by Joan Swan
Luke didn’t immediately respond. He didn’t need to. Keira felt the loss streaming through him.
“Guess I’ve gotten used to it.” But his tone hinted that he’d never get used to it.
A familiar, haunting guilt twisted in Keira’s stomach. The stark reality of what Luke must have suffered when he’d given “his princess,” as he’d called her, back to Teague and Alyssa hit her so hard, tears swelled in her eyes.
An inkling of how hard it would be to let go of Mateo edged in.
If he goes back to Greece, he’ll die on the streets. If he stays here, DARPA will snatch him from foster care.
“If I can’t find Mateo’s parents,” she said, “I’ll have Mitch start on adoption papers.” Her throat grew tight with a mixture of love for the boy, fear for his future, and anxiety over her own role in that future. “It’s going to be complicated and risky. I’ll need a ton of false documents. But I won’t ever let those DARPA bastards get him.”
Luke nestled his face against the side of her neck, kissed her there, slid his arm across her waist, and squeezed her close. He kissed his way across her shoulder. Under the covers, the hand on her waist slid to the flat of her belly, then lower. “You feel like heaven, baby.”
Keira smiled, groaned at the feel of those long, strong fingers pushing between her legs. “Luke—” She drew out his name. “We don’t have any more condoms.”
“We have to.” He pulled her earlobe between his teeth. “I still want you.”
She laughed and pulled his hand into hers, dragging it to her mouth for a kiss. “Are you listening to me?”
“Mmm-hmm.” His thigh slid between hers, pushed high, rocked.
“Lu-uke.” She rolled over, easing him to his back and straddling his hips.
“Hell, yeah.” His hands gripped her hips, his eyes traveled the length of her body, a huge, hot grin slid over his face. And a huge, hot erection rode across her entrance. “Now this . . . baby. This is what I’m talking about.”
Tracing the muscles on his abdomen, she felt a mixture of apprehension and excitement coil inside her as she brought up the subject she wanted to get hashed out and behind them so they could relax together. “Do you still have your heart set on that baseball team?”
His eyes darted up from her belly button stud, which his thumb flicked back and forth so it twinkled in the light. “Baseball what?”
“You know, kids. You used to say you wanted enough kids to make your own baseball team.” All she could do was hope she kept the cringe out of her voice when she said, “You were kidding, right?”
His grin turned lopsided, his gaze more playful than devilish. “I’d like to practice for first string, but only draft the first pick, if you know what I mean.”
“Uh, not really. Sounds like you’ve been hanging around Mitch too much.”
“I’d eat my gun first. It means practice makes perfect. One perfect kid is fine with me.”
Her brows shot up. The tightness in her chest evaporated. “One? You’re saying you’d be happy with one child? What happened to the brood you wanted?”
“Kat happened.” He laughed. “After raising that girl for a couple years on my own . . . Man, she about killed me. The tears, the moods. My shoes don’t match my dress, my hair’s not right, Tiffany’s mom brings her lunch every day, I’m too old for daycare, why do you work so much?”
He met her eyes again. “I’d be very happy with one. Boy or girl. Now or later. If we add Mateo to the mix, great. If we find his parents and they’re good people and we can return him home, even better.” He slid his hands to her shoulders and pulled her down on top of him, then pressed a sweet, slow kiss to her lips. “As long as I still have you. Everything hinges on that. You are the key to the family that means everything to me.”
Her heart skipped, then started again with a hard, but pleasant, kick. One child? Yes, she could do that. She could handle that. She could give him that family he wanted so desperately. Something she’d always wanted, too, but never believed she could have. She closed her eyes and lowered her mouth to his.
His fingers caught her face, her mouth an inch from his. “I love you. So much.”
Surprise popped her eyes open. The words sank in and glowed around her heart, mending all the pains from her past as if Luke had Teague’s healing powers.
She lifted her hands overhead, pressed them to the wall, and scooted her body down Luke’s, readjusting for the perfect fit.
Who else is in there with them? The curt female voice pierced the easy white cloud in Keira’s head. She gasped.
