No Surrender: The Devlin Group, Book 3

by Shannon Stacey

  “Boring story, but I’ll tell it anyway so you don’t have to share anything personal.” He grinned to take the sting out of getting caught. “I was getting a little tired of the red tape and politics. Tripped over Rossi when he was just getting started. We were in a Middle Eastern country we weren’t supposed to be in and I had to sit on him for a couple hours. Got to talking and I made the jump.”

  “That’s it?”

  “What were you expecting?”

  “Knowing you, I always assumed you instigated a mutiny or beat the shit out of your commanding officer or something. Maybe did the admiral’s daughter.”

  “The admiral’s son wasn’t my type. And are you implying I have a problem with authority? I’ve never taken a swing at Rossi.”

  “That’s different. His only rule is don’t fuck things up.”

  “Since that’s my Golden Rule, we work well together. Plus, he pays better than Uncle Sam.”

  “Do you ever regret it? Leaving the navy, I mean?”

  “Nope. How ’bout you? You ever regret joining the Group?”

  She laughed. “I wasn’t exactly on the same career path as you. You were earning stripes, I was being fitted for them.”

  “But your jobs were probably a little less…strenuous.”

  “I can hold my head up now, though. Not only do I get to use my talents, but I get to challenge myself. And, as you said, the money’s damn good.” A cracking sound in the woods caught her attention. “Did you hear that?”

  “Might be one of those furry woodland creatures you’re so afraid of.” She gave him a dark look and he laughed. “I’ll take a peek.”

  “Hail the cabin!” they heard before Gallagher got to the door. “This is Roger Bright, with Search and Rescue!”

  Carmen would have bet money the last thing she’d feel in this situation would be disappointment, but it was crushing, nonetheless. She looked at Gallagher and saw the same thing in his eyes.

  Their vacation from reality was over, and it was time to go home.

  Jack Donovan swirled the dark amber in the bottom of his mug, then forced himself to down another swallow.

  The shudder made his shoulders twitch and, since it wasn’t the first time, it caught the bartender’s eye. “Hey, pal, you want something else? Mixed drink? Soda or something?”

  No, it had to be a beer. “I’m good, thanks.”

  The bartender gave him a skeptical stare, then shrugged and moved on down the bar.

  Donovan resumed his swirling. The stuff tasted like piss to start with, and the slow warm to room temp wasn’t helping.

  But he swilled it for Chris. His climbing partner since their teens, Chris Walker had—once they were of age—always toasted a good climb with a foaming mug of whatever the local bar had on tap.

  Donovan continued the tradition in honor of his friend—one beer on every anniversary of the climb that ended with Chris in a body bag. The day the gear had failed and Jack hadn’t been able to hold him.

  This was his third beer and he could still see that instant of awareness in Chris’s eyes—the split second he realized his hand had wrenched free from Jack’s and his life was over.

  Another swallow of beer. Another shudder.

  He didn’t celebrate his own climbs anymore. There weren’t any to celebrate. He hadn’t managed an ascent since the day he’d dropped Chris, and at some point he’d quit trying. The fear was too much to overcome—the sweat, the tremors and the god-awful flashbacks. Giving up was easier.

  His cell buzzed and he swore when he saw Rossi’s name on the caller ID screen. What good was putting in for a goddamn personal day if the boss called?

  He set the phone next to his beer. Pretty fucking sad when a guy couldn’t be left alone to drown his sorrows in piss-poor brewski.

  God, he was tired. He scrubbed his face with his palms and tried not to catch his reflection in the bar mirror.

  Ghosts sucked and Chris’s never came alone. No, he had to dredge up the memory of every person Donovan had let down and drag them along, too. Not everything the Devlin Group did was heavy shit. There were always secrets to learn and stolen items to recover and bodies to guard, but lives were at stake often enough to lose some.

  Those losses chipped away at a man’s soul. Donovan didn’t have much left.

