by Katie Reus
“Fuck, Karen,” he growled before crushing his mouth over hers again. His tongue danced against hers in the same way their bodies were joining, raw and primal.
She loved how he didn’t seem to hold back at all as he continued slamming into her. As her orgasm ebbed, his did too, the rush of endorphins leaving her feeling sated and lethargic.
She wasn’t sure how much time passed, but eventually he pulled out of her. Too tired to move, she watched as his butt flexed and clenched when he went to the bathroom to dispose of the condom.
He returned seconds later, moving with a surprisingly graceful quality. Like a skilled predator. But his expression was soft as he crawled onto the bed next to her and pulled her into his arms.
She curled into him, wrapping her arms around his waist as she buried her face against his chest. “You really are a furnace,” she murmured into him. Despite the situation, she felt safe and cared for in his arms.
He let out an amused grunt, those talented, callused fingers stroking down her spine in a way she could definitely get used to. “No regrets?” The hint of worry in his voice surprised her.
Laughing, she shook her head and looked up at him. “No, just wondering if we have time to do that again before we have to go in.”
His eyes heated with pure lust as they dropped to focus on her mouth. “We . . . should check in with Selene first.” The words seemed to be torn from him.
Sighing, she glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. It was close to one in the morning. Yeah, according to Selene’s timeline, Ortiz and Freeman would be here soon enough. Karen wanted to call first just to make sure the schedule hadn’t changed. “You’re right.” Groaning, she buried her face against his chest. She hated that they had to leave, but she didn’t regret a thing.
After a few long moments, she started to roll off him, but he pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her like a vise. He brushed his lips over hers. The kiss was gentle and almost chaste, but at the same time not. She could feel his erratic heartbeat, a match to her own.
Finally he pulled back, leaving her wanting more. “When this mess is figured out, I want . . . to take you out on a date.” He laughed then, the sound harsh and abrupt. “I actually want more than a date, but I just . . . damn it, I’m no good at this—”
“I want more too. Dating and definitely more of this,” she said, a grin tugging at her lips as she wiggled against him. Who would have guessed he was so sweet beneath that tough exterior?
“Yeah?” He seemed so hesitant it was hard to believe.
“Yeah.” She dropped another kiss on his lips, lingering longer than she should, because she knew that in the next hour things were going to change.
She knew he was innocent, but that wouldn’t matter if enough evidence piled up against him. But she was on his side and planned to use all the resources at her disposal to prove it.
Chapter 13
Blood choke: aka carotid restraint. A type of strangulation applied from an opponent’s back in which the attacker compresses one or both carotid arteries (not the airway), causing a lack of blood flow to the brain. Causes unconsciousness after ten seconds, death if longer.
Rayford rubbed his gritty eyes, but nothing could relieve the tension humming through him. He’d been at Hillenbrand’s for most of the day, and then they’d called another meeting with all their associates.
Everyone was pleased about the four men taking the fall for today’s bombings. Very soon they planned to link the same disgraced agents to the drone attack of the Nelson fund-raiser. But that was something that would have to happen organically.
Or at least appear to. The authorities now investigating the allegedly rogue DEA agents would soon find digital evidence tying the men to the theft of the drone. They would appear to have a trail of communications with someone from the military base with access to the drone. Rayford wasn’t exactly sure who; Hillenbrand was keeping that information to himself. From there it would make sense to deduce that they’d either sold it or used it for their own purposes. It would look like one big conspiracy to attack their own country for money and fanaticism.
“I thought they’d never leave,” Hillenbrand muttered as the last of the men exited the house.
Rayford grunted in agreement. “What was our inside man able to discover?” The DEA agent they were using had been doing some behind-the-scenes work for them using his company access. While their hacker was good, hacking in to the DEA might eventually trace back to them.
Something Rayford and Hillenbrand refused to risk. It would ruin the whole illusion of their scapegoats taking the fall.
