Phantom in the Night

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Damn if he didn't like her spunk, though. When he turned to worm his way back up the incline, he heard, "Thank you, mystery man," whispered behind him. Nathan blinked in surprise, then grinned. "Mystery man" was a step up from criminal. He'd covered twenty yards when floodlights flashed on at the entrance. The electric gate rolled shut. Men scrambled into a squad car, then spun the wheels, getting turned around and up the incline to the gravel parking lot.

  Once the two officers reached the container, Nathan drifted back slowly, then circled around to where her car was parked and opened the door… she'd left it unlocked. Did she think her car was safe just because it was inside a police facility?

  She probably wouldn't do that again after tonight. Nathan found her purse and, yes siree, her driver's license. He committed the information to memory and put everything back within less than a minute. After another check on the excitement surrounding the container, he made his way to where he'd entered the compound. Once outside the fence, he hustled to the Javelin and drove just short of the electric gate, parking on the opposite side of the street at a rental business. He kept the engine running slowly. The muffler rumbled low.

  Another squad car arrived and punched a code to open the gate.

  Plenty of protection around the sexy law enforcement consultant and enough to keep her busy for a while.

  Nathan had a couple of people to visit, but he wasn't through with Terri Mitchell. Interesting that she lived in the same zip code as his mother's house.

  He drove off the lot and idled slowly down the street until he was far enough to open up the Javelin and let it roar. Who'd been inside the container?

  What was the intruder after?

  Bet this Mitchell woman had an idea. All he had to do to get her to talk was catch her with her guard down.

  And without her gun.

  * * *

  Terri walked into the house and closed the door quietly. Rambling sounds from the television in her grandmother's room carried into the kitchen.

  That worked for Terri. She wasn't ready to chat.

  She carried her purse and tote bag down the hallway, tiptoeing past her grandmother's room. When she reached her bedroom, Terri dropped everything in her hands on the floor. She stood there a minute, not believing how the evening had played out. The laugh that escaped her came out in a disgusted sound.

  No one would have believed her even if she'd tried to tell the truth. Still, it might have sounded better than the lame story she'd made up on the cuff once the officers from the gate showed up.

  They'd wanted details, a description of the assailant.

  Terri combed her fingers through her tangled locks and shook her head. Description? All she had was the man who'd saved her. He'd been six-three or -four, short-tempered, dangerous, a professional operative of some sort, deep, sensuous voice, great kisser…

  Not what she'd expected when she jumped at the chance to inspect the container. Not what BAD expected, either.

  Joe would not be happy, but Carlos would be much less forgiving. He'd never bend again.

  Glad to be home and safe, Terri rubbed her aching forehead and started peeling off clothes, which she tossed on a chair. Grandma would understand if she didn't watch an hour of television with her tonight. A hot bath and glass of wine cured many ills when all else failed.

  Her cell phone vibrated, humming against the contents of her purse. What now? She dug it out, fumbled it, dropped the thing yet again, and groaned over the unknown caller ID. "Mitchell."

  "What went wrong?" Not the lighthearted Carlos she'd bantered with earlier.

  "I walked in on someone already going through the contents in the container and not one on our team or the NOPD's."

  "Any idea who?"

  "No. He was working entirely in the dark except for using a pin light… and a gun." She hunched her shoulders, waiting for Carlos to go ballistic over her refusal to take a partner.

  He didn't. Instead he asked, "How did you get out of that?"

  "I did, that's all that matters."

  "No, it isn't, Mitchell."

  He was all business now, calling her "Mitchell" instead of "Terri," She debated how much to tell Carlos for as long as it took to sigh.

  "I did have help," she admitted.

  "I figured so."

  That cut her deep. "Why? You think I can't do this job?"

  "Don't get girlie on me, Mitchell. You want to be treated like the rest of the team? Then you get the same heat the rest of us would for going in without a partner. Your choice. Shit happens and even the best operative gets caught with his pants down from time to time."

  Her face seared with embarrassment. He'd given her exactly what she'd asked for and she'd blown the mission. So she had to buck up and accept responsibility.

  "You're right. Sorry, Yes, I had help and, yes, I needed help or I might have been injured."

  Or killed.

  "Okay, Now you understand what having backup means and why it's necessary."

  She still didn't want a partner, but Carlos had settled down so now wasn't the time to argue that point further.

  "Give me the rundown on what had happened and what intel you did get," Carlos said.

  She told him what happened, sticking to the facts except for her ridiculous reaction to her mystery man… and that kiss. In those last moments, she'd been touched by his determination to protect her from a man with a weapon. His power had surrounded her, but not in a threatening way. She'd sensed he wanted something from her, yet felt mesmerized. Call her crazy, but she'd wanted him to kiss her. That and temporary insanity were the only excuses available.

  Not intel she needed to share with anyone from BAD.

  Carlos's voice was deep and more relaxed now. "Tell me again about the contents."

  "There was a generator inside a steel frame. The snort was hidden inside the steel tubing. Couple boxes of trinket-type things and a box of building tools, ornate ones like something you'd display rather than use."

