She guided him inside her, arching her back as he pushed in all the way and then he palmed the floor, kept his forehead against her breasts and just breathed. Her fingernails dug into his overheated skin, both of their bodies nearly trembling with anticipation, and then she bucked her hips up into his.
He heard the groan escape from his throat, a low, almost guttural sound that echoed in the empty space around them.
“That’s it… let it go.” Her own voice was huskier than it had been earlier—sexier. And just like before, she pulled him into her own need with a gentle force he hadn’t expected.
He fit against her—with his body molded to hers, he waited for his psychic Cajun magic to kick in, to remind him that this was a temporary fit. But it didn’t. Not when she wrapped her other leg around his waist and began to move in earnest, forcing him to give in to her.
And as they moved together in the dark, her hands tracing one of the long scars along his back, for the first time ever, he felt grounded.
———
At some point, Jamie had lost count of her orgasms and, she was pretty sure, of her mind as well. Now she lay on her back on the floor, spent, with Chris’s long body lying next to hers.
He’d lit a cigarette and the smoke curled in lazy rings headed up to the ceiling. He hadn’t bothered to dress himself yet and she’d followed suit, and for a while there was nothing but comfort between them.
She knew that would change—had to—neither of them could remain distracted for much longer. And yes, Chris had begun to tap his fingers against the floor, the familiar energy returning.
She sat up and rummaged in the dark for her clothes. The rain and wind outside had picked up and the plane shimmied slightly from side to side.
Chris had started to dress too—she heard the rustle of his clothes and the strike of a match as he lit another cigarette.
For the first time in her life, she wished she smoked.
“Those scars on your leg are pretty fresh,” he said, out of the blue, as she buttoned her shirt.
“How can you tell that—I can barely see my own hand in front of me.”
“I have some of my own … they’re pretty distinctive.”
She was rubbing her leg even before she spoke. “Mine are from eight months ago.”
“Everything’s healed up well?”
“It’s fine,” she lied.
Her therapist told her the problem was that Jamie said she wanted to heal, but somewhere deep inside, she wouldn’t let herself. Physically, yes. Her leg worked better now than it had before the shooting, thanks to regular physical therapy and getting back to her morning runs. But mentally, she didn’t ever want to forget that moment in time when her adrenaline pumped and her reaction was too damned slow, her body caught off guard.
She wanted to remember it minute by minute so it would never happen again. “I lost my partner.”
Her words sounded wistful, even to her own ears, and she cursed that weakness.
“I’m sorry, Jamie.” He touched her shoulder in the dark and even though she’d seen it coming, she still jumped.
Dammit, she hated the dark. Didn’t want to think about Mike or her injury right now.
Guilt washed over her for what she’d let Chris do to her—for what she’d wanted Chris to do to her.
Mike would’ve told her himself that it was time to move on. But Mike didn’t know everything about her—she’d seen to that.
Chris had suddenly grown even more quiet—had stopped his usual constant movement, and Jamie felt herself freeze too. And then he said, “We can go now.”
“I thought you said we needed to wait until the rain stopped?”
He didn’t answer, had slammed the door open with his foot, was grabbing supplies and throwing them out the door as fast as he could, and suddenly, as the plane lurched hard, she knew why.
The rain was taking their shelter, and fast.
She stood, getting her bearings as the cabin rocked viciously—he’d already gotten her bag out for her and was waiting by the open door.
“Come on, Jamie—you go now.” He held his hand out to her. He was drenched already from the driving rain that was slamming into the plane and had to fight to get to the edge of the door.
The drop wasn’t bad, maybe five feet straight down into the mud. She landed harder than she thought she would, had to drag her feet up as they became mired.
Chris was right behind her, literally lifting her out of the muck as it threatened to suction around his feet, and together they watched the plane drift down the muddy road.
“Come on, Jamie—up there.” He pointed to a large set of boulders right in front of them—there was a flat-enough top for them to sit on semi-comfortably, more so than climbing one of the nearest trees anyway.
She scrambled up on her hands and knees, careful of her footing on the slippery rock. Chris handed her up the bags and supplies and then he was next to her.
“We’ve got a tent,” he called above the wind. “We’ll have to hold it around us, but it’s better than nothing.”
She helped him unwrap the sturdy canvas—he held on to it while she threaded some of the metal poles through it and then shoved the bags inside so it didn’t threaten to blow away every five seconds.
“Go on, get in—work it from inside. I’ll hold it from out here.”
She worked as fast as she could—it seemed like hours with her dripping hair in her face and her hands shaking from the cold water, but then it was done and Chris was inside with her.
“We’ve got to leave the flap open—but we’re against the wind,” Chris said. He sat next to her and wrung out the front of his T-shirt and then opened his phone to let it dry.
“I can’t believe that just happened.” She looked over at him, looked down at herself, both of them drenched to the skin and the rain showing no signs of letting up.
“You should come train with us. It’ll give you a whole new appreciation for wet and cold.”
“I’m pretty happy with the training I’ve got.”
