His Devil's Desire (Club Devil's Cove Book 1)

by Linzi Basset

  Samantha didn’t respond; not with the security system armed.

  “Okay, you’re good to go. I’ll let you know if anything changes on this side. Until then, radio silence. Just in case.”

  “Got it.”

  It took thirty minutes to go through the filing cabinet. She scanned various files that appeared to be dodgy but so far, she hadn’t found anything on Lauren or Beckie.

  Finally, she came back to the locked drawer. She took out the small pouch in her back pocket and used the sharp cutting knives to pry open the lock.

  She breathed in slowly. It contained files on the previous NCS Director, Wilfred Dafoe and a woman. All the information in there pointed to how Dafoe had been set up with a false trail of corruption. She began to tremble. Everything had been a lie, she realized when she found photos of Adam and the woman in loving embraces and what were obviously engagement photos.

  She’d cuckolded Adam and he used me to get rid of Dafoe.

  He’d been using her for a long time and she’d been too ignorant to realize it.

  Oh god! How many other innocent people did he make me . . .

  She choked on the thought and slammed the drawer shut. She sat on her knees for minutes, incapable of moving.

  You motherfucker; I’m going to make sure you never use anyone again. Your time is up, Adam Baxter.

  “A safe. He must have a safe somewhere. Can your system detect it?” She asked Richard, who had the most sophisticated technology on hand.

  “Yeah, I coded a specialized program into the scanner I gave you. Hold it in front of you and move it from one side of the wall to the other. Slower, keep going. Nope, nothing on that wall.”

  Samantha kept going and was disappointed when they didn’t find a safe.

  “I’m going to check his bedroom. He might have it there.”

  She found it inside the life-size sculpture of a naked couple that stood in the entrance of the bedroom which was the size of a modest apartment, in her estimation. With Richard’s help, she managed to open the electronic lock.

  “Bingo,” she said with excitement in her voice. There were two thick files in the safe; one for Lauren and one for Beckie. She didn’t bother to scan the contents or read through it. She just stuffed both files into her backpack. A stainless-steel box was sitting at the bottom of the safe. It contained two square devices with a series of flickering lights.

  These have to be the detonators.

  “I found it Richard. Do you see them?” She moved the scanner over them and sent him a photo from her phone.

  “Hm, those things are tricky, Samantha. I won’t be able to work on them remotely. We might just detonate them by mistake.”

  She didn’t think twice. She took the box and locked the safe. Within minutes she was back in the truck. Her throat closed up and she couldn’t breathe. She sat panting for breath with her arms locked around her waist. It was hard to believe that she’d been successful; she hoped at least. If they weren’t the detonators and Adam realized someone had been in his safe, she might’ve just signed her sister and Beckie’s death warrants.

  “I’ll have to take this to Rhone.”

  She tapped the microphone. “How do you feel about a short trip?”

  Silence met her question. Since his return from Iraq, Richard had become a hermit. He thrived on developing technology but he didn’t move around much.

  “I need your help, Richard. Please. I know you and Max Shaw would be able to figure those things out.”

  “Max Shaw. Is he any relation to Quinlan Shaw?”

  “Yes, his cousin.”

  “Then yes. I’ve always appreciated their skills and expertise. I’d love to share notes with them.”

  “Thank you, Richard. I know this isn’t easy for you.”

  “For you, love, I’d killa da bull,” he said in a poor Spanish accent.

  Her tinkling laughter sounded carefree but she couldn’t relax. Not yet. Not until she knew if Rhone still trusted her . . . and her love.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Her real name is Sandra Francis. It took some digging, but I found it. Everything she told Bracus is true. Her entire family was brutally murdered in a robbery. Five graves, including Lauren Francis’, still exist in a graveyard in Winslow, Alabama. Her love for woodwork came from her father. He was a master of the craft. The farm was sold to Arthur Black. Now this is where it gets interesting. It’s . . .”

