She sighed and settled back against the pillow. If Rosemary only knew. Try as she might, Jilly couldn’t picture removing a bullet from Ian’s butt. Her fiancé—no, make that ex-fiancé, thank you very much—had been far more like her mother than she’d ever realized. She covered her mouth when another giggle erupted. Ian was so proper and reserved, why he could’ve simply squeezed his cheeks together and the bullet would’ve popped out straightaway. Hard to believe she’d contemplated marrying him. Why, they were complete opposites. What could she possibly have been think—
“Are you always like this? First you’re cryin’ like you lost your best friend, then you’re laughing so hard you shake the bed?”
Startled, she rolled over, immediately contrite. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—”
“S’all right. It’s not every day you pull a slug out of a guy’s butt. Least you can laugh about it.”
“Oh, no. I wasn’t laughing at you—” His deep sigh told her he was nearly asleep again. She didn’t bother to finish her sentence as she snuggled under the covers, shivering in the air-conditioned coolness of the room. Her last thought was of Ian. It was one of tremendous relief.
She was still asleep. He’d awakened to find her curled up behind him, her arm wrapped tightly around him, her face pressed into his back. Her soft breathing was hot against his shoulder blade, the curves of her luscious body slowly branding him with the promise of something incredible. Luke wanted desperately to move. He’d been on his left side for hours and his body ached from sleeping in one position. But he didn’t want to wake Jillian.
It was murky and gray inside the slumbering room, and he guessed it was still before dawn. He was pretty sure she’d gotten up during the night with the baby. He’d heard Sarah whimper once and then he hadn’t heard anything. Jillian must have been waiting, ready to snatch up the baby before she cried and woke everyone up.
He took a deep breath and rolled slowly onto his back, careful not to disturb his bedmate and at the same time, testing how much weight he could tolerate on his butt. The incision had stopped throbbing during the night and now, he discovered with relief, the pain had subsided to a dull ache when he lay back against the pillows. He released the breath he’d been holding and turned his head cautiously toward Jillian. She was lying half on top of him, with one hand pressed over his chest. Her legs were still curled in to his and he confirmed they were just as soft as he’d imagined, like warm satin against his skin.
She had freckles across the bridge of her pale nose and long, sweeping eyelashes that appeared dark against her soft pink skin. A delicate English rose with freckles. The scent of her hair was slowly driving him mad. He’d dreamed of rainstorms and wildflowers. Hell, he knew he shouldn’t have taken that cramp medicine. Who knew what was in that chick stuff?
Luke swallowed hard and forced himself to look away from her mouth. One thing was abundantly clear. He still felt like a guy—a guy who hadn’t slept with a woman in…forever. Her perfectly shaped lips were parted, her warm breath fanned the side of his neck. Her mouth was soft and pink and ready…
He jerked his thoughts away. He’d better create some distance and quick, before his body took over and did something stupid on his behalf. He slid noiselessly from the bed. Jillian sighed in her sleep and burrowed down under the covers. Forcing himself to refocus, he adjusted his towel and limped into the bathroom. It was time for a security check. And maybe a brisk walk in the cool morning air to clear his head.
The perimeter was secure. The car appeared untouched. He’d shimmied underneath, just to be sure, spending twenty minutes making certain they were safe. But something was off. His gut thrummed with an uneasy sense of warning. Luke just couldn’t figure out why.
He scratched his two-day growth of beard and sighed. Maybe it was him. He’d had trouble settling in since he’d arrived from the D.C. office. Usually he fell into the role without a problem, adapted and blended in with his new territory. Maybe he just wasn’t cut out for the Southern mentality. It was too peaceful down here, too sleepy. Nothing was as it seemed. There were too many undercurrents. On the surface, things appeared civilized and tidy, while everything underneath had gone to rot. Even the drug deals he’d made held an air of casualness, of laid-back Southern hospitality that had seemed unfamiliar.
