“Let me give you a ride.” Her brother shrugged.
“No. I’m not compromising the safe house, and I’m not compromising you.”
“You can stop with the ‘I’m-going-to-protect-you’ bullshit. I’m more than capable of watching my ass, kiddo.”
“I’m done with you two today. You can call me later.” She turned for the door, and looked over her shoulder. Roman remained in place. Rocco was back to watching television, but Cash remained silent, watching her, still breaking her heart. “Bye, Roman, Rocco.” She paused, trying to swallow the pain. It hurt to walk away from him again. “Cash… bye.”
* * *
Ouch. Maybe Nicola should’ve let Roman give her a ride. This sidewalk had way more gravel than her busted foot needed. She hopped over another stone. In the land of manicured lawns and matching Range Rovers, someone should really take care of their gravel issues.
She rounded the corner and waited on the park bench. No cell phone, but at least Rocco had given back her gun. Like a thugged-out gangster, she tucked it into the waistband of the men’s sweatpants. Everything she wore smelled like Cash. Sitting there, ignoring the previous night’s events, it was the only thing she noticed.
Her first stop would be the nearest Target or Walmart for footwear and clothes. There was no way she was going anywhere dressed like the aftermath of a one-night stand with a gym rat.
A blacked out SUV rolled up, a little early, but fitting the right description. The window rolled down. A pleasant looking woman Nicola had never seen before smiled.
“Gabriella? So nice to see you again after our play date with Beth.”
Code words, ding, ding. Play date and Beth. Nicola smiled and responded as directed by her handler. “My car broke down. Could you take me to the service station?”
Ding, ding again. The woman unlocked the door, and she crawled in. Thank God her traveling companion was a woman. Maybe there would be some camaraderie when she asked for a clothing related pit stop.
“Gabriella.” The familiar voice made her skin tighten. The butler. He was in the backseat. Nicola jumped forward, her breath punched from her lungs. The door locks secured.
“Why are you here?” she demanded. How was this happening?
The butler’s face smiled. “What happened last night?”
Nicola’s hand went to the door. “Pull over. Now!”
The driver stared at her like she’d spouted purple slime from her ears. “What?”
“Pull over.”
“Gabriella? Are you okay?” the butler asked. “My name’s David. We’re the team pulling you out.”
Nicola pulled her gun from her waistband, and pointed it at the soccer mom lookalike. “Stop the car.”
The woman eased off the gas pedal and pulled toward the sidewalk.
“Now unlock the door.”
“Gabriella, you’ve got this all wrong,” he said.
“My name’s not Gabriella.”
“And I’m not really a butler. Your handler sent us.”
She moved the gun at him, point-blank range. “You walked me into an ambush last night, jackass.”
“Wrong.” He looked smug despite her finger on the trigger.
“No directions on the cocktail napkin.”
“Yes, the—”
“Open the car door now.” No move from the soccer mom. Nicola swung her aim back to the driver’s seat. “After last night, I’ll have no problem saving my ass and explaining why your skull’s in pieces. Open. The. Door.”
The woman blanched like Casper but unlocked the door. Nicola jumped out, landing on her good foot. The back door cracked open. “Drive away, soccer mom. David, don’t try it.”
He got out of the SUV, hands up. “Gabriella. You need to come in.”
“Like I said, I’ve got no problem with paperwork. And there’s going to be a ream’s worth if you don’t get back in that car. I’ll leave you bleeding out in the streets of suburbia.”
Soccer mom moved fast in the corner of her eye. Worst case scenario was the woman moving for her piece.
Bam! Nicola fired, shattered the window, warning shot style, and pivoted straight into the barrel of the butler’s Smith and Wesson. Fuck.
Nicola heard the slide on soccer mom’s gun. Two against her one. Her odds sucked right now.
“Get in the car, Gabriella. I don’t want to kill you,” David growled.
“Just like you gave me extraction directions.”
“Whatever you think you know, you’re wrong.”
“I know if you’re on CIA payroll, you’re a fucking double-dipping dick.”