“Things are still on track,” Hillenbrand said, heading for his minibar. “You headed home?”
Rayford nodded. It had been an exhausting day and while his wife was understanding and not worried that he’d cheat, he wanted things solid in his marriage. He had to look as if he were doing business as usual to everyone. No one could suspect his actions, not even the woman he loved. He was pretty certain she’d lie to cover for him if necessary, but it was better if she never had to in the first place if approached by law enforcement.
“You sure? I’m calling one of my regulars over. I can have her bring a friend.” Hillenbrand raised his glass to his mouth and took a big swig.
Rayford kept his annoyance in check. Hillenbrand knew how he felt about prostitutes and keeping his clean image. He gave a polite smile. “Why don’t you have her bring one for Gary?” he asked, nodding to the hacker who’d fallen asleep on the Chesterfield about half an hour ago.
The man practically had an IV of Red Bull attached to him at all times, so it was a surprise he ever slept. At least he’d showered earlier and cleaned up so he didn’t look or smell as if he were homeless anymore. Hillenbrand had insisted he do so before the other men arrived. Rayford understood why. Looks mattered at this critical juncture and they needed to appear to have the most capable hacker on their side. So far he’d proven to be a huge asset.
Hillenbrand laughed, a real booming one, and shook his head. “It’s hard to trust a man with no vices.”
Rayford picked up his coat and scarf he’d draped over one of the chairs. “You’d prefer I do drugs or have a gambling problem?”
Shaking his head, Hillenbrand had started to respond when a beep-beep-beep rent through the room.
Rayford turned to find Gary popping up from his half-lounged position, his eyes going wide. He gave Rayford and Hillenbrand a glance before he snagged his laptop from where he’d set it directly next to him on a wood-and-glass table.
“What’s happening?” Hillenbrand demanded, putting his drink down and striding over to the hacker.
Feeling chilled, Rayford slid his coat on and moved across the room as well.
“Got a hit on the final Karen Stafford’s cell phone,” Gary murmured, his fingers flying across the keyboard, his expression focused.
Rayford knew that Hillenbrand had gotten the name of the missing woman from his contact at the local PD. She wasn’t considered missing anymore apparently, but they hadn’t been able to track down who she was exactly or where she worked or lived. Gary had found eight Karen Staffords living in the Maryland and D.C. area and eliminated seven of them because of the pictures from their drivers’ licenses. Once they’d matched up the Karen Stafford from the missing person picture Hillenbrand had obtained to a driver’s license, it should have been easy to locate her.
Only it had been impossible because the address on her license was an empty townhome seemingly owned by an offshore company. It was very strange. Especially since she didn’t seem to have any social media accounts.
Who the hell didn’t have social media accounts these days? Rayford had some theories about who she might work for, but it didn’t explain why she’d been listed as missing.
“Where is she?”
“Townhome in Maryland. Good area. Place is owned by . . .” More typing. “A woman named Carline Johnson.” More typing, then, “Definitely not the same woma
n.” A picture of a pretty black woman in her mid to late twenties popped up on the screen before Gary minimized it. “For all I know the cell phone is bogus and not the Stafford woman’s at all, but this number is linked to the same address as her driver’s license and the bill is in her name. It’s been off until just now. Which is pretty fucking strange. People might turn off their phones, but she had to have taken the battery out for me not to be able to ping it.” Gary stopped typing and looked over at Hillenbrand. “Unless the phone moves, this is the address it’s at. I don’t know if it’s hers or not, or if she’s even there, but it’s a lead.”
Rayford glanced at Hillenbrand, unsure of what they should do. He was so confident in some things, but where this woman was concerned, he wasn’t sure what the right course of action was. She’d been seen with Pankov but had been listed as a missing person until a couple of hours ago. Their contact with the PD had no idea who she was or why she wasn’t considered missing anymore. And their DEA guy had no idea who she was either. What if they went after her and she was still with Pankov? What if she worked for an agency and was helping Pankov and his men? Or what if she was nobody as far as their plans were concerned? There were too many unknown variables at this point, and that made Rayford’s stomach twist.
