by Brynne Asher
I motion back to her purse. “I can’t believe you stole my knife and didn’t tell me you were armed.”
“I can hardly defend myself when I can’t manage a sit up. Did you really think I was going to waltz in here defenseless?”
I wave my phone around before unlocking it to check the encyclopedia of messages and missed calls. “What do you think I’m here for?”
She tugs at her panties. “We need to get out of here.”
Three missed calls from Crew.
Crew – Call me asap. I’m hearing chatter and it has nothing to do with Bella.
What the hell? Crew hardly ever calls me.
Jarvis – Better in the Kennedy Center than my car.
Asa – Not sure I’m going to be able to look you in the face again if I have to sit here and listen to you two hit it in the coat room.
Jarvis – How long has it been since her surgery? Damn, she’s tough.
Asa –I’m going to have to see you at elementary school concerts and shit. I hate you, Carson.
Crew – Time is of the essence. Answer the damn phone.
I don’t bother listening to the slew of voicemails. “Hang on. I’ve got to call Vega and we need the crowds to clear before we leave.”
She adjusts her wig and pulls out a compact to check her once perfectly-applied lipstick, which is now ruined and probably smeared all over my new dress shirt. I sound like an adolescent teen, but I may never wash it.
I press callback and put my cell to my ear. Crew answers. “Where are you?”
My eyes dart to Bella and she snaps her mirror shut when I answer. “Kennedy Center. Why?”
“Bella with you?”
“Yeah. She’s right here.”
“How fast can you get to your car?” Crew bites.
“What’s wrong?” Bella asks.
I look at the woman who had surgery only weeks ago. The car is parked a couple blocks away and we could normally make it fast when she was operating at peak performance. But she’s not and she’s also dealing with that damn dress and those shoes I really want to fuck her in. “We’re a couple blocks away from the car.”
“Your boss knows where you are but not because of Bella. Her name wasn’t mentioned. Nick Peterson and Wendy Sisson started digging and found out you never put the order on Simmons. Peterson tried to reach out directly to me two hours ago. I covered for you, told him we’re on it. But over the last thirty minutes, they somehow found out we’re not. Carson, they’re tracking your work cell. They know you’re at the Kennedy Center and are sending someone to you and not to talk. I have no idea who that someone is and none of this shit sounds official.”
I pull out my other cell, the one issued to me by none other than the Central fucking Intelligence Agency.
I stare at the piece of technology they’re now using against me.
Bella breaks into my thoughts. “Cole?”
“Get the hell out of there,” Crew demands.
I end my call in one hand and fist my work cell in the other.
“Answer me,” Bella demands.
I turn and toss what my employer is now using as a tracking device into the first locker I see. Slamming the door shut, I twist the key and yank it out before turning on my heel. I look down at the woman I just gave an earth-shattering orgasm to and hope it didn’t suck all of her energy. “I’m sorry, baby, but we’re going to have to test your post-op endurance. You’d better lose the shoes because we need to move fast. I’ll explain on the way.”
Bella
“You okay?” He doesn’t look down at me nor is he winded, as I am.
My bloody body.
I’m barefoot, fisting my very expensive shoes with my purse tucked to my chest. Cole’s hand is strangling my other and I dare the beast who tries to separate us—that’s how tightly he’s holding onto me.
He hasn’t said much, but what he has explained is downright fucked. I’m not sure what this means for him or his job. What I do know is, the Cole Carson I have worked with does not get riled.
Like him, I’m scanning the city streets as we move through the dark and now I’m cursing the fact I wanted to be seen this evening. This getup is definitely doing its job and we’re gaining the attention of every pedestrian and driver we pass.
I try not to let on that the pins and needles are pecking away at my midsection as he pulls me along. “I’m fine.”
“Half a block,” he grits, picking up the pace.
I’m going to feel this tomorrow.
“Cole?” My breaths are shallow. “If they traced your phone, they’re going to know where you’ve been and where you parked.”
His dark eyes roam the landscape in front of us. “I know, sweetness. Almost there. I’m going to get you in the car first and then we’ll get the hell out of here.”
“I’m more than capable of getting in the car. We can get out faster.”
“Not the time to argue, Bella,” he mutters.
Jarvis’s Porsche comes into view in a parking lot dotted with cars. I don’t see anyone as its lights flash and beeps sound when Cole unlocks the doors. I try to twist my hand out of his but he’s having none of it. When he reaches for my passenger door, both of us almost twirl in unison when we hear a car door slam across the lot.
Cole steps in front of me and stuffs the key fob into my open palm as voices fill the night from six spaces over. I’m about to reach for the switchblade in my clutch until those voices turn to laughter through the dark.
Loud, drunk, annoying laughter.
“Get in,” he demands, and I can’t pretend any longer—my midsection is aching. As much as I’ve complained about being in Virginia, I’m ready to get back to Cole’s bed.
He gets in and is pulling out of the parking lot as I’m still hooking my safety belt.
“Explain why the CIA would track your phone and come looking for you on a Saturday night.”
He exhales a huge breath. “It’s complicated.”
