MIDNIGHT QUEST: A Short 'Men of Midnight' Novel

by Lisa Marie Rice

  She kissed him on the neck too. Because he knew her body but she also knew his. He made a low, rough sound, barely audible above the cascade of water. “I’m glad you’re back,” she whispered against his skin.

  Jacko curled his big hand around her neck, lifting her chin with his thumb. Then his mouth was on hers again, the kiss deep and long. His hands traveled down her sides, reached her thighs and lifted.

  His strength never ceased to amaze her. He lifted her as if she weighed nothing, hands under her thighs, spreading them apart, stepping forward between them. It was all just a feast for the senses. The waterfall of hot water, the heated scent of freesias, Jacko’s hard body pinning her against the shower stall wall, his huge, hard penis probing to enter her.

  “Damn,” Jacko muttered against her mouth.

  Lauren smiled and reached between them. “I thought you were this big-shot sniper. Infallible aim.” She took his penis in hand and placed the head against her entrance. He was huge and burning hot.

  “Little…distracted here,” he mumbled against her mouth.

  “Yeah?” Lauren licked his lips, opened her mouth against his and he groaned and leaned forward, pressing her more tightly to the wall. Jacko didn’t plunge into her. She was always a little tight when he was gone for a few days and he was always careful. “Thought snipers never got distracted. Total focus. Ahh.”

  He slid into her, just the tip.

  She wanted more. More, more, more.

  Jacko had somehow changed her. She never used to be like this—sex-crazed. It was all his fault, turning her on so much. Giving her all these explosive orgasms. Then holding back now. Wasn’t fair. The beast.

  Lauren wriggled but there wasn’t any purchase. With the wall at her back, and Jacko pressing so hard against her, she had no room to maneuver, nothing to force him to move.

  Well…maybe something.

  She clenched around him, hard, and felt him buck. “God, Lauren,” he muttered. “Trying to be a gentleman.”

  “Mm. I don’t want a gentleman, I want you.” She closed her eyes, concentrated on her body. Everything in her felt full except her sex. It felt like her blood was going to escape her body, her skin was so tight; even her fingertips, pressed against Jacko’s hard back, felt tight and tingling.

  There was a remedy for that. Jacko had taught her. There was a remedy for that feeling of needing to explode.

  “More,” she whispered against his mouth and he pressed forward. Maybe halfway in. There was a lot of Jacko, and even half of him was more than most men. She had enough to work with now. Under the beating stream of hot water, she linked her ankles behind his back and writhed on him, almost dancing on him. There was just enough room for her to move up and down and circle him and oh God, it felt like she was burning up, that iron-hard rod unyielding and hot.

  Jacko was saying something to her, something about the bed, but she wasn’t listening. She couldn’t. Every ounce of attention was centered on her body, between her legs, where Jacko barely penetrated her but was still the point of all pleasure in the world, gripping, blinding pleasure.

  She circled him tightly, the moves echoing her mind, which was spiraling tightly around that pleasure spot, tighter and tighter…

  With a wild cry, Lauren tipped over the edge, plunging into a deep abyss that would have scared her if she hadn’t been held so tightly in Jacko’s strong arms. The world fell away, disappeared and all that was left was her, Lauren, head tipped back against the wall, laughing. Happy her man was back.

  Something penetrated her sleep. A sound, not enough to wake her. What woke her up was Jacko jackknifing up in bed and throwing back the covers. Cloth rustled as he pulled on jeans and a tee shirt.

  It was dark in the room. She could barely see in the gloom, the only light coming from the full moon outside. Jacko had already finished dressing when she heard another sound, two notes this time. And she recognized the first sound she’d heard in her sleep.

  The alarm.

  The system Jacko had set up had two sound alarms. A single tone for when the outer perimeter of the property was breached and two tones for when someone was on the property. By some magical alchemy, Jacko had adjusted the setting so that no member of ASI or any of their women would set off the alarm. They joked about it—Metal could simply walk onto the property and throw a rock at their window and no alarm would be set off, not that Metal would ever do it.

