"But…" Seneca was trying to wrap her brain around what they were implying. "Who is 'they'?"
"The Department of Defense." Ansel did not even hesitate. "They're the only ones who could allow a Special Forces unit to operate on United States soil."
"What do you mean?" Cat just stared at her brother. "What 'Special Forces unit'?"
Seneca looked at Ansel, who seemed to be in no hurry to tell his sister the truth about his clandestine career.
Seneca came to his rescue, saying, "Your surveillance camera showed three military men arriving at your house about five minutes after you drove off with Joe." She hesitated to tell her this next part. "And they're still tracking you."
"Are you serious?" Cat started to cry. She turned to look at the man in the black suit. "That's why you wouldn't let me call Dave. You were right. Oh my God, they were going to kill me! And I'm…" She looked at her brother with a sad little smile. "I'm pregnant, Ansel."
"I know," he said, so gently that it tore at Seneca's heart. "Dave told me."
"I promise. I was going to tell you at dinn—"
Ansel put his hand up, ending her apology. "I know. It's okay. You were going to tell us at dinner."
Seneca's stomach did a little flip. Us.
Despite everything, Seneca had to admit that being considered an 'us' by Ansel was…nice. Not that he meant anything more than two people being invited to dinner. But the way he had kissed her last night was…She blushed, but Cat must have thought she was upset.
"Please don't be mad at me, Seneca."
"Of course I'm not mad at you." She shrugged, feeling defeated. "But what are we going to do? 'They'," she said, making air quotes, "know about you now, and you sure as hell can't raise a baby in a missile silo."
Everyone stared at the table, trying to think, but it was Joe who spoke first. "I need to go to the hospital." He stood up to leave. "Let me make a few calls while I’m there. I might be able to find a safe place for you to stay in Seattle."
Ansel nodded, then pointed at Gwen’s landline because he was not willing to risk a burner being detected. "Go call Dave,” he said to his sister. “Your husband is going out of his mind with worry."
"Thank you." Catherine smiled, and then walked to her bedroom for some privacy.
"You know," Gwen said, looking at Ansel, "there's something you haven't thought about, and I didn't want to mention it in front of your sister."
"What's that?" Ansel asked.
"Your parents were murdered," the old woman said. "And one of them had to have had the anomaly." Seneca grabbed Ansel's thigh, her heart pounding as she braced herself for the words she knew would come next. "And so do you."
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ansel had already figured that out, and knew that they would be sending a team for him too. But, just like Gwen, he didn't want to upset anyone. And judging by the pain of the nails digging into his thigh, he had not succeeded.
"I can take care of myself." Ansel said it to Gwen, but the reassurance was meant for Seneca. He put his hand on top of hers, caressing it with his thumb until she eased her grip. "But in order to avoid being taken—"
"We have to know why they want to take you." The older woman finished his thought, then stared at him. "What makes you so dangerous, Ansel Babineaux?"
"Damned if I know." They sat there in frustrated silence, until he couldn't think about it anymore.
"Gwen?" Seneca turned to her host and asked, "Do you mind if I take a shower?"
"No, problem, sweetie." The older woman stood up, then started down the hall with Seneca in tow. "Your bedroom is the last door on the right, and the bathroom is at the end of the hall."
"Thank you," Seneca smiled, following after Gwen.
As Ansel watched her go, he couldn't help remembering what she looked like when he first met her. That baggy green sweatshirt falling off her shoulder, the yoga pants cupping her ass, and that face…That pretty little face with a light dusting of freckles, visible only because she wasn't wearing any makeup.
He’d liked her that way. Hell, he liked her any way. He liked the way she looked at him. Wanting him, but too embarrassed to say so.
Not like last night.
He swallowed. Last night she had wanted him, had taken every kiss he had given her. Had even teased him until he was about to explode, making him wait to see those spectacular breasts. Fuck, she had driven him wild.
