by Elle James
The cell phone on the table beside the lounge chair buzzed and vibrated, shattering the silence of the mountainside.
Rip looked up, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Should we answer it?”
Tracie shook her head. “No.”
Rip glanced at the cell phone. “It’s yours and, if I’m not mistaken, it’s Hank.”
Tracie sighed and bent to grab the phone. “Kosart here.”
“Tracie, are you with Rip?”
She smiled, tipping her head so that the man in question could nibble her neck. “Yes, sir, I am.”
“Turn on the television.”
Tracie couldn’t think straight with Rip’s lips angling lower, his hands parting her silk robe. “What?”
“Put me on speaker,” Hank demanded.
She hit the button for speakerphone and Hank’s voice came over loud and clear, “Turn on the television. Senator Craine is about to make a statement on live TV.”
Rip sighed. “Come on.” He slipped an arm around her waist, guided her back into the cabin and hit the on button for the state-of-the-art video system. It had taken him half an hour to figure out all the controls, but he had them down now.
Following Hank’s instructions, they found the channel and waited.
Senator Craine appeared in front of a podium with several microphones. He started by stating that he didn’t have any idea that his executive assistant Mark Kuntz was running arms to rebel fighters in Honduras and that he was sorry for the deaths of the DEA agent and the SEAL who’d been sent in to retrieve him. While he made his statement, a disturbance occurred as uniformed FBI agents pushed through the crowd, walked up onto the stage and cuffed the senator.
The reporter covering the story described what was happening in an excited tone. “They’re charging him with treason and misappropriation of government equipment!”
The press went wild, cameras flashed and the senator was led away.
Shocked, Tracie stood with her mouth open, struggling to comprehend what had just occurred.
“Tracie? Rip?” Hank’s voice sounded nearby and Tracie realized she hadn’t hung up.
“What the hell just happened?” she asked.
Hank laughed. “Brandon kept digging and found the bank accounts that connected Craine to Kuntz’s dirty dealings with Delgado and the terrorist training camp. It just took longer than we expected. Although, I can’t argue with the timing. Perhaps the public arrest of Senator Craine will serve as a reminder to our other elected officials to keep it clean.”
“We can always hope.” Tracie shook her head. “You don’t know who to trust anymore.”
“You can trust me,” Hank said.
“And me.” Rip kissed her cheek and leaned over the phone she still held. “Hank, just in case I didn’t tell you before, thanks for this week, and for sending Tracie to help me. You couldn’t have picked a better cowboy from Covert Cowboys, Inc.”
“Glad to be of service,” Hank said. “And thank you for your service. The Citation will be there tomorrow to take you back to Mississippi where your unit is anxious to receive you with a hero’s welcome.”
“I don’t know about hero.” Rip’s hand slid around Tracie’s waist and he dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Gosling was the hero.”
“Speaking of Gosling,” Hank said. “I’ve set up a trust fund for his wife and baby. They won’t want for anything for the rest of their lives.”
A lump formed in Tracie’s throat. She knew money couldn’t replace a husband and father.
She glanced up at Rip, noting the sheen of moisture in his eyes. He’d been thinking the same thing.
“Thanks, Hank,” Rip said.
Tracie hung up and leaned into Rip’s embrace. “I feel so bad for Gosling’s widow and child.”
“I know Jeanette.” Rip smoothed Tracie’s hair back and tipped her head up so that he could stare into her eyes. “I even asked her if she’d have done anything different if she had known he’d die. She said no. She loved him with all her heart and knew the risks that came with loving a SEAL.”
“She would have wanted every moment of happiness she could grab,” Tracie finished, finally understanding that concept.
“So CCI Agent Kosart,” Rip pressed a featherlight kiss to the tip of her nose. “What’s it to be? Are you ready to end what we just started?”
She leaned up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. “No way in hell.” She wrapped her arms around him and held on tight. “I’m going for all the happiness I can squeeze into the time we have together.”
“Are you going to come visit me in Mississippi or anywhere else I might be stationed?”
“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.” She stared up at him. “Would you mind terribly if I stayed with you between my CCI assignments?”
Rip’s lips spread into a wide grin and he laughed out loud. “Honey, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
* * * * *
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Chapter One
A crack of gunfire echoed through the towering trees. That sort of thing would have sent Julia White scrambling for her cell phone and dialing for the police back in her normal life. But not on Calapan Island, the tiny strip of land miles from Seattle and accessible only by ferry. Here people fired weapons for sport, as a warning or just because it was Tuesday.
