by Pamela Clare
“What’s to stop them from killing us and hacking the site or going after your editor?”
“They can’t kill everybody.”
He bent down, glared straight into her eyes. “I don’t want them to kill anybody. I want to bring them down. That’s why I’m doing this.”
“At least let me call Zach so he’s standing by and knows where you are.”
“Not until we have what we need. If he knows where I am, he’s going to move as soon as he and his team are in position. I’ll never get to the bottom of this.”
Tears blurred Holly’s vision. “What if you’re wrong and he does kill you?”
“You’ll have everything you need to make sure he pays for it. But that’s not going to happen.”
“How can you be sure? If he realizes that you’re recording him—”
“It’s a chance I have to take.”
“Well, it’s a stupid plan. I veto it.”
He laughed. “You veto it?”
“I couldn’t stand it if anything were to happen to you.”
He drew her into his arms. “It’s going to be okay.”
She wished she could be certain of that. “Why are you so set on this?”
“We have something Bauer and Nguyen want, but they have something I want—the truth.”
She drew back, looked up at him. “This is about Dani, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, in part. I want to know why Dudaev killed her. He could have killed all of us. Instead, he passed us by to kill her. Why?”
“Does the answer mean so much that you’d throw away your life to get it?”
“She was a member of my team, Holly. Yeah, I loved her. But beyond that, it was my job to keep her safe. I failed. I’ve learned to live with that, but, damn it, I have to know what happened.”
Holly wiped the tears off her cheeks. “You can’t bring her back, you know. Nothing you can do will bring her back. Punishing yourself—”
“I’m not punishing myself.” He closed his eyes, clearly fighting to rein in his temper. “I’m taking a calculated risk to stop them and keep you safe. This isn’t just about me. I know these past few weeks have been miserable for you. You want to go back to your life and your friends, and I’m trying to make that happen.”
“Oh, great. So if they kill you, I get to live the rest of my life knowing that the man I lo—” She gaped up at him, astonished by what she’d almost said.
His gaze softened. “The man you . . . what?”
“Nothing.” She turned away from him, walked to the window, her pulse tripping, a feeling like panic welling up inside her.
She couldn’t love Nick. She just couldn’t. She refused to love him.
He came up behind her, wrapped an arm around her waist, kissed her hair. “Are we going to argue all night, or are you going to let me make love to you?”
“I don’t want you to meet with Nguyen tomorrow.”
I don’t want this to be our last night together.
“Shhh.” Warm fingers brushed her hair away from her neck, his lips pressing butterfly kisses against the skin beneath her ear.
Heat skittered over her skin.
She let her eyes close, let herself sink back against him, his body so strong and hard, his touch quieting the confusion inside her. One big hand drew up the stretchy fabric of her black tank dress and slid beneath her panties to cup her. Oh, he knew her so well, knew just how to touch her, just what to do to turn her on.
Pressure right there. The glide of a finger. His teeth nipping her neck.
She turned in his arms, and they sank together to the bed, kissing. He sat up, undressed her, his hands sliding over her skin as he took off her dress, her bra, and then her panties. She watched as his gaze moved over her, as warm and gentle as a caress. Then he bent down, kissed her between her breasts, taking their weight in his hands, his thumbs teasing her nipples to erect points.
She slid her fingers into his thick curls, gasping as he drew one of her nipples into the heat of his mouth and sucked, little tugs that she felt deep in her belly. Pleasure shivered through her, leaving her wet and aching for him.
She reached down, tried to unzip his jeans, but he took over, pushing them down his hips and kicking them aside.
He rolled onto his back, grasped her hips, and guided her up his body until she straddled his face.
Holly grasped the top of the bed’s rickety headboard and held on as his lips and tongue worked their magic on her. “Oh, yes!”
God, she loved him. Yes, she loved him. She didn’t want to love him. She hadn’t meant to love him. But she did.
* * *
Nick could stay like this forever, his head filled with Holly’s scent, his mouth alive with her taste. He’d heard what she hadn’t said, what she’d stopped herself from saying. He’d heard it as clearly as if she’d shouted it to the world, her unspoken words setting something free inside him.
Well, this was his answer.
He drank in the sweet nectar of her body’s response, wanting to give her all the pleasure she could take. He’d never known a woman as sensual and responsive as Holly. Uninhibited, fun, beautiful, graceful, sexy, sweet—words chased one another through his mind, a litany that somehow couldn’t begin to describe her. He wanted nothing more than to venerate her, adore her, cherish her.
Soft little sighs tumbled out of her one after the other, her knuckles white where her hands gripped the headboard, her thighs trembling, her hips making little jerking motions. “Oh, God . . . Nick.”
He knew how to read her, knew how to gauge her responses. She was hovering on the edge now. He slipped a hand between her thighs, slid two fingers inside her, stroked her. God, she was wet, her slick inner muscles gripping his fingers, making him ache to have his cock inside her.
Then her head fell back, and she came with a cry, her vagina clenching around his fingers. He stayed with her until her climax had passed, then helped her settle herself on top of him, where she lay, limp as a rag doll.