“You’re pretty tough, I’ll give you that,” he agreed with a small smile and then he grew serious again. “You sure you’re okay? Nothing sprained or broken?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine—you’re in pain,” he said, even as he brought his hand to the back of her neck to knead the tender flesh. After one of her headaches, her neck and scalp were always far too sensitive to the touch—this time was no exception, although Chris’s hand didn’t bother her. And so, as the rain beat down around them, she didn’t tell him that her pain had never really left, or that she didn’t think it ever really would.
The rains slowed after they’d gotten about three miles along, Nick half dragging Kaylee as she shivered and held fast to him. She’d made it about two miles on her own steam and protested that she could make it all the way.
He didn’t doubt her, and still, after a while longer, he put her onto his back again, for body warmth and so they could move faster. Clutch and Sarah led the way, Sarah scrambling as fast as Nick and Clutch through the brush.
He was definitely worried about Kaylee—she was in shape, for sure, but her asthma had been getting worse. Carrying her took any unnecessary strain off her—and helped them make time as well.
“Car,” Sarah called. It was moving down the rutted road slowly, and Nick lowered Kaylee to the ground as Sarah ran into the middle of the road by herself as if she was all alone—a woman in distress.
“She’s not going to kill the passenger, is she?” Kaylee whispered to him. He didn’t answer, because the answer would surely be: yes, if necessary.
“Nick, please, tell me she’s not going to do that.”
There was no gunshot, only Clutch urging him and Kaylee to walk farther along the road, under the cover of the brush as Sarah walked away. “I’m not telling you anything, Kaylee. Don’t ask, don’t tell. It’s better that way. We need to get you to safety.”
She folded her arm
s tightly to her chest as she began to walk again, in front of Nick this time and out to the road from where Sarah called to them.
There was no sign of the driver and Sarah didn’t say anything but “Get in” as they approached the old car.
Once in the safety of the car that seemed to move at a hundred miles an hour—a speed Nick was more than comfortable with—he grabbed his phone out of his pack and saw that he had both a signal and a message from Chris.
He called back, got his brother’s voice mail and began to lay out what happened to them and where they were headed. If all went well, they could meet up and figure out the next part of the plan.
Kaylee was already thinking about that. “What about the others—the GOST members at the warehouse who aren’t traitors?” she asked Clutch.
“As soon as I get you and Nick safely to a hotel and you get the article transmitted, I’m going to the warehouse.”
“Suppose John Caspar’s there?”
“I doubt it—he’s too busy tracking us. I’ll make sure he follows me to the warehouse, keep the heat off of all of you. Once the article’s out, it’s a matter of staying alive to wait for the fallout.” Clutch kept his eyes forward as he spoke, but Nick saw Sarah reach over and put a hand on the man’s thigh briefly—a small, quick gesture of support.
Sarah would go with him to the warehouse, would put her life on the line with and for Clutch.
When Nick turned to look at Kaylee, he noted the fear in her eyes and the fact that she was shaking from being wet and cold. He was so used to it, it hadn’t even registered to him that she’d need to get dry immediately, that she hadn’t been built for this—hadn’t trained.
And as he grabbed a blanket and placed it around her, he reminded himself that he and Kaylee had pledged their support to each other as well—what happened beyond that would remain to be seen.
Nick’s phone rang—he picked it up halfway through the first ring. “Chris? Man, where are you?”
He listened carefully for a few minutes as the car sped along. “Maybe she should speak with Kaylee herself.” He handed her the phone. “It’s an FBI agent—she says she can help with GOST.”
Clutch swung around. “How does she know about it?”
“She says her sister might be part of your group,” Nick explained.
“There’s one woman—PJ,” Clutch said slowly.
“Did she join the group about eight months ago?” Nick asked him and Clutch nodded slowly. “That’s got to be her.”
Kaylee listened intently for a moment to the calm, authoritative voice on the other end that introduced herself as an agent with the FBI and then asked Kaylee to confirm who she was and what her plans were.
“This is Kaylee Smith—aka K. Darcy. I’m planning on going public about GOST—the article’s written but not transmitted.”
“Good. I can help you once the story hits the streets. But I’m going to need the real names of the people in GOST. Do you think you can get that information for me?”
“I can try.”
“It’s important. I have to be able to track those names, make sure that they’re put back into Witness Protection,” Jamie explained. “Once that happens, they’ll be watched by marshals. That’s where their real safety comes from.”
“I’m going to do my best—once I have the names, I’ll text them to you,” Kaylee told her, and then handed the phone back to Nick. He spoke, first to Jamie and then his brother, before he closed the phone.
“Are we all set?” he asked.
“There’s one thing we need.” She turned to Clutch. “Do you know everyone’s real name? Because Jamie—the FBI agent—she said once the article runs, she can check to make sure everyone’s in the system, that everyone’s back on a U.S. marshals’ protection list.”
“This FBI agent’s going to help raise us from the dead?” Clutch shook his head slowly, as if he was having trouble comprehending all of it.
“I just need the names. Can you trust me with that?”
