Flash of Fury

by Lea Griffith

  He stilled, as if gathering himself, and she felt more than saw the change in him. Death. It whispered in the space between them. She’d only seen one other person go that still—her father.

  “You’re a spook?” she asked and then clamped a hand over her mouth. She’d thought he was black ops, but maybe it was even worse.

  He cocked his head, the tension dissipating with that single action. “No. But I’d be curious to know why that was your first thought, Ms. Redding.”

  She just shook her head at him.

  He held up a hand. “My name is King McNally.”

  She tried not to let her jaw drop. It did anyway. “Your name is really King?”

  He rolled his eyes and then smiled. Butterflies took flight in her stomach. Craziness.

  “And?”

  His brows lowered, and the smile was gone before she’d had time to appreciate it properly. “What do you mean ‘and’?”

  “Why were you on the plane?”

  He sighed and she wanted to smile. “Looking for someone.”

  “And?”

  “They have information I need.” He dropped that bomb but didn’t say anything else.

  “You think I’m this person?”

  He gave her a curt nod.

  “You think I have information? Why would I have information for you? I hadn’t even laid eyes on you until about”—she glanced at her watch—“yep, two hours ago.”

  Anger flushed his cheeks. She knew it was anger because it tainted the air, malevolent and aimed right at her. “Don’t screw with me. You carry information back and forth for your handler.”

  Her bones froze. “My handler?”

  “What is up with repeating every word I say?”

  She couldn’t get past his “handler” comment. “I don’t have a handler. I don’t carry information. I’m not a courier. I volunteer for the Peace Corps. So whoever told you I carry information is dead wrong, Mr. McNally.”

  “I don’t believe you, Ms. Redding. I saw you on that plane—watched you head-butt a man out cold and just keep moving. You kept your cool. You’re trained.”

  “What you saw was luck. My daddy taught me a thing or two about taking care of myself. Besides, it got us off that plane. Now, I think it might be time for us to part ways,” she said as she stood.

  He was in her face in a flash. “You aren’t going anywhere until you tell me who you are and why the terrorists on that plane wanted you.”

  Fear trilled through Allie, as potent as the lust she’d experienced under his kiss. This man was hard, unrelenting. He was beyond her experience and, quite frankly, more than she’d ever wanted to handle. He had her lady parts and her brain at war.

  Amazing kisser notwithstanding, he had just been crossed off her list. Allie had no idea why Boko Haram was looking for her, and she wasn’t sticking around to find out. Frankly, it made her heart seize even to contemplate the reasons. As for her identity, this man was better off not knowing who she was. Ever.

  “Maybe whoever gave you the information that I was a courier talked to them too? It’s a small world in Spookville. Perhaps you should talk with your source,” she told him.

  “I’m not a damn spook,” he replied.

  “You know what? You don’t scare me. Lose the macho, mean routine, okay? Didn’t your mama ever teach you that you can catch more flies with honey?”

  “My mama died shortly after I entered the world.”

  His eyes widened, and she wondered if maybe he couldn’t believe he’d actually given her information.

  “Well, um…damn… That’s rough. God, I’m sorry—”

  King held up a hand to cut her off. “Appreciate it.”

  His tone indicated it wasn’t exactly an open wound. Allie nodded. “Just so you know, for the length of our acquaintance, I promise not to make any ‘yo mama’ jokes.”

  He made a sound halfway between a choke and a laugh. “I appreciate that too. Let’s get back on track, shall we? Who. Are. You?”

  “I’m quickly becoming real close with my feelings of frustration. Do you have that effect on a lot of people, Mr. McNally? I told you… I’m Allison Redding. Now, are we finished here?” At his silence, she tried to step around him. “Good. Excuse me.”

  He grabbed her arm but his touch, while limiting, was gentle and nonthreatening. His warmth seeped into her skin. It was…amazing. She closed her eyes and counted to ten.

  “I—” he began before a shrill ring sounded. He reached for his pocket, though he maintained his hold on her.

  Her skin burned where he touched it. She wanted him to let go. She might kiss him again, put him back on the list, if he kept touching her—and that was a big no-no.

  King raised the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

  His gaze went flat, and the heavily accented voice on the other end sounded pissed.

  “I’ve got her,” King said, and there was that whisper of death again. An interminable minute passed and then, “You want her, huh?”

  His gaze pinned her, hemming her into his world as surely as a chain-link fence with rolled barbed wire at the top. She wasn’t built for this. She just wanted to go home. Mani. Pedi. French fries.

  “I’ll kill you, Kadar, and let the buzzards pick the flesh from your bones. You make a play. You go ahead and come after her. She’s mine now. And I’ll be waiting.” King disconnected, removed the battery, and placed both back in his pocket.

  Long moments passed while he continued to hold her arm but said nothing. He simply stared at her, and she stared back.

  He knew. He knew the truth. There wasn’t a hint on his face, nothing in the way he held her arm in the loose circle of his fingers. The knowledge was intangible, but she recognized the certainty of it.

  “This changes things.” His voice was deep. Dark.