“You want a showdown on fucking Main Street? Some minivan’s going to drive by and call local cops. Then we’re all screwed.”
They were in suburbia, but suburbia in New England. Large McMansions, tons of trees, and land between each house. She stepped forward an inch. If she could ping a round off, then drop, she’d take out the butler, and soccer mom wouldn’t have a shot.
Nicola smirked. “The last thing I want to do is—”
Bam!
Garrison’s Creed: Chapter Seven
Roman held the remote, but after their fucked up morning, he could keep the clicker. If the dude wanted to watch The Today Show, that was on his conscience. The constant drone of Hoda and Kathy Lee made Cash’s head spin. Wine-Day Wednesday. There was probably a lot of morning drinking happening in Happyville, Maine, where everyone had matching houses and cars and their requisite, matching children enrolled in travel lacrosse teams.
He’d have to have a bottle of wine by 10 AM if that was his paint by numbers life. Then again, neither Kathy or Hoda looked like they’d actually survive the boredom of identical houses and PTA competitions. They looked good for downing a bottle of vino.
He should’ve followed Nic. He should’ve tried to apologize. Or jumped up, asking to see her again. Whatever the cause for the sick twist in his gut, a heavy feeling of should’ve burdened him.
One of the talking TV heads said something funny, and he caught himself laughing. Cash pinched his eyes closed, though the bruises were doing a good job of keeping his lids drawn for him. He pulled his cowboy hat down low, blocking the flat screen from his swollen, narrowed line of sight. Roman and Rocco commented about something ridiculous one of the babbling heads said about butt-lifting jeans, and—
Bam!
All three men jumped to their feet. Gunshots ringing out in Kathy Lee and Hoda country wasn’t a good thing.
Bam!
Son of a bitch.
They were out the door and into the Range Rover. Rocco squealed tires, reversing out of the driveway. Roman and Cash shut their doors as the tires spun from reverse to forward.
Nicola hadn’t been gone long. There was no telling what the woman was up to, but her plans hadn’t worked well in the last twenty-four hours. Those gunshots couldn’t have been planned.
They screeched around a corner. Rocco murdered the brakes. The smell of burnt rubber filtered into the vehicle before they came to a full stop.
A blacked out Explorer, missing the front passenger window, idled at the curb. A woman dressed like Miss Suburbia USA held out a Glock, bouncing her aim between a man and woman pummeling each other. Nicola and a man, and that motherfucker threw solid punches. She took one and ducked another. Cash was out of the Rover and ready to kill. He ignored the Glock. His fists balled, his blood rushed, and he was ready to end the brawl. No man would ever live after—
Whoa.
The tide turned fast. Nic was on top. Her left hook struck hard, not flinching when her knuckles landed on a cheekbone. The man reached his hands around Nicola’s neck. Enough of that shit.
A glance to Roman, and the plan was set without words. Roman slide-tackled the standing woman and disarmed her. The lady hit the ground hard, and the Glock skittered out of reach.
One gun down.
Who knew where Nic’s .22 was during this melee. Who knew what dude-about-to-die packed. All Cash knew was he woul
d kill him for punching Nic’s pretty face.
The man made a swift move, flipping on top of Nic. Cash threw himself on the man, spearing him away. He heard Nicola breathing hard. Panting. Saw Rocco out of the corner of his eye pulling her to safety. She fought him, trying to jump back into the fight. Too fucking bad, this asshole was Cash’s to take out.
He straddled the man, raining punches on his dome. Right fist. Left fist. Over and over, on repeat. Cash was in the zone, wanting blood. This wasn’t a fight anymore, just Cash on a mission of destruction. Sweat poured off of him, biceps and knuckles screaming for a reprieve.
Reality came back. Arms wrapped around him. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t focus on anything but the broken nose and bloodied mouth in front of him.
“Cash.”
The sounds of his name pulled him out of his trance. He shook. Someone was shaking him. He didn’t want to get vertical, but someone pulled him upright. Rocco slammed him against the black Explorer. “Get your ass in gear. We gotta roll.”