His eyes met hers. “I’m putting my life in your hands—mine and the rest of GOST.”
“I’m only using your nicknames in the article. The names won’t go any further than Jamie. I’ll never, ever repeat them to anyone. I can keep a secret,” she said.
“You can trust her, Clutch.” Nick’s voice sounded rougher than before, as if he could lose it at any moment. But his words meant more to her than anything else—and that’s what she was going to hold on to.
CHAPTER 19
After getting in touch with Nick, Chris had started them hiking out of the jungle and toward the main road when the rains slowed.
They couldn’t afford to spend the night in the middle of the jungle without shelter. Jamie was still in pain, but he had a feeling it was more inside her heart than her head. “I’m sorry, Jamie,” he said suddenly, pausing their stride for a minute.
“For what?”
“For pushing you earlier. On the plane.”
“Stop—you didn’t. It’s the situation, I’m not used to it being so personal.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Usually I’m working with my brothers on the team, not racing to rescue them.”
They started to hike again, with Jamie following him so he could cut away the underbrush. They were still scratched up anyway, but the machete he’d gotten off the plane was better than nothing.
“You said that you were adopted.”
“My brothers were adopted by my parents when we were fourteen,” he corrected her.
“That’s kind of cool. Like growing up with your best friends.”
“Yeah.” The transition hadn’t been completely smooth. He’d been used to being alone, and really, so had Nick and Jake. The two boys might’ve been destined to join the family, as his momma always used to say, but there were more fights inside the house than people knew about. You didn’t put three adolescent alphas under the same roof without tension.
From the age of eight, there was a bond between Nick and Jake that was very cradle to grave, and soon after Chris met them, that loyalty was shared between all three of them. After Maggie died, they got even tighter. He became the confidant—the one Nick would come to when he had a problem he didn’t want to upset Jake with, and Jake would do the same. Consequently, Chris knew the most secrets out of anyone in the family, and he was pretty damned good at keeping his mouth shut.
“I wish Sophie and I were closer.” She stopped for a second, leaned her body against a half-broken tree and sucked some air. “Dammit, I though I was in good shape.”
“You are—most people would’ve been done four miles ago.”
“You’re not even breathing hard,” she pointed out. “And this …” She waved her arm around at the jungle surrounding them. “This is like a survival reality show gone bad.” She paused, and then, “Shit, sorry.”
“For what?”
“You know, the whole ex thing—I don’t mean to keep bringing it up.”
“It’s all right. We’ve been over for a while.”
“But she still calls you?”
“We were together from high school—sometimes it’s hard to make the break.”
“I’m sure it couldn’t have been easy—her breaking up with you and becoming famous …”
“I broke up with her.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. And it had nothing to do with her fame.”
“You broke up with one ofPeople ‘s fifty most beautiful people?”
“See, I didn’t think you’d be the type to keep up with that stuff.” He tugged her arm and she let go of the tree and followed him as he continued cutting a trail for them. The red-dusted roads were from hell because of the rain, and they still had a while to go. “If you want the story, all you have to do is ask.”
“I… do not… want the story,” she huffed. “Where’s the paved road?”
“Ten miles out.”
“Did you just say ten miles?”
“It’s actually
fifteen, but I figured I’d motivate you.”
“And then what—are you going to steal a car for us?”
“Agent Michaels, I promised my dad and the law I’d only use my powers for good.”
“I’m considering this good use.”
“I kept my fingers crossed when I promised that anyway. You never know when that skill set’s gonna come in handy.” His phone began to beep—finally catching a signal again—they must be close to a road that wasn’t on the map. He dialed in and first heard Jake’s voice, telling himIt’s all cool , despite the sounds of a firefight in the background, and God knew where he was. For sure not in Coronado, where Chris had left him for a training exercise. No, Jake had been shipped out somewhere.
Christ, he wanted to strangle his brother sometimes. But at least Chris knew that the headache wasn’t about that brother. No, there was definitely something wrong with Nick.
Nick, who in the next message told him their new location.
“Was that your brother?” Jamie asked as she busily checked her own phone. “I’ve got no messages on mine.”
“I’ve got coordinates,” he said, plugged them into the GPS. “We’re meeting them at a hotel—it’s not all that far from here.” By car. Once they actually found a car. “But we’ve also got a big problem.”
Jamie listened to the message, her brow furrowed intensely. When she handed back the phone to Chris, he asked, as gently as he could, “Is it possible that your sister is working for the CIA still—that she could be the one ordered to finish off GOST?”
“No way. She’d barely gone through the first month of training with the CIA.”
“But she’d been a fighter pilot before she was recruited by the CIA—she had to have some intense training.”
“Not the kind that would help her to infiltrate a group like GOST—you know that as well as I do.” She’d tied one of his bandannas soaked in water around her head to keep cool, and now she put her fingers on it, kneading her temples. “But this confirms that the intel I saw was true—they’re planning to take out GOST from the inside.”
“Jamie, you need to be prepared, just in case. And maybe… maybe she didn’t tell you everything. Maybe she couldn’t. You told me you weren’t close.”
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