  She had to get away from him. If he’d been misled into thinking she was some sort of courier, she was on somebody’s radar, and that wasn’t good. Being with this man could possibly be worse than if Boko Haram had managed to steal her off the plane.

  Deny, deny, deny. Her father’s words rang in her ears before sinking like lead to the pit of her stomach. Nowhere is safe. Nobody is trustworthy.

  Even as she heard her father, she knew she was caught.

  “It changes nothing,” she replied in a whisper.

  “You should have told me.”

  She shook her head. “I’m a weight. Let me go. I can get myself out of Cameroon. Whatever you’re involved in, soldier, you don’t want any of what I’m bringing to the table.”

  He remained a rock in front of her. His face was as blank as his tone. “So just let you go it alone?”

  “I imagine if you like breathing, that’s probably your best bet.”

  He stepped closer to her, and her eyes nearly crossed at his heat. “Are you threatening me?”

  Her gaze lowered to his lips. French fries, french fries, french fries…lips. Damn. Back on the list. She licked her own suddenly, desperate for his taste. “No,” she said softly. “Not threatening. Making a statement though.”

  “I enjoy breathing, but I’ve never been one to let a lady in distress stay in distress. It’s your lucky day, princess. I’m gonna get you to your daddy,” he said softly as he traced the lip she’d just licked.

  “I’m not in distress,” she returned when his hand dropped. “And I don’t need to get to my daddy.”

  “You aren’t in distress yet. But I’m sure it’s coming. I hate to keep bringing this up, but I wasn’t the only one after your ass.”

  She cocked her head and refused to look away. “My ass can get itself home, Mr. McNally. I was doing fine before I met you, and I’m sure I’ll be fine once you’re gone.”

  His green eyes burned. “But that’s the beauty of this, don’t you see?”

  She sho
ok her head, sadly afraid that she most assuredly did not see.

  “I was looking for a courier, and I found you.”

  Confusion beat a swift path through her mind. “I’m not what you wanted.”

  He nodded. “See, now that couldn’t be further from the truth. Maybe not a courier, but something even better. You’re the director of the CIA’s daughter. And that makes you, Allie Redding née Broemig, the goddamn mother lode.”

  Chapter 4

  King rolled his shoulders, clenched his fists, and prayed the woman would remain silent. Since he’d told her that he knew who she was, she’d been dead quiet. He didn’t know if that pissed him off or made him deliriously happy. He did know that if she licked her bottom lip one more time, he was going in for another round with the delectable Allie Redding. And that made him nervous.

  She squeezed her eyes closed and then opened them, the blue of her irises bright in the falling darkness. “You think you know, but…”

  He cocked his head, listening for any noise that would tell him more than that the rain was keeping them company. His head pounding, he rubbed his neck. Fareed Kadar was coming. He was a high-level operative within Boko Haram, so his involvement meant nothing good was headed their way. The terrorist group had direct ties to Dresden’s organization, and King could feel the man’s intent bearing down on them. There were now multiple players in a brand-new game King hadn’t even realized he was playing.

  Endgame Ops, Boko Haram, Horace Dresden, and now the CIA. Someone had put Allie Redding in the mix. Did she have a direct link to Dresden or his right-hand man, Vasily Savidge? The possibility settled in King’s gut like a rock. He found himself hoping she didn’t before he shied away from the thought. He didn’t know her from Adam—didn’t know her history or her present agenda.

  So basically he could put all his hope in one hand and shit in the other because they’d probably be worth the same thing. This was such a clusterfuck. He’d been looking for an information carrier and was now stuck with the head of the CIA’s daughter. It was looking more and more like he was either responsible for getting her to safety or… Yeah, there was another way he could use her presence.

  He couldn’t muster up any enthusiasm. None. Normally, people with connections like hers could be used as a bargaining tool. Not this time. He rejected the prospect before it could germinate. The CIA couldn’t be trusted. They’d settled themselves into the middle of Endgame business and then proven unreliable on the Beirut op. There was a single CIA affiliate he could trust—Rook, or more specifically, Rook’s wife, Vivi. Rook and Vivi were supposed to be in the Ukraine working a lead on Dresden. He’d have to tap them for information later.

  King was looking for answers, a lead of his own, and not more problems. Sure as Hell was hot, Allie represented more problems. She sighed deeply, sounding all sorts of put out, which had a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

  What was that about anyway? King never smiled. There was nothing funny about his life—not one thing.

  “What are you carrying for your dad?” he asked into the silence. Maybe Director Broemig had a link to Savidge or Dresden. There was no way to know how high the treachery responsible for the death of King’s team members reached. The Piper had told him people in the White House could be involved, so it was a short leap to believe the CIA was as well. Allie’s dad was known for manipulating the entire world to suit his agendas.

  King was searching for any way possible to clear her of being associated with Dresden’s operations. When he noticed what he was doing, he frowned.

  She lowered herself to the floor, sitting with her chin on her knees, her gaze pensive and drilling into the wall behind King. “I’m not a courier. You’re insane if you think the leader of the largest, most efficient spy agency in the world would use his daughter to carry information.”

  Her lips twisted, and the action was mirrored in his gut.

