Bulletproof SEAL

by Carol Ericson

  And he didn’t trust himself with a weapon right now—not in his condition.

  He fumbled in his back pocket for his cell phone and scrolled through his contacts. If he couldn’t get to the food, he’d make the food come to him.

  His thumb swept past Rinaldi’s Pizza and he backed up. Rikki’s name jumped out at him, grabbing him by the throat. As he hovered over her name, his finger shook, and it had nothing to do with the booze coursing through his veins.

  He’d kept her number on his phone and had even called it once or twice just to hear her low, sultry voice caress his ear. But the last time he’d tried to call it, the harsh tones of an automated operator told him the cell number was out of service, and he had no business trying to contact the woman he’d sent to her death.

  Dropping his chin to his chest, Quinn smacked the cell phone against his temple. If only he’d shown more restraint out there on the DMZ. He could’ve taken out both of the soldiers holding Rikki. She would’ve responded in an instant, would’ve been able to take appropriate evasive action.

  She’d been one of the best damned operatives in the field.

  The CIA and navy had clouded his judgment, had accused Rikki of being a double agent, had sent him there to take her out. If he hadn’t been so damned eager to please his superiors, he would’ve gone in with a backup plan.

  He always had something to prove.

  He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He needed to stop playing back the incident in his head over and over every day. Rikki was gone. The CIA was happy. The navy had sent him out on another assignment, which had allowed him to stuff everything away as he’d concentrated on the mission, and now that he was home on leave, he could erase it from his mind another way—the old-fashioned McBride way.

  He hunched over the kitchen counter, bringing the phone close to his face. Avoiding Rikki’s number, he placed a call to Rinaldi’s and ordered an extralarge pizza with everything on it.

  When he ended the call, he smacked the phone on the counter and yelled out to the empty apartment, “That calls for another beer.”

  His stomach rumbled again as he stared at the fridge, and suddenly the effort required to grab a bottle and twist off the top overwhelmed him. He went into the living room instead and crashed onto the sofa, grabbing the TV remote on his way down.

  He clicked through the channels, settling on a true crime show about some cold-case murder, and stuffed a throw pillow beneath his head.

  The doorbell startled him awake, and the remote fell from his fingers, which had been dangling off the sofa. He ran his tongue around his parched mouth and swept his wallet from the coffee table.

  He peered out the peephole at the pimply-faced kid on his doorstep and swung open the door.

  The delivery guy’s eyes popped open as he held out the pizza box. “Your pizza, sir.”

  God, he must look even worse than he felt. He handed the kid more money than he should’ve just to compensate for scaring the hell out of him.

  When he collapsed back down on the sofa, Quinn rewound the show, since he’d dozed off during most of it—dozing off being a polite term for passing out stinking drunk.

  Before digging into the pizza, he retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge and downed half of it before making it back to the sofa. Three slices later and no closer to figuring out whodunit, Quinn closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the sofa cushion.

  This time, the click of a gun near his temple woke him up.

  Other than blinking once, Quinn didn’t move one muscle. Then he spread his hands in front of him and said, “Take what you want, man. Wallet’s on the table. Anything you can carry out is yours.”

  The gunman behind him huffed out a breath and then purred in the low, husky voice that haunted his dreams, “You sure have gotten soft since trying to kill me, McBride.”

  Chapter Two

  Quinn jerked forward and cranked his head around. He choked as he stared at Rikki—but not Rikki—behind the Glock. She always did prefer a Glock.

  Her blue eyes had been replaced by a pair of dark brown ones, narrowed in rage. Long, straight strands of brown hair framed her face instead of the thick, wavy red locks that used to dance on her shoulders like tongues of flame, tickling his body when they made love.

  “Rikki?” He held out a trembling hand and then clenched it, cursing his drunken state. Maybe this was all an alcohol-infused hallucination. “Is it really you?”

  She stepped back, wrinkling her nose. “You smell like a brewery.”

  Then it hit him. Her presence two feet away sobered him up like a cold shower and a pot of coffee, and his blood hummed through his veins with elation. “How are you here? I—we thought you were dead.”

  She took another step back, her aim at his head never faltering. “Yeah, too bad for you the North Koreans wanted me more alive than dead. That shot the soldier took grazed me, nothing fatal, but at least it protected me from the bullet waiting up on that hill—a bullet from a deadly navy SEAL sniper.”

  “I wasn’t going to do it. Why do you think I took out the other soldier? I realized you hadn’t turned traitor the minute I saw you make a grab for your guard’s gun. I couldn’t get a clean shot at the soldier holding you, but I thought you might be able to take care of him yourself.”

  Her lashes dipped over her eyes once. Her mouth softened, and for a crazy minute he almost took that as a sign to kiss her. Yeah, if he wanted a bullet between the eyes.

  “That’s a good story. At what point during your prep for the assignment did you realize the CIA spy you were supposed to eliminate was your former lover?”

  “Not right away.”

  “But even if you had known immediately, you never would’ve turned down the mission, would you?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “I received an order. The CIA had proof.”

