  She pulled off every piece of the black leather, including her boots, which she replaced with the same sneakers she’d worn to infiltrate his hotel room. Fingering the line of dried blood on her arm, she figured she’d gotten off lucky. It barely stung.

  “I have antiseptic in a kit in the cockpit,” McCabe told her. “You’re going to want to use it.”

  “Yes, it crossed my mind that those guys back there didn’t sterilize their weapons.”

  He tossed one of her saddlebags into the cargo area of the plane while she dealt with the other.

  “Is that your backup gear?” She indicated a pair of bulky packs already stowed in the rear.

  “Food, clothes, emergency supplies. Pays to be prepared, Ro.” Catching her by the waist, he boosted her in. “We need to move.”

  “I’m getting that. Are we running to or from at this point?”

  “More to.” He climbed in, powered up. “You want Parker. I want him and Mockerie. Time’s not our friend.”

  She fastened her seatbelt, and he tossed her the first-aid kit. “I’ve known that for several weeks now. Do you have an idea where to start looking?”

  “Las Vegas.”

  The same thought had occurred to her. However… “That’s a pretty obvious place. Busy, crowded, glittery. James always said he could only be around all that chaos for limited periods of time. There’s his place outside the city, I suppose. And he has another in New Mexico. It’s more rustic.”

  “What about DC?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “I know of a condo. Never heard of him using it. Cali?”

  “A ranch in the desert near Stockton. He likes old mining towns.”

  “So I’ve heard. Can’t see him taking a kid to one, though.”

  With the propellers running, McCabe began to taxi along a ribbon strip of bumpy runway. Rowena dug through the first-aid kit and ordered herself not to let the sense of hopelessness that wanted to engulf her win. James had people and power, but no one, no one was a fortress.

  She pulled out gauze and hydrogen peroxide, glanced at McCabe. “Can you get into his head? I know some of how he thinks, but I could never get all the way in.”

  “Yeah, it’s a maze of poisonous paths all right, leading to a single center point. But…I’m not sure.”

  “So probably a no on the head thing.”

  McCabe regarded the dark overcast as he carried out the instructions he’d just received from the tower. “Weather’s coming in. We should be able to dodge it. I can’t follow his thought processes, Ro. I can only guess. You must realize by now that he’s not entirely sane.”

  “Just sane enough to deceive the masses and function at a high level. Ouch. Fuck.” Slapping the wet gauze against her arm, she hissed in a breath. “I’m not good with pain. I didn’t handle being shot by James all that well. Blanks hurt. However, needs must…” She waited until the sharp sting receded before she glanced sideways again. “What are our options then? Or are there any?”

  They lifted off smoothly, dipped, and rose in a way that had Rowena’s stomach momentarily bouncing up into her throat. Small planes were not her favorite mode of transportation.

  Reaching around, she grabbed a bottle of water and drank until the sensation passed. “Shut up,” she said when McCabe’s lips twitched.

  Of course, he didn’t. But at least he kept the full grin behind his response to himself.

  “Okay, options,” he said. “We have one or two. We can pursue blindly, which is unlikely to get us anywhere. We can try to identify the people closest to him and see if they have any weaknesses we can exploit. Or…” He let the third option hang until she sighed and took a final, thoughtful drink.

  He was going to make her say it, Rowena realized. Because the decision to do it really needed to be hers. God knew most of the danger would be. She considered for a moment, watching the cloud layer bleed from dazzling gold to ominous black.

  “When he finds out I’m alive he could use Parker, possibly even hurt him, to get to me.”

  McCabe shook his head. “I don’t think he will. Use Parker as bait, yes. But he’d gain nothing by hurting him.”

  “He’d be hurting me. That might be enough incentive.”

  McCabe’s short laugh held no humor. “He won’t want to hurt you, Rowena. He’ll want to kill you. Only this time, he’ll do it his way. And there won’t be a shred of doubt left in anyone’s mind, least of all his, as to the outcome.”

  Her stomach threatened to rise again, but she fought it down with sheer stubborn will.

  “All right,” she agreed at length. “I’ll do it. I’ll come back to life so James can try to kill me. Again.”

  …

  They checked into the Lily Koi, a decadent resort midway along the Strip. The entire property inside and out spoke of Bali at its exotic finest. The rioting flower gardens, the scented waterfalls, and the spearing fountains had all been designed with exquisite taste. Nothing gaudy or Byzantine lived here. The hotel was a testament to the power of whispered elegance and understatement.

  “Jesus, McCabe, we look like a pair of hitchhikers trying to crash a Balinese ball.”

  “Won’t matter once the employees hear what we have to say.” He steered her through the lobby, which continued to jump at 4:00 a.m.

  What was it about Las Vegas that no one seemed to need sleep?

  “Let your hair down,” McCabe suggested. “And look haughty.”

  “Yeah, right. I’ll be a princess in thrift store duds.” But she released her hair and gave it a shake. “Those three hours of sleep we grabbed after we landed aren’t exactly giving my skin an alluring glow.”

  Grinning, McCabe cupped her cheek. “You always glow, sleep or not. We need to get noticed. I want Mockerie to know I’m helping you. The angrier he gets the more likely he is to lose some portion of his control.” He let his hand fall away. “Look like we expect service and we’ll get it.”

  Okay, they were working together. He was going to touch her. That didn’t mean she had to react every time he did. But it would be helpful if there were vaccines against the kind of feelings McCabe incited in her. Unfortunately…

  Anger, she reminded herself. She was going to hold on to it. He’d left her once; he could leave her again. And this was not a situation she could handle alone.

  “I wish Alexa Chas
e still managed the hotel,” she commented as they threaded their way through a tipsy throng of casino goers. “It’d be a whole lot easier if I could talk to her.”

  Flutes and stringed instruments played softly on strategically placed speakers. Water fell in delicate waves over smooth pebbles. To Rowena’s left, a beautiful young woman helped an old man toddle toward a hidden bank of elevators.

  “Alexa and one of my agents helped bring down Owen Fixx,” McCabe said.

  Rowena watched a colorful parrot hop sideways on a perch in one of the tropical gardens. “I heard about Fixx. Your name never came up with regard to his departure.”

  “Fixx didn’t depart. He’s dead. He died in a heavily guarded jail cell.”

  “For Parker’s sake, I’m trying to avoid the use of the word ‘dead’ here, McCabe. I can’t let myself picture him that way. Indulge me.” She looked ahead, scanned left and right. “I don’t know any of the people on the front desk.”

  “Doesn’t mean they won’t know you.” McCabe nodded upward. “Security cameras. Dozens of them. Word’ll get out fast enough.”

  “And we’ll just be waiting in one of the rooms upstairs for James to come, huh?”

  He chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint you, but the room we’ll be waiting in won’t be quite as well outfitted as the ones here.”

  “Will there be a shower?” she asked.

  “Probably.”

  “Good enough. Crap. Here we go.” Rowena fixed a smile on her face as the desk clerk glanced up.

  “Ma’am?”

  “We need a room. We don’t have reservations.”

  “I’m sorry,” the young man began. “But…”

  “Make it happen or call the night manager for me.” It wasn’t much of a stretch for Rowena to make herself sound cross. “I’m not in the mood to argue.”

  “I’m afraid we’re fully booked.”

  “Call the manager,” she repeated.

  “I’d do it if I were you,” McCabe added, grinning. “She’s a bitch when she gets pissed.”

  Annoyance bled through the young man’s polite facade. But he picked up the phone and spoke quietly into it.

  “Turn around,” McCabe said in her ear. “Let the cameras see you.”