  Which was the point of the setting. Friends yes, foes no.

  And for Jacko, if you weren’t a friend, you were a foe.

  A foe was at the door.

  Lauren opened her mouth to say something to Jacko, who was checking his gun, the gun he kept within arm’s reach. She’d learned enough about guns to see that he was freeing the magazine to check that it was loaded and sliding the chamber back to check that a bullet was already there.

  Something was going to have to be done about that when their child started walking.

  “Jacko, what—”

  “Down,” he said, voice low but not a whisper. “Keep down and don’t go in the living room. Someone’s on the property. Here…” He turned the monitor around so she could see it. The screen was split into four parts—front, back and both sides of the house. “So you can follow what’s going on. But don’t leave the room.”

  She nodded and he flowed out the door. There was no other word to describe it. He was there and suddenly he was not there. He was fast and quiet and smooth. She didn’t hear his footsteps and she didn’t hear the front door opening and closing.

  There he was, on the panel that showed the front of the house, emerging then on the panel showing the side, meaning he’d stepped outside the front door.

  Jacko’s hands came up, fisted around his gun, and Lauren’s heart started jackhammering. He edged forward sideways, making himself a smaller target, though Jacko was a huge target, even sideways. The view switched to the videocamera hidden in the bushes flanking the driveway. She could see his face in profile, expressionless, focused. He moved forward in small steps, which she knew kept his gun steady. Military steps, which meant he felt there was real danger.

  He said something, though of course she couldn’t hear what.

  Then—then a look of utter astonishment crossed his face. She’d never seen that expression on him before, completely taken by surprise. She was trying to think what on earth could put that expression on Jacko’s face—on the face of a man who’d seen just about everything—when she focused on a man next to Jacko’s vehicle.

  Jacko’s eyes were wide and his gun hand dropped. Not in a controlled way, not because he’d received the order to put the gun down, but like someone who simply couldn’t keep his hand up any longer.

  Whatever it was out there was scaring Jacko. Or…not scaring him so much as astonishing him.

  Should she go out there? If he lowered his gun, that meant—what did it mean? The man wasn’t an enemy? What was going on? What did he see?

  Jacko was simply standing there, doing nothing. Stock still. Eyes wide, jaw dropped.

  And then her jaw dropped, because the man stood up slowly, hands open and to his sides, palms out. The universal sign of nonaggression, though his thumb held something against the palm of his right hand. Something small and square. He turned slightly so that he was fully captured by the security camera.

  He looked—but no. That was impossible.

  Lauren came closer to the camera, her breathing loud in the room. She put a hand to her mouth and stared at the monitor.

  The man was large—as large as Jacko. He had close-cropped gray hair and was wearing a dark leather jacket. Except for his size, just a normal man. But he was anything but normal. What she saw had the hairs on her arms standing straight up.

  His face. Dear God, his face.

  He was the exact replica of Jacko. Except for the fact that he looked older, he could have been Jacko’s twin. Identical twin.

  Jacko felt like he’d been sucker punched. He could barely breathe.
His lungs were trying to pull in air but the air had been sucked out of the night sky.

  He’d caught the fucker red-handed. This big guy, hunkered down by the front right tire of Jacko’s SUV. God knows what he was trying to do, because you don’t boost a car from its chassis. But Jacko drew down on him. No matter what the fucker was trying to do, Jacko was calling the cops and the man would spend at least one night in jail. ASI knew everybody in the Portland PD, and he’d make sure the man got a good scare and wouldn’t ever trespass again.

  Then the man looked up and Jacko’s gun hand went down.

  He was nailed to the spot. Frozen. Couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t talk.

  It was like looking in a mirror.

  The man standing not five feet from him was an exact copy of him. Face, height, size. Even the guy’s hands looked like his. Shock reverberated through Jacko’s system—the first time in his life he was shocked senseless.

  The man stood at ease, hands out, holding something in the palm of his hand.

  He searched Jacko’s face with piercing eyes. The one thing that was different between them was that he had light gray eyes.