Hillenbrand pulled out one of his burner cells and typed in a long message. A few seconds later the phone buzzed. Hillenbrand glanced at the screen, gave a feral smile, then nodded to himself before tucking the phone into his pants pocket. He looked at Gary. “Good work. Keep an eye on it. I’m going to walk Rayford out.”
Gary nodded and returned to his computer as Rayford headed for the door with Hillenbrand.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Rayford asked.
“No. You need sleep and there’s nothing more to do now. I’ve got a guy on it. I’ll let you know what turns up. Keep your phone on you.” The “phone” referring to his burner, the one he’d kept private from everyone else in his life.
Rayford nodded and opened the front door. A blast of cold winter air rolled over him, making him shiver despite his thick coat. “Let me know what happens.”
“I will,” Hillenband said before shutting the door.
Exhausted, Rayford glanced down the quiet street as he began making his way to his vehicle. He couldn’t see anyone watching him, but that didn’t mean anything. It didn’t matter how tired he was, he’d make sure to drive around awhile before heading home. To see if he had a tail. They’d all been so careful and now that their operation was in the final critical stages, he had to be even more diligent.
Fear lived inside him that everything would come crashing down on their heads, that he’d lose everything he’d worked so hard for. But no risk, no gain, he reminded himself. And if he wanted his boss in the White House, he had to see this through.
Tucker folded his clothes into his duffel bag and zipped it shut before picking up Karen’s dry clothes. She’d just talked to Selene and they’d be clearing out of here in ten minutes. Before they did Tucker wanted to do a clean of the place, meaning dispose of any evidence they’d been here, especially the food remnants and the condom.
He wasn’t sure how the NSA operated on things like this, but he guessed they’d have someone on hand to do an efficient sweep and clean of the place. Including washing the sheets.
After dropping his bag by the front door, he took the stairs two at a time. Since the bathroom door was closed, he set Karen’s clothes on the bed and headed back downstairs. Because if he stayed and waited for her, he had a feeling they might end up naked. Okay, probably not, since he knew a team was arriving soon, but damn, he wished they had more time together.
He kept replaying every sound she’d made, how she’d tasted, the sweet way her body had opened for him. He could still feel the way she’d dug her fingernails and feet into his back and ass, urging him on. The way she’d moaned his name as she climaxed . . . He shook his head as he reached the kitchen.
Nope, not gonna think about that right now. Wouldn’t do for his dick to be on full alert when her people showed up.
It didn’t take him long to locate a garbage bag. He replaced the one they’d used and wiped down most of the surfaces in the kitchen with Lysol wipes. After wiping down the small laundry room anywhere he might have touched, he started for the stairs. He wasn’t exactly worried about leaving prints behind, but with everything going on, he wasn’t taking chances.
Remembering he needed to replace the small garbage bag in the bathroom, he stopped and detoured to the kitchen.
Adrenaline flooded him as he reached the threshold of the entryway. A soft snicking sound came from the back doorway. The heat wasn’t running and Karen was quiet upstairs, so it was easy to discern. He knew what it was immediately.
Someone had sprung the lock on the kitchen door—which led to the backyard.
It could be the two men coming for him and Karen, but they’d said they’d text Karen when they arrived. It was too soon for them to be there anyway.
Withdrawing his weapon, he backtracked the way he’d come. Instead of heading up the stairs, he ducked into the living room right next to the stairs. Using the shadows to blend in, he flattened himself against one of the walls so that he had the perfect visual of the hallway. Because of the way the house was designed, there was no other way for someone to get upstairs without having to go past him.
The only way anyone was getting to Karen was if he was dead. That wasn’t happening.