  His words, spoken aloud now to Rikki’s face, sounded tinny and paltry to his own ears. How would they sound to hers?

  She snorted. “And of course you would’ve had to reveal that you’d carried on a fling with a CIA operative while we were both on assignment in the Middle East.”

  “If I had doubted the evidence against you in any way, not only would I have owned up to our...affair, but I would’ve tried to convince them to call off the hit.”

  “Instead you charged right in like the good little soldier you are, all honor and duty.” Her dark gaze flickered to the half-empty pizza box and the two bottles of beer on their sides at the base of the coffee table.

  “All I needed to see was one shred of proof contradicting the CIA’s story—and you gave it to me when you charged that soldier. That’s why I shot the other one. I was trying to give you a chance.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t kill him because you were afraid I’d already passed along secrets to him?”

  “They were low-level grunts marching you along the DMZ. I didn’t figure that was the time and place you were going to spill intel. Besides—” Quinn kicked the pizza box out of the way and braced his foot on the edge of the coffee table “—if I’d wanted to take everyone out, including you, I would’ve started with you first and then dealt with the two soldiers.”

  She flipped back her dark hair with a shrug of her shoulder. “Maybe.”

  “I had you in my crosshairs, Rikki. Had you there for a while. I could’ve dropped you at any time. I couldn’t do it.”

  The corner of her eye twitched. “What does the CIA think? I know my name’s not cleared, so whatever you told them, it didn’t have much of an impact. Unless you told them nothing and took credit for eliminating a CIA spy.”

  He scratched his unshaven jaw. How did she know her name hadn’t been cleared? How did she get out of North Korea? “I told the CIA and my commanding officers in the navy exactly what happened. Told them their intel must’ve been wrong, that the North Korean
s had you as a captive.”

  “They didn’t believe you?”

  “They didn’t care. I also told them the North Korean soldier had shot you dead. Case closed.”

  “Except it’s not closed, is it? Here I am.”

  At least the gun had slipped a little from her grip. Even in his current muddled state, he probably could disarm her. Then again, nobody ever benefited from mistaking Rikki Taylor for an easy target.

  “How’d you get out of North Korea? How’d you get here? Where have you been the past—” he counted on his fingers “—sixteen months? And can you get that gun out of my face?”

  “If I do, will you take me down? Call the CIA and turn me in?”

  He rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do I look like I’m in any condition to do that?”

  She cocked her head. “You do look pretty bad, but I’m not stupid enough to underestimate a navy SEAL sniper—even one I shared a bed with. Or maybe that should be especially one I shared my bed with.”

  “Ouch.” He held his hands in front of him, wrists pinned together. “You can tie me up or cuff me if you want.”

  A light sparked in her eyes, and her nostrils flared, the heat between them still palpable.

  Desire and need surged through his body, making him hard.

  “Drop your pants.” She waved the gun.

  He swallowed. He’d been kidding, but he should’ve known better than to kid with Rikki—not in her current frame of mind. “You’re serious?”

  “Damn right. I can’t check you for weapons, but at least if you’re naked I can make sure you’re unarmed.”

  “Rikki...”

  “The last time we were together, if you want to call it that, you had me in the crosshairs of your sniper rifle ready to take me out.” She steadied her Glock. “What’s changed since then except I had the good fortune to escape from the labor camp?”

  A knot twisted in his gut. He knew those North Korean labor camps, and the thought of Rikki confined to one of them made him sick.

  “Drop ’em.”

  “Okay, okay.” He pushed himself to his feet, feeling completely sober. He unbuttoned the fly on his shorts and yanked them down. The flip-flops he’d been wearing earlier were wedged beneath the coffee table, so the shorts dropped to his bare feet.

  “Kick them off and stand away from the sofa where I can see you.”

  He rolled his eyes but complied, stepping out of his shorts and kicking them across the room. He could get into a tussle with her right now, but she did have the upper hand.

  He stepped away from the sofa and the table and held his arms out to the side. “Nothing on me.”

  Except the raging erection she could clearly see bulging in his black briefs.

  Rikki’s gaze dropped from his face to his crotch, and her cheeks flushed. “Now the T-shirt.”

  Patting his chest, he said, “Do you really believe I have a holster on underneath this shirt? A knife strapped to my back?”

  “I’m not taking any chances. Off.”

  He grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and peeled it off his body. He dropped it to the floor. “Happy?”

  “Turn around.”

  Turning around for her inspection only made him harder. Maybe that would be enough to prove to Rikki that he was on her side—would always be on her side.

  When he faced her again, he shoved his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs. “You want the rest off?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She reached behind her back and pulled out a pair of open handcuffs, dangling them from her fingers.

  Quinn’s mouth dropped open. “No way.”

  “I know you. I know who you are and what you’re capable of. I’ve come this far, and I’m not taking any chances.” She jingled the cuffs. “If you want any more information out of me, hold out your arm—your right arm.”

  He stretched his arm in front of him. Two more inches and he could touch her soft cheek, tell her everything he’d thought about this past year.

