A memory punched through the Reid Keep Out shield she kept firmly in place in her mind at all times. His stomach. Rippled and lean. It was a work of art, and she’d spent a lot of time running her fingers and tongue over it.
Stupid adrenaline.
She tried to swallow but apparently had forgotten how. “Okay, yes. That’s a fair way of putting it.”
“It fucking raged between us.”
Those shoulders. That tight ass. She’d almost instituted a no-clothing rule when they were together because of the way he looked. Not pretty. Strong and lethal. His body bore the scars of his work. Something about all those marks reminded her of a warrior.
Primal feelings bubbled to the surface. She blamed adrenaline for that, too. “I’m not disagreeing with you. The attraction ran both ways.”
The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Still does.”
Much more of this and that bulge would become a huge distraction. “Because we’re back in a high tension situation. See? You’re proving my point.”
He exhaled as he dropped his head. His hair ticked against her nose. She wanted to push it away from his forehead but didn’t dare. There was enough touching going on without either of them using their hands.
“You know what I did on my last job before taking this supposed vacation?” He lifted his head again and pierced her with an intense stare. “Performed a quick in and out. Extracted a diplomat being held in Yemen. The region became unstable and he was in the exact wrong place at the exact wrong time and got caught. Some rebels wanted to use him to extort cash before killing him.”
She had no idea what that had to do with anything, but since the turn in the conversation might get them out of here without ripping each other’s clothes off, she grabbed onto it. “And?”
“I didn’t have sex with him.” A stark silence followed his words. “That’s your theory, right? The adrenaline pumps through me on a job and I release it by having sex. Then I propose to the person standing closest to me. In this case, that person would have been this guy. A thirty-year-old nerd who was so scared he wet himself. That guy.”
“You’re being a jerk.” He also had a point, but she refused to admit that out loud.
“I was summing up your argument.” He sent her a level stare. “I can’t control myself when the postrescue fever has me in its grip.”
“Be honest. How many other times have you had a ‘thing’ with someone you rescued?” She almost winced as she asked. The answer might kill her, but maybe it would finally drive home what her brain kept telling her—they were not meant to be.
“Never.”
That . . . Yeah, her stupid all-knowing brain had no response to that. “Oh.”
“Kind of kills your hypothesis, doesn’t it?”
Blew it into a billion pieces. She had no idea how to process that. “Are you using what you think are science terms as a way of winning the argument?”
“Am I winning?”
The back and forth. The burst of energy that sparked when they sparred like this. She experienced it all with him. Never with anyone else. She’d dated before him, had good sex, enjoyed dates. But this, the pulsing as if the air came alive when he walked into a room, she’d never had that before or since.
Laughter raced up inside of her. She let it out, let it wash away the tension that had been ratcheting up and spinning around between them. “You haven’t changed at all.”
“Neither has how much I want you, even though you did dump me.” He pushed up. Lifted his body a little more. Just enough to look down at her. “Guess that shows what a dumbass I am.”
This was the wrong time and sent all the wrong signals, but she couldn’t help it. In that moment, the idea of him getting up shredded her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and brought his body back against hers. “Stop talking.”
He didn’t pull away or continue arguing her to death. He leaned down, all muscle and mouth, and kissed her. Not sweet and not testing. He really kissed her. Lips crossing over hers again and again, with the kiss deepening with each pass. His tongue licked against hers and a sigh raced up her throat.
His fingers slipped into her hair as he held her still for more. He kissed her until a familiar hunger burned through her and her fingernails dug into his back. Energy whipped around her. She’d been sucked in and now she didn’t want out.
As if he heard her thoughts, he broke the kiss. Lifted his head and stared down at her. All emotion gone from his face. “We need to get to the cabin.”
The words hit her with an icy splash. Her body dropped back against the ground and her hands slid off his warm body. “That’s your response to the kiss?”
He winked. “Did you think I’d propose again?”
Something about the combination of his amused expression and his questioning voice made her want to smile. She bit it back. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he won that round. “I should punch you for that.”
“You absolutely should.” This time he pushed all the way up. Leaping to his feet in one swift move and taking her with him. Once her feet hit the ground, his hands dropped from her sides. “And if you didn’t need me right now, you probably would.”
“Let’s go,” she said, repeating his earlier words back to him before she said or did something she’d regret.
“Fine with me.” He reached down to grab their bags.
“And keep your lips to yourself.” Sure, she’d started it, but—damn—the man could kiss. He threw his whole body into it. Concentrated and emotionally overpowered her until her breath hiccupped in her lungs. It was almost unfair how good he was at it.
“Agreed.” He held her backpack out to her. Wore a far too knowing grin. “For now.”
12
NIKO MURIN did not get to his position in life by playing scared. He certainly didn’t earn it by letting women like Tasha best him.
