“G.R.I.D. trained. Specializing in assassinations. And Jackson wants to deliberately plant himself in the kill zone …”
How are you going to stop him?
She shook from head to toe, having no idea.
CHAPTER 6
Jackson stood at Morgan’s kitchen sink, downing a glass of ice water.
“There are sodas in the fridge,” she told him, brushing at the sleeve of her soft pink top. “Iced tea and juice, too.”
“I need the water,” he said. “High humidity and this heat … You need it, too.” He passed her a chilled glass with a lavender orchid etched into its side.
“Thank you.” She took a drink and then laid out the photos on the gray granite bar.
Jackson leaned over to take a look. “These our G.R.I.D. assassins?”
“Yes, they are.” The first man was thin, had a nerdish quality to him, and a totally forgettable face—unless you knew he was out to kill you. “Merk,” she said, pointing to his photo with her fingertip. “No last names?”
“No, not on any of them.” While Merk looked like he could be the typical man next door, “Stick” looked like the neighborhood thug everyone wanted to avoid. He had nothing in common with a stick, either. How had he gotten that name? He was big, brawny; his sunglasses hid his eyes and magnified his cocky attitude. Obnoxious. It came to Morgan’s mind and stayed.
“Bad to the bone, that one,” Jackson said.
“Mmm, definitely.” She nodded her agreement, moving on to the final third. “Payton.” He was anything but nondescript. His head was shaved; his suit, classic Saville Row. In a crowd, he’d be seen as a CEO, a powerful executive, or a sports team owner. He probably could have been any of those things or one of a thousand others, but an assassin? Nothing about him fit anyone’s stereotypical description. That was unnerving.
“Nice dresser,” Jackson said about Payton. “Good for about four grand a pop.”
“Or more,” Morgan agreed. She took in specific details from each photo and committed them to memory. “But a pig in silk is still a pig.” She turned toward Jackson.
He stood closer than she expected; she smelled his skin, the trace of aftershave clinging to him. A little flutter in her stomach warmed and she lifted her gaze, looked up at him, into his eyes, and her determination to save him from himself doubled. “These men mean to kill you, Jackson. Whether because you’re you or because they think you’re Bruce, we don’t yet know. But either way, they want you dead.”
“Yes.” He looked down at her upturned face and searched her eyes. “They want me dead.”
Close. So close. Too close. Her breath caught and a warning sounded in her head, urging her to back away. But too tempted to kiss him, she stood fast and swallowed hard. “Jackson?”
“Mmmm?” His flattened lips softened, slightly parted. “Don’t let them, okay?”
The distance in his eyes faded, welcoming her. “Worried about having more work to do?”
She started to say yes, but that wasn’t the reason, and they both knew it. “That, too.”
“Why else?” He let out a little grunt. The skin wrinkled between his eyebrows above his nose. He waited, but she didn’t answer, so he prodded her, “Because …”
“Because I need to know you,” she finally admitted.
“Need to?” He didn’t flinch. “Or want to?”
“Both,” she confessed, afraid to move, afraid to breathe for fear it would break this intimacy and the moment would be gone, lost forever.
“You know I’m attracted to you.” He lifted a fingertip to her face; let it skim along her jaw, down to her chin.
She should deny it. What if this more-than-attraction feeling in her was all one-sided? What if she’d misread him, and he wasn’t interested in her beyond attraction and what she could do to help him and his brother? She turned her face into his hand. “Yes, I know.”
“And you know that in our present circumstances, getting involved with each other is nothing short of insanity.”
His hand was warm on her face. Caressing her. “I know that, too, Jackson.”
“So.” He cupped her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. “Are we intentionally going to be insane?”
“Definitely.” She didn’t hesitate, leaned into him, pressing her hand to his chest and lifting her mouth to his.
He met her halfway. Their kiss was tentative, trembly and tender, warm and wistful. She curled her arms around his neck, let her fingertips splay on his broad shoulders, and sank into it.