  She snapped the cuff around his wrist and yanked on it, the metal cutting into his flesh. “Over here, by the radiator.”

  He would’ve preferred the bedroom, but he followed in her wake as she pulled him toward the window.

  “Sit down and link the other cuff around this pipe.”

  He slid to the floor and hooked himself up to the pipe on the radiator. He crouched on his haunches.

  Rikki let out a long sigh and placed her weapon on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. She dragged a stool from the kitchen and straddled it. “That’s better.”

  “Rikki, I’d never hurt you.”

  “You were singing a different tune sixteen months ago.”

  “I explained all that to you. Now that I’m—” he rattled his cuffs against the pipe “—contained, are you going to tell me what happened? What were you doing in North Korea?”

  “You mind if I have a beer? Scratch the request. What are you going to do about it?” She hopped off the stool, and he watched the sway of her hips in those tight jeans as she walked around the counter into the kitchen.

  Before Rikki sat back down, she tipped the neck of the beer bottle at him. “You keep drinking like you were tonight, and you’re gonna trade one six-pack for another...and wind up just like your old man.”

  He clenched his stomach muscles. She’d been checking him out despite all the tough talk. “North Korea?”

  “My partner, David Dawson, got intel that Vlad was meeting with the North Koreans.”

  Quinn raised his eyebrows. “Vlad?”

  “I knew that would get your attention.” She took a sip of beer. “David had a way into the country across the DMZ and tagged me to go with him.”

  “Under the radar of the CIA. They didn’t know why you were there.”

  “David didn’t trust anyone, and it turns out he was right.” Rikki sniffled and wiped the hand holding the beer bottle across her nose.

  “The CIA didn’t kill David. They thought you had a hand in his death.”

  “I know, but they were wrong. The North Koreans killed David and captured me. I had already been their...guest for several days before you spotted me marching along.”

  “They killed David and were sending you to a labor camp.” Quinn bumped his manacled hands against his forehead. “If I had been faster, had taken out the soldier holding you first, you might’ve had a chance.”

  “I had no chance, not there. I figured I was a dead woman when I went for the soldier’s gun anyway. The area was crawling with North Koreans. You saw that after you took your shot.” She dragged her fingernail down the bottle’s damp label, ripping a line through it. “I-I thought the person out there was trying to save me and I didn’t even know it was you—not until later. And then I found out it was you and you were trying to assassinate me.”

  He clanged the bracelets against the radiator. “Not when I killed that soldier. I’d changed my mind already. I was trying to help you, Rikki, but I failed, and I’ve been punishing myself ever since.”

  Her gaze swept over his unkempt apartment, his tousled hair, the stubble on his face. “Maybe the navy punished you for failing in your duty, for failing to take out the rogue CIA operative.”

  “They didn’t. They figured you were dead and one way or the other, I was the cause of your death.” Closing his eyes, he lowered his backside to the floor and drew his knees to his chest. “I’d figured the same thing.”

  “That’s why neither the CIA nor the navy can know I’m still alive.” She pinged her fingernail against the bottle. “Not until I can sort all of this out.”

  “How did you escape from the labor camp?”

  “The kindness of strangers.”

  “The kindness of strangers and a will to survive. I know you, too, Rikki.”

 
“I had a lot to live for.”

  “Because you got information on Vlad?”

  “Yeah, Vlad.” Her eyelashes fluttered. “And now I’m going to bring him down and clear my name.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  She chugged some beer, eyeing him over the bottle. “How do I know I can trust you? How do I know you’re not going to run back to your commanding officers and tell them I’m still alive?”

  Quinn lifted his hands. “Do you really think I couldn’t get out of these if I wanted?”

  She sputtered and slammed her bottle on the counter. “Try it.”

  “I don’t want to.” He hunched his shoulders. “That’s the point. I want you to feel secure. I’m no threat to you, Rikki. I wanna help you.”

  Someone banged on the front door, and Rikki jumped from the stool, grabbing her weapon. “Who’d you call?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Quinn? Quinn, buddy? You alive in there?”

  Rikki took three steps toward the radiator, raising her brows and her gun in his direction.

  Quinn whispered, “It’s just a friend, an acquaintance from the bar.”

  Leaning over him, Rikki pushed open the window. As she clambered onto the sill above him, she said over her shoulder, “Get rid of him.”

  “You’re crazy.” Quinn tried to grab her ankle with his manacled hand, but she slipped out the window and onto the ledge outside the building.

  “Quinn? I know you’re in there, buddy. You left your hat at the bar.”

  A knock followed his words, and a woman’s voice came through the door. “C’mon, sugar. Open up, and we can continue the party.”

  His hat. Damn it. He didn’t care about the hat.

  Alice’s singsong voice continued. “Little pig, little pig, let me in, or I’ll huff and puff and blow.”

  The doorknob rattled, and Quinn’s stomach sank when the door started to ease open. He’d forgotten to lock it. He rose from the floor and stuck his head out the window. “Rikki. Give me those keys.”