  Max stopped talking when the door of the boardroom at Precision Secure opened. Seven pairs of eyes swung in that direction. Ethan and Ruark had joined them for the meeting.

  “Well, slap me with a wet fish,” Jack muttered as they watched the woman under discussion enter the room, pushing a wide shouldered and muscled, black man in a wheelchair ahead of her.

  “I hope we’re not interrupting,” she said. Her eyes zoomed in on Rhone who hadn’t moved and sat watching her with a brooding expression.

  “Ehm . . .” she cleared her throat when no one responded. “This is Richard Almer, a friend of mine.” She quickly made the introductions before she sat down. Her gaze was drawn like a magnet to the large man at the head of the table, whose gaze hadn’t left her the entire time.

  “Are you okay, Rhone?”

  There was a somberness about him that unnerved her. She devoured him with her eyes, relieved that he was there, even though he was looking at her with an enigmatic expression on his face. The cords of his neck and straining shoulder seams of his shirt were a proof of the tension in his body.

  His gaze moved to Richard. He perused him with narrowed eyes. The easy camaraderie between Samantha and him was evident. He was all muscle and had a biracial look; dark mocha skin but with African features.

  Rhone didn’t like the way he looked at Samantha; almost like he cherished her.

  “Who are you?” The repressed violence in his voice drew his friends’ glances.

  “I dabble in IT.” Richard responded with a secret smile. He wasn’t blind to Rhone’s reaction to his hand on Samantha’s knee. It was intended as a quick gesture of support because he could sense her insecurity and fear, but watching the growing heat in the formidable man’s eyes, he left his hand there.

  “How do you know each other?”

  “Rhone—”

  “Quiet, Samantha,” he barked without looking at her.

  “We served in Iraq at the same time.”

  “Iraq? Hell, girl, you’ve been around, haven’t you?” Jack exclaimed, staring at her with renewed respect.

  “It wasn’t by choice.”

  “Yeah, she served in two combat tours in 2008 and again in 2009,” Max confirmed after a brief glance at his iPad.

  Samantha looked at Rhone. “You had me investigated?”

  He ignored her. “And you’ve been friends ever since?” he asked Richard.

  Richard had a hard time keeping his amusement at bay. Something, he was sure, Rhone wouldn’t appreciate. He might deny it all he wanted but his reaction was that of a jealous man with a mean possessive streak. Instead, Richard just shrugged.

  “Yeah. I owe her my life. I would kill for her if she asked me to. I’ll always look out for her, in whatever capacity.”

  “Also true. She got a Purple Star for saving him during an ambush. Everyone ran but she saw him go down and went back to drag him back to safety,” Max piped in again.

  “We were holed up in a ditch for seven hours while the bombing ensued around us. I still don’t know how she managed to bring us back alive.”

  Richard looked at Samantha, who had a glassy look on her face; the visions of the harrowing time replaying in her mind. The war had torn people apart and turned others into monsters.

  “What people don’t realize is that wars are fought every day in every place imaginable,” she said in a hoarse whisper, almost in a soliloquy.

  Richard brushed back her hair in a tender gesture to soothe her. One, that didn’t escape Rhone’s sharp gaze.

  Rhone wanted to rip his arms
off.

  “Are you fucking her?” The question fell from Rhone’s lips without preamble.

  “For heaven's sake, Rhone!” Samantha barked.

  “That, Mr. Greer, is none of your business,” Richard replied in a mild tone, his black eyes daring Rhone to push it.

  A silent war ensued across the space that separated them. Samantha stared aghast between them.

  “I don’t believe this,” she said under her breath and then louder, “Enough of this. You now know who and what Richard is, but that’s not why we’re here.”

  “So, do tell us, Samantha. Why did you decide to finally grace us with your presence?” Rhone snapped. His tone was acerbic.

  “She broke into Bulldog’s house last night,” Richard offered when she didn’t respond, but glared at Rhone instead.

  “She did what?” Rhone sat up. “You broke into his house? Are you fucking daft? What the hell were you thinking? Goddammit, Samantha, don’t you have any common sense at all?” he continued to rage at her.