'Were you traumatized too?' The words sliced through him. He had traumatized her. Held a gun to her head. And then, like the sick fuck he probably was, he’d tried to apologize by making love to her.
"What is wrong with me," Ansel mumbled, not sure if he would ever be able to look her in the eye.
'That can't happen again.' His chest tightened, because he knew that she was right. He was a bad man who did not need to be anywhere near a nice girl like Seneca Reed. And if he did end up having to kill Gunner, how would she look at him then?
"How are you doing?"
Ansel blinked. It was his sister.
"I'm fine." He was in a daze, and then his brain clicked on. "How did Dave take the news?"
"Okay," Cat sighed, sitting on the couch. "He's doing some research on the names Gwen gave me of the people she identified with the anomaly. Reading the articles about the kidnappings, and the murders." She pulled her legs onto the couch and then looked up at him, trying not to cry. "I write a magazine." She was shaking her head as tears fell in two steady streams down both cheeks. "Why would anyone want to kill me?"
Ansel sat on the coffee table in front of her. "I can protect you until we figure out why they want you."
"Oh, yeah, right," she laughed, snorting. "And just how are you going to protect me from a ‘special ops unit’?"
"By using the training I've received over my ten years of clandestine service to the United States Army," he answered, telling her the truth for the first time.
Her brows pulled together as she scanned his lean body. The holster strapped to his thigh.
"You’re still in the army?"
“Never got out.”
“And the martial arts business?”
"I have several black belts in a variety of disciplines, but no," he shook his head, "I don't sell martial arts equipment for a living."
"And all those trips to Asia?" He could see her absorbing the information. "Those were—"
"Missions."
"Did you kill people on these—"
"I'd rather not talk about it." Think about it.
Her feet slid back to the floor. "And when you got shot in that robbery last year?" She looked at his left shoulder.
She knew the answer before he told her, but he said it anyway. "I got shot on a mission to stop arms trafficking in Southeast Asia."
"Did Mom and Dad know?"
"No…At least Mom didn't." He looked down at her, and with a mournful grin, said, "I think Dad suspected. You know how Dad is…" His throat tightened. "Was."
"A dog with a bone." Cat laughed, burying her own sadness. "He would have gotten the truth out of you eventually."
"Yeah, he would've." They smiled at each other.
"So, you can protect me, huh?" she asked. One eyebrow went up, conveying her doubt.
"For a while." Or he would die trying.
"Well, look at that." She met his eyes, shaking her head. "My baby brother is a badass." Despite his age, it still felt good to have his sister proud of him. "But if you're such a badass, why in the world did you bring Seneca here to protect me?"
Ansel actually blushed. "She wouldn't stay home."
"Uh-huh," Cat grinned. "And I bet you tried real hard to make her."
"I tried to—"
Just then Seneca came padding down the hall in her bare feet, wearing nothing but a towel, with a second one twisted around her wet hair.
"Ansel, I'm so sorry. I forgot my clothes in the truc—"
"What happened to your neck?" Cat gasped, jumping off the couch to grab Seneca's jaw, turning it from side
to side. "Oh my God. Are those fingerprints?”
“Uh,” Seneca began, looking at him.
“What happened?” Cat demanded, and followed her gaze. “Ansel, what happened to her?”
“I…" Shame flooded him.
Cat saw it and her mouth fell open in disbelief.
“Ansel.” His sister pointed at Seneca, her lip pulling back in revulsion as she whispered, "Did you do this to her? Is that what they teach you in the army? To hurt women?"
Catherine bundled up her friend to protect her from him. As Ansel watched them rush down the hall, he knew from the look in his sister's eyes that she would never forgive him for hurting Seneca. He also knew that he would never forgive himself.
***
Catherine shoved Seneca into her bedroom so hard that her towel came off. She caught it before it hit the floor, just as the door slammed shut.
"Oh my God," Cat said, her mouth hanging open. "What did he do to you?" She was crying as she stared at Seneca's neck to assess the damage. The bruising was extensive and only getting worse. "I'm so sorry. Oh my God, I can't believe he did this to you."