  Who had talked about eyes lately?

  Jacko couldn’t reason through it, not with this mirror image standing right in front of him. Impossible, but very real. It wasn’t a figment of his imagination and it wasn’t a hologram. It was a flesh-and-blood man who looked exactly like him.

  They stared at each other. Jacko could see a vein throbbing in the other man’s neck. He felt a vein throbbing in his own neck.

  Those light gray eyes shifted, watching his own. Jacko was mesmerized, was falling straight down into an abyss, his stomach swooping. He heard a whooshing sound inside his head.

  The man spoke but the words didn’t penetrate. Jacko could hardly hear him above the thunderous beating of his own heart.

  “I didn’t know about you until ten hours ago.” Finally the words found a place in his head.

  Jacko broke out of his frozen stance and shook his head. “What?”

  “Can I move?”

  Could he move? What the fuck kind of trick question was that? But then he realized he’d been rendered stupid by shock. What the guy was asking was would Jacko let him move without shooting him.

  Because he still had a gun in his hand, finger inside the trigger guard. Anyone familiar with guns would recognize that as a signal that he was prepared to shoot.

  Jacko removed his finger from the trigger guard. Which was crazy. He didn’t know who the fuck this guy was who had invaded his property and was checking the undercarriage of his truck. But…he looked like Jacko. Surely his twin wouldn’t attack him. Unless Jacko was batshit crazy and the only thing attacking him was his own head. “Yeah. You can move.”

  The man immediately stepped forward, inside Jacko’s personal space, and put a hand on Jacko’s shoulder. It was a sign of Jacko’s stupefaction that he didn’t knock that hand off. Nobody touched him that wasn’t Lauren or a really good friend. But this hand felt…friendly.

  Clearly Jacko was insane.

  The man squeezed his shoulder. He had strong hands and it was a good thing Jacko had strong shoulders.

  He stared straight into Jacko’s eyes, light gray eyes set in a face just like his own. There was that whooshing sound in his head again.

  “Son, you have to believe me when I say I had no idea you existed. When I got that call from Pendleton, it nearly buckled my knees.” The man even sounded like Jacko. Voice deep, without Jacko’s slight Texas twang.

  “Pendleton?” Jacko’s voice came out hoarse.

  “Yeah, after you went to visit him in the home. I think the clouds in his head parted and he got in touch with me.”

  “Eyes,” Jacko whispered, dazed. “He kept talking about my eyes. How they’d changed. He thought—he thought I was you.”

  “He did. He’d taken medication that morning that confused him. When it wore off, he realized he’d seen you. He’d kept your existence from me. He had his reasons and I’ll explain them, but right now, I need to warn you that you’re in trouble.”

  Jacko blinked. He felt slow, muscles mired in molasses, most of him numb. He was never this way in the battlefield. If he were, he’d be dead a thousand times over. But right now he was finding it hard to react while his mind was spinning.

  “Trouble?” he repeated. It was hard enough believing what was right in front of his eyes, let alone that this man had brought trouble with him.

  Trouble.

  Lauren and their child were in the house.

  Jacko lost that sense of shock and focused. “Who are you and why am I in trouble?” He pointed a thumb at the house. “My fiancée is in there. Tell me right now if she’s in danger.”

  “I think you know who I am.” The man waved at his face. “Who I am—what I am to you…is clear. All you have to do is look at us. My name is Dante Jimenez, I’m DEA, and thirty-five years ago I was stationed undercover in Cross, Texas.”

  “You met Sara Jackman,” Jacko said tightly. “Met” meaning fucked.

  Jimenez nodded sharply. “I did. It was a one-night stand. And I’m sorry to say I barely remember her and left soon after. But what you have to know now, Morton—”

  “Jacko,” he interrupted.

  “Jacko.” For the first time a faint smile crossed the man’s features. “Better than Morton. What you have to know right now is that your vehicle was tracked.”

  “The fuck? My SUV has a company transponder. I turned it off.”