  “Rhone, he wasn’t—”

  “Yes, and she did a fantastic job too. Don’t worry, though. He wasn’t home and I kept a good watch on her.”

  Richard was enjoying poking Rhone for some reason, which elicited many chuckles around the table.

  “A good watch? From where? She could’ve been killed!” Rhone ripped into Richard.

  “Rhone that was uncalled—”

  “I have more than enough sense to act in time and I would’ve warned her to get out well—”

  “Would the two of you stop talking around me? I am more than capable of talking for myself. Is that clear? Both of you?” Samantha had had enough and jumped up. She pressed her fists on the table and glared between the two. “And for your information, Mr. Greer, I’m not a porcelain doll. I don’t need your permission to take decisions in my life.”

  “I beg to differ.” He leaned back in the chair and pleated his fingers over his flat stomach. “I have a signed contract—”

  “Don’t you dare throw that damn agreement into my face, Rhone Greer.”

  “Ahem,” Ruark cleared his throat. The amusement was evident on all their faces. “As entertaining as this exchange might be, I suggest we concentrate on what’s important at the moment.”

  Rhone grunted but didn’t speak, except to slant a nasty glance at Richard.

  “As I was saying, when our guests arrived, Arthur Black bought the farm, but it was later registered to a trust called Silver Star. A coincidence?”

  Samantha went pale. “He bought the farm? Why would he do that?” She asked no one in particular.

  “I assume you’re talking about Bulldog?” Keon asked.

  “Yes. Silver Star is the sniper team’s code name. He must’ve done it to leave me with nothing. He knew I didn’t want to stay there. He took every meaningful thing from me. I was too vulnerable and in mourning to think straight, back then. He manipulated me into accepting his offer to join the NCS.”

  “Why did you break into his house, Samantha?” Rhone asked quietly. He’d managed to bring his anger and resentment toward Richard under control.

  Richard handed the cardboard box he had on his lap to her. She removed the two folders and pushed them across the table.

  “I went to look for a way to free Lauren and Beckie. I found this. It has the detailed information on them. For both Lauren and Beckie. It seems he gave Beckie into Lauren’s care immediately after the shooting. There’s even legal documentation appointing her as her guardian, if that’s any consolation.”

  Keon slumped in his chair as he paged through Beckie’s file, which contained photos; learning and seeing how she’d grown up from the five-year-old to the eleven-year-old young girl. Samantha wondered if he realized there were tears running down his ruddy cheeks.

  He traced a picture with the tips of his fingers, his voice barely audible, “We have to bring them home. I want my daughter back.”

  “I might have found a way.”

  Keon sat up. “Talk,” he ordered brusquely.

  She removed the silver box and opened it reverently. Gasps followed as soon as the contents became visible.

  “Is that—?” Keon forced the words past the lump in his throat.

  “We think it is, but Richard says the technology used is encrypted and too advanced to decipher using what he has at his disposal. It’s been developed by the CIA.”

  “And that’s why he’s here? To use our system?” Rhone queried. “We don’t need him. Max and Quinlan are more than capable of—”

  “He can help. Please, Rhone,” Samantha interjected evenly.

  Rhone stared at her awhile then sighed inwardly.

  “Very well.”

  “Why don’t we just go and fetch them? We have the detonators. Why bother deactivating them?” Jack asked the obvious question.

  “Because we haven’t been able to figure out how it works. It doesn’t have an on/off switch. It requires a sequence of numbers and if we get that wrong . . . There are two empty slots in that box which means Bulldog or one of his cohorts has them,” Richard commented. “Samantha says you are monitoring the house via a satellite. Have you been able to establish if there are any other signals honed into the same coordinates?”

  “There is, but there’s a bounce back locked onto it. We’ve been unable to pinpoint where it originates from.” Max tapped on his laptop. “It also seems to shift around often.”