“What?” Luke looked down the length of their entwined bodies. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” she whispered, her mind searching. “Wait.”
“Why are you whisper—”
“Shhh.” She put gentle fingers on his mouth. Realization dawned in his eyes.
No one that we can tell. A man’s voice joined the conversation in her head. Just her and Ransom.
“Crap.” Keira pushed against Luke’s chest and slid off him. “They’re here. Outside.”
Luke was out of bed and at the window in fluid, catlike moves. Her own body didn’t move quite so easily. Muscles ached and pulled as she stole into the bathroom and retrieved her weapon from the shower.
She moved to Luke’s closet, jerked a pair of his jeans from the shelf, and leaned around the doorjamb to toss them on the bed. “Who is it?”
He picked up the pants and stepped into them. “I can’t tell. Black SUVs. Two of them.”
“Dargan.” Keira grabbed an ATF sweatshirt and pulled it over her head. Then dragged on sweatpants, tied them at the waist, and rolled the waistband down three times so they didn’t swallow her. “I heard her voice.”
“How do you know my voice?” These words didn’t ring in her head. They were clear and crisp.
Keira dropped the cotton tee she’d grabbed for Luke, gripped her gun in both hands, and swiveled out of the closet toward the voice. But when she faced the female intruder, she found two males accompanying her, both with guns already pointed at her and Luke.
Arms crossed, Jocelyn took in the scene. Luke in nothing but faded jeans, zipped but not buttoned. He could have been the poster boy for Abercrombie and Fitch. Keira, on the other hand, looked like a homeless rag doll, men’s clothes hanging off her small frame, her hair tossed, face mottled with bruises and healing cuts.
Far from a homeless rag doll, though, she held that Glock like it was an extension of her arm, and the intensity in her expression stung with a familiarity Jocelyn couldn’t quite place. If Keira wanted to, she could put a bullet in the forehead of all three of them before either of her men got off a shot. But she wouldn’t. She was a consummate professional. Owen had been right on at least one level. Jocelyn identified with many of the other woman’s fierce fighter characteristics.
“So?” Jocelyn asked again, curious. “How do you know my voice?”
“You’re not the only ones who tap phones and plant bugs,” Keira said.
A chill rattled Jocelyn’s chest. The hunted hunting? Why hadn’t she considered that a possibility?
She smiled, then laughed as Keira’s cunning came into sharp focus. “Does the FBI know you’re misusing resources? Could get you in hot water.”
“Who said I’m using FBI resources?”
“Touché. I suppose with Mitch Foster’s connections you wouldn’t need the Bureau’s toys. You’re even sharper than I expected.”
Too bad Keira was on the wrong side of the game. Jocelyn would love to have someone so skilled, so gutsy, on her team. As it was, she didn’t doubt that Keira’s reputation as a killer shot had her men ready to pee their pants.
“Why don’t you put the weapon down so we can have a civilized discussion,” Jocelyn said. “The gun only creates more tension.”
“There’s nothing civilized about you or your people. And if you want to see tension, live my life for a few days.”
Jocelyn’s gaze cut to Luke, scan
ned him. A very similar physique to Owen. And judging by Keira’s disheveled appearance, equally as primal in bed.
“Luke, you should probably get dressed so we women can think straight. Keira, when you’re ready to talk, I’ll be in the living room.”
“Scott—” Jocelyn addressed the older of her two men as she turned and started for the door. “You’re with me. Davis, holster your weapon and watch Ransom. We’re just here to talk.”
In the living room, Jocelyn fingered the photos in her pocket and took a deep breath to loosen her chest. If her judgment of Keira’s honor and intelligence was accurate, that calculated risk wouldn’t come back to bite her in the ass. Not like Tony’s had. If it weren’t for him, none of this would be happening.
At least that problem had been eliminated.
Jocelyn looked over the single thin bookshelf on the far living room wall housing photos of Ransom’s niece, Katrina, and his deceased family members—father from heart attack, mother from cancer, sister, and Teague’s first wife, from suicide. A suicide DARPA scientists had surmised stemmed from postpartum depression exacerbated by secondhand exposure to the raw chemicals in that warehouse. The ones her unsuspecting, loving husband, Teague, and her brother, Luke, had dragged home with them.