"I'm fine." Seneca stood in front of the mirror as Cat continued to examine her, but she already knew what her throat looked like.
Ansel had not simply put his hand around her throat and squeezed. It was much worse than that. He had placed his fingers around her throat and dug deep, ready to crush her airway at the slightest provocation. Four black lines wrapped around the side of her neck, like some gruesome tattoo with the single bruise to the right stretching in an attempt to join the others.
"Does it hurt?"
"No." Yes. It hurt to swallow, but she tried not to show it. To either of them. "He didn't mean to do it, Cat."
"What happened?"
She was not exactly sure.
"We were both stressed. Well, more like terrified for your safety. So, when I kicked him in bed…" Cat's brows rose. "I don't know, it triggered some memory of combat for him. I think."
"Why were you in bed with my brother?"
"The hotel only had one room left." Seneca tried not to blush. "We had to share, and you know how I kick in my sleep. Remember that conference in Las Vegas?"
"I'm pretty sure I have permanent injuries." They both laughed, lightening the mood. "Ansel is a big guy. What did you do to…stop him?"
"I didn't."
He had total control of her. She tried not to think about that, because it was a woman's worst nightmare. To have a man straddling you with one hand around your throat and a gun to your head.
Ansel could have done anything to her, and she would not have been able to stop him.
"He just woke up,” she shrugged. “Let go of me, and then put the gun—"
"He had the gun?" Cat gasped.
Shit. She didn't mean to tell her that part.
"Ansel held me down with one hand, and put a gun to my—"
"He held a gun to your head!" Cat yelled, and collapsed on to the edge of the bed, unwilling to hear another word.
Seneca sat down beside her, explaining, "His training just kicked in. Ansel didn't mean to do it. He was asleep."
"Oh my God." Cat covered her face with her hands. "I don't even know him. I don't know a thing about my own brother."
"Yes, you do." Seneca was getting angry. "He's the guy that rushed to your house to save you. The guy who jumped in a car and drove across three states, ready to fight the people who took you."
"You mean kill the people who took me." Cat's voice was flat, cold.
Seneca thought about it.
"Yeah, he would have. And so would Dave, and so would I. But Ansel is the only one who could actually do it. He was trying to save you, Cat," she said, indignant. "And you need to forgive him for a mistake brought on by the stress and the trauma of thinking his only sister had been kidnapped."
"But what he did was just so…horrible."
"Yeah, it was, but it is over. And if I can forgive him, then so can you." Seneca stood up. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm tired of being naked. So would you please go to the damn truck, and get my damn clothes?"
Properly chastised, Cat stood up.
"Well, you certainly seem like yourself," her friend chuckled before walking out the door.
But Cat didn't have to walk far. The moment she opened the door, they both looked down at a small black duffel bag sitting in front of it. Seneca’s heart dropped. Ansel must have put it there. She wondered how much he had heard of their conversation.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Ansel was halfway down the hall when he heard his sister yelling, and he couldn't breathe. 'He held a gun to your head?' He just stood there in the hall, frozen to the spot with guilt threatening to pull him to his knees. Devastated, he set the duffel bag in front of Seneca's bedroom then went to his own and locked the door.
He pulled off his shoes and crawled into bed, praying for sleep. His respite from feeling, from thinking. Thinking about Seneca, thinking about Cat, and thinking about what was to come. He closed his eyes and he must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew there was a knock at his door.
"Ansel?" It was Gwen. "I brought you some supper, sweetie."
"Just a second." He got off the bed and turned on the lights, then opened the door and took the laden tray she was holding in her withered hands. He placed it on the nightstand. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." She gave him a polite smile. "Joe called." His senses sharpened as he prepared himself for more bad news. "He found a place in Seattle where we can stay."
Ansel tried to smile. "How’s the guy at the hospital?"