He’d been edgy since the op started a month ago. And he’d worked too many years off his intuition, it had saved his hide too many times to question the feeling. He was highly trained, certainly. But it went deeper than that. Luke had taken that training and internalized it, until it became so ingrained it was second nature. He’d learned to never discount his gut. And his gut told him something was wrong.
He pushed off the stucco wall where he leaned, careful to avoid the huge puddle of water that had accumulated under the wheezing air conditioner. The parking lot was quiet, dark and cool, even the birds still silent despite the pink slivers of dawn that crept through the trees on the far side of the lot. He’d quietly checked each motel unit, just in case. There were only seven cars in the lot. And judging by the whine of the air conditioners, there were seven rooms accounted for.
“Maybe some coffee will help,” he muttered. There’d been a hot plate in the office when he’d registered the day before and the sign had claimed the office was open 24/7. He just hoped they actually brewed a fresh pot each day. He walked silently around the L-shaped motel, cautious when he passed a room where the AC was running. Occupied units. He heard the steady drip of water as he slipped by each one.
He winced when a cow bell clanged noisily against the office door and he reached up to silence it. His head already ached from the musty, permeating smell of this dump. The night clerk must’ve decided on a nap because the front counter was quiet. He sniffed the air as he headed across the lobby. Coffee didn’t smell scorched. He poured a second cup for Jilly and paused to tuck some stale-looking cookies into a napkin. There wouldn’t be time for the kids to eat breakfast.
He’d already kicked himself for sleeping the whole night. As soon as he got back, he was gonna wake ’em all up. Not knowing what had happened to Sloan was driving him crazy. Had the team managed to arrest him? Why hadn’t he been able to reach Murphy? Something about the bust was eating away at him. It was almost as though Sloan had been expecting him—or worse. As though he’d been expecting narcs.
His senses were screaming to make some tracks. He wanted out of here, and fast. He crammed the napkin into his shirt pocket and felt for the gun hidden at the small of his back. He hesitated. If he carried coffee to Jilly, his hands would be full. He wouldn’t be able to reach for his gun. Of course, if he didn’t bring her coffee he’d be labeled insensitive, or some other female variation of cad. “Insensitive” had been one of Linda’s favorites.
Either way, he’d be in trouble. Luke rolled his neck to loosen his tight shoulders and then hoisted the cups. He let himself out, taking care not to clang the damn cowbell. He was halfway to the parking lot when he stopped in his tracks, staring at the seven cars in the lot. Seven. And their car was parked out back. That made eight. The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention.
Maybe there was nothing to worry about. Maybe a family was staying at the Fleabag Inn and they’d arrived in two cars. Yeah, right. Or maybe he’d better go back and check out that office again. His gut notched up to red alert. He retraced his steps and slipped inside. The cowbell didn’t even budge. Luke set the coffee on the counter and vaulted over the locked half-door. There was a light burning in the paneled office down the hallway, but no signs of life.
He withdrew his gun and crept into the office. His hand shook slightly when he nudged the body on the floor by the desk. The night clerk’s body was still warm.
The phone call.
A sizzle of warning crawled down his spine. His phone call to Murphy. One little phone call and now a man was dead. The clerk’s only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The hit had Sloan written all over it. Why pay for a room
you wouldn’t be using long when it was so much easier to shoot someone? The bastard didn’t care who got killed, so long as he achieved results. Anyone unfortunate enough to be in his way—nuns, small children, innocent motel clerks—was expendable. They were treated equally. Equally ruthlessly.
Luke scanned the hallway and quickly hustled back to the counter. He paused to take stock of the missing keys. One of them belonged to a killer.
A killer who was looking for him.
His stance resolute, he tucked his gun back in the waistband of his jeans and pulled his shirt free to cover the bulk. Luke hoisted the coffee and left the office. He forced himself to stroll along the sidewalk, taking care not to look directly at the motel rooms, keeping his gaze to the ground while he checked the water under each air conditioning unit.