Oh, the irony. Life was full of irony.
Her own irony came clearly to mind—the way her thoughts flipped between Owen and Jason relentlessly. She reached up to finger the chain around her neck holding the key nestled between her breasts. The key to Jason’s safe-deposit box. Then she remembered it was missing, and unease nagged at the edges of her mind. Her memory fought to track her movements from the time she’d opened the envelope to the moment she’d first noticed it missing. Where hadn’t she already looked twice?
“This is a bold move,” Keira said from behind her. “Even for you.”
Jocelyn turned to face the other woman. The perfect shot had tucked her weapon into the waistband of her baggy sweatpants. A rather comical sight, although Jocelyn passed up the opportunity to comment. Keira kept her arms at her sides, within easy reach of the gun. No sense in pushing. Even the best could be pushed too far.
Scott had placed his own weapon into the holster at his hip, but stood alert and ready, a respectable fifteen feet away.
“Have you two reconciled?” Jocelyn tossed a look past Keira’s shoulder toward the bedroom. “Or is this just a little. . . for-old-time’s-sake sex?”
“None of your business,” Keira said.
“Maybe not personally, but professionally, it is. If you two are . . . connected . . .” Jocelyn wondered just how their powers strengthened. She knew what their powers were individually, but no one seemed to know exactly what happened once they were together.
Luke entered the room, looking young and handsome and virile in the gray flannel shirt he’d pulled on with his jeans.
Keira snapped her fingers twice near Jocelyn’s face. “Here, Jocelyn. Focus.”
She laughed. “I think I like you.”
“I don’t like you.”
“I know.” Jocelyn took no offense. “But we don’t have to like each other to work together.”
Keira’s expression went combat-stiff. “We are not working together. We will never work together.”
“Oh, never say never. You may change your mind when you hear what I have to say.”
“What the hell is this about?” Luke stepped up beside Keira like a protective wolf.
“Doesn’t involve you, handsome,” Jocelyn said. “This is between us girls.”
She pulled one of the photos from her pocket. Keira went very still. The anger in her face transitioned into apprehension.
“What the hell?” Luke reached for it. Davis grabbed Luke’s arm and yanked him backward. Luke swore and shook off Davis’s hold, but didn’t advance again.
“I came to offer you a deal,” Jocelyn said.
Keira crossed her arms. “You have nothing I want.”
Oh, the naïveté. Jocelyn had once been that foolish. A lifetime ago.
“Not even your brother?”
It took two full seconds for the words to register. When they did, Keira’s fresh face went slack.
“She doesn’t have a brother,” Luke said.
Jocelyn kept her eyes on Keira. “Cash O’Shay, thirty-nine years old. Birth date, April tenth. Mother, Lacey O’Shay. Father . . . the big unknown.”
“My brother,” Keira started slowly, “is dead. You should get your information straight before you try to use it as leverage.”
“Is he?” Jocelyn’s eyes narrowed. “Did you ever see his body? Did they ever recover bones from the fire? Was a death certificate ever issued?”
“No amount of information you spit out regarding me, my brother, my mother, or my childhood would surprise me.”
“I didn’t figure you for a believer. That’s why I brought this.”
Jocelyn turned the photo to face Keira, displaying a picture of a man holding a New York Times newspaper dated the day before.
“That could be anyone.” Keira pried her eyes away from the photo. “I’ve seen what a good computer artist can do. You could put the face of the pope on a penguin and make people believe it’s real.”
“Then hold it.” She pushed the photo toward Keira. “That’s your thing, isn’t it? Your ability? Touch it.”
Keira leaned back.
“What’s wrong? Afraid it’s real? Or are you afraid it’s not? Or are you even sure? I know all about your many fears, Keira. I understand all your fears. The ones that have held you back all these years. It’s a shame, really. A strong woman like you holding yourself hostage from the things that would make you happiest in life.”
