Bulletproof SEAL

by Carol Ericson

  “I’m assuming the Agency knows about them?”

  “Of course, but the CIA thinks I’m dead. No reason to question my mom. I felt safe there.”

  “If Ariel knew about us, knew you were alive and knew I hadn’t gone through with the assassination, why didn’t she tell me about you?” Quinn clenched his hands on the wheel, his knuckles turning white.

  “She didn’t know if she could trust you, Quinn. I didn’t know if I could trust you.” She ran her fingers over the ridges of his knuckles. “Someone had been actively working against me, planting false evidence. I didn’t know how much of that you believed.”

  “I suppose I don’t have room to complain. I was stationed on that hillside, ready to take you out.” He rolled his shoulders. “I wish it had been someone else.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You’re happy a former lover had you in his crosshairs?”

  “If it had been anyone else, I’d be dead.”

  Chapter Nine

  When they reached the outskirts of Montgomery, Quinn eased off the gas pedal. “Keep an eye out for a gas station and a few fast-food joints.”

  Rikki jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “I saw a sign back there listing a bunch of places. Should be right off the highway, convenient for travelers.”

  “We’re making good time and should be in Savannah before eleven o’clock if we keep moving.”

  She eyed him up and down, and he felt the familiar ache under her gaze, even after five hours of driving, cramped in the same position. His attraction to Rikki knew no bounds.

  “Are you sure you don’t need to get out and walk around? We can wait for a rest stop.”

  “I’m used to hunching in the same position for long periods of time. Doesn’t bother me.”

  “I’m still taking the wheel. You can nap, if you like. Your phone’s GPS has gotten us this far, so I’m sure I’ll be okay.”

  “I can sleep anytime, anywhere, even standing up.”

  “Like a horse.” She rapped one knuckle on the window. “Two miles until services.”

  Two miles later, Quinn took an exit toward a clump of gas stations and restaurants. “Do you have a preference for food?”

  “Chicken.”

  “I think we’ll be able to find chicken in Georgia.” He made a hard right turn into a gas station. “Let’s fill up first. Bathroom?”

  “I’d rather wait and use the restroom in one of the restaurants. I don’t trust these gas station restrooms.”

  Quinn filled the tank while Rikki walked around the car with a squeegee, washing splattered bugs from the windows.

  “Ugh, these bugs in the south are supersize.”

  “That’s right. You’ve never spent much time down here, have you?”

  “Back in Dubai, you promised to show me around New Orleans sometime.” She dropped the squeegee in the soapy water and grabbed a couple of paper towels.

  “What do you mean? I showed you a good time on Bourbon Street and we had a helluva cemetery tour.”

  She bunched the paper towels into a ball and threw it at his head. “You’ve got a sick sense of humor, McBride.”

  The nozzle clicked, and he pulled it from the gas tank. “Let’s get you some chicken and get back on the road.”

  Rikki opted for a crispy chicken sandwich so she could eat and drive at the same time.

  Quinn lowered the back of his seat and stretched his legs as far as they would go. He grabbed a sweatshirt from the backseat and bunched it between his head and the window. “I’m gonna catch a few hours of shut-eye if you think you’ll be okay. You’re going to head toward Atlanta and then veer east.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m good at directions, especially when the nice computer lady spits them out.”

  “I trust you. You made it out of North Korea.” Quinn adjusted his seat again and closed his eyes. At least he trusted her to get them to Savannah in one piece, but he didn’t quite trust her to leave his heart in one piece.

  Rikki woke him up twice along the way to pull into a rest area to use the bathroom. After the second time, he stayed awake for their arrival into Savannah. He pointed out a small motel outside the historic district where Belinda Dawson had a house. “Looks like there’s a vacancy here.”

  “We should pay cash.”

  “Nobody’s tracking me. I’m on leave, and I can do what I damn well please.”

  “But you’re here under an assumed name, which you haven’t chosen, by the way. What if Belinda checks you out?”

  “You really think she’s going to ask us where we’re staying and call to confirm our names?”

  “Humor me.” She jerked her head toward her purse in the backseat. “I have enough cash in there to cover it.”

  “I’ll humor you, and I’ve got it.”

  If the motel clerk thought it was strange that they paid for two nights up front with cash, her bored face didn’t show it.

  When they got to the room, Quinn picked up a card on the desk. “Free Wi-Fi. Can you get on my laptop and re-create a CIA badge? That’ll make it easier when we ask someone to produce a badge for us.”

  “Did you hear from your friends yet?”

  He held up his phone. “Two suggestions from two different sources. It’s gonna mean a trip to one of the seedier areas of Savannah.”

  “That kind of stuff always does.”

  “Yeah, you should know, Ms. Thompson.”

  “I’m going to use a different name for this identity.” Her gaze tracked to the digital clock on the bedside table. “Not tonight?”

  “We’ll save it for tomorrow. Do you know if Belinda works?”

  “She did. I don’t know about now, since David’s death.”

  “Nine-to-five job?”

  “She’s in marketing, and I think she went into an office. So we should pay her a visit at the end of the workday.”

  “Exactly, but not too late. We don’t want to scare her by showing up on her doorstep in the dead of night.”