Cash looked around. He’d fucking gone nuts. “Is he dead?”
“Almost, dude. Almost.”
Cash lunged forward, but slingshotted back against the Explorer, thanks to Rocco. “Chill.”
“I’m cool man. I’m good.” Cash nudged out of Rocco’s grip, rolling his shoulders.
“Walk it off. Get in the car. Nic’s in our Rover. She’ll drive you back to the house. These two fuckers—” He pointed to the KO’d dude and the none-too-fazed woman. “—will go with us in their car. Move. Now.”
Roman pushed the lady into the backseat and did a once over of Nicola, making sure she was okay. They did some brother-sister nod that made his gut twist in what could be labeled a jealous swell, but was really more a pang of nostalgia. A connection had been severed that he missed in a way that tightened his airway and clouded his judgment.
Rocco could’ve used a spatula to scoop the dude off the street, but used his hands instead, then hopped back to the driver’s seat. He pulled a U-turn, leaving Cash standing alone in the middle of Mayberry-frickin’-Avenue.
“Cash. Let’s go.” Nicola was in their Range Rover, waving him in, as cool as if it was just another day for her to man the getaway vehicle.
He snapped to attention and jumped into the SUV. God, he’d lost control in a bad way, and he didn’t need to be near that dude for a while. His white-hot temper was so far past boiling that he was surprised the guy was still breathing.
Nicola hit the gas. Their tires spun. They’d been on scene for five minutes, tops. Nicola had been gone a short while prior to the bam, bam. The whole thing had gone down in less than twenty minutes.
Stupid suburbia.
“You okay?” Nicola asked, driving past identical black mailboxes with little red flags.
“Fine.”
“Yeah, totally looked like it.”
“Back off,” he snarled and immediately hated himself. “Sorry. I flipped. I just… lost it.” No reason to go into why, though his motives were clear.
“Yeah, you did.”
They were three driveways from the safe house. “I need a minute. Keep going. I’ll kill that dude if I see him right now.” He saw the red welted handprints around her neck. “Fuck that. Turn around. I’m going to kill him.”
“Cash.”
“Turn around. No, I’ll get out.”
“Cash.
“Pull—”
“Cash, look at me!”
The welts on her neck hurt him. Damn, he couldn’t breathe. He needed to catch his breath.
She pulled her shirt up, unsuccessful in her attempt to cover the red marks. “I’m fine. Promise.”
Bullshit. She was hurt. Dude left marks on her. “You’re not—”
She slapped the center console. “Yes, I am. I’ve got a problem, and you killing him isn’t going to help.”
“He attacked you.”
“You don’t know that.”
He turned in his seat to glare at her. “What?”
“I’ve got a problem, and I don’t know who I can trust other than Roman, who’s seeing me as his kid sister. I want to trust you, Cash.”
“You can trust me.”
“Can I?”
Good question. He’d about murdered a man in the middle of the street for the operative equivalent of picking on an ex-girlfriend. He was a flippin’ loose bazooka. “I’m sorry about saying all that to Roman last night.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“I know.”
“I’m in it, earrings deep. I need to talk this out.”
He took a breath and ran a hand around the nape of his neck. “’Kay. You keep driving, and I’ll shut my trap.” At least he could try.
“The man you just beat within a hair of his life was the butler at Smooth’s estate. After you bagged and tagged Antilla, he found me, said he had extraction instructions that superseded my handler’s. But he turned me over to the men I avoided with my flying window trick. My handler made arrangements for me this morning. Voila! Hello, butler.”
“So you’re thinking… ”
“He’s doing double duty.”
“He’s CIA, and he’s… on the clock for Smooth?”
“Maybe.” She shrugged.
It seemed possible. “Why not take you out long rifle style?”
“They want to know what I got first. My job was intel. Map out Antilla Smooth’s network, his high rollers and big players.”
“You debriefed yet?”
“Nope.”
“What’s your handler know?”
“Little to nothing.”
“You seriously think this dude is stupid enough to fuck with you CIA folks?”