Number six. Only four doors away from theirs. There was barely a drip from the AC. Probably because it had only been turned on recently. He wondered how many goons waited, sweating behind the door. Knowing Sloan, he’d probably only sent one or two. A dealer of Luke’s caliber wouldn’t have been worthy of more effort. But regardless of his rank in the organization, regardless of the magnitude of the slight, Sloan would’ve dealt with the double-cross. It was one of the rules of the game.
He tensed when he noticed the minuscule twitch of the curtain and forced himself to take a careless sip of the scalding coffee.
It was going down now. Luke felt the certainty pump through him like a shot of adrenaline. They would take him out and then they’d walk four doors down, where Jilly lay tangled in the sheets. And they’d take her out, too.
He jerked his thoughts away from the kids. They were all in big trouble. He took another sip of the coffee and grimaced as it burned all the way down his throat. He heard the door creak open and said a silent prayer as he slowly turned around.
Chapter 3
Jillian bolted upright when the door bounced back against the wall. Sunlight streamed into the room, blinding her for a moment. When she opened her eyes, a large shadow blocked the doorway. She hadn’t even caught her breath before he was on her, shaking her, pulling her from the bed.
“What! What is it?”
He jerked her face up, trapping it between two very large hands. Hands that were spattered with blood. She opened her mouth to scream and he quickly clapped his fingers over her lips.
“Not a sound,” he breathed in her ear. She nodded and he slowly removed his hand.
“Luke, for God’s sake! What the hell is going on? You scared—”
He put his hand back over her mouth. “Not now. There’s no time. I need you to listen. Can you do that?” She nodded again.
“We’re leaving. Right now.”
“But why—”
He held up his hand in warning. “Later. Get the kids up. I’m gonna move the car. When I pull in front of the door, you haul ass out there and toss ’em in to me. Got it?”
“They need to dress and brush their teeth—”
“Screw their teeth! Do you see this blood? I didn’t cut myself shaving.”
Jillian felt her blood pressure skyrocket. “Well, fine, then. You’re in such a blasted hurry. Go get the car.” She hadn’t been awake two minutes and he’d already managed to make her lose her temper. What kind of mother woke her children and threw them into a car? With no breakfast? Without a washup? Why, the child authorities would be all over her in no time.
“And take the overnight bag with you. It’ll save a trip.”
“How soon can you be ready?”
She stripped off her gym shorts right in front of him. If he was going to make her rush, well then, dammit, she would show him a thing or two. She flung the shorts into the overnight bag and yanked out her jeans. Without stopping to put them on, she turned back to the dresser and with a scowl, swept all the kids’ loose items into the duffel, clearing the top in a heartbeat. She zipped the bag angrily and hurled it across the bed at Luke, who caught it in the chest, watching her with something close to shock in his eyes.
“How about two minutes? Is that bloody quick enough?”
“Look, there’s no need to go off.”
“Go off? You burst in here, scare the daylights out of me. It’s not even dawn yet and I am so not a morning pers—”
He held up one hand and the look in his eyes was enough to silence her. “Not now. You can chew me out in the car. Get the kids up.”
His grim, no-nonsense stare made her bite back the argument she wanted badly to start. She glared at him as she shimmied into her jeans and rammed her T-shirt into the waistband. He was still watching her when she pulled her hair back into a lopsided ponytail.
“You can have three minutes,” he countered.
“Your generosity knows no bounds.” Luke’s eyes narrowed at her waspish tone and she sensed that he was barely hanging on to his temper.
“Look, honey, I don’t need this right now. I just took out two guys who were about ten minutes from breakin’ down the door and killing all of us.” He nodded at her startled gasp. “Yeah, that’s right, Your Highness. So if it ain’t too friggin’ much trouble, I’d like to get the hell outta here as soon as possible.”
Jilly swallowed hard. Lord, she’d really gotten into it this time. “Luke…I—I’m sorry.”
“Forget it.” He turned on his heel and strode to the window, stopping to peer cautiously through the curtain before he cracked the door open. “Three minutes,” he reminded her.
“Whatever,” she muttered, irritated all over again at his orders. “You’re the one with the blasted stopwatch.”