  "Look like anything was missing?"

  "Not that I could see. He didn't leave with a box in his hands, so if he got anything it was small enough to carry on his person." She hadn't technically seen the intruder leave, but felt like her mystery man would have mentioned that.

  "What about this help you had?"

  "I have no idea who the second guy was or why he was there. He fought the first guy, gave me my tote bag, and left." That was a little thin on details, but close enough to be truthful.

  "He doesn't identify himself, helps you, then leaves? That makes no sense."

  Tell her about it. "Hey, I'm as mystified as you are."

  "Meet me tomorrow so we can go over this in person."

  Why did that make her cringe like a kid being told to see the principal after school? "Name the place and time."

  Carlos gave her the meet location. Terri hung up the phone, still wondering about the container's contents. Why had the intruder been searching the other boxes when the drugs had been packed in the steel frame around the generator?

  NOPD had used a torch to cut open one section of the frame at the docks, that was pretty obvious tonight.

  If the intruder had come for the drugs, wouldn't he have known where they were hidden?

  Terri finished undressing, cranked up the shower controls to boiling, and climbed in. Wine and bubbles would have to wait for another night. Steamy water gushed over her battered body, draining away the last few stubborn kinks of stress.

  She stepped from the shower, snagging a towel from the vanity to twist her wet hair into a turban, then grimaced when she touched the lump on her head. No complaints. The goose egg knot was better than having her brains scattered from a bullet, thanks to… him. Who was he? What was he?

  Questions for tomorrow she'd be better able to answer with rest.

  Terri wrapped a second towel around her body, tucking the corner in at her breasts while she listened with half an ear to the sounds of the house. Grandma's television chattered on d
own the hallway, but Terri's bed crooned, tempting her to lie down for just a few minutes, then she'd get dressed and go visit Grandma.

  She fell across the spread facedown. Her eyelids drifted shut. She yawned and stretched. The towel covering her fell loose with the movement.

  A hand slipped across her mouth at the same instant a body settled over the top of hers.

  * * *

  CHAPTER SIX

  "Don't panic." He whispered close to Terri's ear, just in time to avert an all-out anxiety attack. It was him again.

  She slapped the bed next to her head.

  "I'll uncover your mouth if you promise not to scream."

  Scream? No. Snarl? Yes.

  But she gave him a thumbs-up signal, determined not to upset her grandmother, who hopefully wouldn't hear something and check on her. As bad a position as she was in, Terri believed this guy would not hurt her. He was doing a great job of royally pissing her off, though.

  When he removed his hand she whispered, "What is it with you?"

  "We need to talk."

  "Ever consider knocking on a door?" She kept her voice just as low as his.

  "Not a wise idea for me."

  "Why? Because then I'd know what your face looked like?"

  "That's one reason."

  She really wanted to see his face. See who was stalking her, making her insides jump, "How did you find where I lived?"

  "You should lock your car. Checked your drivers license."

  "The only place you could have done that was—"

  "—at the yard where the container was, while you were busy explaining to the boys in blue what happened," he finished.

  How had he managed to do that without being seen? She was beginning to realize just how well trained this guy was. But trained by whom? An intelligence agency? The military?

  "What kind of consulting do you do?" His tone hardened like cured concrete.

  She really was not up for this. Did he think he could just waltz in here and interrogate her? While she was only wearing a towel?

  "You want to talk? I'll start. Why were you in the Drake house the other night?"

  "What do you know about the Drakes?" he countered.

  Terri considered head butting him, but she already had one lump on the back of her skull. She lifted a hand to rub the spot. Her turban came loose so she shoved the towel over the top of her head to the bed.

  "How's your head?" His warm breath raked the hyperactive nerves along her neck and shoulders.

  "Fine."

  "Sorry. I had no better choice at the moment."

  And he'd saved her life by jerking her away. "I don't mind a few bruises, considering the alternative. Thank you, by the way."

  "You're welcome."

  He held her in place, but kept his weight levied just close enough so he wasn't smothering her or trying to intimidate her. She'd felt enough earlier, and with this contact now, to know this guy was ripped, dangerously so, but at the moment he seemed concerned for her comfort, protective. Even more disturbing was how she felt—totally at ease with his body hovering over hers.

  Her breathing hitched, excited.

  Good grief. Brady was right when he'd joked she needed to get laid. But not with a man she couldn't even identify visually. A man she should fear, but didn't.

  She had good survival instincts and didn't doubt them now. This guy had never threatened her. He always made sure she understood his intent. He seemed to be watching out for her. Like a masked guardian angel.

  Regardless, she had to wrangle control back from him.

  "If you want to talk, you're going to have to share. This isn't going to be much of a conversation if you answer my questions with more questions." She couldn't believe she was becoming Christine to his Phantom of the Opera-like appearances. Hell, she didn't even like the movie. And yet he was so intriguing in the strangest way and there was something almost erotic about being pinned to a bed by an unseen man who was fully clothed. How could that be?

  She realized, why. He hadn't put a move on her, no come-on line, no pretense. The only mystique was his hidden identity, a significant one, but no flirting games.