She didn’t know the reason this time and didn’t much care. Rather than flinch or worry, she stayed kneeling in the dirt, weeding the overgrown rectangle of roots and vines that had once been a garden alive with color.
The summer sun warmed her bare arms as the breeze lifted her hair off her shoulders and kept it dancing in front of her eyes. Needing a drink of water and a barrette, she stabbed the end of the sharp shovel into the ground and stood. A break sounded good after an hour of getting nowhere on the massive yard-work project.
She made it two steps before shots rang out again, this time multiple and in bursts. At the sound of the rapid rat-a-tat-tat, she spun around, trying to judge the distance between her and the bullets. Her gaze zipped from one end of the open yard to the other. A thunder of noise she couldn’t identify filled her ears and grew closer as she scanned the part of the two acres she could see without moving away from the protective shield of the house.
A tangle of trees blocked her view to what lay beyond her father’s falling-down property, but she didn’t hesitate. Living in Seattle for the past two years had taught her one thing: don’t invite danger. That meant moving. Smart women knew when to run.
She took off for the back porch as she tapped the pockets of her cargo shorts in search of her phone. Empty. Maybe that was for the best, since what passed for police on the island didn’t exactly fill her with a sense of security. More like dread.
Her foot hit the bottom step right as the hair on the back of her neck stirred. That only made her jog faster. Anxiety rocketed through her as she reached for the door. Just as she tugged she heard it—heavy breathing, and not hers. She whipped her head around in time to see someone barreling
toward her. Broad shoulders and big. Male and fast.
Her hand slipped on the knob, but she turned it. She managed to open the door an inch before a man’s hand slammed against the frame by her head. The heat from his body radiated against her back as panic swamped her. She opened her mouth to scream, but a hand clamped over her face, blocking the sound.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” The harsh whisper brushed across her ear.
Yeah, no way was she believing that.
She kicked out and shoved. Flailed and tried to run again, this time for the tree line. She would not go out like this. She’d always joked that if she stayed on Calapan she’d die. She refused to let that prediction come true.
She elbowed him in the stomach and heard him swear in response. Another shot or two like that and she might be able to put some distance between them and get inside. Gathering all her strength, she drew her arm forward again and pushed back. She hit nothing but air.
One minute she stood locked in an epic battle on the porch. The next, her attacker reached around her and got the door open. He propelled her forward, slamming the door behind them and locking them both inside.
He held up his hands as he stared at her with big blue eyes. “Please listen to me.”
He could beg all he wanted. The dimple, those shoulders, the objective cuteness...she wasn’t buying any of it. She’d never been charmed by a handsome face before and wasn’t starting now.
If he wanted a fight, fine. She’d give him one. Without thinking or analyzing, almost on autopilot, she ran for the small family room on the far side of the kitchen. Guns didn’t scare her, because they were a way of life on Calapan. Growing up here, she’d learned how to shoot. Cans, mostly, but she didn’t plan on telling her attacker about that limitation.
Footsteps beat in time with hers. She ran. He stalked. He kept talking—something about needing her help—but she blocked it all out, her only thought being to find that rifle. There was a Glock around here, too.
“Ma’am, slow down for a second.”
Not likely. She put a couch between them as she tried to remember where she had left the guns after she moved them around this morning. Her mind flipped to the fireplace, and a quick glance revealed one leaning against the mantel. The same fireplace mantel next to the attacker and not her.
Her mind raced with directions. Draw him out. Let him talk. She skipped all of it. “Get out.”
“I will not hurt you.” He hadn’t lowered his hands.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t. Her gaze dipped to the gun strapped to his hip and the trickle of blood running down from the edge of the sleeve of his navy T-shirt. “Then leave.”
“My name is Cameron Roth.”
As if she cared. “Fine. Leave, Cameron.”
“I work for a group called the Corcoran Team.”
She didn’t even know what he was talking about. Her mind stayed focused on the gun, the blood, the shots and the fact that a stranger stood in front of her. The combination was all her brain could process at the moment.
“I don’t know who this team is, but you can go find them.” She bit back the tremble in her voice and tried to get the words out as quickly and clearly as possible. “I’ll pretend this never happened, but you need to leave now.”
“I can’t.”
Looked as though logic wouldn’t work on this guy. She mentally measured the distance from her to the gun and wondered if she could get there before he put his hands down. “You mean won’t.”
“I need you to stop worrying.”
That voice, all soothing and calm. It called to her, but she refused to trust it. Not when it promised a one-way ticket to getting injured...or worse. “That’s not going to happen with you standing in the middle of my house.”
“I’m one of the good guys.”