I grip the console as he speeds through DC streets as if he has diplomatic immunity, which he absolutely does not, otherwise his employer wouldn’t be chasing him. “Ah, yes. Well, that’s interesting and thank you for not elaborating since I already know everything you do for a living. It’s not as if you’ve ever respected the boundaries of your employment. Case in point, the coatroom twenty minutes ago.”
His eyes are sharp on the road but he doesn’t hesitate at my words. “You liked it.”
Beyond the point. “Tell me why your boss is after you.”
“Fuck,” he mutters when the light ahead of us turns red and he can’t run it like he has the previous two because of perpendicular traffic. He slams on the brakes and I press my hand onto my midriff from the pain as the sports car screeches to a stop.
I look into the passenger side mirror and see the open road behind us. “I’m sure we’re fine but if you could tell me what’s going on, I’d appreciate it. If we get into a scuffle, it would be nice to know why.”
He reaches for the only cell he has left on him and stares at the black screen. Wheels turn under his thick head of hair when he mutters to himself, “Would they ping me illegally?”
“You think? I mean, Crew does it, but he’s not held by any sort of oath.”
He looks at me. “Who the fuck knows. I’m in the capitol of my own fucking country, I work for the CIA, and apparently my boss is after me because I won’t put a hit on an American veteran who, from my digging, has done nothing wrong.”
I gasp. “That’s what this is about?”
He nods. “I told them I ordered the hit, but I didn’t. Crew is looking into him and so am I. We have no clue why they want him dead.”
“Bloody hell,” I mutter and sit back in my seat.
“Bloody hell, is right,” he shoots back.
I shift to him and am about to open my mouth to lambast the CIA and British Intelligence for what they’ve done to both of us, when I see it…
I can honestly admit, not many moments
as a spy have surprised me. Preparation, training, and research before an operation is key, not only to be successful, but coming out on the other end alive and in one piece. Have I had to adapt to surprising situations? Clearly. But adapting and reacting are two very different beasts to deal with on the fly.
That’s why when I see it, my words echo around us in an eerie shrill.
“Go, dammit!”
I grip his forearm at the same time Cole shifts his eyes to his window. One moment we’re alone at the intersection and, the next, we’re face to face with a masked passenger in the car next to us.
And staring down the barrel of a long gun.
Cole hits the gas at the same time his other hand grips the back of my head, folding me at the waist. This, coupled with hoofing it blocks at a half-jog post-surgery, would probably do me in at any other moment, but glass shattering has a way of spiking one’s adrenaline.
“Fuck!” Cole growls as loud as the tires screech on the pavement below us. The safety belt is no help when the car is pulled to the left, my body thrown the opposite way into the door.
I twist and find the small window behind the driver’s seat gone. When I turn farther, I find a black sedan on our bumper. The passenger has switched weapons and now a handgun is pointed at us.
We speed through city streets, swerving this way and that. Cole takes his eyes off the rear-view mirror long enough to reach under his seat and shoves a Glock into my hands. “Get them off my tail.”
I flip off my safety belt and hike up my dress to kneel in the seat and find bullets ricocheting off the pavement in our dust. I press the button to lower the window and silently curse the fact I wasn’t born left-handed. Cole gets rid of his second cell, tossing it out my open window as I demand, “Faster, Cole.”
“Hang on.” His arm cages me to the seat as he takes the corner on what feels like two wheels. “Shit. One way and we’re going the opposite.”
I don’t dare take my eyes off my target and can only imagine what’s happening in front of us from the honking.
“You’re taking your sweet time over there, baby.”
His arm across my back tightens and he yanks the steering wheel to the left. The sedan veers to avoid a minivan and I cringe. “I’m not shooting with innocent people near.”
The engine revs and we gain some space. “Soon, Bella. I can’t get on the highway into gridlock with this guy on my ass. Hang on—turning.”
I grip the back of the seat but after he turns, we slow and the sedan closes in. “What are you doing?”
“Fucking construction,” he growls as we speed past orange barrels.
Bullets ping and chip at the Porsche while Cole weaves in and out of traffic. There’s no way to get a clean shot with my left hand.
“Shit! Hang on.”
I peek over my shoulder. Cole has run out of room to pass and plows into a sea of orange. Barrels, cones, and signs light up the dark night.
We’re never going to get rid of them like this.
“Watch out.” I lean over and press the button to his window before twisting my arse and planting it in his lap with my back to his door. His arms cage me in where his hands are gripping the steering wheel. “If you can avoid the debris, I can get a shot. I only need a moment.”
“Taking a left. Hang tight, you should be clear.”
I grab onto him and brace.
As Cole turns, I lean out the window. A hand with a gun attached to it appears from the sunroof of the sedan but I don’t hesitate. I shoot three times—the passenger, the front left tire, and straight through the driver’s head.
A lovely trifecta, if I do say so myself.
The sedan spins, the driver’s side slamming into what’s left of the construction mess, crashing into a pit a half-meter deep. Smoke billows and a flame licks the night from under the hood. I pull my arm back in the car and Cole glances at the rearview mirror with a bloody, arrogant smirk playing on the strong lines of his face. “You left a mess, baby.”