  “I might have a way to get past this lock—if I have access to a satellite link. It might tell us where they’re operating from and we might be able to break the link to give us enough time to remove the bracelets.” Richard sounded excited and eager to get to work.

  “Do you know who Bulldog is?” Lance asked. He’d been watching them silently.

  Richard shifted uncomfortably, aware of Rhone’s close scrutiny.

  “Shall we begin the search?” He avoided the question by addressing Max.

  “Of course. Let’s get cracking.” Max ambled toward the door and held it ajar for Richard to maneuver the wheelchair through the opening.

  “You told him, but you refuse to tell me?” This time there was no hiding the chilled fury in Rhone’s voice.

  “Rhone, he . . . no! Put me down. I said, put me down, you big bully,” Samantha demanded but he ignored her and strode toward his office with her over his shoulder.

  Crack! Crack!

  Two hard slaps on her thighs stopped her from kicking at him. She panted and clung to his shirt, feeling like a sack of potatoes for all the care he took in carting her to his office.

  Her legs went flying in a drop kick the moment he put her down. She missed the mark by inches. Samantha began fighting in earnest, suddenly wary of his cold anger.

  She soon realized that she was no match for him and that he was obviously indulging her. Blocking and weaving around her punches and kicks with ease. She might be trained in Krav Maga but he was clearly a master at it.

  “Very impressive, my pet, but I should warn you, the longer you continue, the harsher your . . . attitude adjustment is going to be.”

  She stopped fighting and watched him with her hands on her hips. Her chest heaved up and down with exertion.

  “Attitude adjustment? I haven’t done—”

  “Strip,” he ordered gruffly.

  Samantha was stunned by the excitement and fear combined, she felt at his order.

  “Let’s just talk about this, Rhone. You can’t punish me for telling Richard something years ago.”

  He folded his arms over his chest. She drooled at the way he rocked back on the balls of his feet. Like a predator, preparing to jump its prey. It caused the muscles in his arms and chest to ripple and bulge. It made her mouth water. Just the thought of feeling his hard strength pressed between her legs sent a shiver down her spine.

  “You think that’s what this is about? You don’t know me very well, my pet. Now, I’m not going to repeat this again. Strip.”

  “Rhone—”

&n
bsp; He was on her so fast; she didn’t even have time to protest before he tore the white t-shirt from her body. She was still watching the strips of material flutter to the floor when her bra followed the same path.

  “Stop! You can’t . . . no, Rhone! You can’t tear . . . noo! You asshole!” she shrieked when he locked his hands on her cargo pants and with one hard yank, ripped them down the seam. He slapped her hands away and continued to tear at them until they lay in tatters around her.

  The next moment, he lifted her and sat down on the sofa. He turned her and put her face down over his lap. She began to struggle in earnest when he ripped her panties off too.

  “Now, none of that,” he growled and pulled her arms behind her back, clasping both wrists with his big hand. He repositioned her, so she was balanced precariously over his thighs.

  “Rhone, you can’t punish me when you’re angry,” she tried pacifying him.

  “What makes you think I’m angry?”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder with a look that clearly conveyed her skepticism.

  “No, don’t bother trying to talk your way out of this.”

  There was no warning, just the searing burn of the first painful slaps on her cheeks.

  Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

  “Ooooow! Rhone, that hurts!” she shrieked; her ass burning already. He was just getting started!

  “It’s supposed to hurt. I’d be highly annoyed if all my effort was for nothing.”

  Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

  He continued and settled into an easy rhythm slapping first one cheek, then the other and finally in the middle, clearly enjoying this on some level. Her cries had no effect on him whatsoever and when she began cursing, he moved his focus to her thighs.

  Her ass was on fire; her thighs even worse. It felt like lava was being poured over her backside and still he didn’t stop. He covered every inch of her tender behind with hard and quick whacks.

  Rhone watched the rosy hue of her skin turn darker and then red. All he saw was the danger she’d put herself in and remembered the angst he’d been put through since she’d disappeared.