Descended from a long line of men who stood up to threats, he felt the weight of responsibility to carry that torch. He’d built his pharmaceutical company and sold it for billions before all the public whining about drug prices could lower his bottom line. Now he spent his days running the charitable foundation and continued to collect the tens of millions owed to him each year from the new business owners under a contract that guaranteed him more money than most countries would ever raise.
The charity funded a wealth of worthy causes, but privately he focused on one goal—to drive the current leadership out of Russia and replace it with men with vision. Men who understood being an international threat only worked if a man wasn’t also an international joke. Niko had spent millions under the table while maintaining an outwardly supportive role.
Tasha once threatened to expose him, but she’d been neutralized when he gave her the intel she needed on another matter. At some point, though, he would need to remove her completely from the picture, but not yet.
His choices and reputation, not to mention his money, allowed him to move freely in and out of Russia as he built his network to further his cause. Getting a documentary crew into the Urals proved easy enough. The plan had been simple. He would ride in and explain a years-old mystery. Be the hero. Get press attention while he undermined the government’s stability behind the scenes.
That would be his legacy. Rebuilding a strong Russia, economically sound and militarily unbeatable. Restoring its stature in the world. Ridding the leadership of the incompetency and corruption that allowed other countries to gain power over it. His ancestors deserved nothing less.
No one questioned his motives there. No one dared.
Then Tasha walked into his office. Her words breezed past annoyance. She raised issues, talked about things she shouldn’t know. He’d sent his people into the Urals. They had the training for the documentary, yes, but some of them had other work to complete. And he’d lost contact. The fact that Tasha knew suggested she had people on his team. She admitted as much. That, he could not tolerate.
After a knock, Mickey Stoltz walk
ed into Niko’s private office. Being the foundation’s head of security afforded him certain rights others did not have. Chief among those being the kind of direct access Niko didn’t grant to many people.
Mickey also possessed special skills Niko appreciated. Having been a young officer in the Stasi—the East German secret police—when the Berlin Wall fell, Mickey excelled at information gathering and infiltration. In his twenties he had proven to be a dangerous and determined man. Now, in his fifties, still in good shape with all his old contacts in place, he led a life that put him in a business suit and behind a desk most days. Niko had reformed him into a useful member of the team.
But Mickey had failed in the Urals. Very unusual for him. His job was to track the people on the ground and analyze their findings. That was difficult to do if he couldn’t find them.
“Your plane is ready.” Mickey stood at the door, as he always did. He didn’t sit or try any of the food or liquor sitting on Niko’s desk, just as a man who understood his place should do.
“I want to reexamine the file on every member of the team.” Niko paged through the report in front of him. It was a detailed account of how and why Mickey had lost contact with the team. The conclusion seemed to be an unexplained communications failure, which Niko viewed as an unacceptable answer. “Provide me with each member’s exact location at the time of our last communication with them. I’ll see what I can piece together.”
Mickey continued to stand at attention with his hands folded together in front of him. “Yes, sir.”
“Restore satellite communication now.” Niko glared at his security officer over the top of the paperwork. “Do not tell me it’s down or give me any excuses. Do your job or I will find someone who can.”
Mickey nodded. “Of course.”
“And then I want a specific plan on how you intend to deal with Tasha.”
The security chief’s perfect posture faltered for a second. “Excuse me?”
“She will be on the ground as soon as we are. She is not one to let others step in. While this is usually an annoyance, you should be able to use it to your advantage.” Niko closed the report and threw it on the desk in front of him. “She is not to get in the way of you resetting this team and getting them back to work.”
“Russia is going to let her in without question?”
“Either that or she will sneak in. That’s what she does.” Because she was a resourceful bitch. It was the one thing he admired about her. “I get invited through the front door. She sneaks in the back. Stop her.”
Mickey visibly swallowed. “Right.”
“However you need to do it, get it done.” Niko didn’t say anything more. He didn’t have to. His job was to demand results. How his staff decided to interpret his orders was not his business. He maintained deniability by carefully documenting each move in the way guaranteed to relieve him of liability. His cousin, the foundation’s lawyer, oversaw that part of the operation. “I must say I like the idea of her doing something that would land her in Black Dolphin Prison among the terrorists and serial killers Russia houses there.”
Mickey didn’t even blink. He’d been trained to harass and entrap citizens. Force them to turn on one another. Whatever conscience he once possessed, if any, had abandoned him long ago. Niko depended on that.
“Where will you be?” Mickey asked.
“In Moscow. I have some government business.” A discussion about FDA requirements that would include members of the U.S. State Department and be played in the media as a goodwill trip. “I expect a report within five hours after you arrive at your destination.”
“I’ll get communications back up and running.”
Niko didn’t want details. “You better have good news.” He spared Mickey one last glance. “You’re dismissed.”
As they got closer to the cabin, Reid noticed how the tall grass was flattened in places. The trail wasn’t exactly hard to decipher. He pointed at one of the more obvious signs of treads. “Tracks.”
Cara glanced up at him. “That is the first word you’ve said in an hour.”