“It’s been done before. He must’ve thought I was weak.”
“Well, you schooled him, didn’t you? I saw that left hook. Killer, woman. Killer job. For real.”
Nicola looked at him with a half-cocked smile. The most honest look he’d seen on her since she stumbled in front of their car. “I’ve got a few tricks. But truth is my right arm is too sore to use.”
How different their lives could have been. She could’ve been at home, or at least at a job that didn’t require knowing any tricks, though the woman could take a punch. Nicola, all schooled in hand to hand. Never saw that coming. Too bad it had almost killed him. This CIA bullshit was damn hard for him to understand. He needed a subject change and quick.
“You got a boyfriend or something at the Farm?” Not exactly a subject change that would lessened his urge to kill.
She laughed. “Um, that’s a big no. You?”
Thank fuck.
He cracked a grin, which hurt his busted face. “Got a boyfriend? No.”
“I missed your smile.”
And I miss your laugh. Shit. Nothing warm and fuzzy should be tingling anywhere in his body, but he was all loosey-goosey at the moment.
“Nah. No girl for me.”
“Why not?”
“Really, Nic? This is the convo you wanted to have after I just went all WWE on your colleague back there?”
“You started the let’s-talk-about-our-love-life chat, and he wasn’t my partner. He— Never mind. Can I use your phone? I’ve got to call my handler.”
Cash shrugged, handed her his phone, and thought about the guys back at the house who probably wondered where he was, but knew it was better for him to cool down.
Nicola finished dialing numbers, then entered more numbers. She waited with the phone next to her ear.
“Hey. Yeah, didn’t make my pick-up. We’ve got dirty laundry to deal with.”
She nodded her head. Gave a few uh-huhs, and nodded some more as if her handler could see her.
“No. I’m coming in on my own. I’ll have my Bonnie and Clyde extraction team brought—”
More uh-huhs. Then one nu-uh.
She rolled through a stop sign. “If he’s still breathing when we get there, he’s all yours. I’ve got a theory or two.”<
br />
More nodding. Hello, Nicola. Only I can see the head nods.
“Yes, when we debrief. See ya. Oh, wait—”
She looked at Cash, paused, then looked back to the road, making turn. “What do you know about Titan Group involved with Antilla?”
Son of a bitch.
More uh-huhs.
She clicked off the phone and looked at him with those warm, chocolate eyes. “I need a favor.”
Oh boy. Here it came. “Depends.”
“I’m headed back to Langley on my terms. Bringing the other two with me. You know who hired Titan on this project?”
“Yeah.”
“The CIA?”
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Not my place. You know their section chiefs don’t talk. All that one-upmanship bull crap.”
“I know their games well, but I try not to play.”
“So what’s the favor?”
“Bring Bonnie and Clyde in with me?” she asked with a face she certainly knew he couldn’t say no to. He needed reinforcements around her, ASAP.
“That’s not a decision I can make on my own. Despite my protocol-ignoring ass last night, I can’t just fly by night to Virginia.”
“Where are you based out of?”
He laughed. “Virginia.”
“Well—”
His phone rang, cutting her off, and she handed it back to him. How long would that drive take? Hours in a car with her. He might not live through it without doing some serious, pansy, emo outtakes. Whatever. He looked at the caller ID. Jared. His boss. Not necessarily what he needed right now.
“Yeah-ello,” Cash answered, slowly and intentionally, just to screw with Jared.
“What in God’s name did you three do up there?”
Well, hello to you too, dick. “The job.”
“Why’s the CIA burning up the wires, trying to nail a commitment out of me? For something I know nothing about?”
“Last night… we had an unexpected complication.”
“Last night, you three stumbled upon a compromised female operative and wanted to play hero? That’s not a complication. That’s you boys getting ready to fucking sword fight over some pussy.”
“Watch yourself, boss man.”
Heroes in Uniform: Soldiers, SEALs, Spies, Rangers and Cops: Sexy Hot Contemporary Alpha Heroes From NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Authors Page 15