  He let a mirthless laugh escape. “You must be basing that hypothesis off the supposition that spooks have a moral compass. I know from experience they don’t. They’ll give up their mother, their firstborn… Hell, they’ll shoot an innocent dog without blinking an eye if it gets them to their goal. Something I’ve learned the hard way, but learn it I have.”

  Her eyes widened, and for a split second, King wondered if she really was a simple Peace Corps volunteer, spreading do-gooder cheer all over the world. Then her gaze blanked, her lips flattened into a hard line, and she chuckled, the sound echoing in the room. Moments before, he’d strained to hear anything, but now the sound of her low laugh was strident.

  The rain had lulled. It always rained in this fucking country. He hated the rain.

  “I’m gonna kick my own ass for asking, but what’s so funny?”

  “You used the words hypothesis and supposition,” she said with another deprecating chuckle.

  “So?”

  “I thought those words might be above your pay grade.”

  With her words, the reality came sliding home again. Her father was the director of Spookville. She could be anyone and no one at all.

  King went to his haunches in front of her, his body coiled and ready to strike. Several long moments passed until finally she glanced up, meeting his gaze and even tipping her chin up defiantly.

  “You have no idea, Allie,” he murmured.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. I have no idea about what, King?”

  He smiled. “I’m sure there was an insult in there somewhere, but, darlin,’ there’s something you need to understand pretty damn quick… I am the pay grade. And now you’re stuck with me. Give me your satellite phone.”

  Her pupils widened and her breathing stopped. If she was a spook, she sucked at it. She might be able to hold her own, but subterfuge seemed beyond her. Oh, except that she’d managed to hide her identity from damn near everyone except the people who’d set Boko Haram terrorists on her ass.

  “I-I-I don’t—”

  He stood abruptly and stared down at her.

  She grimaced, rooted in the side pocket of her cargoes, and slapped the phone in his outstretched hand. He had to fight again to hide his smile at the hesitation pouring from her. He took the back cover off, pulled out the tracking device located in the bowels of the phone, and put the cover back in place.

  He handed the phone back, taking a quick look at her face. She stuffed it back where it came from. He shifted, dropped the tracking beacon, and stomped on it.

  “Let’s move,” he said.

  “Move? Move where?”

  He turned and stared down at her lifted face. The heart-shaped contours were silky smooth. The bruise coloring her right cheek made his abdomen clench. He’d felt the slope of her cheek, tasted the curves of her lips, and wanted to again. For some reason, that made the anger rise once more—virulent and stifling.

  This woman could take his much-touted control and demolish it. The cost of having to drag her along was one he didn’t want to pay.

  “This,” he said as he nudged the broken pieces of the tracker in her direction, “was a tracker embedded in your phone.”

  She looked up at him, confusion lowering her brows and darkening her gaze. She bit the inside of her lip, the rounded curve disappearing for a moment.

  King almost groaned. Instead, he shifted his body away from her while keeping his gaze locked on her upturned face. He took a deep breath as he fought the panic threatening to take him over. Having men and women under his command who knew the score and had been trained for evasive maneuvers was one thing; dealing with an innocent in a situation like this was another.

  Allie hadn’t even disabled the tracking beacon on the phone, which meant that whoever knew about her had been able to track her position with ease. Hell, she hadn’t even realized there was a beacon on the thing. She was definitely no spook.

  And he was now responsible for the beautiful woman wi
th the kick-me-in-the-nuts eyes.

  “What that means, princess, is that whoever gave you the phone has the ability to track your whereabouts.”

  Still, knowledge was slow to dawn.

  He sighed. “How the hell do you think Boko Haram found you?”

  She shrugged her delicate shoulders, which pressed her rounded breasts against the T-shirt he’d given her. The hardened tips mocked him. King cursed.

  “Goddamn it, Allie, if your father could track you, so could anyone else who has the ability to hack into a computer system. Don’t you realize that nothing—hell, nowhere—is truly safe anymore?”

  “You’re guessing with no facts. Nobody even knows I’m his daughter—” She clapped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes.

  He heard her words, but the sound of a vehicle pulling up the road in front of the house drew his attention from her to the outside.

  “Expecting company?” she asked.

  Her tone was hopeful, but the tremble at the end told King she realized they were being hunted now.

  “Not this fast. But then I verified you had a sat phone embedded with a tracker and, well, company arriving sooner than anticipated became pretty fuckin’ inevitable,” he said as he moved to the front room and looked out the window.

  A single shot broke through the small, foggy glass insert in the door, hitting the wall behind him with a solid thud. Glass cut his cheek, the sting small and inconsequential. “Get down!” he yelled.

  He pulled his Kimber pistol from his waistband and took aim. At least six men were pouring from the back of a Land Rover near the gate at the front of the house. Two more got out of the front. King aimed and fired off four shots, taking out the four lead men.

  One man dove behind the Rover but continued to pepper the house with shots. Another tracked to the back of the small house. King waited, patience his only claim to virtue, and was able to pick off one more before a muffled scream from the other room had him turning and diving through the doorway. He rolled and came to his feet, weapon trained on the area where Allie had been sitting.

  What met his eyes had his blood freezing.