Nick traced the delicate groove of her spine with his fingertips, savored the feel of her in his arms, her heartbeat gradually slowing. If only the world would disappear and leave them alone. And then it hit him.
How was he supposed to go back to living without her?
He couldn’t.
She lifted her head from his chest, looked at him through dark eyes, then lowered her mouth to his in a slow, deep kiss, her fingers stroking his half-hard cock to fullness.
He flipped her onto her back, settled himself between her thighs, his gaze locked with hers as he entered her with a single, slow thrust.
There were so many things he wanted to tell her, so many things he wanted to say, but he kept them to himself, willing himself to focus only on loving her. Had he ever felt so connected to a woman? She was so much a part of him that he couldn’t tell where his body ended and hers began. She was his home, his temple, his heaven.
Skin on sweat-slick skin. Moans mingling. Fingers twining.
He drew her hands above her head, pressed his forehead to hers, looked into those beautiful brown eyes. “Holly, honey, I . . .”
I love you.
Tears welled up in her eyes, spilled down her temples.
He fought to hold on, wanting her, wanting to make it good for her, his control hanging by a single thread. She felt good . . . so good . . . so perfect. Nothing was sweeter. Nothing was better. He was burning . . . God, he was burning up . . . Burning up inside her, his blood on fire for her.
Her eyes went wide, and she cried out his name, a look of ecstasy lighting her sweet face as she came again, her inner muscles contracting around him, shattering what was left of his control. He exploded, orgasm scorching through him in an incandescent wave as he spilled his soul inside her.
Then in the stillness, he held her.
Chapter Twenty-five
Holly zipped the fly of Nick’s jeans, smoothed the denim with her fingers, then felt along his crotch. “You ought to be good for a pat dow
n.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you should check again.”
He was being cute, but she didn’t have it in her to laugh. He was actually going through with this. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to end up getting himself hurt or killed. “Hopefully, he won’t run a metal detector over you, but if he does, he might believe it’s just your zipper. I fooled people with the underwire in my bra lots of times.”
Nick drew a shirt on over his head and tucked it into his jeans, then reached for his jacket. It was in the high nineties outside, but he needed the extra layer to hide his shoulder holster and his SIG.
She put aside the little sewing kit they’d bought that morning and reached for the cheap cowboy hat they’d grabbed at the gas station. “I don’t want you to do this, Nick. Please reconsider. If Nguyen is dirty, he obviously has no problem killing his own people—or watching them die. He could kill you, torture you, or remand you into custody and pay some stranger to shank you.”
He laughed. “Would you stop worrying?”
“This isn’t a game.”
“Hey, isn’t that my line? Come here.” He pulled her into his arms, held her. “You’re right. I don’t know what Nguyen has in mind, but I have the advantage here.”
“You do?”
“Hell, yeah, I do.” He drew back, cupped her face in his palms. “I have you.”
He kissed her, a soft, slow kiss.
“Nick, I . . .” She needed to tell him. He was leaving. What if she never got another chance? “I . . . I can’t lose you.”
Oh, she was such a coward!
He gave her a lopsided grin, his gaze soft. “You won’t.”
And then it was time for them to move.
They quickly packed up the minivan, then Nick went to the motel office to check them out. They drove in silence up the highway toward Colorado Springs, exiting I-25 and heading into the business district.
“This looks good.” He pulled into the entrance of a public parking garage, punched the button for the ticket, then drove up to the top floor. “It’s going to get pretty hot in here. Have you got enough water?”
“Don’t worry about me.” Being hot was the least of Holly’s worries. “If Nguyen turns you over to Dudaev’s men, you’ll have to get them to speak English or Russian, or I won’t understand a word of it.”
He nodded, pointed to the surveillance setup. “Are you confident you know how to run all this stuff?”
“Yes, of course.”
“No matter what happens, no matter what Nguyen does or what you hear, you stay here. Do not come after me. Our lives depend on that. The moment they have both of us, we’re dead. Promise you won’t follow me.”
“I’m not an idiot.”
No, she wasn’t an idiot, but if he could have a stupid plan, so could she.
He kissed her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“What if you can’t get back? What if you never come back?”
“That’s not going to happen.” He stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “You mean the world to me, Holly.”
He put on the cowboy hat, stepped out of the minivan, and walked away.
* * *
Nick walked through the side entrance of the Crestwood Suites hotel, the cowboy hat tilted to conceal his face. He glanced around the lobby for Dudaev’s goons or anyone who resembled an Agency officer. A man reading today’s paper, his luggage beside him. A family with two kids checking in. A young woman in a business pantsuit checking out. Two young men standing in uniforms at the concierge desk.
A bank of elevators stood in the center of the lobby. Not only would they be hard to reach without being seen, but the elevators themselves were glass, which meant that anyone on any floor would be able to see him and observe where he stopped.
He sat in the back of the lobby until the two young men from the concierge desk were busy, then slipped into the staff elevator and took it to the eleventh floor, his mind shifting to yesterday’s conversation with Nguyen. He’d denied helping Bauer, but apart from that, he hadn’t answered Nick’s questions.
There’s more to this than I can explain right now.