It had been more than an hour and she still hadn’t spoken. It was just as well, Luke conceded. He needed to concentrate. They’d cleared the motel without any incidents. Well, if one considered neutralizing two enemies and pissing off Jillian as incident-free, then he was golden. He still hadn’t quite recovered from her impromptu striptease. Damn, she was hot. Burning hot. She had legs that went on for miles—legs that ended with a tiny pair of bikini panties that barely managed to cover her curvy butt. Along with those million-dollar legs however, went a very cranky morning disposition.
He took a deep breath and blew it out. Focus. He had to stay focused. They were safe for now. The road was clear behind them, and there wasn’t a single car in sight up ahead. He hadn’t seen anything to indicate they were being tailed. Another hour and they’d cross into North Carolina. Then he’d try Murphy again. Try Duncan. Hell, try anyone. Pretty soon they’d have to ditch their ride and find another.
As much as he was dreading it, he’d have to ask Mary Poppins how much money she carried. He prayed it was a lot—and that she’d converted her cash at the airport. If they were forced to convert British pounds or Euros to cash, they’d stand out like a sore thumb. And right now, he didn’t want to be remembered by anyone.
Hopefully, it would only be another day or so. There was a DEA office in Charlotte. He’d contact the agent in charge and request a safe house…just until he found out what the hell had happened down in Spartaville. Nothing since yesterday morning had gone according to procedure. And he’d just thrown the rulebook out the window back there at the Fleabag Inn.
Just as he’d suspected, Sloan had sent a couple of goons after him. One little explosion, and all of a sudden, Billy T. Lathrop, drug dealer extraordinaire, had been expendable. Luke knew Sloan had been growing suspicious of him, had sensed a distinct wariness on the supplier’s part over the last week or so. What he couldn’t figure out was why. Why now?
As far as he knew, his cover was solid. Murphy’s, too. They’d tag-teamed Sloan from the beginning but he and his partner had never even been seen together. There hadn’t been any outward signs to indicate he’d been made. But suppliers were an edgy bunch, and for good reason. There was always someone looking to take their place.
Luke had done everything Sloan had asked, passed every test. As Billy Lathrop, he had painstakingly won his trust. It was what the Gianetti boys did best. Luke had discovered long ag
o that he had the ability to persuade just about anyone to do just about anything. Well, he conceded, maybe not everyone. It hadn’t worked on Linda, at least not at the end.
Jillian was a piece of cake. She was wide open to suggestion. It hadn’t taken ten minutes before he’d convinced her she could perform surgery. And damn if she hadn’t risen to the challenge. He made a mental note to thank her later. Of course, she was miles apart from his former wife. Jilly was clearly somewhat of a free spirit. Even if she was a little scatterbrained, she’d jumped on a plane and crossed the ocean for those kids, and he’d be willing to bet the trip hadn’t been planned for a year—like Linda would’ve done. That’s assuming Linda would’ve actually taken a trip anywhere. In the end, she’d been afraid of her own shadow.
He risked a sideways glance at the free spirit and discovered she’d fallen asleep. No wonder she hadn’t given him a piece of her mind yet. He smiled then. Jilly trusted him, all right, but she sure didn’t like him very much. She’d managed to get the kids into their car seats without stirring them. He still couldn’t believe that one. Only James had awakened, and then only briefly. She’d calmly shushed him back to sleep with a kiss and a pat on the head. Then she’d made sure Luke caught her scowl of disapproval before fastening her seat belt and turning toward the window.
“Where are we?” The sleepy voice came from the back seat.
“Almost to North Carolina. You getting hungry, James?”
“Kinda. I guess I am.” Luke watched in the rearview mirror as his little friend rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “But you don’t hafta stop for me. Wait till Sarah gets to crying. Then you’ll hafta stop anyway.”
“Sarah will need her nappie changed. I should’ve seen to it before we left.” Luke heard the husky thread of sleepiness in Jilly’s voice and resolutely chose to ignore the jolt of awareness that crawled through his system.
For Her Protection Page 4