“We haven’t been walking an hour.” He could recount every minute. Between the fuming woman beside him and the sizable nick in his side that sent a new gush of blood soaking into his shirt with each step, he hadn’t exactly enjoyed the journey.
The careful surveillance and walking under constant threat of being seen stole most of his remaining energy. He had stamina and a stubborn streak, but the second gunshot wound of the day took something out of him. He’d lost a lot of blood and a good deal of his strength. Nothing a good twenty minute power rest wouldn’t fix. He just needed to restore his strength, and that meant he had to stop walking and being on edge, waiting for the next attack to come.
She sighed at him. “Do you need to argue with everything I say?”
She almost made it too easy. “No.”
“Reid, look at me.” She stopped and forced him to join her.
“What?” he asked, letting her hear his exasperation in that one syllable.
“Use your words.”
That wasn’t insulting or anything. Never mind that he just assumed she would have figured it out by now.
He pointed to the ground. “Tire tracks.”
Her snarky grin faded. “From Tasha’s people?”
“I doubt they’d be this sloppy.” He knew they wouldn’t. She dealt with agents on the ground. Contacts who knew how to get her the equipment and manpower she needed. Tasha didn’t pay for amateurs.
“Maybe the guys we avoided on the hill?”
“Possibly.” Reid swore under his breath, frustrated he hadn’t gotten a good look at that group. He just couldn’t risk popping up at the wrong time and getting shot in the head. He had enough to deal with right now, like the red blotches and drops stuck to the grass. “Blood.”
The color left her face. Drained right out of her. Her body even swayed a little. “No.”
He glanced up at the cabin sitting about forty feet away. A log structure with a sturdy looking door and no windows that he could see from this side angle. Trees lined the back, providing cover for anyone who might be hiding there.
He waited for any sign of movement. Walked them close enough that someone should start firing, but no sound came. The blood trail thickened from stray drips and a broken line to wide swaths of red. If he had to guess he’d say a body—or more—was dragged along the clearing toward the cabin.
That was a bad fucking sign.
He reached for her hand and pulled her behind him. The move left her back unprotected but there was only so much of him left to cover a 360 degree view. “You stay right there. Got it?”
Her hands tightened in his jacket. She tugged on the material until it stretched against his chest. “I’m not leaving you.”
“Good plan.” He could feel her trembling but didn’t comment. He needed her to believe they were going to get through this just fine.
When they reached the small outlined area outside the cabin’s front door, which operated as some sort of makeshift patio, she made a strangled noise. Kind of like a gagging sound. “The smell.”
The scent hit him hard. It was one you didn’t forget. Decomposing flesh. A sick, rancid smell that stuck to everything.
He lifted the bottom of his jacket and tried to press it against his nose, but it didn’t reach and the wound limited his flexibility. He had to power through or risk a rush of bile traveling up his throat.
“Put your back to the wall and yell if you see anyone coming.” He tried to talk without breathing. Inhaling only made things worse.
Her hand covered her mouth and nose but she nodded.
He reached into his pack and took out an extra T-shirt. “Take this.” He held it up to her face. “Breathe through your mouth, not your nose.”
Her eyes watered. “I know that smell.”
“So do I.”
He didn’t stall another minute. After a brief internal countdown, he pushed the door open.
A new wave of stale, rotting air washed over him. Putting the back of his hand over his mouth didn’t help. Nothing would block the stench.
Even while coughing he fought to keep his focus. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the relative darkness inside the cabin. A heavy curtain covered the one window. He could make out a cot and a small kitchen area at the far end.
None of that mattered once his gaze fell on the bodies. Dumped side by side. Lined up in a row, two with eyes still open in shock. Ripped clothing. Blood matted in their hair. Four men and no movement. What looked like stab wounds. One had a gunshot blast to the head that tore away half his face.
Red smeared across the floor. Rough old blankets thrown over them, but Reid could see enough. Brutalized bodies. Cuts and bruises. Total destruction.
He looked for a second longer then stumbled back into the door, slamming it shut and trapping him inside with all that death. His hand slipped on the handle as he tried to get a grip and rip it open. His muscles refused to work. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t look away from the gruesome scene in front of him. If these were some of the scientists—and he guessed they had to be—they’d paid a heavy price for their interest in a trip to study a decades-old mystery in the middle of nowhere.
He finally got the door open and rushed outside. Kept going until he stood several feet away from the house. Stood there and gasped in big gulps of air. Tried to purge the memory of that scent from his brain.
He could hear something and knew he needed to open his eyes. Then it hit him. Cara’s voice.
She hovered next to him with an arm draped across his waist. “Reid, what’s in there?”
“Give me a second.” He blew out a long labored breath. Looking at her made saying the words harder, but he had to get them out. “We have bodies.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. The tears spilled over her eyelids. “Oh my God.”
“Four men.” He tried to keep it clear and concise, as if he were giving a report instead of telling the awful truth about the end of people she likely knew.
She shook her head. “My team?”
Under the Wire: Bad Boys Undercover Page 13