  Lately, those he’d saved weren’t enough to drive back the ghosts anymore. After nine years with the Group and years of undercover Vice before that, he was about done.

  Burn out. The words careened through his mind like breaking pool balls.

  Problem was, he didn’t have jack-shit outside of the Group. His parents were golfing their hearts out in a Florida retirement place. His brothers were all wrapped up in their wives and kids. Donovan had the job and a condo in Philly. Women came and went, unwilling to put up with his absences.

  The cell buzzed, vibrating its way toward the puddle of condensation around his mug. Rossi again. No doubt shit was hitting the fan somewhere. “Donovan.”

  “I need you in New York. Yesterday.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Jack pocketed his phone, then drained the rest of the gone-warm beer before throwing a handful of ones down next to the empty mug. “I’m sorry, Chris.”

  Time to chase the ghosts away.

  The trip to the local clinic was mandatory, so Gallagher and Carmen were whisked straight there to suffer through being checked over and patched up. And, of course, because one of his injuries was a gunshot wound, the local law enforcement had to get the don’t ask phone call.

  But he’d managed to get them out of Arceneau’s house and the White Mountains in one piece, so he didn’t complain—too much—about the forced health care. In less than an hour he was cleared and went to the waiting room to see what was up.

  Carmen hadn’t come out yet, but Rossi and Grace were taking up a loveseat. As soon as they spotted him, they were on their feet. Rossi gave him a handshake and a look that said I won’t say it out loud but I love you, man, and I’m glad you’re not dead and he returned it with I love you, too, man, and thanks for not giving up on us. Then Grace gave him a quick, awkward hug.

  “I didn’t expect to see you, Grace.”

  She shrugged. “Danny’s in Orlando with my parents. I was bored and you’re practically in my backyard.”

  Rossi laughed. “And she kept Denton from killing me and dumping my body someplace even his best people couldn’t find it.”

  They retook their places and Gallagher sat in the armchair across from them. “Did you figure out how they got to the helo yet?”

  “They tagged the call number. They knew you were there the second you went for landing clearance. Arceneau must have had them watching for visits from certain people.”

  “Carmen found a record of transactions, which she’ll hand over if she ever comes out. What the hell’s taking them so long, anyway? She should be done by now.”

  Grace flashed him a knowing smile. “Five more minutes and then I’ll go hunt her down.”

  He couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the clock to mark the time. “We were almost clear when Carmen’s gut told her to go back for the diary.”

  “You thought you were almost clear. They’d already gotten to the airport by then, and that helicopter was as good as down.”

  Gallagher shrugged, then gave them a verbal report of everything that happened between leaving New York and the ride to the hospital. Almost everything. He didn’t mention the gum.

  At four minutes and twenty seconds, Carmen walked into the waiting room. The greetings and hugs were repeated, but Carmen declined to sit.

  She handed the pink diary to Rossi. “Gallagher can catch me up. I want to get out of here.”

  They all walked to the parking lot, Rossi talking the whole way. “Charlotte gave Grace your sizes, so you’ve each got a bag of clothes in the truck. You can drop us at the airport because we’re heading back to New York, and then go on to the hotel. Charlotte sent you the info, and there’s
a drugstore next door where you can get anything else you need. Get a good night’s sleep, then in the morning head to Manchester, leave the Hummer in parking and get your asses to New York.”

  “We could go with you now,” Carmen said.

  “I don’t need you until tomorrow and you’ll definitely want to be well-rested. Plus, the way you two smell, I’m not sharing a plane with you. No offense.”

  Chapter Six

  Carmen was drying her twice-scrubbed skin with a soft hotel towel when she heard Gallagher’s shower kick on in the room next door.

  It was the perfect opportunity. She could get the man out of her system, yet the shower didn’t imply the same intimacy as a bed. Get in, get some slick and soapy satisfaction, and get out.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she pulled on the supplied robe and slid her tool kit and two condoms into her pocket. The hotel locks were a joke and in less than a minute she was standing in Gallagher’s room.