He groaned against her mouth, parted his lips, and his heated breath fanned over her face. “You’re beautiful, Morgan,” he whispered, his throat thick, his voice husky.
All too soon, he loosened his hold on her and moved to pull away. Her emotions churning in full riot, she refused to let him go, tugged him closer, and took their kiss deeper instead, exploring, opening herself completely to all of his anger and worry and outrage and grief … so much grief … so many regrets … and so much fear. She stroked his nape, his chin, his chest with lingering fingertips, wanting to comfort and soothe, to quench the fire burning low in her stomach, and embraced his passion. Emotionally staggering, she let out a sound she didn’t recognize as her own, and he sighed softly against her lips, pleasantly content. He rubbed his nose against hers and then pulled back to look at her.
Reeling, she let him, held his gaze … and smiled.
He smiled back, pulled her tighter into the circle of his arms, and gently squeezed her. “If anyone had told me twenty-four hours ago I’d be kissing a gorgeous woman who’d shot me twice and then abducted me, I’d have sworn that they’d lost their mind.”
She nipped at her lower lip. “If anyone had told me twenty-four hours ago that I’d be kissing a man I’d shot twice and abducted who takes my breath away with a mere glance, I’d have thought that they’d lost their mind.”
“Anyone else, maybe.” His eyes sparkled. “But you knew, Morgan.”
She tensed, not wanting to ruin this—whatever it was—between them before it started. “What did I know?”
“That it would be good.” He swept a lock of her hair back from her face and tucked it behind her ear. “We would be good. Special.”
“I did?” How could he know that? He couldn’t know that. She had known it from the first sign of attraction on the Sunrise. From that first erotic tingle. Those rare glimpses just didn’t happen in her everyday life.
He nodded. “You’re very intuitive. Of course, you knew.”
Shock rippled through her. Had he already been told about her special ability skills, or was he talking about the average, typical level of women’s intuition? She waited for a hint.
He didn’t give her one.
Regardless, she could admit that she had known they’d be magical together, and not lie. “I suspected we would be … compatible.”
He let out a laugh. “More like combustible.”
She smiled again. “That, too.”
Looking into her eyes, his gaze softened and he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. “Thank you.”
She scrunched her brows in an unasked question. “For giving me something good to hold on to during all this.”
She couldn’t let him think this was manufactured for convenience. “Oh, Jackson, wait.” She grabbed a breath, made sure she had his full attention, then went on. “This with us isn’t situational. I mean, the situation didn’t induce it. It’s—”
“Shh, I know that. Give me a little credit, Morgan.” “I didn’t mean to insult you. It’s just that you can’t think …”
“I can think. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” He waited for her to look up into his eyes. “It wouldn’t matter what we were involved in.”
He did get it. He understood. And he was okay with it. “No, it wouldn’t matter.” She stroked his face. “But we do need to stay focused to keep you alive.” She let him see her resolve. “We will find the answers you need. I promise you that
.”
Grief settled again in his eyes. “Laura would have liked you very much.”
She had liked Laura, too. In another time, they could have been friends. “You were very close to her …”
“I admired and respected her,” Jackson said easily. “She was loving and kind and gentle and as hard as nails when she needed to be, which was way too often, being married to my brother.”
“I saw all those things in her in our session.” Morgan said. She had—and a lot more.
He blinked. “I have a hard time believing a woman that sharp wouldn’t know she was living with a double. Laura was no lightweight on any front, and that’s a fact. She’d have known it, especially with her being as attuned to Bruce as she was. She had to have known it.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Morgan said, considering it. “Maybe that’s why she came to see me. Because she did know, or she suspected he wasn’t Bruce, and she wanted him checked out without asking for it to be done.” Reluctant though Morgan was to leave Jackson’s arms, she moved away and then grabbed two juices out of the fridge. She passed one to him. “If Laura knew the man with her wasn’t Bruce—let’s face it, if no other time, during sex she would definitely have known—she would want to know where the real Bruce was, and she wouldn’t want him mucking up Bruce’s job. It’s the most important thing in the world to him.” Realizing what she’d said, Morgan blushed. “Laura aside, of course,” she added, feeling obligated.