As we race away, I hear sirens in the distance. “They’re not after us any longer. You’re welcome.”
He releases the steering wheel with one hand and plants it on my ass, tucking me tight to his groin. Without taking his eyes off the road, he holds me snug to his chest. “Seems both our agencies are after us. As bad as that is, this feels like old times, sweetness.”
I bite my lip because the last thing I need is to give him the satisfaction of agreeing. We left a pile of rubble in our wake and, to top off the night, trashed Jarvis’s fancy car. Like old times is absolutely not an understatement.
And it seems tomorrow we’ll be on our way to St. John.
Not exactly the Mediterranean, but I’ll take it.
Chapter 17
Next to Me
Cole
Crew Vega runs a camp straight west of DC. It sits on almost three-hundred acres. I used to think it was in the middle of nowhere, but that was when I lived in Alexandria and could walk out of my condo to hit restaurants and bars—you know, civilization. I moved to the country for Red and Abbott but, I admit, I do love the privacy of BFE. I grew up here and it felt weird to be back after traveling the world.
But after tonight?
I’ve never needed privacy more. I took back roads out of the District and it’s taken an age to get back to nowhere land where cows outnumber humans and horse farms are the norm. After what went down tonight, there’s no way we can go back home right now.
Since my cell is in bits littering the construction-filled streets of the District, I’ve been on Bella’s—coordinating and planning. Before I had a chance to return Vega’s call from the coat room, he’d already sent his man Grady Cain to my house. He packed up Red, Abbott, and the new cat who hates me. Vega assured me they’re safe at his house where he and his family live on his wife’s vineyard. Abbott is back to sleep but Red is reported to be more irritable than ever about the turn of events.
I don’t have the luxury of worrying about him right now.
“How’re you doing, baby?”
After she got rid of whoever was after us, Bella climbed off my lap and reclined her seat. I could see she was hurting. Her body isn’t ready for what she just put it through.
“Lovely, though I could really use a bottle of whiskey to numb everything from my neck down.” Her words seep through a groan and she hasn’t taken her hand off her midsection.
“I can make that happen.”
She winces as I pull into Crew’s camp, which might be the most secure piece of property in all of Virginia outside of the beltway. I can’t lie, this will be awkward returning the Porsche even though Jarvis is the least of my problems right now. The fine piece of machinery was already creaking from what we put it through, but the gravel road makes it feel more like a tractor. The narrow drive through the trees finally clears and an old farmhouse appears, the one Crew uses as his headquarters for recruiting and training mercenaries. The house and drive are lit up and standing off to the side are Crew and Grady.
Jarvis stands front and center with Bella’s new personal shopper and BFF, Gracie, glued to his side. She’s gripping his forearm and her other hand is wrapped around his bicep. If I didn’t know better, and she wasn’t a slip of a woman, I’d think she might have some super power, holding back the Hulk in the latest installment of The Avengers.
I come to a stop in front of Jarvis—I’m sure it’s salt in the wound since I can hear him groan through the shot-out window. I kill the engine—hoping it will eventually start again—and climb out, ignoring the death glare the owner is surely sending my way as I walk around what was a pristine sports car a little over an hour ago. Bella’s door complains and it takes a little muscle to pry it open, metal on metal, like nails on a chalkboard. Bella moves slow and I’m worried she did damage to her not-yet-healed wounds.
“I’m fine,” she argues but doesn’t push me away when I help her stand and reach in the car to collect her jeweled purse, phone, wig, and the gun Crew supplied me w
ith earlier when none of this was on our radar.
I help her carefully walk barefoot across the gravel and we come to a stop in front of Jarvis. I put my arm around Bella and hold her to me, hopefully to remind him he’s standing here today because of her, so a fucked-up luxury car should be no big deal. Especially with the money he makes off the CIA and other countries under the table.
No one has said a word and Jarvis doesn’t take his eyes off the pile of rubble parked behind us. I reach into my pocket and his eyes snap to me in a toxic stare when I toss him the fob.
He stays silent. I decide to break the ice. “No sex was had in your car.”
Grady doesn’t even try to hide it, his white teeth blind us with a wolfish grin.
Jarvis does not find the situation humorous. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“It’s no big deal,” Gracie pipes in. Jarvis throws her an I love you, but what the fuck look. She ignores it and rubs his arm, trying to soothe her beast. “I’m sure we can get it fixed.”
Jarvis shakes his head and looks back to the Porsche and does not lie. “It’ll never be the same.”
“I’ll buy you a new one,” Bella announces from beside me and I’m about to argue, but she keeps talking. “Let me know how much and I’ll wire you the money. But I’m knackered and need to be up when the sun cracks.”
“We’ve got to dump it somewhere and Jarvis needs to report it stolen. We raced through every city street of DC. I’m sure someone caught the tag number. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten a call already,” I add.
Jarvis drags a hand down his face. “I’ll deal with the car and make the call.”
Crew tips his head to the farmhouse that makes mine look like the Taj Mahal. “You guys are staying here. Red and Abbott took our last two bedrooms at Whitetail. It used to seem like a big house when it was the two of us but now it’s full.”