  The clothes he’d been wearing were in a loose pile at the foot of the bed, as though he’d stepped out of them on his way to the shower. She dropped her robe beside them, palming the condoms. He’d left the bathroom door open and steam billowed out.

  Good. She liked it hot.

  Walking on silent bare feet into the bathroom, she admired his silhouette through the vinyl shower curtain. He was neither lean nor bulky, but perfectly honed muscle.

  The question was, how safe did he feel? Gallagher wasn’t a man to sneak up on. And yet, she couldn’t resist. Could she take him?

  She waited until he was facing the showerhead, his head tipped back to rinse the shampoo away. With her left hand she covered the last three rings on the bar to keep them silent and with her right she moved the curtain just enough to let her slide in without allowing more steam to escape.

  She was still for a moment, pondering whether or not touching him from behind would get her knocked out before she could identify herself. If she waited until he turned around, he’d still be startled, but he might visually register her before swinging. She’d still win.

  “You smell like peaches, babe.”

  Carmen laughed, even if she was a little irked he’d known she was there before she wanted him to. She took the soap from the shelf, leaving the condoms there, and started washing his back.

  “I don’t wear any scents when I’m working,” she said. “Everything—soap, laundry detergent, shampoo—is unscented. During my down time I drown myself in the girly stuff. Bath oils and lotions and the whole nine yards.”

  His muscles twitched under her gliding fingertips. “I never knew that about you.”

  “That’s because you’ve only known the unscented professional version. No flowery shit, though. I like fruit scents, mostly.”

  “Why did you buy peaches tonight?”

  Carmen reached around to wash his chest, her breasts pressing against his soapy back. “Because when we were in the hospital after that mission to save Grace’s son, they served peach cobbler.”

  “That’s an interesting association,” he said, and she slid her hands down his stomach to shut him up. It worked.

  “You kept licking the peach juice off your lips and it made me ache watching you. So now the scent of peaches is all wrapped up in this Gallagher, tongue, sticky, aching kind of thing.”

  He turned in her arms. “That’s my favorite kind of thing.”

  “But now I’ll smell peaches and remember I couldn’t even get the drop on you in the shower.”

  “You’re even better than I thought, babe. If you’d gone unscented, you’d have had me.” He grinned, a totally devastating grin that made her knees weak. “Not that I’ll ever admit that again.”

  But he’d admitted it to her, and that was enough. Her hands slid over his body until she encountered a bandage. He’d taped plastic over the clean dressing, but she felt his abs tense when her fingers brushed the edge.

  “Maybe we should reissue that rain check,” she offered, even though the thought damn near killed her.

  “No,” he growled, backing her up against the cold tub surround. She hissed and arched away, but his body trapped her. “Remembering the night my balls exploded every time I smell peaches would suck. My mom bakes a lot of cobblers.”

  Carmen laughed, relaxing against the plastic already growing warm against her back. “Sitting around the family dinner table thinking about screwing me in the shower isn’t much better.”

  “Babe, I’ve spent years thinking about making love to you.”

  There were those damn words again. Making love. The phrase should have sent her screaming, wet and naked, into the hall, but it didn’t. She started to think about why, but then he kissed her and she didn’t care anymore.

  His breath was minty and the tang of his shaving cream burned her nose. She tried to push away from the wall, to take control of the kiss, but he held her there while his tongue dipped into her mouth. It was no getting to know each other kiss like the ones they’d shared in the cabin.

  This kiss was urgent, demanding. He threaded his fingers through her hair, his fingertips cradling her skull as she tipped her head back.

  Gallagher caught her lip between his teeth and she sucked in a sharp breath. The muscles of his back twitched under her gliding fingertips and she hooked her leg around his, trying to pull him closer. He resisted for a second, and she was vaguely aware of the water shutting off.