Soft footfalls filled the air, the faintest squeak of shoe on tile. The intruder was inside the kitchen now. Tucker hadn’t heard the door open or close, so whoever was in was good. Or decent enough for B and E.
He heard another quiet footfall from the direction of the kitchen, then movement upstairs. He bit back a curse, hating that he hadn’t had enough time to warn Karen. But he could use this to his advantage. Whoever was in the house now would hear the same thing he was hearing and realize the person upstairs wasn’t trying to be quiet.
The intruder would think no one had been alerted to his presence.
Tucker’s grip on his SIG was steady as he heard more footfalls, a fraction quicker than the last time.
A man stepped from the shadows of the hallway, moving down it with a pistol in his hand and a black mask pulled over his face. The pistol had a suppressor. Oh yeah, this guy wasn’t one of Karen’s people. Unless the NSA had sent someone to kill both of them.
He’d find out soon enough.
The intruder wasn’t making hand signals to anyone, and when he passed the entryway to the living room—barely glancing inside, fucking amateur—Tucker moved from his position.
It was a calculated risk, but he’d only heard one set of feet and the lack of hand signals was a huge indicator this guy was alone. Not to mention that the guy who’d come after them earlier had been alone also. Most operators like this were. People did hits alone, not in tandem.
The risk was there that he might be ambushed from behind, but he considered it worth it. Because no one was making it up those stairs. No one.
Without his shoes on, he was quiet as he swept out from his hiding spot and into the hallway.
The guy was still moving forward without a backward glance. It had been foolish not to check the living room, and now this guy was going to pay for it.
Tucker weighed his options as he approached the guy from behind. He could simply end him now, he could tell him to drop his weapon and risk the guy trying to attack him, or—
A door upstairs opened. “Tucker, I think my underwear is still in the dryer. Unless you’re trying to keep it, pervert,” Karen called out, muted laughter in her voice.
The man stiffened and started to turn. He’d realized his tactical error. Too late.
Tucker slammed his weapon across the back of the guy’s head. Sometimes they went down for good, sometimes they didn’t. Crying out, the man stumbled into the hallway wall, knocking a picture off it. His weapon tumbled to the floor as he made to turn tow
ard Tucker.
He didn’t give the guy a chance. Moving lightning quick, he attacked from behind, wrapping his left arm around the man’s neck and his right arm up under his armpit. Instead of doing a blood choke, he squeezed the guy’s airway.
The man gasped and clawed at Tucker’s arms. Tucker used his taller height and lifted him off his feet. He ignored the man’s blows.
“Tucker!” There was a sound of fast movement, as if Karen was headed downstairs.
“Stay up there!” he shouted to Karen.
Still choking the man, he half turned so that he had a better visual of the hallway in case there was a partner.
Gradually the man stopped kicking and the hands that had been ineffectually trying to strike Tucker stilled, then dropped completely.
He waited another ten full seconds before loosening his grip. The guy fell like a deadweight, but he was still breathing. Tucker hefted him back to the kitchen and dropped him facedown on the tile. He located an extension cord and used it to secure the man’s arms behind his back, then pulled his legs back so that he was hog-tied.
This bastard wasn’t going anywhere.
The kitchen door had been shut, but not locked, so Tucker flipped the lock before calling for Karen.
She definitely wasn’t quiet as she hurried down the stairs and hallway. Her switchblade was out as she entered the kitchen, the sight making him smile.
“You can put it away,” he murmured as he pulled the mask off the guy. Didn’t recognize him.
Eyes wide, Karen closed the blade. “Is he dead?” she whispered.
“No, I didn’t cut off his carotid, just his oxygen.” Tucker wondered if later he’d regret not killing this guy, but they needed to know more about who they were up against. He grabbed a handful of the man’s hair and lifted his head. “You know him?”
Crouching down, Karen got a good look at him and shook her head. “No.”
Some of Tucker’s tension eased, but not much. “I haven’t used any of my current burner phones to contact my parents or even my guys. And none of them are on.”