Keira narrowed her eyes on the image as if tuning in to it. “You’re lying.”
“Am I? Are you sure? Or are you just afraid? And are you going to let your fear keep you from the possibility of finding your only living family? Are you going to let it dictate your future? Your career? Your happiness? It’s your life, Keira. Live it, for God’s sake.” She waved the photo. “And give your brother a chance to live his.”
“Goddamn you.” Keira snatched the photo from Jocelyn’s fingers. She turned her back on everyone, took the photo with both hands, and bent her head.
Anticipation bubbled in Jocelyn’s chest. Just how good was Keira? Jocelyn had heard stories, but she wanted to test her ability firsthand. She cut a look at Ransom to see if she could discern a connection between them, curious how their powers worked together, or if they actually did. But the blond hunk seemed distraught as he watched Keira wander a few feet away.
A low growl ebbed from Keira just before she whipped back and advanced on Jocelyn. Keira fisted both hands in Jocelyn’s suit jacket, pushed her backward, and slammed her against the nearest wall. All so fast, Jocelyn didn’t have time to react.
She cried out in surprise. Her instincts rolled beneath her skin, urging her to fight back, take Keira down. But her intelligence, her cunning, told her to hold back.
“Yes, I’m sure you’re lying.” Keira rasped the accusation an inch from Jocelyn’s face. “This man is dead. And he has absolutely no connection to me whatsoever.”
Scott and Davis raised their guns simultaneously. The metallic slide of a weapon sounded nearby. “Release her and step back,” Scott ordered.
“Keira—” Luke’s worried warning followed. “Keira, stop.”
“I’m just getting started.”
Keira jerked Jocelyn forward, then slammed her back again. A spike of pain traveled down Jocelyn’s spine, but she let it flow, then ebb, determined to ride out this storm and see where it led. She’d learned the key to a person’s character showed under the greatest pressures, and Jocelyn wanted to see if Keira lived up to her file.
“Who do you think you are, God? How dare you screw with our lives? I’m damn sick of it. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have someone screw with your life? Follow you? Know every little detail of your existence?”
>
Keira’s voice dropped to a tone that raised the hair on the back of Jocelyn’s neck.
“I know where you work, what you drive, when you eat, sleep, and go to the gym. I know who does your hair, what medications you’re taking, and which family members you’re still on speaking terms with.” Keira pushed a finger into Jocelyn’s chest to punctuate her words. “But most importantly—I. Know. Where. You. Live.”
“Let me go.” Jocelyn forced her voice to remain cool.
The guard’s meaty hand gripped Keira’s bicep, and he pressed his weapon to her head. “Release her or I’ll shoot.”
“Keira,” Luke pleaded. “Please.”
She shoved Jocelyn away and jerked out of Scott’s grip.
Jocelyn straightened. The combination of excitement, pain, and fear made her breathless. She searched Keira’s dark blue eyes, wishing she could get inside the woman’s head. She was even gutsier, more cunning than Jocelyn had expected. Never, in all her years in the military, in private industry, in intelligence, had Jocelyn met anyone quite like Keira O’Shay.
“You’re right,” she said. “He’s not your brother. He’s just an employee we used for the photograph. And yes, he died yesterday in a car accident on the way home from work. You’re as good as they’ve all told me.”
Hands on hips, Keira narrowed her eyes. “You were testing me? You fucking, coldhearted bitch. If you don’t kill me right now you’d better sleep with these jerk-offs, because I’m gonna—”
“This is your brother.” Jocelyn pulled another image from her pocket, ignoring Keira’s rant. If she had a dime for every threat she’d ever received, Jocelyn could have retired five times over by now.
Here came the risk. The huge risk Owen had urged her toward and one she still wasn’t completely invested in. There was no telling what a woman like O’Shay would do with this information, but Jocelyn had to agree that having the kid with a team with paranormal powers of unknown limits was incredibly dangerous to their mission. It was also hazardous to many powerful political figures and ultimately for Jocelyn’s career. She had to force Keira’s hand, and Cash was her only current leverage.