"He has a pretty bad concussion," she confirmed. "And…" Trepidation straightened his back. "Your kick bruised his sternum, but he'll get over it. Those Mormons are a tough group of people," she chortled, but he knew she was just trying to make him feel better. "Well, you go on and eat, sweetie. It's already nine o'clock." That late? "And I was thinking we should leave first thing in the morning."
"I think that’s a good idea," he said, and she started to close the door, but Ansel stopped her. "Thank you, Gwen."
"You eat, darlin'," she said. "You'll feel better in the morning."
But they both knew she was not talking about the food.
Gwen left the room and Ansel ate, sitting alone on his bed. Chicken Parmesan this time. Two breasts, undoubtedly because he ‘needed the protein.'
And he did.
After he ate, he decided to read. There were two books in the room. One about computer data structures, and the other a historical romance set in Scotland. It was pretty good. Sometime around midnight, he took a shower then tried to read some more, but he couldn't stop thinking.
How was he gonna stop the entire United States government from coming after his sister? He couldn't protect her for long. It was inevitable that they would take her. The only permanent solution was to make them not want to take her.
But in order to do that, he had to figure out why they wanted her in the first place. Fuck. He sighed, frustrated. Dave would help him figure it out when they saw him tomorrow. Seneca too.
Seneca.
Just the thought of her tied him in knots. He didn't know why. Probably the stress. He stood up and walked to his bedroom door. He needed to apologize to her. To make sure that Catherine had not upset her any more than she already was.
No, it’s late.
He should wait and talk to her in the morning. She'd be asleep by now. In a T-shirt and panties. Lace panties. The feel of her ass flashed in his mind. And he knew she would not be wearing a bra to bed. The moan of pleasure she gave when he took her nipple in his mouth echoed in his mind, and he wanted to hear it again.
Fuck!
His breathing was shallow and he was getting hard. He shouldn't, but he wanted to see her. Wanted to make amends.
It wouldn't take long. Her bedroom was just across the hall. He would just slip in, and tell her how sorry he was…in the dark, where he wouldn't have to look at her.
>
And then he would leave. If she wanted him to.
He opened his door, willing to take the risk that she would reject him. But the moment he stepped into the hall, a sharp pain exploded in his right kidney.
He dropped to his knees, hearing, "Hola, asshole," in his left ear.
Win. That motherfucker!
Ansel kicked the bastard hard on the outside of his left knee, and he smiled when he heard something crunch. The son of a bitch groaned, but Ansel only had time to feel a moment of satisfaction before he felt a thick forearm connect with the right side of his jaw.
Lights came on as stars burst in his eyes. He fell on his back near the living room. Just when Win was about to kick him in the stomach with his steel toed combat boot, Ansel swept the bastard's legs out from under him.
The son of a bitch landed flat on his back, knocking the wind out of him and incapacitating him long enough for Ansel to get in a punishing blow to his liver.
Roaring in pain, the bastard flew at him, straddling Ansel so he could more easily beat the shit out of him. And the motherfucker was enjoying doing just that. Ansel was close to losing consciousness when he caught a glimpse of Gunner, just watching him take the beating.
Gunner, his best friend.
Ansel chuckled and blood flew out of his mouth. He wanted to pass out to end the pain from Win's relentless blows, but he wouldn’t give the son of a bitch the satisfaction.
Ansel was hauling his fist back for one last blow, when he heard, "Get off him or I'll shoot you."
It was Gwen.
The other men were too far away to disarm her. Win just laughed at the sight of the old woman, standing in the hallway wearing a frilly pink robe.
"You're…gonna shoot me?"
"Son." Gwen's eyes turned to slits. "We have a terrible coyote problem around here, and I can assure you that I'm an excellent shot."
"Yeah, well." Win rose to his full height of six foot four. "I'm no coyote, lady. And this man," he said, bending over to pull Ansel up by the arm, "Is in the custody of—"
And then Gwen shot the bastard.
ANOMALY.MIL (The Conspiracy Series Book One): A Romantic Suspence Novel Page 10