  “Poor woman has had enough to deal with. I almost feel guilty nosing around.”

  Quinn threw himself across the bed and toed off his shoes. “We’re just there to look around and assess. We’re not gonna accuse her husband of anything, but if we see anything that needs closer examination, I’m not gonna rule out making a return visit—while she’s not there.”

  “I agree.” Rikki yawned. “I’m tired.”

  He patted the bed. “Come on over here and I’ll give you a massage.”

  “I know how your massages end.” She put her hands on her curvy hips. “I said I was tired.”

  “I missed you, Rikki. I missed us, but I think I can control myself if you’re too tired for sex. Hell, I’m just happy holding you in my arms.” And as insincere as that sounded, he’d meant it. “Go brush your teeth and do whatever it is you do to get so beautiful and then I’ll deliver a no-strings-attached massage to your aching body.”

  “Sounds like heaven.”

  When she returned to the bedroom, an above-the-knee cotton nightgown floating around her body, Quinn turned off the TV and jumped from the bed. “Stretch out. I’ll brush my teeth and be right back.”

  While in the bathroom, Quinn washed his hands with warm water and plucked a little bottle of lotion from the counter. Squeezing the lotion into his hands, he walked back into the bedroom and winked at Rikki. “I was afraid you’d be sound asleep.”

  “Close to it, but I’m curious to witness this self-control of yours as I’ve never seen it.”

  “That’s cold.” He perched on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands together. “No massage oils, but I found some lotion.”

  “That’ll work.” She stretched like a cat, pointing her toes off the foot of the bed.

  “Um.” He tugged at the hem of her nightgown. “Do you want to
remove this?”

  She twisted around. “I knew it.”

  “Come on. Even massage therapists who are complete strangers have you disrobe for a massage.”

  As she pulled the nightgown over her head, she said in a muffled voice, “But they usually have a towel or sheet for the naughty bits.”

  “Do you really want me to cover you with a towel?”

  She tossed the nightgown over her shoulder, and he made a concerted effort to keep his gaze off her luscious breasts.

  “Nope. Have your way with me, McBride. You always do.” She lay back down on her stomach, her arms at her sides.

  He started with her shoulders, digging his thumbs into the sides of her neck.

  She let out a long breath of air between her teeth in a hiss. “That feels good.”

  “Did you forget about these magic fingers?”

  “I remember the magic fingers. I just don’t remember them plowing into the sore muscles of my neck.”

  “Shh. You talk too much.”

  She wasn’t kidding about those sore muscles. He worked at the tight knots at the base of her neck until they disappeared, and then he squeezed her shoulders and pressed the heels of his hands into her shoulder blades.

  Rikki’s breathing had deepened, and Quinn continued massaging the smooth flesh of her back. He expected another sarcastic comment from her when he reached her buttocks, but she moaned softly as he kneaded her glutes.

  Her new womanly shape enticed him as much as her fit, athletic build had, but he knew now his attraction to Rikki ran more than skin deep. He’d known it all along, from the moment he met her at that hotel bar in Dubai. He’d known it the minute he awakened in that same hotel all alone.

  His loss had punched him in the gut then and had nearly brought him to his knees months after that when he watched that North Korean guard shoot her.

  He’d had his next assignment to distract him after his second, more permanent loss of Rikki, but his leave had sent him spiraling out of control. How much longer he could’ve gone on like that if Rikki hadn’t shown up on his doorstep two nights ago, he hadn’t a clue.

  This time, as he faced his third abandonment by Rikki, he’d be ready. She’d survived. That was all that mattered to him.

  He caressed her outer thighs and whispered, “Do you want me to go on? I can do a mean foot massage that could put any pedicurist to shame.”

  Her only response was a long, drawn-out sigh.

  He stopped, his hands hovering above her legs. He slid off the bed and crouched beside it, his face close to Rikki’s, nose to nose.

  Her long lashes fluttered, and her lips parted on a minty breath.

  That was the first time he’d ever put Rikki Taylor to sleep...and it gave him a good feeling. He drew the sheet up to her shoulders and climbed into bed next to her.

  She shifted onto her side, facing him, and he stroked the side of her full breast.

  He murmured the words he’d never say to her out loud. “Love you.”

  She mumbled something, and Quinn’s heart skipped a beat. Had she heard him and responded in kind?

  “What?” He held his breath until he realized she was fast asleep.

  She spoke in her sleep again, and this time he heard the word and repeated it. “Bell?”

  Her mouth curved into a soft, sweet smile, and he kissed the tip of his finger and touched her bottom lip.

  He didn’t hear any bells, but he didn’t have to. He knew how he felt about Rikki...even if she wanted to keep denying her own feelings for him.

  And he’d do whatever it took to make her happy—with or without him.

  * * *

  THEY SPENT THE following day getting two credible CIA badges and a handful of matching business cards with Quinn’s temp cell phone number, shopping for some convincing clothes to wear and holing up in the air-conditioned motel room.

  Watching TV from the bed, Rikki crossed her legs at her ankles and tapped her bare feet together. “The small glimpses I’m getting of the city make me want to see more of it. The architecture is incredible, and I’m itching to tour some of those homes.”