  “Not a transponder.” Jimenez held his hand out, palm up. Jacko picked up the cheap plastic device with a magnet on one side. The ASI transponder was built into the vehicle. This was something else entirely.

  “A tracking device.”

  “Yeah.”

  Jacko looked up and met those pale gray eyes. “Since when?”

  “Since the sheriff’s office in Cross. Guy’s on the take, and he’ll be taking from enemies of mine. What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing. Not even my full name.”

  “Good. But he knows where you are now.”

  “Who? Who is this we’re talking about? The sheriff?”

  “No. Constable’s a clown.” Jimenez’s face tightened. “I’m talking about a very dangerous man, son. And he’ll be on his way with a team of shooters. So let’s get inside and make plans.”

  They came in through the door and for just a second, Lauren had trouble distinguishing between the two. Then her brain unscrambled them. Jacko—shaved head, dark eyes. The other man—close-cropped, steel-wool gray hair, eerie gray eyes. But they looked that similar to each other.

  First Jacko then the other man came in, bringing with them the chill night air and about a ton of testosterone.

  Jacko walked over to her, put his arm around her waist and kissed her forehead. He turned her slightly. “Honey, this is Dante Jimenez. He’s—”

  “His dad. I’m Jacko’s dad.” Jimenez stuck out his big hand and Lauren stared at it. It was exactly like Jacko’s hand—big and dark, same size, same shape. It was uncanny. She took the hand gingerly, felt him squeeze gently, then he let her hand go.

  “I’m Lauren. Nice to meet you.” The words came out automatically, the result of relentless maternal training in etiquette. But her head was whirling. Was it nice to meet him? What was he doing here? Why had Jimenez stayed away from Jacko all his life?

  Jacko kept his big arm around her waist. He stared at…his father. How odd those words sounded in her head. “Lauren’s pregnant. We’re expecting a child.” His face was hard, the words said harshly, as if Jimenez might somehow object.

  The opposite happened. Jimenez’s face melted. There was no other word for it. His face softened, eyes wide, jaw slightly dropped. “Oh God,” he breathed. “A grandchild.” He looked to one side for a moment, blinking, then turned back. “I never thought to have a son. And now a grandchild on the way. It’s—it’s almost too much.” He narrowed his eyes. �
�We have to protect your family, son. The man who ordered the transponder? He will stop at nothing to hurt you, hurt Lauren, to get back at me.”

  Lauren froze, her hand going instinctively to her belly. “Who’s going to hurt me?” she asked shakily.

  Jacko’s arm tightened. “No one. No one’s going to hurt you, honey. Not while I’m alive.”

  “And not while I’m alive, either,” Jimenez answered, and his expression was the exact same expression as Jacko’s. Tight and grim. He switched his gaze to Jacko. “The enemy is Carlos Villalongo, son of the head of the Laredo cartel. I’m DEA and I put his father away. He died in prison. I’ve been after the cartel my entire career, and he just found out that you’re my son. We intercepted a conversation. He wants to use you as leverage to get to me, but that’s not going to happen. We need to secure Lauren and then we need to arm up and strategize. I have some men coming.”

  “Who?” Jacko sounded suspicious. “And how am I supposed to tell the bad guys from the good guys?”

  “The good guys will be wearing DEA blazers. And they’ll be here in—” He held a finger up as a cell phone buzzed. “Yeah, Jimenez. Give me some good news.” He listened, eyes narrowed. “Fuck. You tracking Villalongo? When?”

  Jacko dropped his arm around her waist and stepped up to Jimenez. He grabbed a fistful of jacket and got right into his face. “Goddammit, you tell me right now what’s going on, who’s threatening Lauren, or I swear to God I’ll hurt you.”

  Jimenez made no attempt to defend himself. “I hear you. The thing is, we don’t have much time. My men are stuck in a snowstorm and are contacting local DEA agents, but they will have to bring them up to speed. The first thing I need to know, is there somewhere we can put Lauren where she’ll be safe and can you call in any members of your security team? I googled your company on the way over and it looks like you’ve got some good men there. Can you call on them?”