  Then he was pressed against her—warm and hard and slick. He lifted her until he could capture her nipple with his mouth and Carmen wrapped her legs around him as the gentle tugging pulled at every nerve ending in her body.

  He supported her weight, his hands cupping her ass, while he took his time savoring first one breast and then the other, back and forth until she could only whimper and beat on his shoulder as her need reached critical mass.

  Excruciatingly slowly, he lowered her, her aching center sliding down his flesh to rest against his erection. His mouth blazed a burning trail to her ear.

  “Tell me what you like, babe,” he told her, and the husky timbre of his voice sent a shiver through her. It would be so easy to surrender totally, to give too much of herself.

  She swiped a condom from the shelf. “I like orgasms. Hard and fast ones. Immediate ones.”

  He only laughed and stepped out of the tub, still holding her. “I’ve been waiting years for this, babe. You aren’t gettin’ off that easy.”

  He dropped her on the end of the bed and plucked the foil package out of her hand. “No pun intended.”

  Carmen found it damn hard to focus on his words when he was standing over her like some kind of sculpted and scarred warrior god. But even worse than the body was the look in his eyes.

  There was some kind of…emotion there, and it scared the hell out of her. She didn’t like emotion mixed with her sex. The few times she’d tried that hadn’t worked out so well.

  He crawled up over her, using his body to push her flat onto her back. Propping himself on one elbow, he pushed her wet hair off her face with his other hand and lowered his body onto hers.

  His erection was thick and hard against her hipbone and she shifted so it rested against her lower abdomen. Unable to stop herself, despite the intimacy of the gesture, Carmen reached up and traced his mouth with the tip of a finger.

  She’d known this man for nearly a decade, and she thought she’d seen him in every light. She’d even caught him staring at her with raw lust in his eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking. But this Gallagher—with the emotion and the tenderness and the determination to savor this moment—she had no idea how to handle.

  So she grabbed the condom he’d set beside her and rolled him onto his back. She straddled him and he reached up to cup her breasts in his hands, brushing his thumbs over her nipples. She started to tear open the wrapper, but he grinned and shook his head.

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “Right now.”

  In the blink of an eye she was flat on her back again, Gallagher straddling h
er and pinning her arms above her head with one hand. “Let it go, babe.”

  “Let what go?” she hissed, debating whether or not to try for the headbutt.

  “The power play. You’re trying to control this and it’s starting to piss me off.”

  “I like my sex fast and furious. You’re taking the damn scenic route.”

  “With scenery like this?” He dipped his head to swipe his tongue over one taut nipple. “You bet.”

  Then he grinned down at her, naughty amusement lighting up the soft blue of his eyes, and she was lost. Resistance was futile and all that jazz. She’d go back to shoring up that emotional wall in the morning.

  “Hey, you’re shaking a little, babe,” he said, loosening his hold on her wrists.

  “I, uh…I’ve never done this with somebody like you.”

  “You’ve never had sex with an intelligent, good-looking, well-endowed, multi-talented guy?”

  “No, I’ve never…forget it.” She was trying to think of something flippant—something to goad him into getting on with it—when his lips touched hers again.

  It was a soft kiss—a lover’s kiss—and, as his hand slid down her stomach and between her legs to gently stroke her, Carmen felt more bricks in the wall crumbling.

  “You’ve never let a man who cares for you more than you want to admit make love to you.”

  The seductive lull of his voice and the delicious friction of his fingers over her sensitive flesh must have weakened her because she made a sound he correctly took as agreement.

  “It’s better. Trust me,” he said, and then he set out to prove it.

  Carmen lost track of time as Gallagher explored her body with his hands and mouth, bringing her repeatedly to the brink of release, only to back her off. He teased her, stroked her, returning every few minutes to devour her mouth with his own.

  “Gallagher,” she gasped when she couldn’t take anymore. “Now, dammit.”

  “John,” he told her, and the crinkle of foil in his hand almost made her weep in anticipation of relief.