  “We’ll put Savannah on your list the next time you come out to New Orleans and do a two-for-one. I’ll even throw in Nashville.”

  “I’ll take you up on it.” She drew her knees to her chest and wrapped one arm around her legs. “That was some massage last night. Totally relaxing.”

  “I aim to please.” He touched two fingers to his forehead.

  “I’m sorry I fell asleep. I mean...”

  “Proved you wrong, didn’t I?”

  “You did?”

  “You didn’t think I could give you a massage without jumping your bones.”

  She balanced her chin on her knees. “I didn’t mean to imply you were a caveman with no self-control. It’s that our relationship before...”

  “Was purely physical?” He shrugged. “Maybe for you.”

  Her eyes widened. “We didn’t have that much time in Dubai.”

  “It was enough time for me, Rikki. You don’t think I know what I want in a woman? What qualities are important to me?”

  The panicked look on her face stopped him cold.

  “You know what? We should start getting ready if we want to greet Belinda Dawson when she gets home from work. We don’t want to give her too much time to go out again.”

  “You’re right, although I dread putting on that suit.” She rolled from the bed and grabbed a jacket from the back of the chair.

  “You and me both.” He ripped the plastic from the cheap, off-the-rack suit he’d bought earlier that day. “Do you know you talk in your sleep?”

  “I do?” She froze and clutched the jacket to her chest, her pale face a shade lighter than the light beige of the suit. “What did I say?”

  “I honestly don’t remember.” He just knew it hadn’t been his name or any form of endearment for him. “Okay, I’m gonna put this thing on—if you think you can control yourself while I change.”

  She laughed a little too loudly. “That’s fair.”

  He dropped his shorts to the floor and pulled on the polyester slacks. “Are you nervous about this?”

  “David and I used to do stuff like this all the time. It’s a snap.”

  “I’m not David. Are you afraid I’m going to screw it up?”

  “You’ll be fine. You’re a quick learner.”

  Forty minutes later as Quinn drove his car, which had developed a rattle, down the gracious streets of Savannah’s historic district, Rikki poked him in the side.

  “You’re going to have to park this jalopy a few blocks away. There is no way David’s wife is going to believe the CIA is paying her an official visit in this little death trap.”

  Quinn ducked his head and peered at the palatial homes behind the live oaks dripping with Spanish moss. He whistled through his teeth. “Either David was making a lot more money than you at the Agency or he had a ton of life insurance. Did you say this was a new address for Belinda?”

  “Yeah.” Rikki rolled down the window and took a deep breath. “Smells lovely out here.”

  “Where did they live before?”

  “Not in this neighborhood. I looked up David’s old address and it wasn’t near here, so the widow purchased some new digs after her husband’s untimely death.”

  Glancing at the GPS, Quinn said, “Her house is up ahead on the right. I’m going to pull up alongside this park. Can you check the signs?”

  “Slow down.” Rikki stuck her head out the window. “It’s okay to park here.”

  Quinn pulled up to the curb and unfolded himself from the car. “Can you please grab my jacket from the back?”

  Rikki joined him on the sidewalk, jacket in hand. “Here you go.”

  They walked the two blocks to Belinda Dawson’s
house. Quinn’s hand swung at his side so close to Rikki’s, they kept brushing knuckles. He resisted the urge to grab her hand.

  What would they do after this dead end? What would Rikki do? Where else would she go to find answers? He wanted to send her back to Jamaica and continue the investigation on his own. He had sources at the CIA—better sources than the hapless Jeff. He might be able to track this down for her. It might even be a good idea for Rikki to turn herself in and cooperate with the investigation.

  He slid a glance at her firm jaw and long stride. No way. She wouldn’t go down that road, and he didn’t blame her. If the powers that be at the CIA thought they had their woman a year ago, what would change their mind this time? The fact that she’d spent time in a North Korean labor camp wouldn’t convince them.

  “There it is.” Rikki tugged on his sleeve. “And there’s a Lexus in the driveway, so she’s probably home.”

  “Home and livin’ large.”

  She drove a knuckle into his back. “You act like she’s happy her husband’s dead and would rather have the money.”

  “David Dawson was a snake. You should know that better than anyone. He wanted to cheat on his wife...with you. You don’t really believe that garbage he was spewing about how Belinda didn’t understand him. That’s the oldest line in the book.”

  “I know that.”

  “And if you were so quick to peg David as a traitor based on the flimsy evidence of a fictional character, deep down you knew David was a snake.”

  “All right, all right.” She put her finger to her lips as they approached the wrought iron gate ringing the house. “It’s time to keep your thoughts to yourself.”

  Quinn pushed down on the handle of the gate. “Whew, not locked. Ready, Agent Reid?”

  “Copy, Agent Miller.”

  Once on the broad porch, Quinn rang the doorbell, which resounded somewhere deep in the house. “I wouldn’t be surprised if a maid in a frilly apron answered the door.”

  “Or a butler.”

  A soft voice with a honeyed Southern accent floated out to the porch over an intercom. “Who is it? Press the white button, please.”