“Says the man who grabbed me and dragged me inside.” Her gaze traveled over him and she thought she made out another weapon tucked into his jeans and outlined by his slim tee. “Were you the one out there shooting?”
All emotion left his face. His blank expression didn’t give anything away. “There was a problem.”
Forget the weapon—with that nonanswer the guy should be a lawyer. “I’ll give you the keys to the car. You can take it and—”
“No.” At his bark, she took a step back and he moved in, closing the gap again. “I’m here on assignment.”
“What are you talking about?” She had no clue.
This was the nightmare that wouldn’t end. She should have stayed in Seattle and let the house stand abandoned. Her father was gone and she didn’t owe anyone on Calapan anything.
“I rendezvous with my team in fifteen minutes.”
Again with the team thing. “Be extra punctual and go now.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “I would, but I don’t want to be shot.”
She wasn’t sure if he was laughing at her or with her but didn’t like either option. “That makes two of us, Cameron.”
Some of the tension left his shoulders as he nodded toward the couch. “Sit.”
He had to be kidding. “No.”
“I’m at a disadvantage here. What’s your name?”
This guy just kept talking when she needed him gone. “You aren’t going to be here long enough for that to matter.”
“There are some nasty people after me.” He lowered his arms, but his hand didn’t venture near the gun. “I’m just hiding out here for a few minutes.”
“Who?” If there were more people out there with weapons, she wanted to be ready.
His eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Who is after you?”
His gaze went to the rifle and lingered for a second before returning to her face. “Let’s just say some of the people on this island can’t be trusted.”
Yeah, that was a lesson she knew all too well. “Understatement.”
“What?”
She ignored the question because she had bigger problems. Now he knew where all the weapons were. That left knives, and grabbing for those gave her the shivers. “Just so we’re clear, you’re running around the island shooting and being tracked by someone and have no trouble manhandling me—”
“That didn’t actually happen.”
“—yet I’m supposed to trust you.” Her voice got louder as she went on.
He had the nerve to smile at her. “Yes.”
“I’m not an idiot.” Sure, her brain kept malfunctioning and waves of fear crashed over her every two seconds, but she was not letting her world end like this.
“I never said you were.”
“And I have a phone.” She lunged for the landline. It had been disconnected months before, after her father died. But this Cameron guy didn’t know that...at least, she hoped he didn’t. “The police can come and you can explain your problem.”
“That’s not going to work.”
She’d read somewhere that trying to form a bond with an attacker sometimes helped humanize the victim. Since she was the victim, she was willing to try anything. “Tell me why, Cameron.”
“You can call me Cam.”
Apparently the bond thing worked. She shook the phone. “Talk or I’m dialing 9-1-1.”
“That would be a mistake.”
There was something about the way he said it. “Why?”
“The police are the problem.”
A crack shattered the glass behind her, spraying it over the room. She ducked. Probably screamed. Just as she crossed her arm over her head, a heavy weight crashed into her. She hit the floor and skidded across it with Cameron on top of her.
When they stopped, he pinned her down. The second their bodies touched she started moving. She shifted her legs and tried to knee him anywhere it would hurt. He caught her leg and
held a hand up as if to tell her to be quiet. The whole time his gaze scanned the room and his gun dug into her stomach.
Through all the kicking and squirming, the silence finally registered in her brain. She picked up his breathing and heard her own hammering in her ears. Other than that, nothing. No more shooting. No yelling.
He leaned up on his elbow and glanced down with their faces only inches apart. “Are you okay?”
“No.”
He lifted his body off her and looked down the slim space between them. “You’re hit?”
“I mean mentally.” When she realized Cam’s body shielded hers, that he was protecting, not attacking, she let the backs of her hands fall against the dusty floor. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“That makes two of us.” He shifted his body to the side as he slipped the gun out of its holster.
“Who is shooting at you now?” And why had Cam brought the person to her doorstep?
He crawled over to the one remaining intact family room window, ignoring the broken glass from the previous chaos and the crunching under his knees. “Your police chief.”
Chief Kreider wasn’t her anything. The guy had the whole old-boy thing down, all entitled and drunk on power...except for those times he was actually drunk. She was not a fan.
Following Cam, because he seemed like a good guy to hide behind, she sat on the other side of the window and peeked out. Three random men stood out there, armed and dressed in some sort of law-enforcement uniforms. None of them looked familiar and they all wore lethal shoot-first expressions.
That fast, she lost her ability to breathe.
Cam pulled her back down. “Be careful.”
She only caught a glimpse, but... “You said you were fighting the police chief, right?”
“The guy standing in the middle of your yard.”
“None of them is the police chief.”