“Don’t start lying to me,” Jackson said. “With Bruce, Laura came after his job. She knew it, and she was all right with it. Why? I don’t know and won’t speculate. But she did know, and it was okay with her.”
“Amazing woman,” Morgan said.
“Yes.”
His simple agreement without adornment spoke volumes about him and about Laura.
“That would explain her coming to you,” Jackson said. “Nothing else does. She wouldn’t jeopardize his job under any circumstances. But if she knew the man wasn’t Bruce, then I could see her coming to you. She wouldn’t have a clue how to locate Bruce. She wouldn’t have an explanation for how a double could have been substituted for him either. But she would believe you would figure it out and find the real Bruce,” Jackson said. “I am certain of one thing.”
Morgan unscrewed the top off the juice bottle. It popped. “What’s that?”
“If she did know or suspect the man in her house was a body double, then there’s no way in hell she’d ever leave him without knowing where to find Bruce. He was her only link, and she’d die before breaking it.” Morgan stilled. Help Bruce.
“What is it?” Jackson asked. “Morgan? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She took a drink from the bottle. The cranberry flavor washed down her throat. “I’m, um, fine.”
“You’re not fine,” he argued. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
Maybe she had. “It’s really nothing,” she insisted, giving him a little smile. “But if we want daylight when we check out Laura and Bruce’s home, then we’d better get going.”
“Let me grab my duffle.” He headed for the guest room. “Save us a trip back here before dropping me off at the boat.”
The kill zone. When he returned, Morgan again addressed that topic. “I wish you’d reconsider staying on the Sunrise. You know as well as I do that G.R.I.D. assassins are experts. Facing them one at a time would give you reasonable odds of success, but three on one? Those are not good odds, Jackson. I don’t give a damn how good you are.”
“I need to be in the kill zone,” he insisted, walking to the front door. “But try not to worry.”
“I know.” She sighed, locked the door, set the alarm, and closed up. “You’ve faced worse odds before.”
He nodded. “You’re very intuitive. I like that in a woman.” He shot her a smile, walked out, and then got into the Jeep.
Yeah. Intuitive, but crazy as hell for not falling for a guy with a quiet little life and a safe nine-to-five job who didn’t put his neck on the line intentionally with a damn track record of bad odds.
Unfortunately, the heart and not the head made the who-to-fall-for call, and apparently hers had decided on him. How strange. Until now, only two men in her entire life had kissed her breath away. She had buried one and had watched the second marry another woman, certain she would never experience that sensation again. And then along comes Jackson Stern. And she experiences the sensation again—stronger and more intense than ever before. And she’d known him less than twenty-four hours.
Unbelievable.
Definitely the heart making the call. Was it too much to hope that her heart was both intuitive and not crazy?
On the way to Bruce and Linda’s home, Morgan checked in with Home Base on her cell phone.
Darcy was manning the operations desk, and she verified that Dr. Vargus had taken the blood sample from the incarcerated Bruce Stern and that the ME had run a DNA on the scrapings found under Laura’s cracked nails. The results wouldn’t be in until sometime tomorrow.
“Okay, thanks, Darcy,” Morgan said. “Jackson and I are on our way to the Sterns’ home. We want to look around.”
“I’ll note it in the record,” she said. “The guard is gone from there. Forensics finished up earlier this afternoon and released the house.”
Morgan braked to a stop at a four-way. “Did they find anything of note?”
“Afraid not,” Darcy said, clearly disappointed. “Did you get the fax?”
The photos of Merk, Stick, and Payton. “Yes, I did.” Morgan hung a left onto Highway 98 and then turned north on Main. Tropical Storm Lil had changed paths, cutting a sharp turn to the west. Mississippi and Louisiana were taking the brunt of it, and Mobile was getting a little rain. Florida had been spared, and while Morgan wouldn’t wish a storm on anyone, she was grateful they didn’t have to deal with that now, too. “Has Lil been downgraded yet?”