  "Here's the deal… I'll share if you will."

  Her ears perked up at that. She'd worked the street for the last couple of weeks trying to build contacts, find someone to cultivate as an informant, but her last snitch had died an ugly death. No one wanted to talk to her. This mystery guy knew things or he wouldn't have been at the Drake house or the container.

  Tonight had been a bust. If she didn't produce information soon, her value with BAD would drop to zilch. She had to keep that job, needed their resources. Maybe if she walked away from this encounter with something worthwhile to take into the meeting with Carlos tomorrow she'd redeem herself a little.

  "What's it going to be?" he asked.

  Did he have any other tone than surly?

  "I'm game." Terri cringed over the breathless answer and shifted, then stilled. Her bottom felt exposed. The towel was basically just covering her back. How did she always end up in a compromising position with this guy? She moved her hand around, but her wrist bumped into his.

  She felt a tug on the towel, then the edge moved over her bottom. Did he read minds? She had to ignore the situation and find a tie to this case. "Did you work with Nathan?"

  "No. What do you know about the Drakes?" he asked.

  What? Did he really think that was sharing?

  But one of them had to make a move. Since he wasn't willing, he'd better recognize a sincere gesture and share in return. "Here's all I know. Nathan Drake's mother died of cancer recently. Jamie Drake is in prison for running drugs and Nathan got capped at the docks the other night. When I last saw him he had a hole in his forehead, so cause of death should be a no-brainer. What about you? How do you know the family?"

  He didn't say a word. His chest moved against her back with several labored breaths. That wasn't a tough question. Why the hesitation?

  Short on patience, she started to read him the riot act when he said, "It's personal."

  Terri paused at the ragged sound of his voice. "Did you know Nathan well?"

  "Better than most." He shifted an arm closer to her side, but didn't touch her.

  Terri held her breath, waiting to see if he moved again. He didn't. She sighed at the heated direction of her thoughts and concentrated on shifting puzzle pieces around in her mind, trying to fit something together. Nothing. She fished for more.

  "There's a phantom or ghost of Nathan Drake going around harassing people. Know anything about that?"

  He snorted. "Harassing people?"

  "Actually, he's been pressuring snitches and some of Anton Marseaux's muscle. Are you pretending to be him?" She tried to turn quickly to get a look, but he was faster and lowered his body to stop her.

  "No." Nathan gritted his teeth when she moved. He'd kept his lower torso off her for more reasons than not wanting to place too much weight on her. He was hard as a rock staring down at this practically naked woman, damp from a shower and with only a slip of material separating them.

  She stilled the minute their bodies touched.

  He sighed, wondering how he'd gotten himself into this predicament. "Don't turn over and I won't press against you, okay?"

  She nodded, but remained silent.

  Nathan bit down on a curse over the position they were both in. He hadn't wanted to frighten her or make her uncomfortable, but he had to talk to her when she wouldn't fight him. He lifted his lower half off her again.

  "Do you know Jamie Drake?" she asked.

  He flinched at Jamie mentioned in present tense. "Yes."

  "What's the connection between you and him?"

  "Might say we're close as brothers." He probably knew more about Marseaux than she did, which meant he should warn her off this case and get the hell out of here while he had a smidgeon of sanity left. "I came here to do more than talk about the Drakes. You've got to back away from this case. You're in danger
after tonight."

  "I can't back away."

  "'Course you can. Take another assignment." He wanted to shake some sense into her.

  "Can you back away from whatever you're after?"

  Not a chance. "No, but I have… strong reasons for continuing."

  "I have my own reasons, too."

  "Enough that you're willing to die for them?"

  She didn't answer at first, then asked, "Are you?"

  "Yes."

  She took a deep breath before she spoke again, "I don't plan on getting killed, but I accepted the risk when I signed on to this line of work."

  He wanted to laugh at her naďveté—those words were so much easier said than done. "You don't know what you're dealing with." What she could be facing.

  Nathan wasn't even sure. The further he got into this, the bigger and deadlier the tangle. "That guy in the container tonight was a pro, not a drug mule or thug, I don't know what he was after, but someone hired a highly trained operative for a specific purpose. You got lucky tonight. Real lucky. If you get in his way again, he won't miss."

  "Why do you care what I do?"

  "I don't want to see you get hurt." That came as no surprise since he didn't want to see any woman hurt, but what did catch him off guard was how much he wanted her out of this and safe. "This is my fight, not yours."

  "What makes you think you can claim my case as yours?" She muttered something under her breath about arrogant buttheads making asinine assumptions. He couldn't catch the rest.

  Nathan kept trying to ignore the sweep of her neck where damp curls lingered and the delicate curve of her shoulders. They were perfect. Smooth as satin and shapely. She was not some stick woman.

  This one wouldn't break if she had robust sex with a man.

  And he wouldn't last much longer if he kept thinking of sex while hovering so close to a body this tempting.

  "Well?" she groused, impatiently waiting for him to answer.

  He had to backtrack mentally to remember her last question about why he thought her case belonged to him.