Was Nick a fool to hope that there truly was some other explanation for the things Lee had done—and hadn’t done?
You need to trust me, Nick.
Well, here he was, ready to trust or ready to shoot back, whichever it took.
The elevator stopped with a ping, and the door opened. He followed the signs down the hall and around the corner to Suite 1120.
The door was ajar.
Nick drew the P229, pushed the door open, and saw feet in men’s black dress shoes sticking out from behind a sofa. Someone was down.
He raised his weapon and moved in, keeping his back to the wall, his senses alert for any sound or movement. He did a quick sweep of the place, glancing down as he passed the sofa to see Nguyen lying in a pool of blood.
Son of a bitch!
He stopped at the desk, grabbed the hotel’s phone, and dialed the Concierge Desk. “Call 911. A man has been shot in Suite 1120. I repeat—a man has been shot and is down in Suite 1120. We need police and an ambulance.”
Leaving the handset off the hook, he hurried over to Nguyen, knelt down beside him, felt for a pulse.
It was weak and thready, but it was there.
“Lee, can you hear me?” Nick pushed aside Nguyen’s sports jacket, tore open his shirt, saw a bullet wound in the right side of his chest. He took the handkerchief out of Nguyen’s jacket pocket and pressed it hard against the wound.
Nguyen’s eyes fluttered open, focused on Nick’s face. “Go. Trap.”
“You just hang on, and let me take care of me.” Nick glanced around again, knowing he made an easy target. “Stay with me, buddy. Medical is on the way.”
“It wasn’t me . . .” Lee’s words were cut off in a fit of strangled coughing, blood gathering at the corners of his mouth.
“Rest easy, buddy.”
“It wasn’t . . . me. Bauer . . .” Lee’s eyes rolled back in his head, then drifted shut.
“No, damn it! Lee, come on, man!” Nick felt for a pulse again.
He was still alive.
Thank God.
Then Nick heard heavy footfalls in the hallway. His first thought was that it was staff coming in response to his call. But he hadn’t heard the elevator open. He stood and moved back against the wall, out of the line of fire, his weapon raised.
Three of Dudaev’s thugs stepped into the room, all of them armed.
Nick fired, dropping the first one with a double tap. He rolled to the side, came up finger on the trigger to fire at the second.
He heard a pop and the electric rattle of a Taser. Liquid agony flooded him, dropping him to the floor, making his entire body go limp.
And the world went dark.
* * *
Holly sat in the minivan, listening through headphones, hand pressed over her mouth, her pulse racing. She’d heard two gunshots, followed by the metallic rattle of the Taser. Was Nick down? Had he been shot or zapped or both?
Come on, Nick, say something!
A man groaned.
Someone spoke in a language she didn’t understand. One of Dudaev’s men. They must have shot Nguyen and been waiting nearby for Nick.
She drew a deep breath, fought to master her panic, her heart still thrumming.
Snap out of it, Bradshaw!
She listened, straining to hear.
Another groan.
More talk she couldn’t understand.
“I don’t speak . . . whatever that is.”
Holly exhaled, a relieved sigh to hear Nick’s voice.
“He killed Beso!”
So Nick had been the one to fire the shots. A savage satisfaction washed through her. Good for him!
“You killed Nguyen.” That was Nick again.
So Nguyen was dead?
Oh, God!
“Your parents are Georgian, you piece of shit, but you don’t know your mother
tongue. Where is she? Where is the Bradshaw bitch?”
She’s recording every word you say, you ass!
“I let her go.”
“Liar. Get on your feet. She must be here somewhere. Where did you park?”
“I took a cab.”
A muffled thud. A groan.
“Go fuck your mother!” Nick said—in Russian.
So he was provoking them. Great idea. Was he trying to distract them, hoping the police would arrive in time to help him?
Nick, you big idiot, be careful!
“Get up. You’re going with us. If you say a word or try to run, we’ll shoot.”
They were taking him. They were abducting him.
Fan-freaking-tastic! Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
She heard the ping of the elevator, listened as they rode it down to the ground floor, the car stopping twice to let people on. Those people had no idea how close they stood to death at this moment. She was certain Dudaev’s men must have a gun pressed to Nick’s back. They wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone who got in their way.
People’s voices. Footsteps on concrete. They must be outside now.
Traffic. The distant wail of sirens. Footsteps that echoed.
The parking garage?
A vehicle door opened.
“Where do you two think you’re taking me?”
Two. There were two of them. He was letting her know there were two of them—and he had them speaking English.
Good job, baby.
The rasp of duct tape.
“Shut up, piece of shit.”
They must have put duct tape over his mouth because he didn’t answer. They were probably using it to bind his hands and ankles, too.
A thud.
Someone had struck him.
“Give us trouble, I slit your throat. You killed Beso, you whoreson!”
A heavy door closed. Or was that the trunk?
Two car doors opened and closed, the men’s voices muffled and distant. The roar of a car engine. And then they were moving.
Her gaze was drawn to the computer screen and the GPS feed from the transmitter she’d sewn into Nick’s jeans. The blip began to move.
Her heart constricted, panic sliding into her veins like ice. They’d gotten Nick. They were taking him away.