“Next advisory, it will be,” Darcy said. “Those poor people in Pass Christian are still in FEMA trailers from Hurricane Katrina and now they’re having to deal with Lil. It’s just not fair.”
“No, it isn’t.” Bruce and Laura’s home was located in Seascape Estates, just a few blocks off the beach. Morgan tapped her signal and turned right at the corner, then drove through the bricked entrance to the subdivision. “Does anyone have any idea where these men are now?” She avoided using keywords that would be picked up by Intel. Darcy would know Morgan was talking about the assassins.
“None.” Darcy sighed her frustration over that one. “But we have verified that they didn’t fly out of Magnolia Beach, Destin, Fort Walton, Pensacola, or Mobile. If they’ve gone anywhere, it’s been by car or boat.”
Morgan would feel a lot better, especially considering Jackson’s insistence about staying aboard the Sunrise, if the S.A.S.S. knew where the assassins were currently located. “Do we have anyone posted at the harbor?”
“Not authorized,” Darcy said. “Until we can prove a direct connection with hard evidence, we can’t assign assets there.”
That connection would be between G.R.I.D. and the Sterns. Frustration swam through Morgan. She, Jazie, and Taylor Lee knew the connection was there, but they couldn’t prove it with physical evidence—only with their special abilities. “I see.” She did. Jackson had been removed from the equation before the assassins could make the attempt to kill him, so there was no hard evidence that he was a target. Therefore, the Sunrise wasn’t officially in jeopardy and neither was Jackson. “Let me guess. Colonel Gray’s orders.”
“Got it in one.” Darcy confirmed that the Providence base commander, who had authority over the personnel necessary for the assignment, was sticking it to Commander Drake. Again. “Is the guy in jail our guy or theirs?”
“I don’t know yet, but I think he’s ours,” Morgan said, slowing down for two little girls riding their bikes on the edge of the street.
Darcy would translate that response to mean that Morgan believed the man in custody was
the real Bruce, though she couldn’t yet prove it. “Did he kill her?”
“No. My findings agree with Taylor Lee’s on that. All the way.” Morgan hoped for Bruce’s sake and Jackson’s that she was right about that. “I’ll update you after visiting the house.”
“Proof will come in good time,” Darcy said.
Provided G.R.I.D. didn’t kill Jackson, or Morgan, or both of them before she could find that proof. “Call me on the cell with any updates.”
“Will do.”
Morgan closed her phone, dropped it into her purse, and then paused at the foot of the Sterns’ driveway. Some instinct warned her not to pull in. Having learned long ago to respect those quiet nudges, she drove down the street a couple houses and then parked at the curb.
Jackson cast her a puzzled look. “Why didn’t you use the driveway?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, risking probably more than she should. “I started to, but had a funny feeling.”
“Invasive?” he guessed.
Close enough. She nodded.
“Sometimes you have to invade to resolve, Morgan.
But you already know that.” He grabbed the handle and tugged, opening the door.
“Jackson.” She stopped his exit from the car with a hand on his forearm. “You’re right, I do know it. And I know that sometimes, no matter how strong and determined we are, we have to back off a bit and regroup before we can go on.” Man, she hoped he took this in the spirit intended, but some men really objected to being reminded that they were mere mortals. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? There’s no shame in saying it’s too much to deal with right now.”
“Hell, Morgan,” he answered bluntly. “I haven’t been ready for anything that’s happened since you shot me on the Sunrise. Who could be?”
Valid point. “Of course.” He was proud but real, too, and his mental health was her domain by honcho decree. She had to do her best and give him an out. “You can do this later, you know.”
“No, I can’t. Time is against us already. We don’t need degraded evidence, and you know as well as I do that the longer we wait, the more it will degrade.”
Vicki Hinze - [War Games 04] Page 14